#seed snow stream

[marejadilla]

Tuesday Riddell, “Seed Snow Stream", 2021. Gold & Silver leaf, gold powder, Lustre powder and paint on Japanned board. Born 1992 Newcastle upon Tyne. London Based Artists working with the endangered craft of Japanning lacquer.

[allfearstofallto]

I did it :)

Degrees of Lewdity LI Transformations - Headcanons

All Male LI x Fem! PC Reader

Ft: (Corrupt, pure) Sydney, Whitney, Kylar, Robin

TW: 18+ MDNI, deviancy, wolf tf, harpy tf, bull tf, knotting, unprotected sex, Dub-Con, cumming inside, breeding

Angel! Sydney who's pure as the day he was born. Strawberry blonde hair that seems to shimmer in the light, hazel eyes that only pass forgiving stares. Wings whiter than freshly fallen snow and a golden halo, reflecting an almost blinding light off his glasses. Sweet pure Sydney isn't just the talk of the temple, his unshaken virtue is the talk of the entire town. Though he'll humbly insist that he can't cast blessings, but people still beg him to pray for them which he'll do regardless, he's too kind not to.

Fallen! Sydney who's lost that light in his eyes, dark hair draped over his shoulder. The blinding light of his halo is now changed to an inky black over his head, until one day he comes back with a fresh set of horns sprouting from his forehead. White wings look like they're dipped in oil, their color slowly sinks and becomes dark. You wonder if he seems happier this way, his insatiable lust making him palm himself through his shorts while looking at you, grinding himself against his hand while wordlessly mumbling what he wants to do to you.

Wolfboy! Whitney who doesn't let anyone mention the ears or fluffy tail he sprouted. Who insists that he only likes going into the woods because it's an easy place to smoke without being bothered. His new assets means that his already firm grip as he pounds into you, is now met with the painful feeling of claws digging into your hips, sharp teeth at your neck, threatening to bite. When he cums inside your already trembling cunt, he bullies that big knot of his inside. The swell of it filling your abused pussy up, knocks the air from your lungs.

Harpy! Robin who always had such a lovely singing voice, but when he sprouts colorful wings and a feathered tail his voice seems to get brighter. He sings you to sleep while stroking your hair, hands gentle as he's careful of his abnormally long claws. His love making is more passionate now, a pretty voice singing out as the claws dig into the bedsheets below you, those wings of his flapping as he fills you with cum, then nuzzles against your chest. He sleeps with a defensive arm around you, making sure you're full of his seed, but more importantly safe.

Bullboy! Kylar who's desperate, begging for your touch. He needs to be milked, so badly it hurts and only you can do it for him. His cock, abnormally large, balls heavy and filled to the brim. You'll stroke his cock as he stands stiffly, moaning out loudly while praising you with words of love and admiration. He cums while practically convulsing from your hands, your fingers slick with his precum. His balls tense, bovine tail wagging as cum drips down your arms, a seemingly never ending stream leaving the twitching head.

[euphemiaamillais]

favourite crime - coriolanus snow

coriolanus snow loves you… but when he learns that he’s being sent back to the capitol—well, he can’t have any loose ends left back in district 12.

dark possessive!coriolanus snow x district 12!reader

cw: 18+//dead dove do not eat!!!//snuff//mentions of loss of virginity//mentions of murder//coriolanus snow’s disgusting inner monologue//murder//strangulation//piv sex//mentions of guns

reader discretion advised!! i do not condone any of these themes, this is merely a work of fiction

IB: @shellxrls

when you’d first laid eyes on private snow at the hob, you never would’ve thought you’d end the night with your lips wrapped around his cock. no, you were a good girl. you didn’t do things like that, and certainly not with strange men in darkened corners. but coriolanus was different. he made your core burn with desire, and your heart skip a beat every time his icy eyes flicked over you.

you spent many evenings with him—friday nights especially—legs spread, letting him touch you in ways you’d never known before. he liked that you had been a virgin; the thought of corrupting this stupid little district girl and turning her into his whore. you belonged to him now, and he’d have you whenever he pleased. you were nothing more than a hole to fill his desire with.

you were head over heels for him—so when he told you he’d been given a discharge to return to the capitol, he’d thought his pretty little doll would be delighted for him. you’d had fat tears streaming down your cheeks, mascara running—you’d worn it just for him, to look pretty—clutching at his arms and begging him to stay.

you couldn’t leave district 12, no. you didn’t belong in a place like the capitol.

the way you were begging was so pathetic; getting on your knees, weeping, voice strained with frustration. he couldn’t believe how he’d done this to a girl—lucy gray was never like this. when he’d left her for you she’d simply resigned herself to singing not-so-subtle tunes about how much of an asshole he was. well, at least before he killed her.

you were different. you were his little doll. his and his only. that’s why you had to return to the capitol with him—he’d have packed you into his bag if there had been enough room. it was a shame they didn’t allow for pretty whores to travel with the peacekeepers.

‘please, coryo,’ you cried out, hands clutching at his trousers. ‘don’t leave me, i- i love you!’

your attempts at flattery were ridiculous, but in a way he knew that you did love him. he didn’t love you, exactly. he loved knowing that he possessed you, that your heart entirely belonged to him. but he could never love a whore from the districts—especially not 12 at that.

‘is my bunny sad that i’ll be going home?’ he cooed, clutching your chin with his large hand. you were so small. he could break you if he wanted to…

‘mhm. gonna miss you so bad, coryo,’ you gazed up at him with wide-eyes—they looked so innocent as they glistened with the tears of your upset.

‘gonna miss your cock, and your tongue…’ you sighed wistfully. ‘gonna miss riding you and having you fuck me full of your cum.’

your lips are turned into a pretty pout, and he wonders then and there whether or not he should get his cock out and shove it past them. make you drink up his seed one last time. or perhaps he could bend you over his bunk and put a baby in you—then you’d always have something to remember him by.

no—that would make you a loose end. and he can’t have loose ends. you can’t know that he shot the mayor’s daughter because she pissed him off too much—or that his songbird, lucy gray, now lay somewhere at the bottom of the lake by the cabin.

he decides he can spend one last night with his little bunny. just one night. but then he’s clearing up loose ends. you’d never assume what he had been planning, no, you’re far too dumb to understand that. you see the good in everyone; and that made his chest burn with fury. how could you be so fucking innocent?

‘bunny…’ his voice trailed off. you nod, awaiting him to tell you something, anything—did he love you too?

‘i’ve got an idea. one last special night, just the two of us, hm? down at that cabin by the lake,’ he stroked your cheek. how sweet you looked like this, all red in the face. ‘i’ll give you a night worth remembering. let you sit on my face.’

you gave him an eager smile, and he knew his little bunny was just too stupid to know she was falling into his trap.

—

this was where he’d killed lucy gray, too. that had been a cold, rainy day. just like this one. you’d been so easy to lure into his trap; meeting him by the hanging tree in your prettiest dress—one with tiny pink flowers that came just above the knee. you’d even tucked a flower behind your ear. how sweet.

you couldn’t wait to spend your last night with coryo. you’d been singing all day, and practically skipped to meet him with a little bag full of some food and your toothbrush. you’d flung yourself into his arms, not caring about the consequences of being caught with a peacekeeper. he’d be gone by tomorrow morning anyways.

the walk to the cabin had tired you out considerably, and so you clung to coryo like a pathetic little bunny, letting him lead the way. you’d miss clutching his biceps, feeling the taut muscle beneath his shirt, the way his dog tags slapped against your face as he pounded your cunt raw.

he delighted in the way he’d get to have you one last time, tonight. that at some point, the only thing warm in your body would be his cum, leaking out of that tight cunt of yours. even though you were stupid, he did have to admit that your willingness was something he adored. the way he could just fill you up at any time, and in any hole—you never complained.

he’d corrupted you, watched you bleed as his big cock stretched you out that first time. he loved the way your eyes swelled up with tears and you begged him to stop—‘it hurts, coryo!’ you had clawed your nails into his back. ‘too big!’—but he didn’t stop. he knew you had to learn to take it, and that you did. you had such low self-esteem, you would practically grovel at his feet everytime you so much as made him frown. you’d do anything for him, and that was the way he liked it.

complete control.

the cabin was warmer than the tender breeze outside, and you were so grateful to get in there, shivering in your little dress. coryo had dressed more appropriately, in his day clothes, and he watched as you shivered. god, you were so helpless.

he set his things down, and when you had laid down on the bed to rest your eyes for a while, bundled up in the ratty old blanket, he checked under the floorboards. there it was—one last gun, wrapped in a green cloth. if you tried to run, he’d use it on you. he’d deliberated over which way to kill you, which way wouldn’t damage that pretty little face of yours.

he thought that one simple shot to the chest would do it—it would be instant too. but he wanted to watch the life drain out of you, watch as you whined and begged for him to save you. watch how your brows would furrow and your eyes would grow wide with fear and realisation that you were just another loose end to him. he’d never loved you. he’d loved the control.

but coriolanus had also debated choking you out—maybe he wouldn’t remove his cock from your throat while he fucked it, and pinch the tip of your nose so you’d stop breathing. how pretty you’d look, trying to take his cock and at the same time, fight for your life. he’d shoot his hot load down your dead little throat once you’d stopped breathing. a reminder that you were his, and no one else’s.

no, he couldn’t let you live.

he shut the floorboards when he heard you stirring—you must’ve fallen asleep. how sweet. in a few hours you’d go to sleep one last time—but it would be an eternal slumber. he wanted nothing more than to bring you back to the capitol and make you his little whore—you couldn’t be his wife; think of the shame and embarrassment that would bring. but you could be at his every beck and call, be there to relieve any tension he had. it was just so unfortunate that he wasn’t allowed.

he’d put your body to rest with lucy gray’s, down in the lake to let your pearly white bones be the fishes’ dinner. he couldn’t bury you out in the woods; they’d find you there, one way or another. instead, he’d let them think you’d just disappeared. people disappeared out in the districts all the time. especially stupid little girls. who would care if a pathetic runt who took peacekeeper cock vanished? he doubted you had many friends, and your parents were both dead.

you wouldn’t be missed.

it was some time later that you woke, and your stomach grumbled. coriolanus was sitting in the rickety old armchair, carving what looked to be a spear with his pocketknife. you watched his muscular arms move back and forth as he stripped the stick of its bark. something about his strength made your thighs burn.

you got up, bare feet cold against the wooden floorboards, and peered into your bag. you’d made enough food for the evening; you had even splurged and gotten yourself a precious block of cheese. you figured it was only appropriate, what with it being your last night together and all.

he looked up from his makeshift weapon—though it wasn’t all that, really—and gave you an award-winning smile. your heart leapt at his sweetness. you couldn’t believe he wanted to spend one last night with you.

‘you’re so pretty, bunny,’ he remarked, watching as you laid out the food.

there was bread, a few flimsy butter knifes—you’d not be able to defend yourself with those; besides you were just so weak. you’d even snuck a bottle of wine at the market when the peacekeepers weren’t looking. you wanted it to be special, to send him off happy and thinking of you.

your chest twinged with a heavy sadness. you wished you could go with him, follow him to the capitol and maybe, stupidly, marry him. you wanted to be his forever. you’d give him lots of children and they’d have white-blonde hair and icy blue eyes. you’d make sure he was satisfied every day, and cook and clean and whatever he required of you.

but you were to remain here, in district 12. marry a man covered in coal who worked himself to the bone in the mines. have skinny little babies who starved from the lack of food, struggle tooth and claw just to put dinner on the table every night. your time with coriolanus had been your only taste of luxury, of richness. he’d told you how in the capitol, there were buildings that reached the sky, and that every night people would feast on the finest food from the districts. you were reminded, with your own hunger pangs, the sacrifice that you had to make.

no, you’d never be good enough for him. future president of panem.

‘coryo, come eat,’ you said, standing proudly beside your food which you’d laid out neatly on the table.

he obliged—he was hungry, after all. he’d not eaten since last night. the food looked tolerable too, and the bottle of wine tempted him to be more considerate. just so his little bunny wouldn’t be suspicious. he doubted you were clever enough to figure out his intentions anyways.

‘i hope you like it,’ you remarked meekly, sitting down beside him and beginning to devour the food.

he opened the bottle of wine, and although it was completely uncivilised, he took a large swig. it was terribly sour, not like the good stuff they had in the capitol. he reckoned you’d never even tasted real wine. how pathetic.

‘how lucky did i get, with my little bunny,’ he smiled, stroking your head fondly.

‘i’m the lucky one,’ you said in your saccharine tone. he wanted to roll his eyes—you were so sickeningly sweet. ‘you’ve been so good to me, coryo.’

‘yeah?’ he asked. he liked how much you sought to stroke his ego. it made his cock hard the way you were just so utterly desperate to please him in every manner.

‘mhm,’ you said, chewing on a piece of bread. the cheese made it taste so delicious; sweet and creamy.

‘does bunny like the way i always give her whatever she wants? fill her up with my cum just like she asks?’ he watched as your cheeks burned red with abashed shame.

‘coryo…’ you whined, pressing your thighs together.

he loved the way you were already squirming, just from the mention of being fucked. what a fucking slut. he bet you had soaked through your panties, just waiting from him to bury his cock deep inside you as you whined for him to go harder. he’d show you harder. perhaps he’d wrap his big hands around your tiny, little neck, and squeeze too hard. god, you’d look so pretty with the air sucked out of your lungs, gasping and panting as he filled you up one last time.

‘oh bunny, don’t tell me you’re wet already?’ he cooed, standing up from his chair.

whatever, he didn’t really need to eat anyways. he couldn’t possibly be hungry when he’d been feeding himself with the own sick ideas in his head. food could wait—he’d need to tend to his little bunny first.

you nodded dumbly, clenching your thighs as the slickness pooled in your panties. you couldn’t help it, it was your last night with coryo. you wanted him more than anything else, more than you ever had done before.

‘p-please,’ you whimpered pathetically.

‘does bunny want me to fuck her? make her cum?’ he laughed, stroking your smooth arm. you were so warm. so full of life.

‘mhm, yes,’ you moaned, slipping one hand between your thighs to rub at your aching clit.

seeing this, coriolanus yanked your hair, causing you to gasp and sputter. how dare you touch yourself? you were his! his to have and do as he pleased with! you felt a few tears spring to your eyes, and he laughed, seeing how stupid you looked, weeping because he pulled your hair. he wondered how much you’d cry when he squeezed at your airways; watching them constrict between his big hands.

‘you know my rules, bunny,’ he clucked his tongue in disapproval. you glanced up at him, his icy eyes singed with coolness.

‘i’m sorry, sir,’ you replied. that name made his cock stir. he couldn’t keep himself from devouring you for much longer.

he dragged you from the chair and shoved you down against the bed. you were giggling and gasping like a little fool—it made his blood boil. you wouldn’t be laughing when your heart pumped with its last beat and your legs went still.

‘be a good girl, bunny,’ he commanded, trapping one leg between your thighs to stop you from grinding against the mattress.

you watched as he unbuckled his pants—he was never one for dawdling, preferring to get straight to the point—and eyed his bulge hungrily. you wanted to use your mouth on him, feel him stretch your lips out and fuck your throat as you gagged on his length. you’d miss how big he was—so big that you often ached for days after he fucked you.

he cupped your chin in his hand again, and pressed a kiss to the corner of your jaw. he had no intention of being gentle with you, this final time. you were merely his to use for pleasure. a little fuckdoll to fill up with his cum.

you moaned as he pulled his boxers down and his cock sprang free. you would never get used to the sight of it—the huge, throbbing thing. you couldn’t wait to have him bury it inside of you, feeling it nudge against your most sensitive spots.

‘need you, coryo,’ you panted. ‘need you in me.’

you pulled your panties off, feeling your own slickness pressing at your inner thighs. coriolanus grabbed the base of his cock with one hand, and pushed you down against the bed with the other. he wanted to take you like this, so he could watch the life drain out of your eyes, one last time.

‘gonna fuck you so good, bunny,’ he mused, hiking your dress up and sighing at the sight of your wet cunt. he would miss it, he did have to admit. what a shame it wouldn’t get wet for him anymore in a few hours. but if he couldn’t have you, nobody could.

‘mhm,’ you gasped as he pressed the tip of his cock at your sopping entrance.

god, you were so pathetic. so wet for him, so fucking desperate for his cock. he knew you probably wouldn’t have even let anyone have you, after he left. but he couldn’t bear the thought that somebody could take advantage of you, coax you into their bed and let them bury their cock in you. no, your cunt was his only. nobody else could dare touch his bunny.

he groaned as he pushed himself all the way in, feeling your walls stretch around him. you were still so tight, even after all the abuse to your hole with his big cock, the way he stretched you out, you were still tight as the first time he’d had you. you didn’t complain as much anymore though, not like you had that first time—weeping for days after with the dull ache of being fucked.

coriolanus began to thrust, grabbing your hips with firm hands, bucking into you with lusty vigour. your tits bounced in your dress, and you couldn’t help but gasp and mewl each time his cock bucked into your tight hole. his cock throbbed, feeling you clench around him, the way you sucked him in with your slick want.

he’d never forget this night. the last time he’d have you. the way you were so utterly perfect.

‘taking me so well,’ he grunted, watching as you moaned at the pleasant feeling of his big cock burying itself deep inside you, brushing against your cervix.

‘harder,’ you gasped, clutching at the sheets. you wanted to know you were his.

coriolanus couldn’t resist this, of course. he wrapped your legs around his waist, and plunged himself deeper into you. his balls were slapping against your perineum now, and the cabin filled with the reverberation of skin against skin.

you kept gasping and begging as he drove himself into you. you could feel yourself edging closer—you’d been so wet the whole way here, you were soaking at the thought of him having you one last time.

it was beginning to piss him off, though, the way you were being so loud. normally, he loved it, your moans letting everybody know how well he was fucking you, branding you as his own with his cum. he wondered what you’d do if he choked you right now—would you attempt to run? if you did, he’d get that rifle and shoot you. he couldn’t risk having you running about district 12 when somebody else could get their hands on you.

no more loose ends, he reminded himself.

he reached his free hand out, caressing your cheek, and then trailing them down to your neck. you giggled as he wrapped his fingers around your neck—it was so little that his whole hand could fit you inside of it. he’d choked you before, and so you didn’t assume anything of it. he pressed lightly, and you let out a sigh, body humming with want.

‘good girl,’ he mused, pounding you with his cock at the same time.

you let out a pretty moan, pussy clenching just right around him; he couldn’t help but grunt at how pleasant it was. you’d probably still be tight for a few hours after he kills you. maybe he’d fuck you again, but you wouldn’t be warm, or wet. just cold. he decided against it. he’d fill you up with his cum just as the life drained out of your eyes.

he pressed harder, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. it hurts, and you glance up at him with a worried look, eyes stretching wide. he doesn’t pay heed to this, and merely keeps thrusting, moving your hips closer to his to hit at a new angle.

he saw your breathing go rapid, and your eyes dart about the room in panic. poor bunny. he really didn’t want to have to kill you, but you can’t be his forever, and how can he accept that? if you’re dead, you’re nobody’s but his. especially since he’ll fuck his cum deep into your stiffening body; you’ll have part of him in you forever.

he could hear the sounds of your vocal chords straining as he clasped tighter at your throat. it would be a shame that you’d be left with a rosy imprint of his fingers around your neck, but it made him smile a little, that you’d be branded with his mark until you rotted.

‘coryo!’ you whimpered, clawing at his chest.

‘shhh, be quiet, bunny. take my cock like a good girl,’ he murmured, slamming into you.

it hurt—the way he was crushing your neck, your tendons beginning to strain around his touch. it felt like there was no air left in the world; you were beginning to grow tired, your breaths haggard.

‘p-please,’ you felt tears spring to your eyes, and watched as he laughed, a maniacal grin creeping across his lips.

he shook his head, grunting as your walls contracted around his cock. he was so close, but you were being a bitch and taking too long to die. he clamped down on you harder, causing a gasp to escape your lips. you couldn’t speak—your hands were clawing about desperately, legs flailing about.

you were terrified—what was he doing?! why did he want to hurt you? just minutes ago he was telling you how much he wished you could come back to the capitol with him and be his wife. he wanted to dress you up like a pretty doll and make you grow fat with his children.

‘don’t cry, bunny,’ he laughed, watching as your legs stilled.

you were so tired. it felt like there was no blood in your legs; they grew stiff and numb. your head spun.

‘you’re all mine bunny, forever,’ he smiled as your body grew limp.

you were terrified—eyes beginning to lose their shine, lips trembling with fear. you couldn’t feel your arms now, or the way he was bucking into you. his thrusts were slower now—he was close. watching the life drain out of you made his blood course through his veins with a delicious speed.

you mouthed out a ‘why’ as your body went completely frail. in one last act of betrayal, your cunt gushed around him as he squeezed your neck; airways completely constricted. your lips were beginning to blue now, and he frowned—he had really liked how plump and red they were when you sucked him off.

coriolanus felt himself finish; cock shooting thick loads into your still-wet cunt. he couldn’t help but grunt as he spurted himself into your pretty hole. the way you’d finished just as your heart had stopped beating and your lungs had given out. your final breath wasted on cumming. you really were a whore.

he ran his hands over your body, frowning at the ugly ring around your neck. at least he didn’t have to deal with your blood. that would’ve been so fucking messy. having to mop it up, and the way you would’ve screamed. at least you couldn’t scream when his hand was clamped around your neck.

when he pulled out, he watched with sick delight as his cum spilled out of your pussy. the thick, pearly loads trickled down your thighs. your limbs would be pliable and floppy for another two hours, but he couldn’t bring himself to fuck you again. that was too far, even for him.

he looked at your face, which was stretched into one of fear. your eyes were still, but wet with the tears. so were your cheeks—they still retained that innocent rosiness which he so loved.

he wished lucy gray had looked so pretty when he’d killed her. she’d screamed when his bullet pierced her chest cavity, and she’d bled all over his jeans as he’d held her. you were so docile, even in death. you’d given him one last thank you when you’d came, and he knew you’d be his forever.

darling, dearest, dead. the words rang clear in his head. he’d read them in an old novel. they were fittingly appropriate for the situation. it was so sad that he had to kill you, but it was a bitter and necessary pill to swallow. he had to return home to the capitol, marry that bitch livia cardew, and set his sights on what mattered most.

you were just a little doll he’d had his fun with on his summer vacation—you were just a poor district girl. what did you matter? nobody would miss you, and when he became president, nobody would know that he’d watched the life drain out of three pathetic girls.

that would be terrible for his image. he did what needed to be done. his pretty bunny would be his forever, and he’d secure his place in the world.

no more loose ends.

[callmekenya]

Pairings: Evie Grimhilde x m!y/n

Warnings: None

_________________________________________

The garden party at Rapunzel and Flynn's Castle was a scene straight out of a fairy tale. The lush greenery, adorned with twinkling lights, set the perfect atmosphere for an elegant evening. Guests mingled, laughter echoed, and the scent of blooming flowers filled the air.

Evie, the daughter of the Evil Queen, stood beside her boyfriend, Y/n, the son of Queen Rapunzel and King Flynn. Everything about their relationship seemed perfect, almost too perfect.

Rapunzel, who had grown fond of Evie, treated her like the daughter she never had, and Evie cherished their bond. For her, meeting Y/n was a dream come true—a prince who loved her for who she was, despite her past. But dreams have a way of turning into nightmares.

As the evening unfolded, an unexpected guest arrived—Lily, the daughter of Queen Snow White and King Florian. With her raven-black hair and flawless skin, Lily was the epitome of beauty, but her demeanor was anything but sweet. She was accompanied by Princess Josaphine, the daughter of Jasmine and Aladdin, who introduced Lily to Evie with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Lily, this is Evie, Y/n’s girlfriend," Josaphine said, her voice dripping with a false sweetness.

Lily looked Evie up and down, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Ah, the infamous VK. How quaint."

Evie, caught off guard, forced a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."

Lily leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper, yet cutting like a knife. "You know, Y/n is just going through a phase. He'll never truly fall for someone like you. A wannabe princess will never be an actual princess."

The words stung more than Evie would care to admit. She tried to shake off the comment, but the seed of doubt had been planted. The rest of the night passed in a blur. Y/n noticed Evie's sudden change in mood and gently took her hand. "Evie, are you okay? You've been quiet all evening."

Evie gave him a tight-lipped smile, hiding the turmoil inside. "I'm just tired. Can we go home?"

Concerned but respectful, Y/n drove her back to her dorm. The silence between them was deafening. When they arrived at her door, Evie turned to him, her smile forced. "Thank you for tonight. I just need some time alone."

Y/n wanted to press further but saw the resolve in her eyes. He nodded, brushing a kiss across her forehead before watching her disappear behind the door. Little did he know, that night would change everything.

Alone in her dorm, Evie couldn’t shake off Lily’s words. They echoed in her mind, driving her to the edge. In a moment of desperation, she decided to make a change. She bleached her signature blue hair to a brown hue and swapped her vibrant blue outfits for muted, traditional princess colors. When she looked in the mirror, she hardly recognized herself but convinced herself it was for the best.

The next day, Y/n was taken aback when he saw Evie’s transformation. She looked stunning, but something about her new look felt off. It wasn’t the Evie he fell in love with, but he kept his thoughts to himself, not wanting to upset her.

Weeks passed, and tension grew between them. The Tourney tournament, the highlight of the season, was around the corner. Auradon’s team was pumped, and the cheerleading squad, including both Lily and Evie, was ready to energize the crowd. The game was intense, but Auradon triumphed, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

As the cheerleaders rushed onto the field, Lily saw her chance. She ran straight to Y/n, wrapping her arms around him and planting a kiss on his lips. The crowd fell silent in shock, all eyes on the couple.

Y/n immediately pushed Lily away, his eyes searching for Evie. He found her across the field, her face a mix of shock and heartbreak. Without a second thought, she turned and ran, tears streaming down her face.

Y/n sprinted after her, calling out her name, but she didn’t stop. He caught up to her just as she reached her dorm, grabbing her arm gently. “Evie, please, let me explain. That kiss meant nothing. You’re the one I love.”

Evie looked at him, her eyes filled with hurt. “It’s not just the kiss, Y/n. I thought I could be someone I’m not. But I’ll never be a real princess, not like Lily. Maybe she’s right, maybe you deserve someone better.”

She pulled off the promise ring he had given her, pressing it into his hand. “I can’t do this anymore. We’re done.”

Before Y/n could respond, she turned and disappeared into her dorm, leaving him standing in the hallway, heartbroken.

In the days that followed, Y/n tried reaching out to Evie, but she blocked him on everything. She avoided him at every turn, and Y/n found himself spiraling into despair. Lily, meanwhile, reveled in the downfall of their relationship, always lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The Royal Ball hosted by Mal and Ben was the final event of the season, a grand celebration where everyone would be present. Y/n arrived with Lily on his arm, but his mind was elsewhere, his eyes scanning the room for Evie. Then, the announcer's voice rang out.

"Please welcome Princess Evie and her date for the Royal Ballet, Doug!"

The room fell silent as Evie entered, her hair once again a vibrant blue, and her dress matching the hue. She looked every bit the princess she was meant to be, reclaiming her true self. Y/n’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. She was stunning, a vision of everything he had fallen in love with.

As the night wore on, the band was set to perform. Y/n, desperate to win Evie back, made his way to the stage. Taking the microphone, he addressed the crowd. "I’d like to dedicate this song to someone very special to me. Someone I should have never let go.”

[Verse 1: Y/n]

"If I could do it all over, baby, I'd do it different

Maybe I wouldn't be here, in this position 

I found you, then I lost you, looking back is torture 

And it hurts to know I let you go, you live right around the corner

Y/n’s voice was filled with emotion as he sang, his eyes never leaving Evie’s. The room was silent, captivated by the raw sincerity in his voice. Evie, standing at the edge of the room, felt her heart breaking all over again, but she couldn’t look away.

[Pre-Chorus 1: Y/n & Evie]

"And I could've had it all, could've had it all

True love, I know I had it

True love, was so hard to find

True love, if I could get it back, I'd never let it go this time

(True love) is an inspiration

(True love) it was mine, all mine

(True love) I'd never let it go

I'd never it go

I'll never let it go

I'll never let it go this time.

As Y/n continued, Evie felt her resolve weaken. The love they had shared was real, undeniable. Slowly, she began to move towards the stage, drawn to him by the pull of their connection.

[Verse 2: Evie]

"Feeling it all around me, wondering how I blew it”

And I wanna know the secret, of how they, do it

There's no such thing as perfection, I'm still learning that lesson

To forgive is key to forgetting me

And I'm staring at my reflection

And I could've had it all, could've had it all

Evie’s voice joined his, soft at first but gaining strength. The harmony between them was perfect, a reflection of the bond they once had. The crowd watched in awe as Evie walked toward Y/n, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

[Pre-Chorus 2: Y/n & Evie]

True love, I know I had it

True love, was so hard to find

If I could get it back, yeah

I'd never let it go this time

True love, is an inspiration

True love, it was mine oh mine

True love, If I could get it back, yeah

Never let it go, I'd never let it go this time

[Verse 3: Y/n]

If I knew then what I do now, I'd be with you tonight

If I knew then what I'd do now we'd be alright

And I could've had it all

True love (x3)

By the time they reached the chorus again, they were standing face to face, their voices blending in perfect harmony. The emotion between them was palpable, and the audience could feel it too. As they sang the final lines together, the weight of their feelings hung in the air.

[Bridge: Y/n & Evie]

I'd never let it go this time

True love, it was mine oh mine

True love, If I could get it back, yeah

If only I could get it back, yeah

(Never let it go this time)

True love, I'd never let it go

True love, it was mine oh mine

True love, I could've had it,

Could've had it, could've had it all

True love, is an inspiration

True love, it was mine oh mine

True love, yeah

If I could get it back, yeah

(If I could get it back, yeah)

Never let it go

(I'd never let it go, this time)

I'd never let it go, this time

True love, yeah

The song ended, and for a moment, the room was completely silent. Then, without a word, Y/n reached out and pulled Evie into a kiss, pouring all of his love and regret into it. The crowd erupted into cheers, but for Y/n and Evie, the world had faded away. There was only them, and the love they had fought so hard to reclaim.

Lily, seething with jealousy, started to make her way toward Evie and Y/n, a glass of champagne in her hand and mischief glinting in her eyes. She intended to cause a scene, to tear them apart one final time. However, before she could take more than a few steps, she found her path blocked by Audrey and Mal.

“Not so fast, Princess,” Mal said, her voice icy with authority. “Leave them alone. You’ve done enough.”

Audrey crossed her arms, nodding in agreement. “You might want to rethink what you’re about to do, Lily. I guarantee it won’t end well for you.”

Lily hesitated, her eyes flicking from the two girls in front of her to the couple on the dance floor. The room’s attention had shifted away from her, and it was clear that if she tried anything, Mal and Audrey wouldn’t hesitate to stop her. Grudgingly, she lowered her glass and took a step back, her lips curling in distaste.

“Fine,” Lily spat, her voice low. “But this isn’t over.”

Mal leaned in, her glowing eyes narrowing. “It is, Lily. Move on. You’re not wanted here.”

With one last glare, Lily turned on her heel and stormed out of the ballroom, her frustration and anger evident in every step. Audrey and Mal exchanged a satisfied look before turning their attention back to the celebration.

On the dance floor, Y/n and Evie were lost in each other’s eyes, the world around them fading into a distant hum. The cheers from the crowd only heightened the joy that surged between them. Y/n gently cupped Evie’s face, brushing a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb.

“I’m so sorry, Evie,” Y/n whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything. For letting you doubt yourself, for letting Lily come between us. I never stopped loving you. I never will.”

Evie placed her hand over his, holding it to her cheek as she leaned into his touch. “I should’ve never let her words get to me. I should’ve known better, should’ve trusted in what we had. But when I changed, I realized I was losing myself. I just… I just didn’t know how to get back to who I was, or if you’d still want me when I did.”

Y/n’s heart ached at the vulnerability in her voice. He shook his head, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Evie, you’re perfect just the way you are. It was never about being a princess or a VK. It was always about you. The girl I fell in love with, who’s brave, smart, kind, and so incredibly strong. The girl who’s never needed to be anyone other than herself.”

Evie’s lips trembled into a smile, her blue eyes shining brightly as she met his gaze. “And I fell in love with the boy who saw all of that in me when no one else did. You’ve always been my true love, Y/n. I never should’ve doubted that.”

As the music played on, they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world spinning around them but never touching the bubble of peace they’d created together. The crowd, sensing the moment, began to pair off into their own dances, leaving Y/n and Evie to share this time together.

From across the room, Doug watched with a satisfied grin on his face, his earlier role as Evie’s date simply a way to remind her of her worth. He caught Ben’s eye and gave a small nod, acknowledging the part they’d played in helping the couple find their way back to each other.

Ben, standing with Mal at his side, couldn’t help but smile. “I think everything turned out just as it was meant to,” he said, giving Mal’s hand a squeeze.

Mal smirked, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Of course it did. I mean, when have you known me to be wrong?”

They both laughed, and for the rest of the night, the ballroom was filled with joy, music, and the celebration of love—true love that had been tested, but never broken.

As the evening drew to a close, Y/n and Evie slipped away from the crowd, finding a quiet corner of the garden where the twinkling lights of the party cast a soft glow around them. Y/n wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

“You know,” Y/n murmured, his voice tender, “I don’t need a kingdom or a crown. As long as I have you, Evie, I have everything I could ever want.”

Evie smiled, resting her head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “And I have you, my prince. That’s all I need.”

They stayed like that for a while, holding each other under the stars, secure in the knowledge that their love was true, unshakable, and everlasting.

[vhyunjinverse]

DEAR HEAVENLY FATHER…

f!reader x toji fushiguro (18+)

summary: Toji Fushiguro was well known in your neighborhood, has been for years. He was a house hopper, especially after being put out by his family many years ago. That same family that was over the church. Well…let’s just say you needed to pray and Toji was there to help you.

warnings: religious themes, oral (m receiving), crying, hair pulling, spit kink, degrading

“Fuck it’s cold tonight.” Toji grunts, laying on the bench inside of the church. It was empty, Christmas was tomorrow. There was snow everywhere outside. Luckily for him he knew the building like the side of his dick. He lit up the huge fireplace, reached into a closet and pulled out some blankets and pillows. He made himself a small (but perfectly sized) fort.

Toji looked at it proudly as if he were a child. He snuggled up nice and warm. Sighing softly he thought about the position he was in- something he shouldn’t be in. The neighborhood, although they thrived off helping, didn’t help toji much. They saw him as a delinquent, a run away- that wasn’t the case though. Who would believe the pastors son over the pastor himself?

There was you…you came into the church an hour into Toji’s sleep, sniffling. “Father?” You called out, seeing the church lights on. Toji opened an eye, seeing your trembling frame. “Tch..”

He grunts, getting up. He slowly slipped into the confession booth, something he did when he was bored. Hearing the door click for your attention. “Father-“ You get in, biting your lip. “I’m sorry for bothering you at this time of the morning.. Merry Christmas.”

“Just get on with it..my child.” He coughs, cringing at the word choice.

“I..I’ve been having sinful thoughts. About me..my body with someone i’m not married to.” You frown, picking at your nails. “It makes me uncomfortable going against the lord’s word but I just can’t help myself..Touching myself at night imagining there was someone with me to do what my fingers can’t.”

“Have yr’ forgotten?” Toji’s opening the door. That makes your head pop up, him coming over to your side. “Father-“

“All sins are to be forgiven mama.”

This is bad..this is very bad. This is so very bad.

“Knew that mouth could do some good. Open wider mama..that’s it.” Toji let out a small huff, his big tip slipping between your plump lips. You were on your knees, tears streaming down your flushed face while you looked up at the man you confessed to. You scarf had been used to keep your hands together and in your lap. As Toji said, “Pray to me and you’ll be forgiven” before shoving his cock down your throat.

He stood over you very intimidatingly. His aura was dark. You knew this was no proper “prayer” but god did Toji answer what you had wished for. He thrusts forward, inch by inch disappearing into your mouth. He reached down to entangle his large fingers into your hair, pulling upward to take him further. “Yr’ chokin’ mama?” He groans, feeling you gag. You managed to see his eyes flutter before they were back on your teary ones. “N-No..” you mumble best you could.

“This what they tell you every sunday? Not to give up good puss cause someone said it was bad? This the bullshit you listen to huh?” Toji shudders, your mouth reaching the small hairs of his happy trail. His movements stopped as he let you sit there, flexing your throat. “Fuck..If i keep goin’ i’ll send my kids down yr’ throat.” He laughed, lips parting as his head leaned back slowly. “That what yr’ want? Huh? My little bastards going down yr’ throat. It’s what yr’ prayed for!” His seed shoots down your throat, surprising you. “mmph..” Your eyes flutter shut as he pulled you closer to his base. “Swallow.”

Toji’s cum drills down your chin as you watch him stroke his cock for the last few drops. You swallow, tasting how it was slightly salty. Toji bends down to your level, patting your lips with his fingers. “Open mama.” He hums. Your eyes scan over the scar on his lips as you happily opened your mouth. He spits, smirking when you swallowed afterwards. “Tch..what’s the old man gonna say, seein’ you here swallowin everything like a nasty fuckin slut.”

“Lord forgive me..” You whisper. Toji starts to undo the scarf. Next goes your shirt, and your jeans. You’re left bare in front of the man you had serviced. “What? Wanna pray again hm?” He stifled out a laugh. “Come ride my dick and pray about how much you want my kids swimmin ‘round inside of you.”

[samodivaa]

Deny the truth,set my world on fire (Part 4)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Winter Soldier x Reader)

Part 1⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ Part 2⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ Part 3 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* ┗━━━ ━━━┛ He knew that she was having an affair...she denies, but the love marks on her body are still there. She can't tell him the truth, it will break him - the Winter Soldier is indeed inside of him, fucking her at night and Bucky doesn't remember. ┏━━━ ━━━┓ Quotes - Pushkin, Fyodor Tyutchev, Dostoyevsky └── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Warnings - heavy ANGST, some fluff Words - 3000

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Song ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆Eventually

Did i cry from my own fic? Yes? ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

4 years ago Bucky’s triggers words were present more than anything, anyone else in his life. Beneath the sheet of gleaming snow, his human-self slept for decades, frozen in time. And everywhere he goes, it follows him; the past is always spreading ashes of memories : all of Winter’s footprints are effaced by her love, the waves of fury are at peace – she is his homeland shores, grounding his soul like an anchor. „Ah, my last love! Thou art both bliss and pain. And joy - and hopelessness-“ Bucky moves to sit next to her on the couch, putting an arm around her and pulls her in close until his head rests on her shoulder. „Doll, what are you quoting?“ he squints his eyes, quotes always brush against the edge of his curiosity, before taking a peek at her book. „My last love; Fyodor Tyutchev“ she proclaims, hardly attempting to hide her growing smirk. „Am I your last love?“ He drawls, a bit of sarcasm touching his tone, but he feels the seed of doubt embed in his heart at his own words echoes in his head. She just giggles, looking at him with glittering eyes, not moving from her comfortable repose. „Of course, Bucky“ She smiles and nods, before turning her gaze to the book once again, rolling the paper sheet between her fingers and gazing at it thoughtfully. „Read me more, I want to hear more“ he mumbles after completing an impressive yawn. He adjusts his position to get more comfortable on the couch as she continues to read, with his head on her lap. His soul is a wounded dove, it has a painful, longing call. A flying bird about to fall, that was poisoned, festered with the past…and now Bucky is surrendering in her embrace, and quietly drinks the healing rays of poem; of poetry - drinking mouthfuls from this healing light, her light – finally seeing the world bright and complete. "It is amazing what one ray of sunshine can do for a man!” ― Dostoyevsky 3 years ago „Snow, frost and sunshine ... Lovely morning! Yet you, dear love, its magic scorning, Are still abed ... Awake my sweet!“ Suddenly her voice sounds in the nothing of the night. Though no louder than falling snow, it cuts across the emptiness, so shocking in the endless silence that the words seem craved into his mind, crackle of emotions infuses the void of his soul after the nightmare. „Winter morning, Pushkin. Why do you always read me that when I have nightmares, doll?“ he feels an oppressive weight settling over him. „Because after a raging snowstorm, a lovely morning always follows, Bucky“ „Yeah, because you are the sunshine in my mornings“ He burbles out a delirious giggle as sweat streams down his face. Having her in his life is a kiss-inspired dream, he needs to touch her to make sure she is real. With his shoulders squared and his body tenses from the unknown reality, his hand gently outstretches to her face. She responds by inching impossibly closer into his palm with sliver of softness in her eyes. She is real.

2 years ago Nature is an artist as it strokes swiftly a winter wonderland. But now, wretches, every drop of blood — don't stain the innocent snow. The scene is set, exquisitely divine — snow always pluck the vibrating strings of Bucky's mind, but her voice is enough to make his worries melt away. Sometimes they talk of the past where еre any roamed or died. They talk of old times when Winter only meant death and not Christmas chimes. There is no wind to speak of, more an icy winter chill outside; because If he wants to overcome the whole world, he needs to overcome himself so they go for a walk to the park, snow crunching beneath their feet. Their hearts are not connected to each other through mutual understanding alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through the wounds of his past — hanging by a string, loosely holding him from collapsing. And she knows when thoughts are tossing him around, bathing in his blood — so she chooses to speak.

„I still remember that amazing moment. When you appeared before my sight. As though a brief and fleeting omen, Pure phantom in enchanting light.“

„Doll, I really think that you love Pushkin more than me“ „I remember reading him for the first time, it was so romantic“ „You are telling me that meeting me was not romantic?“ „Sometimes I just imagine meeting you in a café, far away from here - I imagine that nothing bad has happened to you, Bucky. Sometimes I wish you didn’t remember the past.“ And this is what Bucky learns now: that her love is an antidote to his worries, always, that stands within this otherness of the world, of nature — the beauty and the mystery of the Winter season, out in the fields or deep inside their favorite books at home — both those activities, her ideas; are re-dignifying his worst-stung soul. He doesn’t need to fight darkness. Bring the light, and darkness will disappear, she is his light. She uses his moment of distraction to move away and makes a small ball of snow and throws it right at his nose. „I was thinki-“ Bucky shouts as he wipes the snow from his face. She has the audacity to laugh as he removes the snow, and he decides to chase her. Bucky easily tackles her into the snow, putting his arm around her to make sure she wouldn't get hurt in the fall, faces very close together. „Now, this is romantic, Bucky“ He nodes his head, speechless still. To heal is to touch with love that which was previously touched by Hydra.

Present „How are you holding, Buck?“ „I’ve lived too long with the pain, I won’t know who am I without it“ „You still quote stuff just like you did with her, Buck. Why don’t you talk to her, she is still recovering I talked with her today“ „She doesn’t remember anything, I want her to move on“ his inquisitiveness nearly outweighed his reluctance to talking to Sam about it, attempting to simmer the flames of the protective nature over her. „She might remember, she needs time, Buck-“ Sam pressures him with a challenging look that he more than gladly returns. Bucky considers the proposal and the fact that Sam is giving him a guarded expression that seems so hopeful, followed by a slight nod of his head before speaking.

„The time I spend at Wakanda, with Shiru- I’ve decided to go with the procedure. I can’t trust my mind unless they restart my bra-“ „You can’t-“ Bucky rises from the chair and is halfway to the door of Sam’s house when he turns and says „Enough, Sam, please“

Bucky has fond a peace in nature which was irreplaceable once; he steps outside looking at the colorful sunset. The sun is out, but he is cold, eyes are wild, but the mind is asleep, the world is alive, but Bucky has dead. Nature is love, nature reminds him of her, but he is aloof of everything that screams live for today — he died the moment he woke up to her laying in the white sheets. ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Flowers will grow back after he stepped on then and maybe in a less miserable times they may see each other again — all his grief says the same things „this is not how it’s supposed to be“ and the world laughs and holds at his hope by the throat „but this is how it is“ The final turn is that. Oh, how strongly grabs them, the secret plot of fate and everywhere he goes, it follows him; the past is always spreading ashes of memories: all of Bucky’s footprints of love are effaced by Winter, the waves of fury are not at peace – no longer is there a homeland shore, no longer someone grounds his lost soul like an anchor.

The sadness won’t last forever, he won’t be able to remember it and for the last time Bucky goes to sleep so he could see her in his dreams for the last time – she taught him everything except to how to live without her – the present feels like the past. It’s a fitting punishment for a monster to want something so much, to hold it in his arms and know beyond a doubt that he never deserved it, that he ruined it – his soul bleeds and the blood steadily, silently, disturbingly slowly shallows him whole –  Bucky is too gone to be healed – he almost robbed her of her life. Now, she will carry the scars forever, but he selfishly remembers their love, there was love and it was theirs. Bucky was too deeply afraid to face her, that the moment their eyes meet and she finds herself staring at a stranger and he will realize that he has become a person she no longer recognizes – he stares at the poem she left for him, it makes him smile, because it reminded him of him and her; of what they used to do – James doesn’t want this to be the end of the chapter but it is – it’s the end of the line for love – nothing ever ends poetically he realizes end and his trust to poetry, it was not beautiful – it was just pain. He performs autopsies on their conversations long ago – he can to lie Sam, but he can’t lie to the hole deep inside – he lets himself cry, it’s better than feeling nothing at – wearing her shirt, because it’s still smells like her, but it will soon fade like his memories of her, of everything, erased forever. How can he live with a conscience that suffers whilst acknowledging his sin; with the memory of knowing she left this poem behind, thinking she would die from his own hands? ◤━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◥ I loved you; and perhaps I love you still, The flame, perhaps, is not extinguished; yet It burns so quietly within my soul, No longer should you feel distressed by it. Silently and hopelessly, I loved you, At times too jealous and at times too shy. God grant you find another who will love you As tenderly and truthfully as I. Your sincerely, your Doll ◣━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◢

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

„Excuse me for interrupting, but I just saw that you are reading `The Brothers Karamazov` and couldn’t resist coming to talk to you“ a calm voice cut through the silence. „Oh, I just wanted to reread it- you can sit with me“ She has a thoughtful look on her face, heart shattering into so many tiny fragments that it is hard to speak, it leaves her incredulously blinking when she sees his blue eyes eerily crystalline. She only heard about him in periodic whispers over the mouths, hearing about his recovery and adjustment to life all over again.   She never intended to stay long, but she does because it is peaceful and she is not in a rush to leave, but his presence is overwhelming, feeling the presence of eternal harmony, fully achieved just like before. „I need to go for work, it was nice meeting you“   She senses that she should be following a different path, a path where their lines don’t cross. It is too much, she can barely breathes. There is a furious discontent from a moment, which verged on loathing; for her to have all of her memories and for him to be just a stranger taking interest in her book. This inexhaustible fantasy of them meeting again, of them reading books again – she needs to get out here of here, but then Bucky speaks and it’s impossible to smash the idea of them being together into splinters and turn it to dust – his eyes are the ocean, all flows and connects when their eyes meet. „Wait, can I get your number?“ he whispers from beside her, worry clear on his face at her sudden urge to go. He continues to stare intently into her eyes, waiting for their gazes to meet again and he feels his heartbeat speeding up.  „Oh?“ Bucky almost chokes on the air as she turns around to face him, not responding with any words. She just furrows her eyebrows slightly. And it hurts so good that its Bucky’s own free unfettered choice to ask her, to come speak with her. „I want to buy you a book“ his blue eyes trail from her eyes, to her lips thinking about how gorgeous this girl is. She is not sure which is worse – the intense feeling of him being here, or the absence of his previous love for her. Maybe it will be worse if she doesn’t let herself be part of his new life. She is too afraid of giving herself to someone she might lose again, she is too afraid that Winter might come again. Her loyalty to his past, to keeping it a secret its want cost her the most and she needs to bare all of her sins all over again, to keep a secret. „You don’t want to take me on a date?“ she questions while watching him with an amused gaze. „Yeah, yeah – I want to do that, too“ he responses with uncertainty laced in his voice, trying to hide a nervous laugh between closed lips. “You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again” „Is that a quote?“ he shrugged, looking startled. „Yeah, it’s from the book, James“ „How do you know my name?“ it is a tormenting thought that refuses to take shape, not even sure if he wants to know the explanation behind this. “I am a fool with a heart but no brains, and you are a fool with brains but no heart; and we’re both unhappy, and we both suffer” Her eyes get a little teary, but she's quick to put a lid on her emotions, it is overwhelming that he doesn’t remember any of her favorite quotes, of the quotes she used to tell him. „Where is that from?“ „Idiot“ „Excuse me?“ „The Idiot, Fyodor Dostoevsky“ she hesitatingly looks at him, he is already looking at her with those ocean blue orbits that hold so much kindness, curiosity, just as they used to. „Oh���that was clever, I will give you that“ he laughs to himself, shoulders shaking with humor. „And I will give you my number“ „Really?“ „No“ “We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken”

„That is from Crime and Punishment“ she purposely tries to add amusement to her voice, trying to appear as this has never happened before. She is frozen, words caught in her throat. „Yeah.“ He licks his bottom nervously. "O-okay, I will give you my number"

An invisible thread ties them together – the pull the drag deep inside beneath her skin, the heavy gravity of him. She loved him enough to spend forever waiting, no amount of time is ever enough and even one day if forever runs out, she will be fine, because it’s her decision waiting for Bucky, getting to love him all over again. To exist with him is her greatest privilege and pain – but he has settled into the depth of her soul because, she has found what she loves and it almost killed her – the thought of him forgetting her terrified her before, but it probably terrified him too before his mind was fully reset – she searches for quotes which remind her of them, but he probably did too. This time she is learning him slowly, taking her time; in no rush with her love – there are oceans in James’ eyes and when she looks at them, both emotions and memories hit me waves. Sometimes she wants to scream so loud that the ground trembles, there is so much fear and grief within her that she is decaying from the inside out and there is no one to help me but herself. She needs to stay silent, need to be here for him once again – she loved him and will love parts of him that are not easy to love, turning the pages gently and helping him re-write a happy ending to his narrative. She has loved none, but him and it cuts her soul a million times just to form a constellation to light his way home – angry and half in love with the new him and tremendously sorry for how it turned out for them – it’s not a metaphor, this ache, this fear of Winter all over – but all Bucky’s life was grey before meeting her one day at the café. He brushes up against pink and the barest touch and - the rest of his life is green again, green like Spring. He doesn’t know who he is and the cycle begins again – he pierces her soul ,she is half agony and half love – Bucky is too tangled there, finding his way back to her unknowingly.

And that’s how Bucky imagines it, meeting her all over again after his procedure - in a café, far away from here - he imagines that nothing bad has happened to her. Sometimes he wishes he was just Bucky, sometimes he wishes that the past has never happens - sorrow compresses his heart. His grief passes gradually into quiet tender joy of that daydream. Her memories never returned. Bucky’s memories were deleted successfully. They never met again. ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆Tag list⋅⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ @dear-lolita @i-loveyoubutyourenotmine @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @montyrokz @sarah5462 @mooievis @almosttoopizza @midnightramyeoncravings @itsmadamehydra @ravenromanoff @beetlejuicesupremacy @queenashen @kandis-mom @whitexwolfxx310 @msoldier @venting402 @avery199 @pandabearrrrrrr @tilltheendofthelinepal13 @tokoyamisstuff @happinessinthebeing

“The most monstrous monster is the monster with noble feelings” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Eternal Husband

[itslucyhenley]

I watched Meg Ryan’s new movie What Happens Later and I just have mad respect that the absolute queen of rom-coms directed a movie where in the first five minutes one of the characters unplugs a digital sign with a generic ad flashing the words “rom-com” on it and the omniscient airport announcer sounds like 90s trailer voice man. So meta, loved it. I watched it like it was week 15 of a college course on rom-coms where we just watched every classic Meg Ryan performance and then the professor says, now let’s see what america’s sweetheart herself has to say about it all. And we think we’re going to watch a traditional rom-com, a comeback, a triumphant return to a familiar place if you will, but we’re actually watching an existential two-hander stage play about perception and aging and what it means to really be honest with someone else and with yourself. And the songs are familiar 90s songs but they sound wrong because they’re just oddly homogeneous sounding covers of the originals. And the whole thing takes place in this unnamed regional airport during a storm, a liminal space where the foreground and backgrounds are filled with blurry faces and legs walking by in the background until eventually there’s a scene later on where they’re just silhouettes. After the first 10 minutes of the movie the characters only talk to each other and the electronic voices of support kiosks and the omnipotent airport announcer and take phone calls that we can’t hear the other end of and we don’t see the phone screen telling us who is calling. They sit in restaurants with no waitstaff and bars with no bartenders. There’s no sense of direction either you don’t get any sense of the layout of the space they’re occupying and the aerial shot of the airport at various points during the movie looks sharp but the characters are almost always walking in circles. I don’t know man I was riveted, I was stroking my chin in deep thought, I just kept saying “interesting, interesting.”

edit: also I left the dvd menu screen on for like two hours after I finished watching the movie, it just kept playing this absolutely hypnotic 18 seconds of the score over a clip of them dancing in a hallway as seen from the outside looking in through falling snow and there’s a continuity error where David Duchovny’s white shirt alternates between being tucked in and untucked and I didn’t even care. During that actual scene they’re dancing to “Pure” by The Lightning Seeds which is the only not-a-cover song in the movie i think? And at one point Meg Ryan looks up and yells “louder” and the music gets a little louder and I’m sitting on the couch in my living room but I’m trying to figure out where I am actually because I thought I was gonna watch a trope-heavy romcom but I’m sat here typing out this stream-of-consciousness movie analysis on tumblr dotcom.

[c-rivalsduo]

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Dream remembers the Syndicate

this is a MESS because i wrote it all chunky and pieced it together but like. hope y'all like?

don't think there are any cws, but if you need some lmk :)

-

Memories come in pieces. 

Flashes of thought and sensation, emotions and images, textures and scenes depicted in bright stabs of sudden reminiscence. They hit him like bullets, leaving him disoriented and wandering for hours at a time trying to reconcile his world with the one he sees in his mind, the vast server full of holes and destruction. 

Structures unmake themselves in front of his eyes, accommodating buildings that have never been there, and he can hear laughter from voices he knows he’s never heard. Sometimes, he’s sure he sees a familiar face, but when he chases the echoes of red eyes and dark feathered wings, they fade into nothing. 

The memories themselves never hurt, but when they leave he can feel his teeth aching, skin flushed and feverish. Tommy thinks he’s sick. Punz offers cool towels and water with chunks of ice. Tubbo brings him extra blankets. He can’t bring himself to use them, voice choked by the feeling of weight on his shoulders. 

He doesn’t wear armor. He’s never needed to wear armor. The crown on his forehead weighs as heavy as a helmet, as a mask. Taking it off only to sleep becomes wearing it only when he’s alone, when there is no one else to see him caressing the gems set into the worn gold. 

He takes to carrying a sword with him at first, and then an ax. 

Through these bouts of wandering the server, trying to put together the memories that sing in the back of his mind, he begins to discover things that aren’t quite right. There are seeds of trees planted where they shouldn’t be, and a strange red vine crawls through the undergrowth of nearly every forest. An empty ravine a thousand blocks out from spawn has manmade holes set deep inside, though there are no torches or visible signs of paths to reach them. A golden desert snows night and day, ice gathering atop sand in huge drifts. 

He can connect some of the pieces. Tommy, cheeks hollow and wrists thin under a dark blue uniform, digging out a space in that skinny little ravine. Punz’s gray eyes flashing red as he turns away, readying a blade at someone’s throat. Most of the details are lost to the storm of disconnected ideas, though, and when he tries to press them together, his nose begins to bleed, and he hears the fuzzy chorus of XD’s power. 

When he finds the house, he hasn’t had a flashback for nearly three weeks. He thought they were over – an anomaly, a bout of sickness that had finally left him behind – but the tundra had brought that familiar stir in his stomach, and he had to force himself to keep walking through the thick snow. It felt wrong to be there, wandering into the frosty night without the burden of armor over his shoulders, without something to trade, to give, and he couldn’t understand why. 

The thick door opened slowly. It was roughly hewn, and the hinges were old enough to creak with rust. The inside was dark, lit only by the thin streams of light coming through the rattling windows. Though the windows shook, the house was solid, wood unbothered by the burn of the icy wind and the heavy snow. 

In the fireplace, there were still charred logs, waiting to be lit. Though dust coated the surfaces inside, he could see marks of a home – handmade plates sitting on shelves, brooms hung on the wall, cups set out to dry. Someone had lived here, months – or years – ago. On the walls hung… pictures. Paintings. Art of a huge pigman, fists placed triumphantly at his hip, looking back over his shoulder, skin stained with gold scars. In some of them, a winged man stood next to him, practically miniscule in comparison. In a single one, there was a group of four – something tall and slim with its arm around a woman’s shoulders. She was holding the hand of the winged man, and the pig stood behind them all, arms spread in a loving display. They were all smiling. 

Cautiously, he reached out, hand sliding gently down the painting. Beneath his fingertips, he was sure he could feel the velvet of the cloak, the fur of the pigman’s snout, the airlight touch of the winged man’s feathers. 

And all at once, he could hear it. The laughter. The high, breathy laughter that was so characteristic of him, followed by that chuckle – the one that wasn’t quite real, the one he manufactured to sound like a villain from one of the myths he loved to liken himself to. 

And then – and then, and then, other voices, joining the laugh, loud and bright and together. An older, deeper guffaw, thick with age and experience. A thin, reedy giggle, edged with inhuman humming. A soft chuckle, solid with mirth. All together they formed a choir, one that felt like an undeniable, unreachable promise of home. 

Though the memories came almost full-formed – thick fingers dancing through thin locks of hair, grins full of sharp teeth, tails that flick and dance with a gaiety the remembrance makes it hard to call up – their names do not return to him. He can see them so clearly in his mind's eye, can picture them walking from this house and into another server, off to find a place outside of the violence that had seeped through the cracks of this one. 

He wonders if they found it. He wonders if, with their memories intact, they were able to escape the miasma of this world, the sinking paranoia that follows you, that grows with each talk. He’s only experiencing it secondhand, and he can feel himself growing more and more scared of the people around him. Quackity seems to grow taller when the lamplight shines over his scar, when he holds a pickaxe too tight. Tommy looks a decade older when he wipes his eyes, breathes too hard. 

He wonders if XD will let him find them again.

-

ao3 link

[magicalgirlfia]

The Snowlets: A Guide to my Favorite Olympic Mascotts

Everyone. Meet the Snowlets (or スノールッツ). They are the mascots for the 1998 Winter Olympics in Nagano. Their names are Sukki, Nokki, Lekki and Tsukki. They represent the 4 elements, the four years in the Olympiad, the concept of wisdom (Athena and owls), coexistence with nature, peace, and friendship.

They look like this.

I am absolutely obsessed with them.

We don’t know much about their backstory as a unit other than that they live in the woods of Nagano but we know a surprising amount about them as individuals.

Sukki represents fire. He was born on a cold day when “red flames danced in the hearth of every home”. He’s strong, kind, passionate, and “moved by small things”.

Nokki represents wind. He was born on an extremely windy afternoon where “flower seeds drifted away”. He loves exploration and have many friends but can be a bit mischievous at times.

Lekki represents earth. She was born on a warm and lovely day where “horsetails sprung up everywhere, their heads swaying above the ground”. She is perceptive, calm, studious, and thoughtful.

Tsukki represents water. She was born “to the sound of snowmelt trickling down the stream”. She’s a romantic who loves singing, music, and dancing.

The first syllable of each of their names when put together (as took me way too long to notice) make up the word “Sunoletsu”, the romanized form of their name in Japanese.

They all look extremely confused or disturbed in most of their pictograms and I love them for it.

Fia Theorization Corner: Presuming that they were all born in the same year (the Olympiad thing) it seems that Sukki is the eldest (born in the middle of winter), followed Tsukki (snowmelt possibly indicating snow…melting) by Lekki (horsetails grow at the beginning of spring) and then Nokki (his bio presumably referencing dandelions, which bloom from May to June).

None of this was intentional but uh. You know.

Outside of their actual characters, thanks just want to thank the person going by “Machan” in 1980s and their website “I Love Snowlets” where they’ve posted a collection of Snowlets merchandise. I won’t list it all but I’d like to point this CD ROM out. You can find their website here: http://www.aaa-int.jp/machan/snowlets/

For now? I’m very tired. I will edit this post if I discover more stuff but right now I’m extremely tired and know only 1 person will see this.

Good bye 👍

[afaroffsong]

I did not remember today is Maundy Thursday.

I was thinking about Psalm 1 (…his delight is in the law of the Lord, And in His law he meditates day and night…)

And connecting it to Psalm 19 (…The law of the Lord is perfect, restoring the soul…)

Going back to Psalm 1 (…He will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water, Which yields its fruit in its season And its leaf does not wither; And in whatever he does, he prospers…)

Coincidentally, listening to The Sower’s Song by Andrew Peterson (“Let these branches bear You fruit…Let Your word take root…Remove in me the branch that bears no fruit…”)

Which made me think of John 15 (“As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself unless it abides in the vine, so neither can you unless you abide in Me. I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing…”)

Which made me realise today is Maundy Thursday and I am accidentally studying John 15 (The Last Supper) and somehow connecting it to the Psalms.

(Also: “If you keep My commandments, you will abide in My love; just as I have kept My Father’s commandments and abide in His love... This is My commandment, that you love one another, just as I have loved you.”—John 15:10;12

And: “The commandment of the Lord is pure, enlightening the eyes.”—Psalm 19:8)

Upon further listening to The Sower’s Song: So shall the word of the Lord be… It will not return, it will not return void.

This is Isaiah 55:10-11: “For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, And do not return there without watering the earth And making it bear and sprout, And furnishing seed to the sower and bread to the eater; So will My word be which goes forth from My mouth; It will not return to Me empty, Without accomplishing what I desire, And without succeeding in the matter for which I sent it.”

ANYWAY:

something something Abiding in Him/meditating on His law/His word,

something something His law is perfect and refreshing/restoring (to our souls?) (his DELIGHT is in the law of the Lord…) (1 John 5:3: His commandments are not burdensome),

something something His word goes forth into our hearts and minds and will accomplish what He desires,

something something It is His will for us to bear much fruit,

something something His commandment is love, which circles back to abiding in His word, which circles back to abiding in Him, which circles back to Psalm 1…

How blessed is the man…

[atinylittlepain]

June - Part Eight

Joel Miller x f!oc

series masterlist

warnings | 18+ dark themes surrounding suicidal ideation and attempt, smut, angst, but also a whole lot of love to be had

.............................................

Oh the train is coming, and I'm standing here to see

And it's bringing my baby right back to me

Well there are some things too hard to explain

But my baby's coming home now, on the 5:30 train

"Bright Horses" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

............................................

“You’re going to be late.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not the one worrying.” 

“Not very nice.”

“Never said I was.” 

“Well then.” He is going to be late. He’s having a hard time leaving when she’s like this. Arms slung around the banister to the stairs, eyes flickering easy. A little smug, a little smart, a smirk that he smacks a quick kiss to, and then another one.

“Warm enough?” 

“Be just fine, June.” Subtle, small, the pinch around her eyes, real worry that he knows she won’t admit to. It’s not often that her day off falls on one of his days on.

“See you tonight then.” 

“I’ll see you tonight.” He really doesn’t want to leave. And he’s never going to if he keeps staring at her, his boots moving before his mind does, out the door and down the steps and into the dull crunch of snow. 

…

“Are you worried she’s going to again?” “Tommy.”

“It’s an honest question, Joel. That’s, what? Three times in six months?” The puff of his breath, hazy in the cold.

“She’s doing better.”

“You said that before.”

“Well she is.” Tommy stops with a squint, glancing at the trees thickening around them.

“I worry, Joel. Okay? What if–”

“No.”

“Joel–”

“No. Come on. Too damn cold to stop moving.” 

He likes it. When Tommy isn’t talking at least. The simplicity of one step after the other. Hardly ever any real trouble. The certainty of security, of action that assures. And the quiet of the trees.

“Do you think you would’ve? You and her? If not for that night?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“I’m trying to understand.”

“Nothing to understand. It just is.”

“You think I don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?”

“Why you were out there too. I’m not stupid, Joel.” He’s the one that stops this time, cold coming down all around him. It’s something he’s done since they were boys, a tell. The swipe of his knuckles under his nose. Joel always knew when Tommy wasn’t kidding by that simple trick.

“I’m not pretending to understand. And it may not seem it, but I’m grateful for June. I am.” Again, his knuckles brushing at his nose, hand on his hip.

“I don’t know if you’d be standing there right now if she hadn’t been out there that night. And whatever you two are, it seems to be keeping you around. So I’m grateful for her. And I hope, for your sake, that she is doing better.” Always awkward in their affection, a hard rub to each other’s backs, quick, quick, quick don’t get caught telling your brother you love him. God forbid.

Those words roll in his mind all through the morning, everything quiet around him except for the obvious truth of it. It’s an absent-minded thing, his fingers finding that stitched seam in his jacket, a soothing repetition, rubbing along the raised edges. 

It’s sudden. It always is. The sharp crack of steel snarling in the air. Three men, maybe four, hard to tell with the hard bite of gunfire, all of them seeking cover, firing shots blind and hoping they hit. He’s clear, calm. Tommy is too, nodding to him a few feet away. They’ve done it dozens of times. Maybe hundreds. This is what they do. 

Four men. Bodies in the snow, blooming red streams around them.

“Shit, Joel.” So much that it’s starting to soak through the sleeve of his jacket, dark, dark, dark. And then he feels it. That little lick of fire. A graze along his shoulder. 

“It’s fine. Let’s get back.” 

It’s fine until it’s not. Until it keeps seeping into his jacket and suddenly Tommy is hooking himself under his arm to keep him from slumping over. 

“Easy, brother. I got you.” He’s dragging, hard. A slow crawl back to town, the sun already slipping behind the mountains. He’d like to tell Tommy to leave him. He’d have no problem doing it in the past. But a thought flits through his foggy mind, a sharp swipe of pain. Terrible, sickening.

If he didn’t. Would she?

So he swallows those words and he gets very focused on each step, on keeping his eyes open, open, open.

Dark pinpricks and haze settling around the periphery, his ears rush with the sound of the gate groaning open. And she’s there with the kid, waiting for him, and he’d like to apologize for being so, so, so late. But his eyes are finally slipping shut, darkness settling heavy and thick as he collapses in the snow.

Voices and hands, a whole wave of them. Push and pull and lift. Except for two. One that brushes his sweat damp hair back from his forehead. One that’s holding tight to his hand.

…

He wakes up to white. White walls and white sheets and a blinding white pain in his shoulder. And it’s a strange switch to see her sitting in a chair next to the bed, head propped in her hand, eyes dropping heavy. But the moment he stirs she snaps upright. He tries to speak, though his voice only rasps out a quiet cough.

“Here.” Gentle, careful, coaxing sips of water out of him and helping him sit up. So serious with it. He studies her, silent. She hasn’t been sleeping, he can see it. Dark circles and drawn cheeks.

“How long?”

“A few days. You lost a lot.” He can feel the slight scratch of the bandages around his shoulder, the weight of a few days underwater. 

“I’ll go get Ellie. She’s getting some sleep but she’ll–”

“Wait, please.” She won’t look at him. Not quite. Her eyes settling somewhere over the top of his head.

“June.”

“I’ll get the doctor.” “June.”

“What?”

“Look at me.” 

“I am.” “No, you’re not.”

“Goddamnit, Joel.” It makes the words dry up in his mouth. She’s angry, eyes a sharp snap when they finally meet his. He keeps opening his mouth and closing it again, no idea what to say to the tick of her jaw, the tense of her shoulders. 

“I’m going to get Ellie.” Out the door before he can clear the thick heat in his throat.

…

They keep him longer than he’d like to be kept. And she stays with him, silent, simpering. Folds up under his good shoulder at night, her palm pressed over his heart like she’s trying to keep track of it. 

“Is this what it felt like?”

“Don’t, June.”

“Is it?”

“Maybe. Fear. And anger.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” 

“Don’t do it again and it will be.” The frankness of it surprises him as the words leave his mouth. Something about the shadows drawn dark across the white walls making the truth much easier to slip between his teeth. She sighs with it, warm against his throat.

“I waited for you.”

“I know.” “You’re right. It was fear.”

“I’m not going anywhere, June.”

“Please don’t.”

…

The pain doesn’t get any easier. Every morning and every night, curled around each other in the bathroom while she works as quick as she can. It’s an ugly thing, a deep wide groove gnarled into his shoulder. Sitting hunched on the closed lid of the toilet, he keeps his face pressed into her hip, biting back groans as she cleans it, packs it, wraps it. Until they have to do it again twelve hours later. She’s precise, purposeful, palms certain, one holding steady pressure between his shoulder blades as the other presses fresh dressing over the wound. Murmuring to him all the while. Small comforts and thoughtless promises. Always a kiss dropped into his hair when she’s done.

“What will you eat?”

“Not hungry.” “Not what I asked.” She’s gotten snappier, more sure with him as he’s grown petulant with the pain. He doesn’t mind it, exactly.

“Whatever is fine.” “Hmm.” Helps him wince into the sleeves of a shirt, careful, careful, careful.

“Thank you, June.”

“Of course, Joel.” 

Toast in the pan. Butter on both sides, sizzling and snapping in the heat. She scrapes up every last bit of jam from the now empty jar. Blueberry. She likes blueberry. And she offers it to him. Every bite, the last syrupy drip caught on his thumb and licked up. One last taste of summer. 

He feels useless. Dull and dumb and done. Sitting on the couch and watching her leave for her own shift. 

You’ll need to take some time–

In the state you’re in it wouldn’t be–

A month, maybe two before you can–

Her hand on his knee the only thing that kept him from walking out of the clinic right then. Her insistence the only thing making him listen to the doctor’s orders. So he works the days away on big and little pieces of wood, carving out hours.

Ellie drops in when she can. Always a bit tentative. He had tried to make a joke about her coming to check for a pulse, something that fell flat with a tight pinch of her brow. Not funny.

On these days, when no one is around, he’ll get up and out for a walk, convincing himself that every step doesn’t send a perfect strike of pain shooting down his arm and up his neck. Not that he’d admit it, but he has it timed. When to be where to catch the gates slipping open and her stepping through them, always with a huff in her chest seeing him out in the cold.

“Fresh air is good.”

“I can see you wincing with each step.”

“It’s the cold.”

“Hmm.”

And once she is back, she doesn’t let him stray far from her, not that he would. 

“Tired?” “I’m sorry.” “You don’t have to be.” He wants to. His skin skitters with it. But it wears him down, slow and grating as the day crawls by until all he can offer her is a kiss that snaps with a hunger he cannot sate. He’s so tired. This pain that holds him in its mewling jaws, bites down just enough to be a constant reminder.

“Can I see you, please?” Please, please, please. Propped up in bed and asking for something, anything. The skin she reveals prickling cold. Sweater, leggings, though the socks stay on. He’s a selfish man making his woman get so cold for him. But she’s slipping under his good shoulder, laid out like a painting in the syrupy slip of the dim light. And his fingers wander, skating under the curve of her breast, the catch of breath holding in her stomach. Lazy, a pure indulgence, his chin tucked over her shoulder.

“Would you?”

“Really?” “I’d like to see.” Lashes touching the arc of her cheeks, chin tucked down. Something new, something shy in the way her hand slips between her legs. His mouth rests open and hot against the dip of her shoulder, slowing, soothing. Still not used to pleasure for pleasure’s sake, either of them. 

“Like that, June.” Like I would. Like I want to. Somewhere between obscenity and divinity. The drag of her fingers, that slick slip that has her pressing her temple against his, muscle and bone drawn in a long sigh. 

“Please, Joel.” Call and response, he’d never refuse it, his hand settling heavy over hers, guiding, goading. 

It’s easy, so easy, a quiet unfurling, small and sweet with a sigh. A kiss caught to the corner of her mouth, her face turning toward it, toward him. 

“Do you?”

“This is enough.” Just to see, to touch, a simple, simmering satisfaction. His eyes getting heavy with it. And then his head tipped to his shoulder to catch a glimpse of her padding into the bathroom, the hushed thrum of water running, the quick slip into her clothes and the snap back into settling close, close, close beside him.

“Clinic tomorrow morning.” “They’ll say the same thing as last time.”

“I’m going with you.” An implicit command beneath her words, the rub of her palm against his chest. Don’t even think about it.

“It’s getting better.”

“I know.” 

“Thank you, June. For not minding.”

“I’d never mind. Not you.”

“I know it’s a lot.”

“It’s really not, Joel.” 

“Can’t even–”

“I want to. I’m happy to.” Words hanging heavy in the dark, the soft blink of her lashes against his skin.

“I like being able to. For you.” Something resting tight in her throat just behind those words. Something he thinks he knows. Something he thinks they share. 

“Goodnight, June.”

“Goodnight, Joel.”

.......................................

taglist: @thetriumphantpanda @suzmagine @casa-boiardi @hollywoodcaligirl @kelp-dreaming @beskarandblasters @wannab-urs @jksprincess10 @darkroastjoel @sarahhxx03 @ambassadortotrilliusprime @northernbluess @hier--soir

[scifigeneration]

ChatGPT and the movie ‘Her’ are just the latest example of the ‘sci-fi feedback loop’

by Rizwan Virk, Faculty Associate and PhD Candidate in Human and Social Dimensions of Science and Technology at Arizona State University

In May 2024, OpenAI CEO Sam Altman sparked a firestorm by referencing the 2013 movie “Her” to highlight the novelty of the latest iteration of ChatGPT.

Within days, actor Scarlett Johansson, who played the voice of Samantha, the AI girlfriend of the protagonist in the movie “Her,” accused the company of improperly using her voice after she had spurned their offer to make her the voice of ChatGPT’s new virtual assistant. Johansson ended up suing OpenAI and has been invited to testify before Congress.

This tiff highlights a broader interchange between Hollywood and Silicon Valley that’s called the “sci-fi feedback loop.” The subject of my doctoral research, the sci-fi feedback loop explores how science fiction and technological innovation feed off each other. This dynamic is bidirectional and can sometimes play out over many decades, resulting in an ongoing loop.

Fiction sparks dreams of Moon travel

One of the most famous examples of this loop is Moon travel.

Jules Verne’s 1865 novel “From the Earth to the Moon” and the fiction of H.G. Wells inspired one of the first films to visualize such a journey, 1902’s “A Trip to the Moon.”

The fiction of Verne and Wells also influenced future rocket scientists such as Robert Goddard, Hermann Oberth and Oberth’s better-known protégé, Wernher von Braun. The innovations of these men – including the V-2 rocket built by von Braun during World War II – inspired works of science fiction, such as the 1950 film “Destination Moon,” which included a rocket that looked just like the V-2.

Films like “Destination Moon” would then go on to bolster public support for lavish government spending on the space program.

Creative symbiosis

The sci-fi feedback loop generally follows the same cycle.

First, the technological climate of a given era will shape that period’s science fiction. For example, the personal computing revolution of the 1970s and 1980s directly inspired the works of cyberpunk writers Neal Stephenson and William Gibson.

Then the sci-fi that emerges will go on to inspire real-world technological innovation. In his 1992 classic “Snow Crash,” Stephenson coined the term “metaverse” to describe a 3-D, video game-like world accessed through virtual reality goggles.

Silicon Valley entrepreneurs and innovators have been trying to build a version of this metaverse ever since. The virtual world of the video game Second Life, released in 2003, took a stab at this: Players lived in virtual homes, went to virtual dance clubs and virtual concerts with virtual girlfriends and boyfriends, and were even paid virtual dollars for showing up at virtual jobs.

This technology seeded yet more fiction; in my research, I discovered that sci-fi novelist Ernest Cline had spent a lot of time playing Second Life, and it inspired the metaverse of his bestselling novel “Ready Player One.”

The cycle continued: Employees of Oculus VR – now known as Meta Reality Labs – were given copies of “Ready Player One” to read as they developed the company’s virtual reality headsets. When Facebook changed its name to Meta in 2021, it did so in the hopes of being at the forefront of building the metaverse, though the company’s grand ambitions have tempered somewhat.

Another sci-fi franchise that has its fingerprints all over this loop is “Star Trek,” which first aired in 1966, right in the middle of the space race.

Steve Perlman, the inventor of Apple’s QuickTime media format and player, said he was inspired by an episode of “Star Trek: The Next Generation,” in which Lt. Commander Data, an android, sifts through multiple streams of audio and video files. And Rob Haitani, the designer of the Palm Pilot’s operating system, has said that the bridge on the Enterprise influenced its interface.

In my research, I also discovered that the show’s Holodeck – a room that could simulate any environment – influenced both the name and the development of Microsoft’s HoloLens augmented reality glasses.

From ALICE to ‘Her’

Which brings us back to OpenAI and “Her.”

In the movie, the protagonist, Theodore, played by Joaquin Phoenix, acquires an AI assistant, “Samantha,” voiced by Johansson. He begins to develop feelings for Samantha – so much so that he starts to consider her his girlfriend.

ChatGPT-4o, the latest version of the generative AI software, seems to be able to cultivate a similar relationship between user and machine. Not only can ChatGPT-4o speak to you and “understand” you, but it can also do so sympathetically, as a romantic partner would.

There’s little doubt that the depiction of AI in “Her” influenced OpenAI’s developers. In addition to Altman’s tweet, the company’s promotional videos for ChatGPT-4o feature a chatbot speaking with a job candidate before his interview, propping him up and encouraging him – as, well, an AI girlfriend would. The AI featured in the clips, Ars Technica observed, was “disarmingly lifelike,” and willing “to laugh at your jokes and your dumb hat.”

But you might be surprised to learn that a previous generation of chatbots inspired Spike Jonze, the director and screenwriter of “Her,” to write the screenplay in the first place. Nearly a decade before the film’s release, Jonze had interacted with a version of the ALICE chatbot, which was one of the first chatbots to have a defined personality – in ALICE’s case, that of a young woman.

The ALICE chatbot won the Loebner Prize three times, which was awarded annually until 2019 to the AI software that came closest to passing the Turing Test, long seen as a threshold for determining whether artificial intelligence has become indistinguishable from human intelligence.

The sci-fi feedback loop has no expiration date. AI’s ability to form relationships with humans is a theme that continues to be explored in fiction and real life.

A few years after “Her,” “Blade Runner 2049” featured a virtual girlfriend, Joi, with a holographic body. Well before the latest drama with OpenAI, companies had started developing and pitching virtual girlfriends, a process that will no doubt continue. As science fiction writer and social media critic Cory Doctorow wrote in 2017, “Science fiction does something better than predict the future: It influences it.”

[murmiss]

Side story

Pairing-Neteyam/Reader

Warning in this chapter - unreliable data about Pandora, fictional creatures,

Summary - This story will tell you about a planet destroyed by humans even before the events of Pandora, about a girl who was captured and survived the loss of wings - an important attribute of their species, about survival, first love and human cruelty.

Pt1, Pt2, Pt3 , Pt4 , Pt5, Pt6, Pt7-1

Part one.

Where does it all start? What is Eywa? And what is the precursor of all living things?And if I say that Pandora is not the only planet with a great deity named "Eywa"?Pandora is just one of the five planets of the intergalactic space star system.She is the fifth in a row and the youngest.At the beginning is the planet of the Airflow, the most ancient of all planets - "Elea" - so it was called by the celestial demons, destroying everything in its path. She is the source, the progenitor of all planets, she is the Great Mother. Iieva was everywhere, she was in the air, she was in the dew drops, even the flowers were made up of her energy. From her came "Eywa" - as a part, a small seed left over from the great Seer.Why the rest, you ask? And here's the thing, Elea is the first discovered planet, she was the largest of all, and from the satellite it seemed that she was made of pearls, she was surrounded by rings like clouds, she herself shone like a radiant space.Of course, curious people could not take their noses off such a precious find. Just imagine what this shining space can represent? What can you find there? what valuable ores are there? There are so many possibilities that open up at once.

Elea was a wonderful planet.It's a pity that it happened, the heavenly demons put an end to the great story of Elea. They are indifferent to nature and life, if necessary, they are ready to destroy everything that stands in the way.

Let's go back a bit and look at the life of the local population in more detail.The planet itself consisted entirely of giant flowers. Some of them emitted bioluminescent light, and some served as food or shelter for the local population. The indigenous population consisted of humanoids, outwardly resembling the familiar Pandora na'vi. The facial features were similar: a cat's nose, large eyes, mostly bright blue, a soft oval face, even teeth, fangs removed. Their skin was white, but depending on the emotional state and some actions, the stripes on it could change their color, for example, at the moment of joy, their bizarre patterns began to shimmer with mother-of-pearl, and at the moment of anger they acquired a rich purple hue.

Initially, the hair was snow-white, but from different angles they could be seen in different ways, they shimmered like pearls.A feature of their species were huge wings and five-toed limbs. Wings are their main connection with iievs, their deity and part-time mother of "Eywa "; they had a more fabulous look, just like fairies. Although the indigenous population called themselves "ilis", because of their deep connection with iieva. In general, wings are not only their connection, but also protection, an indicator of their emotional and physical health, a way of moving and communicating with their fellow tribesmen. The wings, on average, were larger than their own height and did not have such a color, they were transparent and shimmered like stripes on the body, and depending on the emotion they gave a certain reaction, so, for example, when the "fairy" fell into a state of fright, hysteria or anger, the wings recreate a stream of air emitting lightning until she will not come to a state of equilibrium.Ilis communicate mainly through telepathy or streams created by wings, but they still have a language.Their speech is very similar to the Na'vi language, only more sonorous and even purring. Clothing consists of petals, flattened and "stuck" to the body.

Elea is not called the planet of flowers for nothing, flowers are the main flora here, Flowers personify the dwellings of ilis; with the onset of dusk, little fairies climbed into the flower itself, closing in the bud, and woke up with the onset of morning, when all the flowers opened, notifying the village about the beginning of a new day.The settlement was similar to bee alley - everyone is responsible for their own business, someone treats the sick, someone collects pollen.The local population does not hunt, does not eat meat or various fruits, they collect pollen from special plants - Mtuon, which are small lemon-colored flowers that emit sweet pollen.The earth on this planet is as snow-white as the mountains, and waterfalls are the only source of water. and all this flourished until the heavenly people appeared...

[ashcoveredtraveler]

My AU and fic designs for Pale King and White Lady (Along with backstory under the cut)

Let us start off with the White Lady. While she doesn't remember it, but has some recollection and knowledge of it, she started off as some sort of fluffy seed. A seed that can float in the wind and go far and wide. She landed in a canyon near a stream where she grew.

The canyon didn't get any sort of sun but that didn't matter to the White Lady as her species wasn't made to absorb the sun. She is pale and lacks chlorophyll. However, she needed a lot more nutrients in the ground, and even though there was a stream and soil it was only enough for her to grow enough to realize that she couldn't stay in that spot forever, so she unrooted herself and made the argus journey to somewhere safe.

Luckily for her, she metabolized way slower, that's why she's thick. But she moved so slowly. She came across some pockets of life, but it wasn't sustainable for her and left before she used up all of the nutrients so the pockets could recover for others. By the time she reached maturity, she made it to the Howling Cliffs. She made it to livable lands that could sustain her and others.

She was able to make her way to a pocket of greenery, but there was one issue. She was going to another god's lands. She would be stronger than Unn but she was so weak from her travels that she would be no match for the slug. She dredged her way to the very south of Unns land and tried to gain her strength there.

Many bugs didn't give her kindness in the area. She was in Unns land, and everyone there was worshipers of Unn. There would be no reason for another god to be on their god's land. She kept herself isolated as she slowly gained strength. His roots grew throughout and felt the land around her.

Eventually her roots picked up something strange on the other side of this livable land. She only saw paths of this creature created among her journey here and she knew it was a Wyrm. Out of curiosity she unroots herself and goes to the edge of the land.

The Pale King was born in the wastelands with his litter. He was raised by his father along with his siblings while the mother went off to find more mates, as there is a sex ratio of 1:10 making more males than females. Some one needs to train and take care of the young so that wyrms could actually live.

Once they were old enough to travel far, they left the nest and went on to see the wastes together. One day after a hunting session with his father, they came across a tiny kingdom. His father taught him that lesser and smaller bugs would only be useful to put in their thralls if there was a massive amount of them for them to accomplish massive tasks which the wyrms could find useful. However since they came across a small kingdom that isn't enough to eat or to put under their thrall, so they left.

This even sparked PK's interest in lesser insects. Not bugs that he could eat or make into slaves, but bugs that can be his servant and do things he is unable to do.

Once all of the siblings reached maturity, PK went the complete opposite direction of any wyrm trail and away from everything. He wanted to see more bugs, more kingdoms. Maybe even make his Kingdom?

He wandered and saw many livable lands, but they were either too small or didn't have what he was looking for. He eventually came across a steep cliff side. The sun rarely shined here and it occasionally snowed. But on the opposite side of the cliff he could feel life. He could feel potential.

He then started crafting his new body within him. He knew that it would be nearly impossible to rule with a body like his, so he needed to downsize. He wandered around the edge of the land. He was losing energy, trying to make a body for himself, so he was weak. Suddenly he was ensnared in pale roots.

The WL and PK's introduction was a misunderstanding. WL thought that PK was slowing himself down to put her guard down so he could attack her. PK explained his situation and story and he ensnared WL with his words. He knew that he would be extremely weak once he was reborn, so he begged for the WL to take care of him.

She did and then this was a start of an alliance, which turns into friendship then a partnership.

[riothegreenwitch]

The Garden of Proserpine

“Here, where the world is quiet;

Here, where all trouble seems

Dead winds' and spent waves' riot

In doubtful dreams of dreams;

I watch the green field growing

For reaping folk and sowing,

For harvest-time and mowing,

A sleepy world of streams.

I am tired of tears and laughter,

And men that laugh and weep;

Of what may come hereafter

For men that sow to reap:

I am weary of days and hours,

Blown buds of barren flowers,

Desires and dreams and powers

And everything but sleep.

Here life has death for neighbour,

And far from eye or ear

Wan waves and wet winds labour,

Weak ships and spirits steer;

They drive adrift, and whither

They wot not who make thither;

But no such winds blow hither,

And no such things grow here.

No growth of moor or coppice,

No heather-flower or vine,

But bloomless buds of poppies,

Green grapes of Proserpine,

Pale beds of blowing rushes

Where no leaf blooms or blushes

Save this whereout she crushes

For dead men deadly wine.

Pale, without name or number,

In fruitless fields of corn,

They bow themselves and slumber

All night till light is born;

And like a soul belated,

In hell and heaven unmated,

By cloud and mist abated

Comes out of darkness morn.

Though one were strong as seven,

He too with death shall dwell,

Nor wake with wings in heaven,

Nor weep for pains in hell;

Though one were fair as roses,

His beauty clouds and closes;

And well though love reposes,

In the end it is not well.

Pale, beyond porch and portal,

Crowned with calm leaves, she stands

Who gathers all things mortal

With cold immortal hands;

Her languid lips are sweeter

Than love's who fears to greet her

To men that mix and meet her

From many times and lands.

She waits for each and other,

She waits for all men born;

Forgets the earth her mother,

The life of fruits and corn;

And spring and seed and swallow

Take wing for her and follow

Where summer song rings hollow

And flowers are put to scorn.

There go the loves that wither,

The old loves with wearier wings;

And all dead years draw thither,

And all disastrous things;

Dead dreams of days forsaken,

Blind buds that snows have shaken,

Wild leaves that winds have taken,

Red strays of ruined springs.

We are not sure of sorrow,

And joy was never sure;

To-day will die to-morrow;

Time stoops to no man's lure;

And love, grown faint and fretful,

With lips but half regretful

Sighs, and with eyes forgetful

Weeps that no loves endure.

From too much love of living,

From hope and fear set free,

We thank with brief thanksgiving

Whatever gods may be

That no life lives for ever;

That dead men rise up never;

That even the weariest river

Winds somewhere safe to sea.

Then star nor sun shall waken,

Nor any change of light:

Nor sound of waters shaken,

Nor any sound or sight:

Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,

Nor days nor things diurnal;

Only the sleep eternal

In an eternal night.”

—Alergnon Charles Swinburne

[themanwithabeardbutnohair]

Poetry: The Garden of Proserpine

By Algernon Charles Swinburne

Here, where the world is quiet; Here, where all trouble seems Dead winds' and spent waves' riot In doubtful dreams of dreams; I watch the green field growing For reaping folk and sowing, For harvest-time and mowing, A sleepy world of streams.

I am tired of tears and laughter, And men that laugh and weep; Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap: I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds of barren flowers, Desires and dreams and powers And everything but sleep.

Here life has death for neighbour, And far from eye or ear Wan waves and wet winds labour, Weak ships and spirits steer; They drive adrift, and whither They wot not who make thither; But no such winds blow hither, And no such things grow here.

No growth of moor or coppice, No heather-flower or vine, But bloomless buds of poppies, Green grapes of Proserpine, Pale beds of blowing rushes Where no leaf blooms or blushes Save this whereout she crushes For dead men deadly wine.

Pale, without name or number, In fruitless fields of corn, They bow themselves and slumber All night till light is born; And like a soul belated, In hell and heaven unmated, By cloud and mist abated Comes out of darkness morn.

Though one were strong as seven, He too with death shall dwell, Nor wake with wings in heaven, Nor weep for pains in hell; Though one were fair as roses, His beauty clouds and closes; And well though love reposes, In the end it is not well.

Pale, beyond porch and portal, Crowned with calm leaves, she stands Who gathers all things mortal With cold immortal hands; Her languid lips are sweeter Than love's who fears to greet her To men that mix and meet her From many times and lands.

She waits for each and other, She waits for all men born; Forgets the earth her mother, The life of fruits and corn; And spring and seed and swallow Take wing for her and follow Where summer song rings hollow And flowers are put to scorn.

There go the loves that wither, The old loves with wearier wings; And all dead years draw thither, And all disastrous things; Dead dreams of days forsaken, Blind buds that snows have shaken, Wild leaves that winds have taken, Red strays of ruined springs.

We are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure; To-day will die to-morrow; Time stoops to no man's lure; And love, grown faint and fretful, With lips but half regretful Sighs, and with eyes forgetful Weeps that no loves endure.

From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.

Then star nor sun shall waken, Nor any change of light: Nor sound of waters shaken, Nor any sound or sight: Nor wintry leaves nor vernal, Nor days nor things diurnal; Only the sleep eternal In an eternal night.