#personal space is a myth with these two

[nufc-carraville]

Jamie, you’re genuinely ridiculous.

GET A GRIP (he did) (twice, if you look closely).

[pallases]

okay well i don’t know what to do w myself now

[thetreetopinn]

Sources for Somerton's Plagiarism from Hbomberguy's Video (as much as I could get)

I went back through Harry's video, focused entirely on the sources James Somerton pulled from in the hopes of creating as much of a comprehensive list as I could--though my Google-Fu is not very strong. I did however find something I thought was forever lost and that made me very happy--specifically the magazine Midlands Zone containing the column by Steven Spinks that Harry poignantly used as an illustration of gay erasure... while Somerton uses it to sound like HE is waxing remorseful about the very subject.

This is not a complete list, I'm sure. For one thing, I was only able to attempt to pull sources that Harry himself mentioned in the video. Surely there's so very much more out there. I expect there to be a great deal more internet archeology to unearth just how much writing and culture Somerton has stolen like he's the British Museum of Natural History but for gay people.

- - - - -

Harry's list of mentioned youtubers:

Alexander Avila - https://www.youtube.com/@alexander_avila Matt Baume - https://www.youtube.com/@MattBaume Khadija Mbowe - https://www.youtube.com/@KhadijaMbowe Lady Emily - https://www.youtube.com/@LadyEmilyPresents Shanspeare - https://www.youtube.com/@Shanspeare RickiHirsch - https://www.youtube.com/@RickiHirsch VerilyBitchie - https://www.youtube.com/@verilybitchie

Harry created a convenient playlist of videos by these and other people he wants to bring to everyone's attention.

Please give them your support.

- - - - -

Midlands Zone Magazine - Column by Steven Spinks

After a great deal of searching, I found an archive of the "Midlands Zone" magazine, where you can read through past issues dating all the way back to February 2014. I have also found the issue from which Somerton took Spinks' poignant discussion of gay erasure: Overall archive Specific Issue - Pages 16-17

It will not allow you to download it, but you can read it exactly as it appeared in print form.

- - - - -

My best effort to find the exact book or article Somerton lifted from to be able to get attention to the original writers

Tinker Bells and Evil Queens By Sean Griffin

The Celluloid Closet By Vito Russo Wikipedia article about the book Wikipedia article about the documentary My weak google-fu could not find where you can access the book or documentary. Check your local municipal or university library for book or documentary, or if you know a good source for one or both, please reblog with it added

Camp and the Gay Sensibility By Jack Babuscio

The Groundbreaking Queerness of Disney's Mulan By Jes Tom Personal site with links to social media accounts

Why Rebel Without a Cause was a milestone for gay rights By Peter Howell

Why "The Craft" is still the best Halloween coming out movie By Andrew Park

Opinion: From facehuggers to phallic tails, is 'Alien' one of the queerest films ever? By Dani Leever

Women and Queerness in Horror: Jennifer's Body By Zoe Fortier

[Pride 2019] We Have Such Sights to Show You: Hellraiser and the Spectrum of Queerness By Alejandra Gonzalez

Revealing the Hellbound Heart of Clive Barker's 'Hellraiser' By Colin Arason

Queering James Cameron's Aliens (1986) By Bart Bishop

Demeter and Persephone in space: transformation, femininity, and myth in the 'Alien' films By David Greven

Fears of a millennial masculinity: Scream's queer killers By David Greven (Scholarly site, unable to access original work, offers a way to request a full copy of the text in PDF)

Queer Subtext in Stephen King's It - Part 1: 'Reddie' Character Analysis By Rachel Brands Rachel is the very unfortunate lady who found out she was being stolen from because she supported Somerton through Patreon and saw one of his videos early with her writing--lacking any form of citation or credit

How 'It: Chapter Two' Leaves Richie Tozier Behind By Joelle Monique

When Horror Becomes Strength: Queer Armor in Stephen King's 'IT' By Alex London

Why Queer People Love Witchcraft By Amanda Kohr

'The Favourite' Queers The Past And The Present By Giorgi Plys-Garzotto

(Wuko) Crush (Mako x Wu) By MoonFlower on YouTube

5 Terrible Movies With Awesome Hidden Meanings By J.F. Sargent

The Radicalization of Sexuality: The Queer Casae of Jeffrey Dahmer By Ian Barnard

Netflix's 'Dahmer' backlash highlights ethical issues in the platform's obsession with true crime By Shivani Dubey

The Possible Disturbing Dissonance Between Hajime Isayama's Beliefs and Attack on Titan's Themes Original Article by "Seldom Musings" (Author has made all posts not related to Attack On Titan private and has retired from the blog)

Everyone Loves Attack on Titan. So Why Does Everyone Hate Attack on Titan? By Gita Jackson

- - - - -

The following people are otherwise named in the video. There are no direct citations of articles or books by them in said video. I am unable to guarantee that I have identified the correct individual.

Darren Elliott-Smith Michaela Barton David Church Claire Sisco King Amanda Howell Jessica Roy

- - - - -

Telos announced and cancelled a film likely based on this book: The Final Girl Support Group - By Grady Hendrix

- - - - -

I refrained from including certain sources.

First off only focusing on Somerton's work.

Secondly not including anything that might be visible enough to not require amplifying their voice (I cannot speak for all of those I have found links to, but journalism is frequently a thankless job).

Thirdly any source that is of a nature that is antithetical to the very existence of the queer community, such as the right-leaning source that didn't make it into Somerton's video, but Harry was able to identify as a source he had considered using.

If you feel I have missed a mentioned source--or you know of a source from material that was not covered in Harry's video--please do not hesitate to reblog with added details.

- - - - -

Please share this information far and wide, and please add to it if you find more material that can be positively identified and linked to the creator/writer.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

So there is this thing that the two Villeneuve Dune movies do together that I cannot stop thinking about, where they will present something (often, a weapon) in a context the first time around where it looks a certain way (often, very sexy and cool). And then they will present it again in a way that doesn't exactly negate your reading of the original context but makes you recoil in horror from the new context.

Paul and Jessica using the Voice to escape from their Harkonnen captors? Very sexy and cool. Look at them working together, mother and son, a couple of space witch badasses.

Jessica using the Voice on Chani to force her to participate in reviving Paul after he drinks the Water of Life? Horrifying. Saying you will be part of this myth that has been created to serve political ends that have nothing to do with your liberation, and if you don't do it voluntarily to save the person you love then I will make you do it.

Chani and Paul working together to take down the ornithopter gunship using those little shoulder-fired rockets? Very sexy and cool, we love guerrilla warfare against an occupying army. (I'm not being facetious here, this sequence is extremely satisfying to watch.)

The much later image of Paul silhouetted against the blast from the missiles from his family's private nuclear arsenal blowing up the shield wall? Nightmarish.

The way the climactic battle to retake the palace at Arrakeen extends into the night so that it begins to look very very much like the initial Harkonnen attack on the same place? I'm sure this is intentional; the whole third act is about taking a giant sledgehammer to the idea that the Atreides are the better or more civilized imperialists.

Perhaps my favorite example of this is the Atreides signet ring. When Paul first puts it on in the first movie, it's a symbol of him accepting that Leto is dead. It's a melancholy moment, but it's also a sign of Paul accepting the responsibility of his birthright as the new Duke.

Early in the second movie, when he is trying to be equal to the Fremen, he takes the ring off. And you just know that when he decides to put it back on again, that will be the sign that everything's about to go to shit. And when it happens it's a very similar moment--it is Paul accepting his birthright, just a different kind. But the accompanying feeling is oh no.

[lalunanymph]

MOONLIT DREAM

SUMMARY a budding jade aficionado receives a personal lesson from her lover

WARNINGS established relationship, outdoor sex, boat!sex, blasphemy, sensory deprivation (use of blindfolds), sensory play (with a brush), dirty talk, petnames (little love, little one), soft!zayne, orgasm control, edging, begging, fingering, dirty talk, marking, pulling out (zayne cums in his own hand cause he's a mf gentleman like that), astra hate, allusions to theories of zayne's myth, mdni, 18+

DAWN SAYS FIRST ONE IS HEREEE istg this event has me by the THROAT I know it isn't very canon-compliant but I wanted to do something based on the vibes I got from the cards so I hope you all enjoy this! I will eventually cross-post this to a03 so if you want to follow me there, it's under the same username! <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── SYLUS ⊱ XAVIER ⊱ RAFAYEL

The art of jade carving was slowly dying out.

Touted as a precious stone the color of rich grass, its value was placed not in its glossy, green finish, but on the weight of meaning it carried.

To gift someone a jade pendant meant you wished luck, prosperity and success on them. Mothers would often lend their sons their necklaces hidden in the lapels of their hanfu as they took their official tests, while a groom’s parents would adorn their new daughter-in-law with jade jewelry to bestow upon the newlywed couple blessings of marital bliss and harmony. 

On nights like these, you liked to wander these grand, opulent hallways, lost in thought as the glimmering green gems twinkled from ceilings, pillars and statues.

The moon was bright tonight as you caught sight of Zayne, a royal court physician your family had connections to. 

(And who was also, your secret-not-so-secret lover). 

He was struggling under the weight of his documents, and you rushed forward to greet him, calling out his name. 

“Y/N—there you are,” he gave you a small smile, warmth twinkling behind his green eyes. The sheen of them reminded you of how jade shone. “What’re you doing up so late? The moon is bright tonight.”

You flushed, gathering yourself before you divulge your deepest thoughts to him. “I was up till yesterday night trying to read up on jade carving. Did you know the practice is diminishing?”

Zayne, though not much of a man of the arts, could concede on your astute observation. “I see,” he teased, “And you thought that by devouring clips of them, you might have a chance to save this dying art?” 

Used to his teasing, you huffed and wagged your finger. “At least I am dedicated to a cause that matters. Tell me, Mr. Zayne, don’t you have a passion you want to protect, too?”

At your question, his eyes softened.

“Perhaps.” He glanced at the number of documents in his hand. “I have some summons to work on. Maybe you might like to keep me company and tell me all about your discoveries of jade carving while I work?”

The offer sounded too good to resist. You followed him down the hallway and into the vacant space—an unoccupied room linking right to the court library. It was connected by a veranda, where the man-made lake ran around it, a shallow body of water meant for aesthetic purposes commissioned by the emperor himself. A pile of scrolls laid on the shiny, mahogany desk, and you realized too late that you were in his private office.

“Zayne—”

While the idea of spending more time with him was intriguing, you couldn't risk a court scandal by being seen with a man at such late hours. He didn’t stop you when you stood, though the look in his eyes held you back from leaving too soon.

“It is fine, Y/N. I have checked for guards and there are none at this hour. Besides, aren’t we both past the boundaries of such careless affection?”

He grabbed your hand, and you let him tug you closer. Sitting in his embrace, you relished in the secrecy of your meetings under the moon, this hidden fondness belonging only to you two. 

“I wish to hold you forever like this.” Zayne was not someone who waxed lyrical about his feelings, but tonight felt different.

Far more intimate.

His touch echoed with shades of absolute need when he tilted your face up, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I have a surprise for you,” he whispered.

Intrigued, you let him take your hand, stepping out of the balcony and onto the connected veranda. You hadn’t immediately noticed a line of candles sat by the edge of the water, too caught up in his embrace. Zayne led you right to the makeshift dock where an ornate boat rocked in the man-made lake, stepping on its deck first before holding out a hand to you. 

Taking his familiar, calloused palm in yours, you lost your footing for a split second, tumbling right into his arms. 

“Oh—”

“I got you,” he murmured, righting you on your slippered-feet.

Zayne made sure you were alright and tightened his hand on yours, taking you into the anterior single cabin, where a smaller version of his desk stood, the light of the moon illuminating his warm cheeks.

“I thought we could spend some time here—away from any prying eyes.”

A smile spread across your face, delighting at this romantic and secluded initiative.

“I see. So, you have me trapped right in your hands while I ramble on about jade carving?”

You should have known your lover always had a special trick up his sleeve. He wasn’t called the brightest official without his uncanny knack for deciphering what it is people around him truly wanted.

“No.” 

He gestured for you to sit on the plush cushions, and removed a box from the side of the hull, opening it. Bringing out paint brushes, scrolls, newly minted jade pendants and glass bowls which he filled with water. Zayne let you touch them, enamored by your bright gaze and excitement.

"You... remembered?"

He smiled. "Of course, I did."

Touching your cheek, he said, "When your lover develops a fixation on something, you do your best to try and satisfy her."

Pleased and slightly flattered, you turned your attention to the rows of jade waiting for you.

“Are we sending our wishes to be carved on these pendants?” 

Fondly, he nodded.

“Yes. I thought this would be a great step in our courtship—to have our wishes bestowed on these jade jewels for us to wear. A memento of our love.”

You flashed him a smile so bright, it could rival the moon up above.

Sitting down next to him, Zayne watched as you dipped your brush in ink, slowly filling up the scroll with your earthly desires which the jade carver would put onto these pendants. 

I wish for Zayne to always be healthy and happy, you fluidly etched onto the paper. I wish for him to find success in court. To grow in his filial piety and strength. May he always be kind, courteous and brave.

Glancing at him, you were surprised to find him dozing off, elbow perched on the mahogany desk, head laid resting against a closed palm. The lights from the palace veranda and the moon in the sky played with the shadows on his face, making him look younger than his years of twenty-seven. The innocent curve of his brow, the slight parting of his thin lips, stirred a desire within you. 

A need to push him and see how much he could take before he broke.

Grinning to yourself, you picked up the prep calligraphy brush, still dripping with cool water, and gently ran the bristles over his lower lip. Zayne grunted in his doze, but didn’t stir, exhausted from his duties to pay your foolery any mind. You smirked, wondering if he would feel it when you dragged the brush down his jaw.

Still—nothing. 

Besides a furrow in his brow, Zayne remained locked in his slumber. A part of you wondered if the sensation felt akin to cool wind brushing his skin, and you decided to up the ante. 

Taking the brush down to his neck, this time you managed to garner a sweet, sweet visceral reaction from him. 

Zayne’s nose twitched, a sound of consternation and… desire?... leaving his lips. 

He sighed. You paused.

Tucking your lower lip in between your teeth, you took the brush now to the hollow dip of his collarbones. Another sigh, another baited breath.

But, he didn’t open his eyes.

Growing bolder, you glided the brush down the groove of his toned chest, mesmerized by the silvery trail of water left behind—a delicate mark of your teasing on his pale skin.

A part of you wanted to see what his entire body would look like ‘painted’ with these slick marks; your curiosity mingled with a stirring desire to have him completely under your spell. 

As you dragged the damp brush down to his chest, intent on finishing up your canvas for the night, you felt the gentle grasp of his hand around your wrist, stopping your descent from going any lower.

“I see I woke up at the wrong time,” he teased.

Whatever remained of his nightly exhaustion dissipated, his breathtaking green eyes gauging your reaction with the ghost of a smirk tugging the corners of his mouth. 

Zayne’s skin and lips were tingling from the effects of your little ‘painting session’.

As much as the hunger inside of him was roaring to overcome you, he wanted to see what you would do next; how else you would surprise him. 

Deciding to tease him even more, you dropped the calligraphy brush, hearing it roll onto the barge’s floor somewhere under the desk. You slid your fingers across his hand, feeling his touch gliding on your open palm.

“Carving jade requires a clear mind,” you murmured, your fingertips breaching the hem of his ornate cuffs, touching the warm skin of his wrist underneath the clothes. “This is a test.”

Zayne was not expecting you to tighten your grip on his wrist, or for you to boldly drag him on top of you. 

His gasp brushed the tender shell of your ear, the heat of his body on top of yours made you shiver.

“How bold you are, little one,” your lover murmured, settling on his elbow to gaze down at you, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “You are quite commendable indeed—getting a court official into such a… compromising position.”

The moon glowed, the broadness of his shoulders eclipsing its luminescent rays from fully spilling onto both your tangled bodies.

“I merely wanted to share my passions with a certain court official, but it appears he found the entire ordeal boring,” you quipped back, throwing in an eye roll for added effect. 

His thin lips twitched in amusement, the hand on your cheek moving down to briefly cup your jaw. “Alright, then. Why don’t we make your little session a bit more interesting for me?” 

Before you could ask, he took the discarded brush you had dropped, dipping it in a pot of water. Dabbing off the excess, he touched the firm tip to your cheek, his jade green eyes darkening with an unnamed emotion.

“You speak while I simply… listen... and return your little painting favor. Whoever can retain their composure without breaking first will win a month’s worth of rabbit candy.”

Not one to refute his games or back down from a dare, you raised a brow. “Are you questioning my resolve, Mr. Zayne?” 

He forced back a huff of laughter, trying to retain his equanimity. 

(Which was steadily chipping away the more you provoked him). 

Zayne hummed. “I do not question it. I want to test it.”

As he spoke, he glided the cool paintbrush from your cheek to jaw. “And to make this more fun for me since I have not heard of the intricacies of jade carving, I want to test your knowledge further with this—”

From his lapels, he removed a silk ribbon, one which you recognized to wrap up mooncake boxes. 

Flushing warmly from the implications of what he wanted to do next, you attempted to keep your voice steady, but failed.

“Playing dirty, Mr. Zayne? I never mistook you for such a bad sport.”

A glimmer of mischief ignited in his eyes, and he placed the paintbrush down next to your neck, coaxing you to raise your head so he could wrap the soft strip around your eyes.

“You are always testing my resolve. You should know I always repay the favor.” 

Despite the intensity of his request, a playful intimacy remained between the two of you. Whatever happened, you always trusted Zayne to put your wellbeing and dignity above everything else.

“Alright.” 

You raised your head, letting him tie the makeshift blindfold around your eyes. 

Hidden in darkness, you could only rely on your senses of touch and hearing to guide you on what was happening. You heard the rustle of the paintbrush picked up again by your ear, felt the damp tip on your jaw. Zayne glided the brush down the side of your neck, secretly enjoying your quiet gasp of surprise.

“Now, little one,” he hummed. “Tell me all about the intricacies of jade carving since you know them so very well.”

Your heart was pounding, but you managed to keep your calm when you recited the first fact to pop into your mind. 

“U-um… j-jades were known as the ‘essence of heaven and earth’.” Your gasp melted into a stifled moan at the sensation of his warm lips chasing after the cool trickles of water left behind.

“I see. Enlightening. Do tell me more.”

His husky voice brushed the shell of your ear, and your stomach tightened in knots. 

Unfair. Zayne was unfairly using your weakness against you.

He knew you were always sensitive to his kisses; his touch. 

A bead of clear water trickles down your neck, and you struggle to think of the next fact as his lips follow the winding trail the liquid carved along your skin, each kiss soft and deliberate.

“Jade has a sharp resonance and that is why it was often used as chimes—mhm.”

He nuzzled his nose into your pulse point, inhaling the sweet scent of jasmine from your skin. 

“I am listening,” he reassured, and you could imagine the smirk playing on his lips. “And I am interested. What else is there for me to learn about jade, little one?”

As you fought hard to recall another fact, your hands instinctively tightened, crumpling the soft material of his hanfu in your grasp. 

“With n-new drilling tools, jade can now be made in larger scales of production—”

The sensation of bristles on your skin interrupted your train of thought. Nothing could have prepared you for the sting of his teeth biting down on your neck. Zayne’s heated breath caressed your sensitive throat, leaving goosebumps on your skin in their wake. 

“I think I have quite the knowledgeable grasp on this matter, little one.”

In a swift yet gentle motion, the blindfold melted off your eyes, and you caught Zayne gazing down at you affectionately. 

The damp brush and these damn games were discarded to the side in favor of him dragging you onto his lap, letting you sit astride him. 

Warmth suffused across your cheeks, and your entire body was tingling from the sensation of the rough bristles mingling with the contrasting tenderness of his lips on your skin. You felt the tension tightening in your belly, tensing the muscles on your thighs wrapped on either side of his waist.

Zayne took this opportunity to roam his hands across your back, down your sides—feeling the smoothness of your robe underneath his touch; the way you shivered as if caught in a chill.

“Are you afraid?” 

His gentle whisper was followed by a sweet kiss on your temple.

Yearning sparked from the tips of your fingers down to your toes.

You shook your head.

“No, Zayne.” 

Smiling to himself, Zayne cradled your head in his hands, nudging you further up the plush pillows he prepared for tonight. The sight of you, all sprawled out with the warm palace lights and the shining moon illuminating your flushed cheeks, looking far too ravishing for your own good filled his mind with a light-headed daze.

He couldn’t believe you were here, that you were his. 

A low grumble resonated from his chest, and he pressed his lips to your ear, delighting in your little shiver in response.

“You have to forgive me, little one. I cannot control myself when I am with you.”

His traced circles onto your cheek with his thumb, absorbing your hitched breath, the way your body shifted under his broader, muscular one. 

As he spoke, he planted a tender kiss on your cheek. 

“It is not my fault that someone gets distracted easily when carving intricate patterns… and appreciating the moon.” 

He pressed another soft kiss to your temple, worshiping you with his entire soul. 

Never mind that the bright lunar rays were burning into his skin. Or, he felt the unseeing eye studying his every move. 

All that mattered to him in this instant was you—your sounds, your sighs, the look of desire and love in your eyes. 

It was everything and more that Zayne could wish on his fallen luck. He wanted nothing more than to claim you under his god’s eye, defying logic and order to demonstrate his undying love for you. 

“Are you feeling what I am feeling as well, my little love?”

He looked to you for confirmation.

Consent.

You nodded wordlessly, threading your fingers through his hair.

“Yes, Zayne. I feel it.”

That was all the permission he needed. Zayne leaned in and captured your lips in a heated kiss, his desire for you pouring into every movement. Every breath. 

He needed to make you his completely; needed to love you with his entire being. 

His lips touched your ear again, his scratchy whisper igniting your desires. His nimble fingers, deft from years of practiced writing and studies, twined with yours, holding you impossibly close.

Another tender kiss right on your cheek. “Then we will just have to blame the craftsman… and the moon.”

Careful yet firm hands shed your robes from your body, the rocking boat adding momentum to your every movement. Zayne took his time to undress you, marveling as inches of flawless, moon-soaked skin appeared before his eyes. Taking his time to run his fingers over your body, he breathed you in, his eyes fluttering to half-mast as he savored this moment of peace. 

When your body was fully bared to him, he sucked in a deep breath.

“Beautiful,” he mumbled.

Zayne’s hands roamed your body with a newfound possessiveness, his expression a mix of tender yearning.

The sight itself was too much for you to bear; the shame, lust, and need coalescing together to bring you to your knees. 

You tugged him closer, unable to stand another minute apart from him. 

He fell right into your embrace, your eager hands undoing the loop of his hanfu, baring his full chest, dragging it down his shoulders. 

The act of undressing one another, meant for the marital doings of a husband and wife, felt natural when it came to Zayne.

Such love shared between the two of you sprung forth like a fountain, effortless in cascading your bodies in ebbs and flows. Zayne kissed you like you would disappear if he opened his eyes, his lips soft and tender against yours.

It made your heart full to bursting, overwhelmed by the love of it all.

Taking the lead, Zayne helped to reposition you on his lap, this new angle allowing you to control what came next.

The moon was his unwilling accomplice, painting you in the most alluring light. Its rays shone brightly, illuminating the brightness of your hair, your skin.

You gleamed like treasured jade right in his arms, and Zayne would never let you go again. Not in this life, or the next.

You were his to treasure, to hold. To cherish and love—his obedience to Astra be damned.

He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, bringing you into his arms; feeling you lift your hips and gingerly take him. The tightness of you, enveloping him slowly, drove him mad with need.

But, Zayne reined his lust in, focused on your pleasure. He would never do anything to hurt you; all he desired for was to see you happy. 

You are doing so well, he praised, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. Good girl. That’s it—go on and make yourself feel good.

Emboldened by his praise, you braced your hands on his chest, wincing at the stretch. 

It wasn’t the first time you had taken him, your months of courtship blooming into a rapid need of each other.

But, it was the first time you were doing it so publicly, boldly declaring your claim on one another.

If anyone walked by, word would soon reach the wrong people of this escapade. But, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

You wanted Zayne, needed him like you needed air.

He was as enamored as you were, watching you take him. 

You were a vision above him, a moonlit dream he could only wish to hold onto for the rest of his life.

“You truly are the most beautiful sight I have ever seen,” he breathed, placing his palm on your cheek. The melted look of devotion in his eyes was second to how secure and safe he made you feel.

With Zayne, nothing was closed off or too much—everything was in order, right and sweet as it was meant to be.

Your head lolled back, the pleasure taking center stage to this act of consummation burning your veins.

“Zayne… you feel so good…”

The sound of his lover’s praise drove him into a frenzy, and he let his immaculate self-restraint slip; giving into the vulnerability. 

Zayne’s beautiful emerald eyes glimmered, taking in the heavenly sight of your smooth skin, your hard nipples carving a silhouette of erotic desire in the barely-lit night. 

He leaned up to gently run his tongue over them, trailing goosebumps across your chest. You moaned, lost in the haze of the pleasure, putty to his whims.

“I cannot believe you all mine…” His voice broke, trailing off into awe. 

Dedicated to showing you his entire devotion, Zayne let his innermost thoughts flow freely. 

“The way the moon shines upon you… the luster of your hair in the night… gods above, you feel like a fever dream, my love.”

A soft whimper left your kiss-swollen lips. Zayne ran his thumb over your lower lip. 

“Do you feel it?” His breath is heavy and desire-filled.

He could not wait to see you coming undone for him.

“How much do I belong to you?” Infused with yearning, his words made you tremble. “I am all yours tonight. I want to give you everything you desire.”

Zayne…

He grunted, the sound of his name on your lips a glimpse of heaven opening up.

Sweat beaded on his brow, a droplet trailing from between your breasts to roll down towards where you were connected.

Zayne halted its path with his tongue, lapping at it gently. He ran his tongue over the curve of your jaw, across your pulse point—stopping to nip and suck the tender flesh until he was sure the marks of his affection would bloom upon your skin.

The idea of anyone taking one look at you and immediately deducing you belonged to him drove him wild with desire.

He wanted to mark you, inside and out.

You belonged to him and no one else.

Not to the world, not to your people or your books.

But, to him.

And he belonged to you. 

The moon rays seemed to blister his skin, an angry curse waiting to consume him whole. But, Zayne didn’t care for the warning, making a mockery of his god by claiming his beloved right under His light.

He brought you in for a tender kiss, just as your walls shuddered around him. 

The romantic atmosphere, the way his tender gaze bore into your soul… was all too much for you to hold back.

But, before you could come undone, Zayne stilled your hips, a pinch on his brow.

He captured your lips in a heated kiss, one which silenced your moans and protests, giving you what you longed for.

Zayne picked up his pace, surprising you with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“That look on your face,” he murmured huskily. “I love it. I love when you rely on me to come undone, my love.”

Your toes curled, his heated words making a shiver of need run down your spine.

“Zayne…”

Yes, my love. He moved his hand between your thighs, teasing you with delicate circles on your flushed nub.

What is it you desire?

“You.” 

He smirked, hearing the desire and need in your tone.

“You have me.”

The ball of heat tightening in your belly demanded to be released.

No… I need you in a different way.

In what way? He raised a brow, looking irresistibly smug. 

Your lover intended for you to say it out loud. To tell him explicitly what it is you needed.

Wetting your lips, you shifted your hips, feeling the head of his length graze your sweet spot.

You winced, and murmured, I need you to make me come undone. 

But, Zayne was adamant on drawing out your needs.

“Just a little longer,” he promised. “I swear it will feel better once it is drawn out.”

You trusted him, letting him take his time.

“You’re pleasing me so well tonight, my love,” he praised in a soft voice, the look of devotion in his eyes never wavering. “I think I can give you what you are yearning for…”

However, his promises came with a caveat: 

“Only if you beg for it nicely.”

A jolt of arousal sparked through your bloodstream, tightening your walls around him.

Zayne grunted, his composure hanging by a loose thread.

The circles on your clit grew sloppier, a sign of his unraveling.

You couldn’t hold back the need any longer, digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Please…” your thin whisper illuminated the dark interior of the barge. 

Please, Zayne. I need this… I need you…

Not one to push his beloved too hard, Zayne relented instantly; his chest swelling with pride at your obedient response.

Surging forward, he wrapped a hand around your waist, bringing you down onto the plush pillows as he took over.

Undulating his hips, he felt you falling apart underneath him—your toes curling, fingers lacing through his hair, tugging hard. 

Already coming undone? I can feel your control slipping, my love…

Yes, yes. You chanted, squeezing your eyes shut. 

Languidly nuzzling your neck, Zayne’s command was a heated whisper into your ear.

I know you need this—I can feel how much you need it. Let go, my love. 

It was the permission you needed. In an instant, you spilled over, following his command, always his obedient, sweet lover. 

He worked you through your contractions, feeling your entire body tensing under his touch. His cock splitting your walls over and over again drove you to the peak of your second release, and Zayne took pride in how you dug your heels into his lower back, crying out his name.

The official didn’t care who would be hearing; if the universe would conspire later to end him for his disobedience.

He couldn't think about anything else, not when you slumped into his arms, his voice a low hum; mumbling reassurances into the hollow of your throat. 

Careful to pull out and release into his own palm, Zayne didn’t care for your muffled outcry. He wouldn’t dare besmirch your body with his seed inside or out—prioritizing your dignity above all else.

The dark-haired man was careful to wipe his release on a spare silk handkerchief he brought onto the barge, taking another one to wipe the mess you made between your thighs.

Sated and glowing from your release, you let him work on you, quietly enjoying the devotion in his eyes and touch. 

Zayne’s smile was soft and hazy as he pulled you on top of him, letting your head rest on his chest. 

Longer, sturdier and calloused fingers traced patterns on your back, watching how the moon shone through the slanted windows, drawing shadows over the expanse of your skin.

His arms wrapped tightly around, pulling you deeper into his embrace, unwilling to let go. 

Outside the boat, a storm began to brew, dark clouds closing in and concealing the moon from sight. 

The balminess of the night gave way to a blessed, cooling drizzle, enveloping the boat much like his arms, keeping you safe and grounded. 

With the light of the moon extinguished, the glow of your smile became the brightest thing in the night as you leaned in, cradling his face, 

“Are you alright?” he asked softly. 

His love for you shone brighter than any celestial being could, limitless and profound, as he lost himself in the warmth of your touch.

“I am perfect.”

Not one to give him a moment of peace, you cheekily quipped:

"So, does this mean you are giving me a month's supply of rabbit candy?"

Zayne's eyes twinkled, and he chuckled, shaking his head at your question.

"If I recall," he turned you over, pinning you back onto the pillows, desire alighting his usually stoic and steady gaze.

"It was not I whose composure wavered, my little one."

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost on other websites and claim as your own. do not feed my content to AI.

[creature-wizard]

"How can I be a witch/pagan without falling for conspiracy theories/New Age cult stuff?" starter kit

Posts & Articles

Check your conspiracy theory. Does any of it sound like this?

Check your conspiracy theory part two: double, double, boil and trouble.

QAnon is an old form of anti-Semitism in a new package, experts say

Some antisemitic dogwhistles to watch out for

Eugenicist and bioessentialist beliefs about magic

New Age beliefs that derive from racist pseudoscience

The New Age concept of ascension - what is it?

A quick intro to starseeds

Starseeds: Nazis in Space?

Reminder that the lizard alien conspiracy theory is antisemitism

The Ancient Astronaut Hypothesis is Racist and Harmful

The Truth About Atlantis

Why the Nazis were obsessed with finding the lost city of Atlantis

The Nazis' love affair with the occult

Occultism in Nazism

Red flag names in cult survivor resources/groups (all of them are far right conspiracy theorists/grifters)

The legacy of implanted Satanic abuse ‘memories’ is still causing damage today

Why Satanic Panic never really ended

Dangerous Therapy: The Story of Patricia Burgus and Multiple Personality Disorder

Remember a Previous Life? Maybe You Have a Bad Memory

A Case of Reincarnation - Reexamined

Crash and Burn: James Leininger Story Debunked

Debunking Myths About Easter/Ostara

Just How Pagan is Christmas, Really?

The Origins of the Christmas Tree

No, Santa Claus Is Not Inspired By Odin

Why Did The Patriarchal Greeks And Romans Worship Such Powerful Goddesses?

No, Athena Didn't Turn Medusa Into A Monster To Protect Her

Who Was the First God?

Were Ancient Civilizations Conservative Or Liberal?

How Misogyny, Homophobia, and Antisemitism Influence Transphobia

Podcasts & Videos

BS-Free Witchcraft

Angela's Symposium

ESOTERICA

ReligionForBreakfast

Weird Reads With Emily Louise

It's Probably (not!) Aliens

Conspirituality

Miniminuteman

Behind The Bastards

[theladycarpathia]

I've seen too much stuff about Clipboard Buck and Tommy lately to not write this.

His boyfriend on a power trip should not be hot. 

“See,” Chim mutters under his breath, leaning over the rail to watch Buck down below. “I warned you.”

“So you did,” Tommy agrees, keeping his true thoughts to himself. Buck has the clipboard clenched in one hand, pen in the other, and directs a reluctant Hen and Eddie as they perform checks on the ambulance and the ladder. 

“He’s a menace,” Chim continues, with feeling. “He’s a dictator!”

“Uh huh,” Tommy says, watching the furrow in Buck’s forehead as he makes another tick. He gestures furiously towards something in one of the ladder’s compartments and Eddie puts down the jaws to argue back. 

“We keep hiding the clipboards,” Chim says darkly. “I don’t know where he keeps finding them all.”

“Unfortunately for you, I think that’s something they sell at most major retailers,” Tommy quips and rests his arms on the railing. 

He’s worked under power-crazed maniacs. He was in the army, and then he had Captain Gerrard. His own father was one fully for his way or the highway. 

Buck being like this should not be hot. And yet all Tommy can think about is lying naked on the bed while Buck does things to him from a very meticulous and organized list. 

Eddie makes an obscene gesture behind Buck’s back and Tommy smirks. 

“And this is Buck on a regular Tuesday,” Chim says and pops his gum. “Wait until you see Buck in an emergency or organize an event. It’s a good thing you stopped by. You need to know these kinds of things about a person before you get serious.”

“I’m glad to see you too, Chim,” Tommy says, although stopping to chat to Chimney hadn’t been on his agenda for today. He and Buck have had conflicting shifts lately, and they’ve barely seen each other. Texts and a few brief phone calls have been all they’ve had to get them by and Tommy finally had enough of it. Bobby doesn’t mind Tommy swinging by the firehouse and seeing Buck if they’re not on a call. And today is apparently so quiet that Buck has time to do a thorough inspection of the vehicles. 

“Are you?” Chim asks suddenly, twisting towards Tommy with a surprisingly calculating look. “Getting serious?”

Tommy just shrugs. He knows the answer, he’s just not entirely willing to discuss it yet. But it’s been long enough now that they keep toothbrushes and few essentials at each other’s houses, that they have evenings where they sprawl together in front of the TV, just happy to be together. Tommy knows about his sister, the loss of Daniel, the myth of Abby and has even read Taylor Kelly’s book. 

Which he did in bed, reading several segments out loud, much to Buck’s horror and embarrassment. 

“You seem to be,” Chim comments, and down below Hen throws a roll of surgical tape at Buck. “Not that I’m complaining. We like you, Buck likes you, you flew us into a hurricane…”

“I like him too,” Tommy says, because honestly he’s been smitten since Buck came up with that stupid motto back in the helicopter. “Funny to think that Evan and I never met before as he only got to join the 118 because I left.”

“You got there in the end,” Chim says. “I mean this as nicely as possible but you leaving worked out great for me. If you hadn’t left, there wouldn’t have been a space to fill. If Buck hadn’t joined us…”

“Then you would never have met Maddie when she came to LA,” Tommy says, understanding instantly. Funny how something that simple has changed so many lives. He doesn’t regret moving to Harbor, even with the closeness that the 118 has now. He wouldn’t be who he is otherwise, without that space to accept himself. If he didn’t have that, maybe he wouldn’t be the person brave enough to kiss Buck. “I get it.”

“Although,” Chim continues, still watching Buck down below. “We wouldn’t have the Clipboard Dictator if you had stayed…”

“You love it really,” Tommy says, because he knows Chim loves Buck. But then Buck’s eyes swing upwards, towards the first floor and the two of them. 

“Oh shit,” Chimney hisses and then ducks below the railing. It doesn’t work because Buck just shouts “Chim, it’s glass! I can see you!”

“That wasn’t your best idea,” Tommy says and then offers Chimney a hand. “Come on. I’ll go down with you. Maybe I can make the tyrant a little bit sweeter.”

Chimney doesn’t look soothed by this. 

“Hello, Chimney,” Hen says pointedly, sitting on the back of the ambulance. “Nice to see you. How funny you happened to be hiding in the bathroom when Buck gets his clipboard out.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Chimney mutters, eying Buck’s clipboard with apprehension. “Kinard, save me.”

“Evan,” Tommy says, snagging his boyfriend’s free wrist with one hand. “I came by to see you. Maybe we give the workforce a five minute break?”

Buck frowns down at his list. “I wanted to finish this before Bobby was done with his paperwork,” he says before looking suspiciously at his friends. “And if they leave, I don’t think they’ll come back.”

“Damn straight,” Eddie says under his breath. Hen just looks innocent, although Tommy is pretty sure they’re about to see three empty firefighter shaped spaces. 

“Just ten minutes,” Tommy cajoles, stroking the soft part of Buck’s wrist with his thumb. “I haven’t seen you all week.” He drops his voice down for the next part, hoping that Buck is as desperate to see him. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Buck practically throws the clipboard at Eddie. 

“Taking a break!” he says cheerfully, half dragging Tommy behind the engine. “Be back in ten or I will hunt you down.”

“Will he do it with a chainsaw, I wonder?” Hen has time to ask (Tommy feels as though he should follow up on this later), before all three of them vanish. Tommy doesn’t see because he’s pressing his boyfriend up against the gleaming red of the engine and kissing the breath out of him. 

“What can we do in ten minutes?” Buck asks, eyes glittering, running his hands up and down Tommy’s chest. 

“Probably not a lot, as we’re in the open, in a firehouse, during your workday,” Tommy admits begrudgingly. A week is a very long time. Buck’s salacious texts and suggestive selfies haven’t been enough. “But we have time off in two days and I want to spend every second with you.”

“Good,” Buck says and the next few minutes pass very quickly. Buck tastes of coffee and he keeps both hands planted on Tommy’s rear - if he keeps squeezing like that, Tommy is going to have difficulty walking out of here. 

“I think we order takeout and movies and don’t leave the house for twenty-four hours,” Tommy suggests, just as Buck licks the shell of his ear. Fuck. This kid will be the death of him. 

“Fine by me,” Buck says and pulls him in for one last kiss. “But I really should get back to work. Call you when I’m off?”

There’s such obvious suggestion in his voice that want searches in Tommy’s gut almost instantly. He pushes it down and strokes Buck’s rather red jaw. 

“Can’t wait,” he says. “And Evan? Go easy on your friends.”

But the others are waiting for them, standing in a line by the stairs, obvious glee written all over their faces. Eddie is holding Buck’s clipboard and Tommy deftly removes it from his grasp. 

“Why, Mr Buckley,” Hen says, looking them up and down with a smirk. “That’s not a proper use of company time.”

“Ha ha,” Buck says mutinously, and with far more confidence than someone wearing a ridiculous amount of beard burn should have. “We have a lot to do. Where’s the…?”

Tommy hastily recaps the pen and hands it back to Buck, as though nothing is changed. He’d feel bad about it if it was an official document. But as it was Buck’s handwritten list of chores, he thinks the others might get some amusement out of it. 

He kisses Buck on the cheek and waves goodbye, quickly ducking out of the firehouse before Buck notices. 

“Who vandalized my list?” Buck shrieks indignantly and Tommy just skips all the way back to his truck.

[elliespectacular]

Do you still have that Jellicle name generator saved anywhere? Some friends and I used it for our OCs and it was an absolute blast!

The name I got was Callio the convivial cat, which is short for Calliope, who I played in Xanadu. She has a whole costume and everything now!

Even if you don't have it anymore, tysm for making it ;-;

Xanadu mention! Also I do still have it saved! This one is revised a little and I might make more changes later, but here it is in text form:

Jellicle Name Generator

This will give you a name that is relatively in-line with the naming conventions seen in Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats by T.S. Eliot and later adapted into the musical Cats by Andrew Lloyd Webber - and unlike those shitty "last name and your birth month" name generators, this one won't doxx you in the process.

Before we begin, a bit of terminology we'll be using: - Portmanteau: Turning multiple words into one word linked by a sound or letter. Compelling Television = Compellevision. Punk Squid = Squnk - Smoosh: Combine words by simply removing the space and (optionally) changing the word positions. Country Jester = countryjester - Prefix: Goes before the name, like Mr. or Captain - Suffix: Goes after the name, like Jr. or The Great - Cat-like term: Something associated with cats. Meow, Whisker, Bell, Claw, Scratch, etc.

FIRST: Roll a D20 to determine your base name

An uncommon person’s first name

First syllable of a common last name + a unit of measurement. Portmanteau 'em.

Short, dangerous noun + a non-dangerous profession. Smoosh 'em.

Two Latin words. Portmanteau 'em.

A simple present-tense verb + sophisticated person's first name. Smoosh 'em.

Cat-like term + sophisticated person's first name. Smoosh 'em.

Combine two short nouns, then add "-er" "-ie" or "-est" to the end.

Think of an actor you like. Shorten their first name to its shortest nickname.

A medical term spelled incorrectly.

A food you liked as a kid + a pretentious word. Smoosh 'em.

A figure of legend/myth. Remove one syllable and any spaces.

An older person's first name that isn't common today.

Last name of a historical figure + a silly word. Portmanteau 'em.

A kids' name with 2 or more syllables + that name again without the first syllable + an onomatopoeia. Portmanteau 'em if you can.

A silly word + the first name of a former coworker. Portmanteau 'em.

A kind of public event + a cat-like term. Smoosh 'em.

Something from ancient history. Shorten what you came up with into a single word.

Something you do when you're nervous. Take that verb and add "-er" to the end to make it a noun.

Silly word + hostile-sounding verb. Portmanteau 'em.

Two silly words with 2+ syllables each. Smoosh 'em.

SECOND: Roll another D20 for flavor

Before you roll, consider how your name sounds without any additional flavor. If it's fine on its own, feel free to leave it as-is. Otherwise, roll on!

Suffix - An upsettingly average last name

Suffix - Think of a hobby. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Prefix - A short adjective

Suffix - Think of an adjective. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Prefix - Choose Mr. Mrs. Ms. Mx. or something similar

Suffix - Think of a color. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Prefix - Any one-syllable word. Repeat the word a second time, adding or replacing the first consonant with that of your base name.

Suffix - Think of any non-proper noun. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Suffix - it's the word Cat

Suffix - it's the word Kitty

Suffix - it's the word Kitten

Prefix - Choose "Sir" "Madam" "Captain" or something similar

Prefix - Choose "Lord" "Lady" "Noble" or something similar

Prefix - His/Her/Their Majesty (or any pronoun you prefer)

Prefix - His/Her/Their Grace (or any pronoun you prefer)

Prefix - Mc

Prefix - Van

Prefix - Von

Prefix - De

Suffix - Any cat-like term

And you're done!*

*This is as much a creative exercise as it is a "generator" so feel free to mess with the formula and/or let your result inspire something more original. Add multiple layers of flavor if you want. The rules are not rigid. I recommend generating a few names and picking your favorite!

[taylorswiftstyle]

Chiefs vs Broncos | Kansas City, MO | November 10, 2024

Versace ‘Tweed Masculine Blazer’ - $3,350.00 David Yurman 'Chatelaine Heart Stud Earrings in Garnet' - $800.00 Victoria's Secret ‘Classic Silk Corset’ - $34.99 (clearance) Louis Vuitton 'Tambour Watch' - $54,000.00 Retrouvai ‘Ruby and Diamond Heirloom Bezel Ring’ - $32,970.00 Effy Jewelry ‘Ruby Royale Ruby and Diamond Crossover Ring’ - $3,060.00 David Yurman 'Petite Pavé Pinky Ring' - $2,400.00 Versace ‘Tweed Mini Skirt’ - $1,695.00 Versace ‘Medusa 95 Small Tote Bag’ - $2,190.00 Versace ‘Medusa 95 Leather Knee High Boots’ - $1,990.00

This entire outfit, chic knee high boots included that perfectly sandwich-style her bustier top and bag, was an immediate copy + paste for me. Very well played.

I also have to say I love the “tension” in this look. You have very ladylike elements here like a preppy chic Heathers/Clueless blazer/skirt set paired with a ladylike French twist updo that are juxtaposed with boldly confident details like a (yet another TTPD-approved) bustier and pointed stiletto heeled knee high boots. And it all works! This blazer/skirt set absolutely has my heart - an immediate copy + paste for me personally.

You may note the number of Medusa pieces that Taylor is wearing or carrying here in this outfit. Historically, the Medusa motif is iconic within the house of Versace and is one of their longest-standing logos. Gianni Versace was inspired by the story of Medusa thanks to the Italian ruins he grew up by that often featured her visage. Versace is a house built on a sensual, mystical allure and their designs are often marked by opulence and glamour. Elevating the Greek myth Medusa and her uncompromising story of “eternal beauty, defiance, and strength” as one of the most enduring parts of the Versace house history, Gianni Versace said he selected Medusa because “she has come to represent unapolotetic authority and female empowerment.” In a sense, I love that Taylor’s game day fashion has evolved a ways from the unassuming white tank top, denim shorts, and sneakers we first saw in September 2023. Her choices continue to reflect a growing boldness, confidence, and ease in taking up space.

Taylor previously carried this bag while on vacation in Lake Como, Italy over the summer.

Over the last year, Taylor has upped her jewelry game and has explored the art of the stack in various cateegories (necklaces, earrings, bracelets). But one category that is entirely new to her? Watches. In my memory, the only time I can recall Taylor coming close to watches is when they were formatted into different settings like, say, a vintage watch face restrung onto a necklace pendant.

The Medusa motif is not only isolated to this particular moment for Taylor. As part of the Eras Tour, the show opens with Taylor wearing a series of Versace bodysuits that are styled with coordinating necklaces - including a Medusa chain.

Repeating motifs is all part of developing an era’s consistent, recognizable style. The item of this era? Easily the bustier/corset. It immediately tickled my brain that this particular corset is nearly indistinguishable from another black satin one that Taylor wore to another Chiefs game last season also against the Denver Broncos. That particular one had a zipper front, but the seam lines are incredibly similar. If intentional, what an incredible way to build a “slideshow” demonstrating her ongoing presence at these games and how far yet consistent she’s been in her attendance over the last year.

The brand here was also nostalgia overload for me. Taylor previously performed at two past Victoria’s Secret Fashion Shows (2013 and 2014) and in 2016 wore a ton of gear from the brand’s athletic line. The price tag here also taps into one of Taylor’s signature style pillars: the high/low.

Photo by David Eulitt via Getty Images

[fortunxa]

The symbol

Jinx x fem!reader

summary: “Piltover saw her as a terrorist, and Zaun’s rhetoric had twisted her into a martyr while she was still alive. She was a ghost haunting two cities, a myth both sides needed alive or dead.” Jinx. The loose cannon. The symbol.

cw: angst, >4k words, buckle up

author’s note: This whole fanfic is based off of ONE (1) clip of Jinx looking sad in the s2 trailer, call me dramatic.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

At first, it was animosity that sparked between Jinx and you—a collision of egos in a city that thrived on confrontation. You weren’t a stranger to her troublemaker reputation, nor were you safe from her seemingly endless pranks. Your every encounter was charged, filled with barbed comments and sharp glances. She reveled in your irritation, finding joy in ruffling your feathers.

Yet each time you clashed, you also learned a little more about each other. Your differences started sparking curiosity instead of just annoyance, and beneath the surface, something began to shift. There were moments when you caught a glimpse of the vulnerability that lurked behind Jinx’s bravado—a fleeting expression that hinted at a deeper story.

As the weeks turned into months, the sharp edges of your relationship began to soften. Your bickering became more playful, the insults laced with laughter rather than anger. Slowly, what had once been hatred turned into friendship. You became an unlikely duo, navigating the mayhem of Zaun side by side. Jinx introduced you to a world of spontaneity and mischief. She taught you how to embrace the chaos rather than fear it. In return, you grounded her, offering a safe space amidst the storms of her life—a place where she could let her guard down. Where she was wild, you were steady; and together, you balanced each other out.

It was only a matter of time before your friendship gave way to something more complex, of course. You spent countless nights together, talking until dawn, revealing pieces of yourselves you had long kept hidden, and sharing dreams that stretched beyond the gritty streets of Zaun.

Jinx carried a lot of scars, some visible, most hidden. You never pushed, never demanded to know the whole story, never made her relive it, never asked for more than she was ready to give. You had a quiet understanding of her, a patience that she found both infuriating and comforting. She wasn’t used to people sticking around, and she didn’t think she could care about someone like that again. But you made her believe, if only for a moment, that there was something more to life than just survival. You would sit beside her, stitching up wounds in silence, your touch gentle and reassuring. You knew how to handle her moods, the unpredictable bursts of frustration. You never tried to fix it. You just were. And somehow, that was enough.

But that was before Jinx blew up half the council, and everything went to shit.

“You have the chance to rally the undercity together.” You can still recall Sevika’s words. “You’re a symbol.” And you almost scoffed at the idea. Your Jinx becoming a symbol for the city that villainized her to no end? They didn’t deserve that. How could they, after already dooming her once before? But sticking inaccurate labels was their forte. In the end, this one stuck, too.

And so Jinx disappeared beneath the weight of their faith.

For Zaunites, she had become more than just a rogue with a penchant for destruction—she really was a symbol, a rallying cry against the oppression of Piltover. They thought she fought for them, for a cause bigger than herself.

But she never asked for any of it. She never wanted to be anyone’s icon. You knew that better than anyone.

To her, it was just noise.

Your Jinx never cared about the revolution—not in the way people expected her to, anyway. She wasn’t in it for justice or freedom. Her motives were rooted in something far more personal: revenge. She had no grand vision, no dreams of liberation. All she had was the cold satisfaction of making Piltover suffer the way it made her suffer. She wanted to tear apart the illusion of perfection that cloaked the grand City of Progress, to make its citizens feel the same fear and destruction that had once consumed her. It was the only time she felt in control. In the chaos, she could forget the nightmares, the past, and even herself for a while. She could become the whirlwind, unstoppable and feared, rather than the broken girl who used to beg for things to make sense.

Yet now, Zaun saw her as its hero. Its champion. And Jinx couldn’t stand it. The citizens looked to her like she had some grand plan, like she would lead them to independence. The weight of their expectations pressed down on her, suffocating her more than any chain or cell ever could.

On the flip side, the enforcers wanted her dead. Posters with her face plastered the city, patrols hunted her down relentlessly, and there was nowhere left to hide. She was clever and cunning, but there were only so many laps she could run around them before her lungs would give out.

So, you did your best to push Jinx to stay one step ahead of everyone trying to either kill her or claim her. You dealt with the little things—finding safehouses when it was too dangerous to stay in one place, gathering supplies, and making sure she had somewhere to disappear when things got too heated. You were resourceful, calm under pressure, and always thinking ahead. But how could you be anything else in those dire times? You couldn’t afford to falter. Not now. Not when Jinx needed you to stay afloat. You had unwavering loyalty despite the harsh words that slipped past her lips when her emotions overflowed. Beneath it all, she was still the same girl—the one who still dreamed of something better, who still laughed with you in the quiet moments, who still loved you.

You could see her exhaustion, the way her mask would crack just a little when she came back home bruised from another close call with the enforcers. And you’d hold her during those times, let her cry and sob and shake in your arms. It was just the two of you—she was safe. But no matter how real and vulnerable she was in the small hours of the night, the morning always came, and with it, the chaos behind Jinx’s name.

And in that chaos, she would live. And in that chaos, she would die, little by little.

Piltover saw her as a terrorist, and Zaun’s rhetoric had twisted her into a martyr while she was still alive. She was a ghost haunting two cities, a myth both sides needed alive or dead.

And in all of it, Jinx wanted nothing more than to disappear—to vanish from the world she had once desperately tried to belong to. She wasn’t anyone’s leader or scapegoat—she didn’t even want to be remembered. She was just tired. Tired of running, tired of being the person they all demanded her to be. You could see it in the way she looked at you sometimes, like she wanted to say something, like she was planning a way out that didn’t involve pulling you down with her. But you had made your choice a long time ago. You weren’t going anywhere, you wouldn’t walk away from her.

“Whatever happens, I’m here,” you’d tell her when the world outside felt too loud. “I’m not leaving.” And the tension in Jinx’s body unwinded, even if just a little, as if those simple words were the only thing keeping her grounded. It was in those moments that you knew you were doing something right, even if you couldn’t fight her battles for her.

At night, when the adrenaline of violence faded, she was haunted by the memories—ghosts of those she’d lost, faces of the people she had once loved, and the echoes of a life she could never return to. The nightmares were relentless, dragging her back to the moment when everything fell apart. She would wake drenched in sweat, hands shaking, reaching for a gun or a bomb that wasn’t there. No amount of chaos in the streets could drown out the chaos in her own mind. The terror that gripped her in her dreams was not something she could outrun or fight. It clung to her like a second skin, a constant reminder that no matter how much destruction she caused, it would never be enough. She was still the broken girl beneath the explosions and the mayhem. Or that’s what she thought of herself, at least.

And there was no way out. Not anymore.

“It almost feels like the only way for you to find peace is through death,” you worriedly whispered once as you cradled her in your arms. “And I can’t have that,” you added, but Jinx’s mind was already reeling. Unbeknownst to you, she had thought about it more than once. Ending it all in one final explosion, letting the flames consume her just like they had consumed her heart so long ago. It would be easy. One pull of the trigger, one detonation, and it would all be over.

But even death had a bitter edge, and the question that haunted her, night after night, was whether even death would be enough to set her free. Or would they find a way to twist that, too, turning her final act into another legend for the revolution? Paint her as the glorious martyr who died for Zaun’s freedom?

Jinx didn’t know.

And that uncertainty kept her alive, if only for a little while longer, though she didn’t know why—she couldn’t even die on her own terms. The irony made her laugh sometimes, in the moments when the absurdity of it all was too much to bear.

If she was going to die, she would make sure they all remembered why she had never been their hero, why she had never fought for anyone but herself.

And so it started with a bang—because of course it did.

But this time felt different. There was something almost methodical about the way Jinx moved, the way she set her traps, as if she knew this was the last time she would walk these streets. The last time her bombs would rip through the orderly facade of the City of Progress.

She didn’t laugh as much that day. The usual gleam in her eyes was dimmer, her movements more controlled. The sun was setting, casting a harsh golden glow over Piltover’s spires as Jinx climbed to the top of a high rooftop, overlooking the heart of the city. This is where it will happen, she thought. The grand finale. She had spent weeks preparing. Every bomb was precisely placed, every escape route meticulously planned. The city was on high alert—word had spread that Jinx was planning something big. But no one knew exactly where, or when, the storm would hit.

The first explosion tore through the night just as the clock struck midnight. Fire lit up the streets below, throwing debris into the sky while the enforcers scrambled to contain the damage. Then came the second explosion, larger, closer to the city’s industrial district. Smoke filled the air as panic spread through Piltover like wildfire. The citizens ran in every direction, knowing that when Jinx was involved, no place was safe.

She stood on the rooftop, watching the chaos unfold beneath her. She felt nothing. No excitement, no satisfaction. This wasn’t the same thrill she used to chase. Her fingers hovered over the detonator for the final bomb—the biggest one, the one that would make the others look like fireworks. She had rigged it to collapse an entire section of the city, to leave Piltover scarred in a way it would never forget.

But tonight wasn’t about the explosion. It wasn’t about the destruction.

The enforcers were closing in. She could see them swarming through the streets below, moving toward her position. They had found her. They always did, eventually. Jinx glanced at the timer on the last bomb. She had set it for just long enough to make her escape—or so they would think. But the truth was, there wouldn’t be an escape tonight.

When the enforcers reached the rooftop, they found her standing there, framed against the night sky, the city burning below her. The air was thick with smoke, and in the chaos, they barely noticed the subtle smile that crossed her face.

“Time’s up,” she said softly, her voice lost in the wind.

She pressed the detonator.

The explosion was deafening, a wall of fire and debris engulfing the rooftop in an instant. The force of it sent the enforcers flying, tearing through the structures around them. When the dust settled, the building was gone—obliterated along with everything and everyone on it.

The news spread fast.

Jinx is dead.

There was no body left to recover, no remains to mourn, and no trace of her. Just the rubble of the building she had destroyed and the twisted wreckage of her devices. The enforcers confirmed it—there was no way she could have survived.

“Target neutralized” were the words bitterly spoken through the ranks with a cold efficiency. There was no name attached, but everyone knew who it was about. The official statement came shortly after: “A threat to the city has been eliminated.”

Days passed and Piltover began to rebuild, as it always did after Jinx’s attacks, the destruction slowly being replaced with gleaming new structures. Streets were cleared, debris removed, and life returned to a semblance of normalcy. There were no coffins for the fallen enforcers whose bodies were lost to the fire—only statues erected in their names, cold monuments serving as both tribute and reminder of the price paid for order. The city moved on—or at least tried to. Some celebrated, cautiously, though few were willing to believe the news completely. There had been too many close calls, too many times they thought they had her. But this time, it felt different. This time, the destruction had swallowed her whole, leaving behind an eerie silence where her chaotic laughter once echoed.

Zaun, on the other hand? That was a little bit more complicated. For the people who had seen her as a reckless force that harmed their city as much as Piltover did, her death came as a relief, and her absence promised a fragile peace, however fleeting. But to others, the more sensitive ones, tears had to be shed, heads shaking in disbelief. Candlelit vigils appeared in the undercity, graffiti of her wild grin painted on the walls. People would whisper, looking for the next symbol for their revolution—anything and anyone they could place their hopes on. Amidst this emotional turbulence, a third reaction emerged from the more organized factions who saw it as the opportunity they had been waiting for. With Jinx gone, they could finally rise to the storefront. The power vacuum left in her wake ignited their ambitions, and the streets buzzed with the promise of a new era, one that could either heal the wounds of the past or plunge the city into an even deeper turmoil.

The cities spoke of heroes and villains, grappling with the complexities of Jinx’s legacy—a legacy that blurred the lines between destruction and freedom, chaos and control.

That being said, everything unfolded exactly as she had predicted, but the victory felt almost hollow.

“It almost feels like the only way for you to find peace is through death.” And it really was, so she had faked it perfectly. The plan was reckless, audacious—everything she embodied. The explosion had served as the perfect cover, and in that moment of chaos, she had slipped through the cracks, hidden among the shadows of her own creation.

For Jinx, this was not just an escape; it was a calculated act of liberation. Her liberation. The city that had once been her playground had turned into a gilded cage, and she had grown tired of the endless games of cat and mouse.

Now standing on the edge of the city, Zaun stretches out before her like a memory she can’t quite shake. Her eyes trace the tangled streets below, the dark alleyways, the flickering lights, and the twisted pipes, burning the sight into memory. She inhales deeply, her nostrils filling up with the familiar smell of smoke and oil. A wave of nostalgia washes over her. She can almost hear the echoes of laughter and the distant sounds of explosions that had once filled her days with exhilaration. A tear wells up in her eye, but she blinks it away, wiping at her eyes quickly, almost angrily. Jinx doesn’t cry. Not for anyone. Not for anything.

Not anymore.

With a heavy heart, she grips the railing tighter, her knuckles turning white as the memories swirl like smoke around her before she relaxes—a conscious decision.

“I’ll miss you, you filthy, broken place.” She chuckles dryly. She had spent years running wild here, feeling untouchable. But now, it’s time to go. “You were everything, and yet, you were never enough.” The words hang in the air, a promise to herself that she would carry the spirit of Zaun wherever she went, even as she turns her back on it. Her heart clenches, a strange ache settling in her chest as she realizes this could be the last time she’d see it—the city that had been her home and her battlefield.

“Are you sure you want to do this?" you ask, your voice soft and gentle. “You’d be leaving everyone behind.” The blue-haired girl knows exactly who you mean by that.

Vi.

Jinx could almost see it—her paling face when she heard the news, the way her fists clenched and her heart broke, crumbling beneath the grief, believing that her little sister was gone forever. The thought cut deep, deeper than Jinx was ready to admit. Vi had been her everything once. And after everything they’d been through, after everything they’d lost, Jinx hated herself for causing her more pain, for inflicting yet another wound—and this time, it’s a wound that’ll never quite heal, the cruelest cut of them all. A part of her wanted to run back. To find Vi and tell her the truth. To stay.

But Jinx knew that wasn’t an option.

Not now.

So why does it feel like she’s tearing herself apart?

The soft touch of a hand on her shoulder brings her back to the present. She turns, meeting your gaze. You stand beside her, quiet but steady, the anchor she didn’t know she needed until she had found it. She takes a shuddering breath.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” you ask again, your voice filled with nothing but understanding. You know how hard this is for Jinx, how torn she really feels.

She swallows hard, glancing back at the city one more time. It all feels so distant, yet so close—like she can reach out and touch it, like she can run back and undo it all if she tries hard enough. But she can’t. She pictures Vi again, her strong, fierce sister who had always fought for her, always believed she could be saved. Jinx hated the thought of what this would do to her, of the hole it would leave in her heart. But deep down, she knew she couldn’t be the person Vi wanted her to be. Not yet. She had tried. She had failed. And now, she has to move on, even if it means breaking the last connection she has to her past.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready,” Jinx whispers, her voice catching in her throat. You nod, your expression softening even further as your hand intertwines with hers, and the warmth of your touch reminds her why she’s leaving—for a chance to start over. To be something else, someone else, outside of the chaos and violence that had defined her for so long.

Vi would survive, like she always had. She would grieve, but she would move on. And in time, Jinx hoped that she’d understand why she had to go.

“I just don’t want her to hate me.” Her voice is small, almost fragile as the confession falls from her lips before she can stop it, the rawness of her words cutting through the silence. You frown as you take a step closer, pulling her into a gentle embrace.

“She won’t hate you,” you murmur against her hair. “She’ll hurt, she’ll be angry, but she’ll never hate you. Vi loves you, Jinx.” She leans into you, burying her face in your shoulder for a moment, letting herself feel the comfort she so desperately needs.

“I just wish I could explain.” The angry tears threaten to spill out again. “I wish I could tell her why I had to do this.”

“She knows.” You can only hug her tighter now, hoping it’ll keep her from falling apart.

Slowly, she pulls back, her breath still shaky but steadier now. “I guess it’s too late to change my mind, huh?” she asks with a weak smile, though her heart isn’t in it.

“This doesn’t have to be permanent, you know? We can always come back when the time is ready.” Jinx nods, but the guilt still gnaws at her, sharp and relentless.

Turning fully toward the road ahead, her hand finds yours again as she laces your fingers together like an unspoken promise. “Let’s go,” she says, her voice almost resolute as if she’s still trying to convince herself that this is the right thing to do.

Jinx’s heart aches for what she’s leaving behind as the both of you walk away from Zaun. But then she glances at you, walking calmly by her side, and—albeit briefly—she feels a sense of peace. For the first time in a long time, she isn’t running alone. She isn’t running from something either, despite the way it seems. She’s running toward something—a life she could build, not destroy, with someone who sees her for more than the broken pieces. Someone who’s willing to leave everything behind to be with her.

You give her hand another gentle squeeze, pulling her out of her thoughts. “We’re almost there,” you say softly, gesturing toward the darkened outskirts of the city where the world feels smaller, where the noise of Zaun fades into a distant hum. Beyond it, freedom awaits—freedom from the past, from the wreckage you’re leaving behind.

The night stretches out before you, vast and uncertain. Jinx had never been good with the unknown; she thrived on chaos, on knowing how to manipulate it. But this? Walking away from everything she’d ever known, stepping into a future that isn’t filled with explosions and destruction—it terrifies her.

But it’s also the only thing that makes sense anymore.

You lean closer, your warmth cutting through the chill of the night. “You don’t have to look back if you don’t want to.” She wants to look back. She wants to go back. But she knows it wouldn’t do any good. So she straightens up, fixing her cloak and pulling the hood further over her head.

“I’m not going to,” she replies, her voice firmer now. “I’ve spent enough time looking back.” You nod in understanding. You had talked about this moment for weeks now, about what it would mean for Jinx to truly let go of Zaun, of everything she had once believed she needed to hold on to. It isn’t easy, but it’s necessary.

Finally, you reach the edge, where the lights of the city flicker out entirely, swallowed by the darkness of the wilds beyond.

This is it. The point of no return.

Jinx turns to you, searching your face for strength, for the resolve she so desperately needs. And there it is, shining back at her. She feels the tension in her chest begin to loosen, the weight of her decision finally starting to lift. She can almost taste the adrenaline, the sweet rush of possibility that awaits her beyond the city’s borders—no rules, no limits, and most importantly, no one hunting her down.

The two of you step into the darkness together, the twisted streets and memories of Zaun falling away with each step until all that’s left is the quiet sound of your breathing, the crunch of gravel beneath your feet, and the sense that something new is beginning. She feels something unfamiliar, something almost foreign—hope. It flickers faintly deep inside her, small but real, growing with every step she takes.

Jinx doesn’t look back. She doesn’t need to. She’s finally moving forward.

And as you disappear into the night, a thought echoes in her mind, settling like a truth she can’t ignore.

Nothing ever stays dead.

[incorrectbatfam]

Types of obnoxious batfam stans

Written by an obnoxious batfam stan

Not really a rant but something I've noticed over the years interacting in different spaces and I've decided to make your problem now.

Please note that I'm not saying there's any "right" way to be a fan because we all suck by virtue of being comic nerds, but there are certain kinds of batfamily fans that stick out to be in particular.

Anywho, here are 12 kinds of annoying batfam stans that you've probably run into and you better get a laugh out of it *points gun to your head*.

1) The Newbies Who Never Heard of Google

There's no shame in being new to something. It's a phase that we're all guaranteed to go through, whether we're 11 or 101. However, in this day and age, so many things can be easily googled that you don't need to shout every question you have into the VVorld VVide VVoid. If you need comic recs or a reading list, google it. If you wanna know a character's origin story, google it. If you need to know the color of Batman's underpants in a particular issue in 1965... well that's probably too specific for Google but Reddit will definitely have an answer.

2) The Middle School Authors

Before the 13-year-olds get up in my notes, I'm not saying everyone that age writes like this. Middle school is a state of mind. These fanfic writers usually stand out in a few ways.

They're oftentimes first-person POV or reader-insert. Give Y/N a break, she's tired.

The grammar is stunningly atrocious. I get if you're inexperienced or if you're writing in a second language, but we are in the prime era of autocorrect. If you need help, it's right there. Also, fuck c*nsoring b*d w*rds and fuck "unalive."

The characters do things that are out-of-character because the author is projecting their own personality. Bruce Wayne is a lot of things but he does not listen to the fucking Mountain Goats.

There's a lack of experience or research when it comes to certain topics. That's not how physics works. He can't walk that injury off. And that's definitely NOT how you do the horizontal hokey pokey.

3) The Neckbeards

Unfortunately, these basement-dwelling mouth-breathers tainted the image of what a comic fan is, though that's been changing recently. Still, we've all seen them. They gatekeep via pop quizzes, 'cause obviously you're not a real fan unless you know what page 10 of Batman #138 smells like. They give unsolicited commentary on people's cosplays, nitpicking the guys and being gross toward women. And heaven forbid the comics add a little diversity.

4) The Moviegoers

Nothing inherently wrong with getting into the fandom via the movies, nor is there anything wrong with sticking to that. I just feel like we're two different species of Galapagos finches, you know?

5) The Christopher Nolans

Separate from casual fans of the Nolan movies. I'm calling them the Christopher Nolans because these people have a tendency to reach for the grimdarkest thing possible. It's like they cannot fathom Batman having any other emotions besides punching and gargoyle brooding.

6) The Canon Purists

Wanna share a fun headcanon? NO, because Stephanie Brown never used cherry lip balm in the comics so therefore that must be the absolute truth. These people are a stickler for comic accuracy to the point where it's like... why bother interacting with the fandom in the first place? The worst part is when they're adamant on following a single continuity and refuse to consider anything else. This is comics we're talking about. Everything either has been or will be canon at some point.

7) The Fanon Worshippers

On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have the people who base their entire perception of the characters on something either they pulled out of their ass or that their mutual with 16 followers came up with, despite evidence directly contradicting it. I love WFA, but I feel like that's partially responsible for further perpetuating certain popular myths. Also, these fans tend to focus solely on the batfam/their ships. It's one thing to have some people in the foreground vs. background, but put some respect to Bart Allen's name you goddamn cheesecakes.

8) The Golden Age Dads

These guys aren't really obnoxious. I actually find it kind of cute how they think Jason Todd is still dead.

9) The Chronically Online

I have a rule of thumb when it comes to discourse: if it's not something I'd hear about at a bar, it's not worth my mental energy. Some people haven't gotten the memo, though.

These are either the well-intentioned but misinformed teenagers or grown-ass adults beefing with children because they don't have a life. They have takes that are oversimplified, rage-inducing, TikTok algorithm attention-grabbers that no one cares about in real life.

Don't get me wrong, we've got a bunch of issues in comics and fandom that are worth discussing. However, there comes a point where you're splitting hairs and need to go the fuck outside. I'm not gonna link the post 'cause I don't wanna call them and their 7 notes out, but the other week I saw someone saying Stephcass was a racist ship because something something colonialism parallel. You gotta be Elastigirl to have that kind of reach.

10) The Corporate Simps

I love comics. I appreciate the writers and artists. However, you will find my carcass in a ditch before you catch me licking the boots of DC/Warner Bros. Basically, these fans, fewer as they are, can't seem to fathom that their favorite franchise can (and does) put out some steaming motherfucking garbage.

11) The Hot Cosplayers

Not actually annoyed, I'm just a little jealous. Stop being hotter than me, please and thank you.

12) The One With A Punchline For Everything

Wait–

[lilisettean]

Tempest in a Bathtub | Rafayel/Reader

About: Rafayel painting while he was bathing wasn't an uncommon sight. But you joining him was.

Pairing: Rafayel/Reader

Notes: Not gonna lie... For me, Rafayel is the hardest of all the 3 current love interests to write... I tried to keep his dialogue in character though! Please tell me if it's off the mark!

AO3: Read here!

Warnings: Hinted no protection. 18+ only please! Enjoy :)

“Weren’t you supposed to paint?” 

“How am I supposed to focus with you in front of me?”

Rafayel wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you towards him, your back flush against his bare chest. He felt hot, burning almost, behind you, contrasting against the cool water that you two were half submerged in. 

Moments ago, you stumbled upon him painting while in the bathtub again. It wasn’t uncommon for him to do so, as he explained that sometimes inspiration would come to him like a sudden gust of wind, here now and gone the next moment. But it was still a sight to see him paint like this, with supplies strewn all over the place.

He blithely said that you could join him if you wanted, seemingly uncaring at the thought you would have to strip down to do so. That quickly changed however, when he heard the faint rustling of fabric. 

The blush and stammering protests that left his lips soon appeared as you dip your toes into the cool water, his eyes on anywhere and anything but on you.

“Hey.” Rafayel’s voice brought you out of your thoughts. “Are you really spacing out while being here with me?”

“No. I was wondering why you are so shy to see me naked. It’s not like you haven’t seen a naked woman before.”

“That’s because they’re nude models posing for my work. But you are…” His voice trailed off, as if pondering what to say next. “You’re you.”

“Have you heard myths of the inspirational goddesses of old? They are the source of all knowledge pertaining to the arts. Muses are what they are called.” He explained as he toyed with a strand of your damp hair. “And you, my dear fishie, are my personal muse.”

“Should I start posing nude for you instead now? So you would have more inspiration?” You joked, expecting him to agree or laugh at your suggestion. But that was not the case.

“Oh. No. Please don’t do that.” He immediately objected, to your surprise. “I wouldn’t be able to focus at all.”

“Why?”

“Don’t be obtuse. I know you saw it.” Rafayel retorted with a huff. He wasn’t wrong however. 

You could feel his stiff cock pulsing against you, and honestly you already noticed it growing when you sat across him, his gaze fixed onto your breasts before turning away with a cough.

Despite the cool water surrounding the both of you, his cock felt hot against your skin, as though begging you to touch it. And who were you to deny him?

Your heat clenched at nothing, yearning for something to fill its emptiness when he groaned at you wiggling your hips against him. But before you could do anything more, he steadied you with a hand on your hips, stopping you.

“Instead of painting… I would be thinking about other things.” He breathed out a moment later, after attempting to calm the raging storm that was brewing inside of him. He then lowered his head, nipping your earlobe before continuing.

“Do you wanna know what?”

“...What?”

“You know… I love that face you make when you’re moaning my name. I wanna know how I can engrave that into my mind and store it for eternity.” His hands roamed your body as he confessed. One hand cupped your breast, his fingers grazing and tweaking your pert nipple; while the other trailed down your torso, slipping between your thighs and parting them without any effort.

He hummed in approval when he found your entrance hot to the touch, slick not with water, but your own juices. He prodded you, parting your folds and dipped two fingertips inside, making you squirm in anticipation. Before he slipped further however, he nipped your earlobe once more, and whispered.

“Would you mind showing it to me again?”

Instead of giving him the go, you shifted your hips forward, pushing yourself down his fingers.

“So eager.” He commented, breathless. No matter how many times he fingered you, he would never tire of the sight of you coming undone before him. This proper, strong bodyguard of his turning into a whimpering mess because of him.

His long slender fingers prodded your soft walls, reaching places that you could never reach on your own. And before long, your hips started to move on its own, fucking yourself on his fingers. 

“Rafayel–” 

“Mhm?” He may sound calm but his actions were nowhere near but. You were not only riding his fingers, you were also grinding your hips against him while doing so, rubbing the side of his stiff cock. And just like you, his hips moved on its own as well, rutting and sliding the underside of his cock against you.

Water sloshed out of the bathtub you both were in, splashing onto the wooden floor. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when his fingers grazed past your clit with every move. He tilted your head back and captured your lips, parting them with his tongue and groaning into the kiss.

Something clicked within him the moment you moaned his name once more. With one smooth motion, he pulled his fingers out of you and lifted you up into his arms, carrying you as he exited the bathtub.

Before you could ask what he was doing, he propped you onto the counter, your breasts pressing against the cool marble surface.

He gave you no chance to speak. Because as soon as you were on the counter, lying and your heat exposed to him, you felt a familiar pressure against your entrance.

“Sorry… I don’t like waiting.” He apologized, but didn’t sound sorry at all. If anything, he was enjoying your whimpering as he pushed his throbbing cock inside of you, and sighed when you moaned at his short thrusts to get his entirety enveloped with your tight walls.

Planting a kiss onto the back of your neck, Rafayel gently lifted your chin up, and made you come face to face to your debauched state. 

“Show me my sweet mermaid… Show me all the expressions you like to make.”

[brattyfics]

Summary: Set against the eerie backdrop of the Florida swamps in the 1980s, this supernatural tale follows Adla Bennett, a woman navigating life after the loss of her father. When she discovers a wounded creature resembling a wolf on her porch, she takes it in for the night, only to find out the creature is a shapeshifter named Terry Richmond. He asks Adla for her help in locating his missing cousin, Mike, intertwining their fates in a way she never expected.

A/N: Divider by firefly-graphics. This is the beginning of my Swampbound story for Scary Terry Night (October 30) featuring Werewolf!Terry Richmond with my fave @uzumaki-rebellion! If you haven’t already, check out her Tattoos and Bloodsucker Blues preview. I struggled to choose an excerpt, so I’m sharing the entire first part. This story features supernatural elements and some mild gore, so please keep that in mind. Happy Reading!

Adla had spent all of her life in Florida, yet the strange things that washed ashore after storms still startled her. Destruction was to be expected—broken tree limbs, uprooted plants, even splintered pieces of homes carried away by the wind.

Tangled in seaweed, turtle hatchlings, along with frogs and crabs scurried frantically, struggling to reclaim their place in the chaos. Sometimes she'd find the occasional oddity: a tattered shirt, a weathered cloth bag, knotted fishing line.

But she'd never come across anything like this—a mangled, bloody deer carcass strewn across the tall grass, torn flesh and fur mingling with pieces of shredded cloth. 

Her instincts screamed at her to back, but curiosity got the better of her.

She knelt down, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. Something violent had happened here. She scanned the scene, trying to make sense of it. 

A gator? No, they usually dragged their prey back into the water. 

Maybe a hawk? But even with its sharp talons, a bird of prey wouldn’t make this kind of mess. 

Possibly a bobcat? They prowled the swamps, their hunting disturbed by storms, always opportunistic. 

But no, the tracks didn’t match.

These footprints were too big—far too big. The prints were wolf-like but larger, deeper, as though the creature was far heavier than any wolf she'd ever heard of. 

Four prints ran parallel, perfectly spaced in the mud, until they faded into something stranger—two flatter, elongated impressions. 

Like feet. 

Human feet.

The footprints appeared far too big to be her own, and there shouldn’t have been anyone else wandering around the property.

A chill ran down her back even though the sun was shining. The mangrove seemed way too quiet, like the world was holding its breath. The usual racket of gulls and cicadas had vanished—like even they knew the storm had left more than just broken branches behind. One of the first lessons her father had drilled into her as a girl was to never run; not from a person nor an animal. 

Running makes you prey.

Adla pulled her hunting knife from her waistband, steadying her wrist as her eyes swept over the wide, open space around her. She was ready to defend herself if it came down to it, but there was nothing– no one hiding in the brush, no animal stalking her. Just thick humidity, carrying the earthy scent of wet soil and decaying leaves. 

She figured it was time to head back. 

With caution, she began her trek home, her footsteps muffled by the spongy ground, all while keeping a watchful eye on her surroundings. This land held secrets—some of which she had come to accept, and others she feared. 

The old myths— of beastly protectors with vengeful spirits, born of the swamp’s dark magic during the era of slavery— often lingered like shadows in the back of her mind, but today, the possibility felt much closer. The swamp was alive; gnarled roots of mangroves twisted out of the water like skeletal fingers and casted dark shadows on the surface of the water. 

Adla focused on the worn path ahead, until the low rumble of an engine made her pause.

She wasn’t expecting anybody—she never did. As a child, she had hated the isolation of living out here, but now? It kept the outside world at arm’s length, just as she wanted.

She hurried up the muddy incline, her boots kicking loose clumps of wet earth. At the porch of the old Cracker house, she leaned against the weathered wood, squinting down the overgrown path. A boxy, faded green Jeep Cherokee from the late '70s bounced along the uneven track, its tires struggling for traction in the soft ground. With an exasperated breath, she lowered the knife to her side.

It was none other than Jesse Hampton. She should’ve known.

The vehicle pulled to a stop, and Jesse stepped out, scanning the trees before his eyes settled on her. His mahogany skin glistened under the humid late-afternoon sun, and his damp t-shirt clung to his chest. His cap sat low, shadowing his normally neat hair, now curling wildly in the moisture. A few days' stubble covered his jaw—unusual for him but understandable after the chaos of the storm.

Even so, he was as handsome as ever.

"Adla," he called, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "You shouldn't be out here alone." His gaze darted behind her, as if sensing unseen dangers lurking in the shadows. "I get that it feels peaceful, but it's still dangerous."

The last thing she wanted was to give him more reason to worry or lecture her, so she swallowed the uneasiness she’d just felt moments before.

"You sound like my father, Jesse." She rolled her eyes, dismissing his caution. But Jesse's expression tightened, a hint of something unspoken hovering between them. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Adla, just... promise me you'll watch yourself. You've got a light in you that attracts attention, and sometimes that attention ain't the kind you want."

The weight of his words hung in the space between them. She could feel the worry lacing his words and caught an uncharacteristic flicker of fear in his eyes that was hard to overlook. “Quit that. I’m fine,” she shot back, the nagging feeling returning to her chest. She hated when he used that tone– like he knew something she didn't. 

She couldn’t understand the source of Jesse's recent worries. They had grown up playing in the wild jungle that was her backyard, always safe. The worst they ever faced was a snake that sent them running to her father for protection. Wild boars and gators lurked about, but they didn't bother anyone who didn’t bother them. 

“Live and let live” had always served her well.

“What you doing out here?” she asked, crossing her arms tightly.

“Do I gotta have a reason now?” Jesse countered, flashing a charming smile. She wrinkled her nose, picking up on the mischief in his tone. “You always have a reason when you show up at my place unannounced. So, what’s the story this time?”

Jesse owned a bustling convenience store in town, but most of his income came from various side hustles. He was the go-to guy for anything anyone needed, always finding a way to get things done, no matter the cost. 

“Just checking in on you, that’s all. Wanted to see how you were holding up after the storm. But if I’m not welcome…” He paused, a mock-serious expression crossing his face. “I can turn right back around.”

Adla scoffed, turning her back on him as she ascended the steps of the screened-in porch. “You say that every time, but you always end up following me inside.” He fell into step behind her, his boots thudding against the weathered floorboards. “You don’t even bother asking if you can come in anymore,” she teased, shooting him a sidelong glance.

“After all the times I’ve been here, why would I bother? Especially when you’ve welcomed me in plenty of times.” He leaned against the doorframe with an easy grace, arms crossed and a playful glint in his eye. “Sometimes at night, if I’m not mistaken.”

Adla shook her head as she headed to the kitchen. “Come on, Jess, that ain’t the same, and you know it.” 

She opened the fridge and retrieved a pitcher of cold water, then grabbed one of the glass cups from the cupboard. After she poured, she handed it over to him, her hands wrinkled from long hours spent clearing debris in the yard. When he took the cup, their fingers brushed against each other, stirring the subtle tension that always rested just below the surface between them.

“Now, why you gotta put it like that?” Jesse asked, a pouty frown appearing on his face as he took a sip.

“'Cause I need you to get this,” Adla paused, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t like folks showing up here without a heads-up, and that goes for you too.” She hoped her sweet smile softened the message. Before anything, he was her closest friend, and she never wanted to hurt him. 

He grinned, leaning casually against the counter beside her. She considered asking if he’d been snooping around her property without her knowing— Jesse was sneaky like that— but figured it’d raise too many questions if he said no.

He set his glass down, inching closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I thought I was special, though.” 

She arched an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. “Now, where’d you get an idea like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He tugged a curl loose from her messy ponytail, the spiral bouncing back like a rubber band. “I figured if I did that thing you like enough times, it might earn me a few privileges around here.”

She fought a smile. “What kind of privileges are we talking about?” 

“The kind that lets me show up whenever I feel like it.” He leaned in, his intentions clear as he tried to kiss her, wanting more than just a friendly chat. Adla pressed her palm against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

Jesse was undeniably handsome, and she enjoyed having him around, but she wasn’t about to let anyone—no matter how charming—think they had a claim on her. She was in charge of her life, and she liked it that way. Getting serious with Jesse, no matter how often he hinted at it, simply wasn’t part of her plans. Especially knowing other women were enjoying that thing she liked too.

“No, sir,” she replied, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she shook her head, trying to lighten the mood. “You thought wrong. But since you’re already here, you might as well lend me a hand with something.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned in, steadily pressing closer, an eyebrow raised as his interest deepened. “And what would that be?”

“You can come help me set these traps and see what else washed up after the storm,” she said, avoiding his lips to steal a drink from his cup. She hoped to score some fat crabs and a few fish to stock the freezer for the next few days. Her generator had held up well during the storm, keeping the food fresh, but it was always smart to restock. Hurricane season wasn’t over yet and she felt a bit uneasy about heading back into the woods by herself. 

“Aww, man,” Jesse groaned dramatically. “I should’ve known that coming over here meant I was gonna have to work. You’re a real slave driver, girl, you know that?”

They spent the next couple of hours working side by side, enjoying a comfortable rhythm of silence mixed with casual conversation.

First, they checked her garden for storm damage while Jesse caught her up on the latest town gossip—apparently, Mrs. Flowers had been caught with Mr. Jenkins in Mr. Flowers' house. The mustard greens were ruined, uprooted and twisted by the wind, so she pulled them up. Thankfully, the okra and sweet potatoes had weathered the storm just fine; she just hoped the excess moisture wouldn’t lead to any rot.

Next, they moved on to setting her fishing nets and traps, but instead stumbled upon another surprise.

Like the mangled bird she'd spotted earlier, several fish heads littered the bank where she usually set her traps, alongside crab skeletons missing their claws and backs, stripped bare. This wasn’t the typical gator damage—no, this was something far worse, disturbingly messy and strange for the area’s usual predators.

She scanned the ground for any more footprints but saw nothing. No paw prints or torn cloth either.

“What in the world?” Adla muttered, staring at the destruction. “What you think did this? A gator?”

Jesse leaned down, his brow furrowed. “A gator wouldn’t leave pieces like this.”

“Something else did this,” She finished his sentence. Adla’s skin prickled and suddenly, hiding her unsettling feelings from earlier felt foolish. She described the strange prints and the shredded bird she’d found to Jesse as he listened intently. He ran his hands over her shoulders, trying to soothe her.

“You shouldn’t stay out here alone tonight, Addy. Why don’t you spend the night at my place?”

Adla couldn’t shake the feeling of unease about what the darkness might bring, but she couldn’t take Jesse up on his offer, even if his grandmother’s old house was just a few miles up the road.

The old woman had adored her, having been the one to deliver her. Still, it just didn’t feel right to spend the night in another woman’s house, even if that woman was no longer alive.

Plus, sneaking around with Jesse where others could see was out of the question. 

She wasn’t about to give anyone a reason to stir up drama or question her independence. Lord knows she couldn’t bear the thought of becoming the next Mrs. Flowers, her good name dragged through the mud to anyone willing to listen.

“No one—and nothing—is gonna run me out of my house,” she replied, her stubbornness rising to the surface. This place was her sanctuary, the fruit of her labor and her ancestors' struggles. They’d fought hard for what they had, and she felt a fierce pride in maintaining the one thing that truly belonged to her. 

Out here in the swamps, peace was something you earned, not given. She would defend her home if it came to that.

“You don’t even know who or what it is, and you want to stay out here alone? That doesn’t make a lick of sense, baby doll,” Jesse insisted, his persistence typical but unusually intense.

“I’m not your ‘baby doll,’” she shot back, irritation rising. He seemed to be making a habit of testing her clearly established boundaries more recently. 

“I already told you—I’m staying here. You should head out before it gets dark.”

“Come on, don’t be like that—” Jesse began, his voice smooth like molasses. He might’ve been charming, but today, she wasn’t about to let those sweet words sway her.

“Go,” she pressed, stepping forward to cut him off. “I’ll handle the cleanup and make sure everything’s locked up tight, but I want you to leave—now, please.” 

Jesse held her gaze for a long moment, recognizing that determined look in her eye. He knew better than to push too far when she was set on something. “Alright, I’ll go,” he finally relented. “But I need you to promise me you won’t leave the house tonight. Whatever you do, don’t cross that threshold, okay?”

Her face contorted at his strange choice of words.

“Why would I be outside? I’m not foolish enough to wander around out here at night. What’s got you so riled up today, anyway?” She reached out and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

“Just trust me on this,” he urged, his tone serious as he finally locked eyes with her. She’d never seen him look so grim before—what was he hiding? 

“You’ll be safe if you stay inside tonight.” He repeated carefully. 

Last she checked, danger didn’t give a damn about doors, but it was clear he wasn’t leaving until he knew she’d listen to his advice. 

“Alright,” she said, dragging the word out as her confusion showed. “I’ll stay inside tonight. Not like I was planning on wandering around anyway.”

“Good,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead and lingering there as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. “I’ll call you tonight, and you better answer. If you don’t, I’ll be back out here, with or without your blessing.”

As he turned to leave, Adla couldn’t help but smile after him. Jesse could be a handful, but beneath that cool exterior, she knew he cared for her as fiercely as she did for him. 

In the wilderness of the swamps, that bond meant everything.

He lingered in her driveway while she hurried to gather the crab shells, tossing them into her compost bin—no sense letting them go to waste. He didn’t start his engine and pull away until she was safely inside with the door closed, waving his goodbye from the street as she watched him from the window.

After locking up, she sank into a well-deserved bubble bath, a simple yet sweet reward for a day’s hard work. The clawfoot tub, older than she was but still in impeccable shape, had become a beloved fixture in her home. 

The bathroom, filled with the soothing scents of incense and candles, wrapped around her like a comforting hug. After her father’s passing, her top priority had been to breathe life back into the old house and make it feel like home again.

Every now and then, she spotted reminders of her past, like the doorframe where her father had marked her height on the first day of school every year or the cast-iron pans he used to whip up their dinners each night. But mostly, she had truly claimed the space as her own—weathered yet undeniably new in some ways– hers. 

Her short time in the city had been a far cry from the peace she now enjoyed in the country. Balancing multiple jobs just to get by, she constantly dealt with nosy neighbors prying into her life, questioning why a young woman like her was living on her own. The men she met often couldn’t take “no” for an answer, turning her daily life into a constant struggle against unwanted advances.

Worse yet, she had attracted the attention of a stalker—someone she’d never even seen who kept slipping threatening handwritten notes under her apartment door, claiming they knew who she was and had been watching her. It was both terrifying and emotionally draining, but she hadn’t tucked her tail and run home until her father died. 

Whenever thoughts of him lingered too long, the guilt of not being there when it mattered most consumed her, so she kept herself busy. 

Her part-time job at the new bed-and-breakfast in town helped her pay the bills and left her enough time to create. On weekends, she sold her art—pieces made from found objects collected in the woods—at the flea market a couple of towns over. Any spare moment was spent bringing something to life, whether sculpting or tending to her flowers. She loved working on the coastal hibiscus that grew in her yard, their bright blooms a small splash of beauty against the swampy backdrop. Her life wasn’t glamorous, but the peace she found in it was worth far more than anything else.

“When You're Young and in Love” by The Marvelettes played softly on the record player. It had been one of her mother’s cherished favorites, or so her father often reminisced. To Adla, the song captured the slow, simple peace she felt only at home. While she couldn’t completely understand the carefree idea of being swept away by a fleeting romance, it still forged a bond with the mother she never got the chance to know.

Her father had only a handful of pictures, but from those, she could see the resemblance. She had inherited her father’s height and perhaps his temperament, but everything else came from her mother��her rich skin tone, flat nose, and wide, expressive eyes. Those features made her feel close to a woman whose memory was etched in her heart but absent from her life.

With a soft sigh, Adla rose from the now-cool bathwater, wrapping a towel snugly around her waist. Taking a moment for herself, she slathered on a generous layer of cocoa butter lotion, the rich, nutty scent enveloping her like a comforting embrace from home. Her earlier worries faded into the background. Satisfied, she slipped into an oversized cotton nightgown, covered in bright floral patterns that mirrored the blooms in her garden. 

She went through her nighttime routine, carefully checking that everything was turned off and every door was locked tight. As she switched off the last light in her cozy home, the old wooden floors creaked softly beneath her feet—a comforting sound that added to the charm of the place.

Just as she was about to settle into bed, faint sounds echoed from outside—rhythmic, insistent scraping and thumping carried to her ears by the wind. Strange noises weren’t uncommon out in the boonies, but something about this one sent a shiver down her spine, drawing her into the hallway.

Adla glanced toward the door, a strange compulsion tugging at her, urging her to step outside despite Jesse's warnings. It felt as if something—or someone—was calling her, and the pull was too strong to ignore. She hesitated, biting her lip, fighting the overwhelming temptation.

Something clattered loose as she unlocked the heavy door and pushed it open. Through the screen, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Adla squinted, trying to make sense of the dimness outside. There, bathed in the cold glow of the moonlight, lay a massive creature. Its shadow loomed so large that it seemed to stretch across the entire porch.

A knot twisted in her stomach. What in the world? This wasn’t no bobcat. This creature was more like a coyote, but much larger. It resembled a wolf, though she knew they didn’t roam these parts of Florida. Its amber eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark of the night, locking onto her with an intensity that sent chills racing down her spine. Jesse’s warnings echoed in the back of her mind. What if this creature was more than it seemed? 

I know this fool ain’t lookin’ at me like I’m dinner. 

Adla squared her shoulders, drawing on every ounce of strength she had. “You don’t belong here,” she called out, her voice steady and commanding. “Now, git!”

The wolf let out a low growl, a deep rumble that reverberated through the still night air, commanding her silence. It took a slow step forward, large paws thudding against the wooden floor, and she noticed it was limping. 

A deep gash ran from its back down to one of its hind legs, blood dripping from the wound and staining the old wood beneath it. The sight of its injury stirred something deep within her—a mix of concern and fascination that left her momentarily spellbound. It was odd but something kept her feet rooted in place, drawn to the creature and its imposing presence for reasons she couldn’t quite understand.

“Don’t you come any closer,” she warned, her heart racing as she reached for the shotgun she kept above the door, her gaze fixed on the beast. Adla tightened her grip on the cold metal, the weight of the gun both comforting and alarming as she aimed it at the creature through the screen.

The wolf paused right in front of her, as if held back by something she couldn’t see or understand. She glanced down at the door’s threshold, recalling Jesse’s cryptic words.

This was her moment—a choice between life or death. But Adla found herself frozen, her finger hovering over the trigger, unable to pull it. 

The large, beautiful creature let out a mournful whine before collapsing in a heap on her porch, nearly at her feet, its strength finally giving out as if it had resigned itself to whatever fate awaited it.

Despite its pain, something flickered in its amber gaze—a silent plea, asking not to be seen as a threat. The creature’s body shook, not with aggression, but with a desperate need to protect itself rather than harm her. The sight of that defeated animal struck a chord deep within her, stirring up memories of her own struggles not so long ago—exhausted by the burdens of life, yet somehow still pushing forward. 

A lesson her father had once shared echoed in her mind: “Listen, baby girl, we only take what we need from this world, and we don’t kick folks when they’re already down. Respect the creatures out here, just like you respect yourself. Life's tough enough without us makin’ it harder on each other.” She could almost hear his voice, the warmth of his wisdom wrapping around her like a protective blanket. 

Adla let out a deep sigh, lowering the shotgun. She hoped the wolf had enough sense to slip off her porch and find its way back through that little doggy door, the one that had been shredded and left with a gaping hole. Sure, it was already intruding on her space, but it showed no signs of being able to bust down her doors with its weakened strength.

The blood staining the porch was already beginning to dry, and she knew she’d have to scrub it down in the morning. If the wolf didn’t make it through the night and died on her porch, she could always call Animal Control to handle it— it wouldn’t cost her a dime to let the creature have one more night of life. 

That thought offered a flicker of comfort as she triple-checked that both the screen door and the sturdy wooden door were locked tight for the night.

Adla placed the shotgun within arm’s reach and settled into bed, her mind lingering on the wolf outside. She couldn’t shake the strange pull she felt. Yet, there was a quiet resolve in her heart—she would let the creature be. 

Maybe it wasn’t just a wolf. Maybe it was something more—a mirror reflecting her own struggles and wounds, a sign sent from her father to teach her something. The night was thick with uncertainty, but she felt no fear, only calm curiosity. She’d done all she could for now. 

As sleep tugged at her, she hoped that the wolf, with its heavy wounds and haunted eyes, would make it through the night. Tomorrow, she’d face whatever came next, but for now, she surrendered to the stillness, trusting that both she and the wolf would both survive until morning.

I’m open to any feedback, especially since this is my first time finishing and publishing something of this length. Does this preview raise engaging questions that make you want to know more, or is something unclear or missing? Did it draw you in or did it drag on? Please let me know your thoughts. Any insight would be invaluable to me as I continue to develop the story. (Send an anonymous ask if necessary).

[gazeofseer]

Soul Connection💙

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

'Love is too much glorified to ones dream

And quite petrified to savor it in life.........

Before you give up I want you to give in..

To your soul and find the other end of the

String that aches, arches, and embeds

you every night wondering

If there is no one for me what is this

love mourning for then..?'

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Pick A Image

And let your heart guide you allow that feeling to stir out and take you in the message calling upon you ;

Image.1

Best Friends, Platonic, Caring, Values, Spouse, Wrong Place with the Right Person

Message : The soul of yours is on a journey, of self discovery be it understanding what you truly want and need as an soul through life of human, to knowing it later after many lessons down the line that makes you see all the wrong things first and then things awaits on you to be corrected,

The connection you have is a Platonic one in this lifetime above mentioned are the forms you might have already met them or they are quite close but there is a wall of strangeness in between or a veil of unknown who is yet to arrive they are important part of your journey this makes you sad to not love like others, settle like others, but you are not one of them right? You are here for different things..they would be one of your greatest chapters that makes you worth the go towards the next.

Even if there is a separation it will be quite endearing and worth it. Because they would still wish the best from afar for you.

'Maybe love was about a moment of relief for the one who was on a quest of the living'

- S ✍🏽☘️

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Image.2

Karmic Bond, Purpose, Intent, Contract, Redemption, Salvation

Message : The dreams can weigh at times to, even if things seems enraging you hold it well behind a smile that a moment of ignorance and you would disappear amidst of the crowd to find your corner, comfort, of space where you shed all your emotions into a flow of thoughts that keeps you under greys before it rains.

There is a ache in your abdominal or chest, or a heavy guilt of feeling sorry towards something I am not able to see what exactly as I see you even feel hard to speak up like two Gulps down you take and sigh of eye rolls you go after doing any kinds of talk, your soul has a karmic bond it can be anyone in your family, but I see more in your social and friends group maybe even a colleague or romantic person, there is so much gloom, blues, and black here, a contract of hurt has begun that needs to be redeemed by the one who did to set the other person free with that state of feeling.

It will be really quite peaceful, refreshing yet painful as this heaviness will set both of your souls to move ahead in your life journey without holding anything back that can drown you at any time.

Timeline is near to 2-3 years it seems to be near the end by this year or next year's july.. monsoon is prominent and winter too.

The beauty of life is, there can be an end to whatever happens within it, but beautiful things hurt too badly like love

- S ♥️

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Image.3

Twin flame, Reflection, Transcend, Frequency, Attune, Trance, Mirror

Message : The idea or myth has a say that karma mirrors when it comes to twin flame but the reality has always been different and distinctive, You imbibe each other's nature timely..if you drink coffee now they might be having tea..

But the very same evening there will be a swap and you would wonder why did chose this when I am a specific this person; is how mirroring situations occurs in between you and your twin flame, I see you don't like to be too stereotypically girl but you have your own way to carry femininity same goes for masculinity,

To find a balance between the frequency of your energy will bring the space of mirrors into existence your twin flame is also seeking you the dreams you had about someone's safe touch but you have never been touched a dagger slashing something into two, all this is a sign of confirmation.

You will meet them when everything is balanced and attuned like a manifestation this entirely depends on how is your energy, divine timing, purpose, frequency, and attuning of your souls.

We exist under the same sky sharing the same breath, the day we will meet what exchanges is the trance of our being till date gets seen, heard and felt a dream come true.

- S🌊

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Image.4

Soulmates, Inner Knowing, Fidelity, Longing

Message : Everything speaks to you about love, hope and light no matter how much dark and cold things around may get there is warmth within, it is the longing towards your soulmate every songs remind you of the visions that you could possibly have with them not the delusions but the kisses on cheeks leaves a smile on your face by now for real as if you felt it happen for real but it is yet to.

I see you are quite pure at heart to see shades and imposters which makes you get influenced at a flinch but god's grace you deal with things very well that even through a mishap you come out like a boon.

It is a part and parcel of the growth towards enlightenment but just be cautious in case things can snap at you anytime even if you are ready for a war no need to invite one to prove everytime that you can do it. trust me this is from your soul mate you keep hurting yourself and they feel really helpless right now to not be able to help you through, so just let go of conflicts if it is around ignore..dodge deal it with grace or address it collectively instead of going and reacting rashly on your own.

To look feel and experience one's soul all you need is love inside your heart's core to connect beyond all the veils of falls and lows, that elevates you heightens you through grounding your roots of existence deeply in each other's heart through foot imprints.

- S🩷

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Paid Readings are Open Check my Pinned Post !!

[alieinthemorning]

Deepest, Darkest, Purest Love [Sylus] 

Content: World Underneath: Sealed in Dust Spoilers, Sylus Story Speculation, Angst, Soft Sylus, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

Sylus…was an enigma to you. After the Nest, the forced resonating, and being told that he wanted to achieve his goal, he needed you to like him in some capacity. Now, you’ve ended up here in one of his many safe houses, wrapped in his arms on the couch while some movie played. Domestic bliss as its finest, but how did you end up here? You knew that it wasn’t just him playing with your feelings while you hopelessly fell for it. No…you knew that his feelings for you were real. His actions and words, although not always obvious, were always clear in the intentions. 

“You know very well that I adore you. There is no love purer than mine.”

Despite how you acted toward him, or tried to deceive yourself. You knew you loved him. You loved this man something fierce. And honestly? 

It scared you—terrified you.

You understood that you and Sylus shared a past. One of your many pasts, over your many deaths. Unfortunately, you couldn’t remember much (not that you think you ever could). Since EVER had gotten their hands on you and the Aether Core, memories come up spotty and painful. You want to remember, you really do, but it doesn’t seem like you have an actual say in the matter. But from what you can remember…you’ve both died…many, many times. Pitted against each other for some reason or other, then forced to become close—fall in love, just to do it all over again—Oh.

Oh.

“You know very well that I adore you. There is no love purer than mine.”

You were pitted against each other for the Aether core. That’s what wants to devour him—this damned Aether Core. 

“Sweetie?” His thumb brushed against your under eye, catching the wetness there. “Why are you crying?” 

“I’m sorry!” You wail into his chest. “I’m so sorry for hurting you!”

“I’ve told you before that it was my fault for pushing you—” He grunted as you shoved away from him, shaking your head violently. 

“I’m talking about before! Way back when—I still don’t remember it all, but I know that I hurt you, so—” You looked up at him, tears caressing your waterline. “How can you love me so deeply?” 

“I’ve told you this once, and I’ll tell you as many times as you need.” He smiled, and you break. 

“You know very well that I adore you. There is no love purer than mine.”

You know, and you hate yourself for selfishly enveloping yourself in that love. 

A love you do not deserve. 

I was trying to do Soft Sylus, which! for the two lines that he speaks, he is in fact soft, so I'm counting it! But it ended up as angst regardless lol.

Now, let's get into what might be his Myth or one of his many pasts with you. I think that the two of you were pitted against each other for the Aether Core. Whoever the hell had y'all fighting wanted to make one of you stronger, and having one kill the other for the core seemed a lot more fun than just choosing one. But! I don't think it worked, y'all got tired of fighting and choose not to take arms when it was time, which not the best idea because you'd be punished, but hey, it did eventually get the message through to them. However, they took another approach, which was getting the two of you closer, so when they did pit you two against each other again, one of you would have to throw your life down for the other, and in this case…it was Sylus.

At least! That's what I'm thinking lol. Just a little theory!

I'm on Bluesky btw~

Ko-Fi | Masterlist

[astra-ravana]

The Basic Principles Of Spellcasting

Law of Similarity

These first two principles are from James Frazer's The Golden Bough and are fundamental to all of magick. Frazer describes this law as "like produces like" . This law says that manipulation of an image or likeness yields manipulation of the thing itself. Here's some examples of the Law of Similarity:

• Stabbing a human-shaped figure with nails or pins to cause pain to the person

• Drawing the practitioner holding their love interest by a leash in a "love leash" spell

• Writing a spell in a circle around someone's name to encircle or restrain them

• Putting a love spell that aims to make the target "burn with love" into a candle flame or oil lamp

• Walking upon a written spell to have the target "underfoot" and under your control

Similarity isn't restricted by literal similarity, it extends to metaphorical similarity as well. Idioms and puns were widely used in Egyptian myth and magick.

Law of Contagion

Frazer puts this one quite well: things which have once been in contact with eachother continue to act on eachother. One can extend this law to say that magickal energy can be transferred or shared between objects by contact and that transferal is strongest if they are in contact or extremely close. Examples include:

• Using the hair of a target in a spell or curse

• Writing a spell to a deity on the hide of a corresponding animal

• Burying a separation spell at the home of a couple to affect them

Hair is super useful (and sometimes required) for any spell targeted at someone. Some even keep or trade hair as collateral.

Note:If you need to perform substitutions in a spell, use the Law of Similarity and Law of Contagion for selecting the substitution, (ie: use red wine mixed with an animal's hair instead of blood from that animal).

Law of Durability

This law is basically covered by the Law of Similarity, but, because it's so important for picking components, it is being included separately. Magick done with more durable components will yield a longer lasting effect. For example, a spoken spell will be weaker than a spell written on parchment. The written spell will be weaker than a spell carved into wood or stone. This applies to enchanting as well; more durable items will stay enchanted longer.

Law of Layering

The Law of Layering must be applied carefully as it is about complementary layers, not throwing a bunch of stuff at a wall. The principle is the more layers that are used in magick, the stronger the magick will be. More layers build more power. Some ways to add layers are:

• Having a pre-spell ritual like bathing and meditating

• Cast spells in a designated space for casting with items designated for magick

• Make motions that mirror the words you're saying

• Add components to your spell via the Law of Similarity, the Law of Contagion, or objects along your correspondence.

• Perform the spell with a group as opposed to solo

• Reinforce a spell by doing it for multiple days, weeks, months, etc. (as in 'once per')

Law of Likeliness

One could compare magick to stacking a deck; you're manipulating chance to get circumstances to fall in your favor. This means two things. The first is magick cannot make the impossible happen. Magick is unlikely to cause things to levitate, or conjure fire from nowhere, or anything that isn't possible in our plane of existence. The second is, if an outcome is less likely, stronger magick is required to achieve it. Some decks are just easier to stack.

Law of Agency

No magick, short of possession, can fully rob a human of their free will. For example, if you cast a love spell on a target who's sexuality doesn't align with yours, it will have little to no effect. If a person is resistant to a certain energy in their day-to-day life, they will similarly be resistant to that same energy when sent via magick.