#stellar holy days | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

Text

I Never Missed You 3/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 6.4 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Angst and smut and fluff (the holy trinity!) in this last part.

Part 1 Part 2

Juice spills all over the table from the oranges you press, but you don't mind. There has been a soft smile on your face all morning.

Simon's still sleeping, and you want to surprise him with a special breakfast today: scrambled eggs, freshly pressed orange juice, berries, and…

"You took my shirt."

You flinch when you hear his familiar rumble not a few feet away. The staircase wailed like a widow last night, but obviously, this man has learned to avoid the creaky spots when he wants. A goddamn heavyweight ninja...

"I'm sorry." You lick your fingers from the juice and try to feign innocence. The sleeves of his black tee reach your elbows, but you're not sorry. Nor do you feel bad about seeing him in your kitchen without a shirt.

"It was not an accusation," he says, the corner of his mouth curving a little, the dark eyes that made love to you last night giving you an approving once-over.

You approach him with a glass full of sun, but it's you he grabs in his hold. Your fingers find the scars on his back as you two embrace, and you feel an odd churn in your stomach.

"What's this…?"

Your hand floats across the embossed, white ridges that crisscross his back. The collection forms an entire mountain range, and it's chilling because you've only brushed the space between his shoulder blades.

"A reminder. To trust no one."

"No one…?"

"No one."

You remain a coward and refrain from asking for more details. You doubt he would even share them.

"I made you breakfast," you lower your gaze to the colorful palette you've gathered on the plates. Is it some sort of an instinct to want to feed a man after they've fucked you so good?

"So I see," he says, ever more approvingly. Then you're lifted on the table, next to the plates, like you're the breakfast.

Soon you're only wearing his shirt and your tiny socks, which Simon decides to leave on, too busy with getting his face between your legs.

No one has done anything like that before… No one has chosen you over breakfast; an entire abundance of delicacies laid out.

He licks you until your legs are trembling on that tortured back. You're pure, you're untouched by evil, and he carries your naivety on his shoulders like it weighs nothing. He flattens his tongue on you, sucks your flesh, tortures you on that table and doesn't even mind his teeth all too much. The peak stubble he hasn't yet shaved stings and burns as he moves across your folds.

Saying that the coarse chin on your silk feels good would be an understatement. You come undone next to the breakfast, clad in golden light shining through the small window left uncovered.

You feel alive, and raw, and stellar. A shooting star, a comet high above the sky, although the space through which you ignite consists of golden rays of sunlight and the scent of orange juice.

He takes the shirt back after he's done. After you're done and try your best to return back to earth with shaking legs. The only thing you're wearing is your socks, but you feel completely naked before him, dopey and dumb before the day has even started. Simon only licks his lips, throws that shirt on, and grabs his plate.

He dares to comment that there's no hot water. You put the kettle on with a wobble, feeling hotness on your cheeks while he sits down to eat his second breakfast like it's the most natural thing in the world: to wreck you first thing in the morning.

…............................

Simon.

He fixes the door on your fridge. He helps you clean your garage and fucks you on the table. Oily, dusty, filthy table. You go to shower after, together. You're giggling; he's smiling. Fully, now.

You want to ask him, Is this free of charge too…? Not just his cock... But his smiles. His assistance and support. The looks he grants you when you come out of the shower, ready to be licked to ruin.

He calls you his Princess to tease you just right. To get you in a state where your eyes flash with half-rage, half-lust, just before he slips inside you. He knows exactly which strings to pull – and then calls you love just when you're about to give him a piece of your mind.

You end up on the table, on the counter, on the floor. He takes you while your jaw slowly falls open from his audacity and his cock, splitting you apart with slow love. The first time he takes you in a missionary, you squirt. It's like his cock was made for you. And he dares to tease you about that, too.

"Did ya just squirt all over my cock?"

You have tears in your eyes, shame on your cheeks, and he's wetter than a wet dog down there… then he makes you squirt again, high on the lewd, obscene praise you just gave him with your pussy.

Your cunt can't lie; he knows it by now. So it's futile to keep your lips sealed either.

Kiss me.

That's what you would've usually ordered. But after an exceptionally quiet and passionate and desperate fuck that leaves you both catching your breath, leaves him hovering only inches from your sweaty upper lip, you whisper…

"I want to kiss you."

You expect him to laugh or mock you, at least crack a stupid joke or two. But he doesn't. Instead, his eyes drop to your lips, and he swallows with a heavy roll, then closes the gap between you two. Covers your mouth with his, uses that strong jaw to open you for devouring.

The kiss lasts long enough for you to begin breathing through your nose. Your inner walls grip him, still buried deep inside, and the gusts of exhales passing through his nostrils hit your face with pure bliss. He’s a little breathless when he parts – withdraws just enough to look into your eyes.

“Will that do...?”

There is a drunken vigor in his eyes of crushed amber, but to your shock, you hear your own question laid out before you. The one you asked when you were going to that party.

Will I do…?

Your hands find his jaw and cup his face from both sides, drawing him back to your lips.

“Yes."

You will more than just do.

And then you say…

"I want more.”

He chuckles a soft scoff on your face.

"Greedy little thing."

Then he swallows you again. You kiss for a good few minutes while he grows half-hard inside you. It's the most romantic kiss you have shared with anyone, ever. He tells you how spoiled you are between the breaths you both catch, then spoils you some more with his mouth and tongue and cock.

You start to curl together in the evening. Just to watch a comedy. He massages your feet and smiles more every day. It's kind of domestic, how he wrinkles his nose at your fine white wine and asks what it is in that decanter you have in your study. When you say it's just some old bourbon, he goes and gets himself a glass like he's finally made himself at home.

It makes your heart grow thick from love. You almost forget why he's here in the first place.

When you ask him about the plan, he explains it to you in detail while kissing his way down your ribs and navel. He takes his sweet time while doing it, kissing the inside of your thigh, the hollow place below the knee, the tender skin under the knee. He kisses your calf and the ankle bone while holding your leg up for his lips with just one hand. Then he does the same to your other leg, but this time, kisses his way from ankle to thigh until he reaches…

You.

You've forgotten half the plan by then because you realize Simon hasn't looked at you like you're a steak or garbage in a long, long time.

He looks at you like you're a queen. You could say he worships you, but the thought alone makes your heart flutter with the anxiety of a fragile hummingbird.

Simon gets you your groceries and gets himself only a beer as a reward. You would happily offer him a case if you knew it would make him happy.

But you don't really know what would make him happy. You don't know anything about this man. You know he likes it when you're dolled up and angry. He likes you when you're sleepy, without makeup, wearing only his shirt. He likes to fuck you from behind and hold you close after. He likes to give you a wash, likes it when you wash him. He likes to watch the two tall trees outside the window sway when there's a strong wind.

"What makes you happy?" You ask one night after you've had him in your mouth.

"Blowjobs," he answers with a straight face, and you shove him in the shoulder. Nicely. Softly.

"No, for real."

"I dunno." He sighs and turns to stare at your ceiling with a bothered look. It's a tricky question, perhaps. Or weapons, not willingly gifted.

"Dogs," he shrugs after a while. "A day of silence. Good whiskey."

He doesn't grant you weapons. You get some rope, but not enough to choke him with it. He trusts no one.

"Why don't you like missionary…?" You continue roasting him while curling your fingers around the pale hair on his chest.

"I never said I didn't like it."

"Don't avoid the question, Mr. Doggystyle."

You prop yourself up on your elbow and place your palm flat over his heart. His stare slowly drifts from the ceiling back to you.

"Simon. Why do you always fuck me from behind?"

He raises his eyebrows like he's innocent of the crime he's being accused of. "Not always."

"Seriously, Simon."

The smug look returns; it gives his eyes a delightful little spark and tugs at the corner of that kissable mouth.

"I like your ass."

"But not my eyes?"

The smile dies, and he gulps down a short surprise, caught between truth and dare. But then his eyes settle like the calming sea under a full moon. Stern, but not remorseless. Bold, but not heartless. If anything, he's naked and bare.

"Darlin'. Love your eyes the most."

Your heart does a backflip. You've been a fool because what else has he done but search for your eyes first thing in the morning? Given you flashes of mischief over breakfast, made love to you with those eyes as you cum around his cock? That liquid fire and smoke hasn't left you since he stepped inside this house.

You breathe together; you can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. There was a time when you thought this man was incapable of love, but now you fear he has never been allowed to love enough.

"We never talked, you know," you whisper. His heart swells underneath your palm like a sail.

"What'ya wanna talk about?"

"Us."

"So talk."

Walls are raised so quickly you feel them knocking the warmth out of your body. It's cold, it's Antarctic, the technique he uses to withdraw. Your room turns into a kingdom of ice from the cruel, emotionless indifference he emits.

You've been a fool, yes... And a child.

"You're making it hard," you say, noticing how the man starts to tense up under your fingertips. This is not the way, but you're not smart enough to stop your rampage.

"What happens when you've done your job?"

He doesn't sigh. He doesn't even think twice before giving his answer.

"I go back to the base."

You know now why he's called a ghost. You wonder if he was ever even here. Simon becomes a reminder for you, a reminder to trust no one.

"...Right." You pull your hand away slowly. As if it somehow helps with the pain to pretend you haven't just touched a hot stove and ended up getting your fingers burned.

He notices how you tense up far more than he. The arm around your waist goes tight, and you wonder if you've always been a bloodied steak to this brute, a stupid little princess with your wines, sighs, and wet eyes. He just doesn't want to let go of the last bites of his fine, delicious meat.

"I never thought you wanted a relationship," he says with a hollow voice, and the red rage nearly blinds your sight. You're too riled up to even yell at him.

"Love…" he tries for the last time.

"Get out of my bed."

…............................

His musk still clings to you as you descend the stairs the next morning.

He's sitting at the end of the steps with hunched shoulders and a tense back, exiled into the man he was the first day you met him. Your heart bleeds from the sight, wondering whether Simon has waited there the whole night after you kicked him out of your bedroom. But the boiling bile in your stomach forces you to lift your chin and draw your shoulders back as you walk down those steps with an audible clatter as your heels clack across the parquet.

He must've heard you before you make a racket fitting for an angered queen, but rises only after you've made it halfway through the staircase. You won't allow yourself to even look his way as he draws a deep breath.

"Love. Sweetheart."

But with that, you flash the man a stare full of despise as you walk past him.

"Don't."

"Let me–"

"Don't say a word," you take a sharp turn and raise a hand to shield you from whatever brutality he would like to stain you with. "You don't talk to me. You just do your job. Ok?"

His chest swells with another deep breath, but otherwise, this man is still as a statue again.

"Ma'am."

It takes you a while to notice he has regressed back to that term again, and you tilt your head. The movement is that of a warrior who swings her sword to a guard before a fight. He crosses his hands over his crotch as if to shield the most vulnerable parts from a low blow, but his eyes are full of hateful hurt as he gives you his most pretentious, mocking tone.

"Miss."

Your heart skips a beat – Simon becomes the thing you miss.

A hit and run.

You have to resist the urge to grimace at the pure venom in his voice - it doesn't matter what he calls you because that tone seeps straight through your skin like lye. It hurts; it burns to see him even more withdrawn to his shell than when you first met. He retreats far beyond the front line, he goes further than the rear, and it's a bitter defeat for both of you.

This man has rubbed your feet while you've laughed at a stupid joke in a sitcom. The same man has been inside you – night after night after night. It rips your heart to see a distant, perfectly blank expression on his face after you've seen him give you a plentitude of relaxed and wicked little smiles.

You share the breakfast in funeral-like silence. You wish you could pay him to stay home so that you can go through your day filled with terror and longing without Simon Riley following you around.

"I've been meaning to update you on new intel about the target," he breaks the silence, and your heart feels like it's being put through a wringer. Simon hasn't even touched his breakfast. "Turns out he received training in a sniper unit."

"So?"

"There's a high chance he might prefer to use long-range weapons."

He's professional, curt, clinical. Even more so than when you first shook hands with him. And all the while, those eyes burn you; they examine you like you're the most challenging puzzle he's ever tried to solve. He's cold as ice with his words and hot as hell with that stare. Those eyes seem to pierce your clothes, they even reach under your skin.

"Right," you say without giving him a single look back.

"We have to update our protocol asap."

Our…

We.

"The protocol…" you whisper and finally look up at him. His lips draw into a thin line as he sees how your walls crumble; they didn't last even half a day.

"Simon, I can't do this," you say, your voice breaking. The tears are only seconds away. They blur your sight, but as he rises from the table slowly and takes a hesitant step towards you, you turn your head back to your toast with a snap.

"I want to change bodyguards."

From the corner of your blurred vision, you see how he raises a hand. If you didn't know any better, you could say that he's at his weakest. But the hand falls straight back and gives a twitch by his side. You wonder why he even bothers to disguise the spasm so lousily as a stretch. It's as if he wants you to see that he's in tumult too.

"I'll stay until–"

"No. Get out."

"Miss. I'll just get my things," he says, and you nod briefly. No exchange of gazes is probably the best policy after informing him you no longer need his services. It's better to rip the band-aid off with one yank than try to pretend that this relationship was something more than sexual.

You know he came to your house with minimal belongings, a duffel bag full of spare clothes and a large case which you supposed was a container for different weapons. That is why you notice he takes a surprisingly long time to get those things and leave your house.

When he finally emerges from his room – no, not his room, but the guest room, you remind yourself – he places the luggage in the hallway and comes back to you, probably to say his polite farewells.

"You won't let me speak to you, so I wrote you a fuckin' letter."

You turn to solid stone as he places an envelope between your water glass and cup of coffee. You sit with your heart thumping in your chest as he picks up his things, walks to the door, walks out of it and out of your life.

It's one of those moments you wish you could freeze and rewind. Do everything differently so that it wouldn't have to come to this. Instead, you listen how the front door clunks shut.

Then you send your trembling fingers up from your lap and onto the pure white thing that holds his secrets. You pry it open and find yourself reading the lines, scribbled with surprisingly sophisticated handwriting, through a round of hot tears.

They cloud your vision, but they don't cloud his words.

You skim through the letter in a frenzied hurry once, then again with more control, and try to remember how to breathe.

He shares shrivels from his past, ugly, horrid things which make your breakfast nearly push up your throat. He tells you he stopped dating eleven years ago for a reason. He writes that he would rather be tortured again than make you suffer from his past and incapacities.

There are certain lines that enter your heart like a thief with the most delicate crowbar. Lines like I'm not good with words and You must know by now that I'm a broken man.

Lines like I'm not a fucking poet but I'll miss your warmth even under the desert sun.

Some lines make you want to tear the letter to pieces. Lines such as Don't throw your diamonds in the dust and I can't give you what you deserve.

He thinks you can't take his darkness, so he shelters you from it. He says he would come back to you if he could. You don't know what the hell he means by that.

If he could?

What the fuck prevents him?

You sit inside your empty, lonely house, confident of the fact that it is not you who prevents it. It was not you who just sent him out that door. Who commanded him to leave because you didn't need his services anymore.

The letter makes you cry, and then it makes you boil.

Such sweet words, and so many empty sentences. If only, if I wasn't, if I could.

You get the feeling that he's mocking you again. If only you weren't a princess and a spoiled brat, then perhaps he could reconsider this relationship.

You leave the letter there; you leave your coffee and your breakfast. You almost wish someone would shoot you and put you out of your misery as you call a taxi and go to the heart of the city.

You're completely numb as your fingertips brush silk and linen and all the newest designs. They curl around tiny bottles of bright nail polish and touch the perfumes made from the last free wildflowers of a burning world, but you feel nothing stir inside.

You're emptier than the echo that rings through the malls and corridors of stone; you feel poorer than all the beggars on the street. Shopping always makes you feel better. But now you want to burn all your money, throw your jewels out the window, torch all the fucking stores like some bloody anarchist. You leave every store without buying a thing and try to remember what it was to have lunch without drowning in tears that can't be cried in public.

"I can't give you what you deserve."

That's the line that scalds you most. You know what he meant when he wrote those words, seemingly humble. But your bleeding heart twists that sentence until his words are a testimony of pure rejection.

You have money, so you don't deserve love, is that it?

You want to find him and shake him. It's not about what you deserve or what he deserves. It's not about what anyone deserves. And if the bloody man thinks he doesn't deserve love only because he's made his home in suffering, then he's the last person who should be allowed to decide who deserves what.

You walk through the crowds and streets like a small whirlwind, on the verge of yelling your heart and loneliness out in the air until your vocal cords are raw. You're so riled your mind doesn't even register the gunshot.

The only thing you hear is a glass shattering next to you just before an entire boulder hits you.

His scent envelops you like a safe, warm blanket, even if that blanket weighs a ton and causes your jeans to grate and tear as you two hit the asphalt. Simon gives you bruises, scrapes and burns all across your left side as your body grinds through the dirt.

Another shot is fired; this time, a car's glass is shattered above you, and the body surrounding you tenses until you worry your bodyguard has been hit. The bodyguard you fired this morning, who's still doing his job, who never even left you…

People are screaming and running in different directions all around and above you, but time comes to a halt as Simon rises only an inch or two.

"Stay down," he gruffs in your ear. "Don't move. Don't you fucking move, ok?"

The whole world could've gone silent from the way you only hear his voice. His words. His distress. You remain still as a stone and look up at him – your lips part because he's looking at you with impatience that's not just pressing; it's demanding.

"Yes," you stutter, "yes, of course."

Someone's pissed because a third shot sends him right back over you, and only then do you notice you're clinging to him, to his jacket and his shirt, like he's a human shield. Then the human shield speaks again, and the words that come out only make you grip him tighter.

"He has to change the magazine soon. You stay right here, ok? I'm going in."

"No, don't," your fingers curl around his clothes and try to keep him on top of you. "Don't go. I'm afraid."

I'll get you a dog.

A day of silence.

I'll buy you some good whiskey. I promise…

"I'll be right back," he murmurs, more softly now. "I promise."

Then he rips himself off you. Your body misses his heat like the desert sand must miss the sun, and you realize you've ruined everything as you finally get to watch him in his element. He's agile and beautiful as he reaches for his gun, takes it out, and prepares it in a few seconds to fire death upon your faceless enemy. You've ruined everything because if Simon goes in, he might get killed – he's a human, not a shield, he's not even a weapon – and all the things you never said will haunt you for the rest of your life.

"Don't leave me," you want to reach for him, but don't dare disobey his orders. It should send you laughing: that you're finally doing precisely as he says. You finally trust your life with him, just before he leaves you, leaves you, leaves you.

"Simon–"

"Sweetheart. I never left you."

He looks straight into your eyes. You gulp the tears now.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, and someone is screaming; everythings a buzz, cars whir by as you tell him all the things you meant to say weeks ago. "I never wanted you to go. I always liked you. I– I think I love–"

"Shh. Don't you do this to me now."

The words are so soft you have to struggle to hear what he's saying under his breath. It's like he's talking to himself, and you realize you're an asshole, saying things like that to him when he's trying to concentrate on his mission and his job. But you just can't help yourself sometimes. No one in your life compares to him. No one has caused such a ruckus, such turmoil, such devastation and such love.

"Do what?" you whimper there, motionless on the ground as he gives you a last, painful look before his stare fixes on the piece of glass still unshattered, the dim, transient mirror of a store window he uses to locate movement in one of the buildings.

Then he takes a peek over the car, and you hold your breath – he's the bait now, and ducks his head immediately as two more shots are fired. You don't even have the strength to scream; your whole body simply shudders from the echoing sound of pure fear – how can he play tag with death like that?

And then he leaves.

He rounds the car and darts for the building and the sniper; he disappears from your vision so quickly you wonder if these past weeks have been but a dream.

A hit and run.

"Do what…" you repeat on the ground and curl into yourself even though he said you shouldn't move. You figure it's not that big of a crime to go into a fetal position when you don't know if he's ever coming back to scold you for breaking the rules.

You want to close your ears from the sounds that follow – you fear you'll jinx something if you listen too closely to what happens in that building. You try to concentrate on your breaths, slowly bringing you back to your body. You haven't even noticed that there's blood running down your arm.

It's funny how you only notice the pain after seeing the flowing crimson that makes small rivers around your fingers. You don't want to look at your burning shoulder because the shock is already here.

The searing pulse gets worse as you hear another shot, then another shot. Those sounds pound inside your shoulder and send more fire down your arm. Minutes or hours pass and you think how strange it is that everything's completely still, how bizarre it is that there are no sirens, no cars, no screaming. They've finally closed off the roads.

You only start to cry when you see that he's alive.

You try to rise from the ground to meet him – a bleeding princess, waking from her beauty sleep and realizing everything's just been a bad dream, greeting her knight in a black pair of fitted tactical pants and a pistol on his waist. Diamonds and darkness…

He rushes to you in what seems like desperation. You find it oddly beautiful that he's not only relieved to see his client is still alive and well, he's also relieved to know you're still there. That his princess has waited for him.

He falls on his knees and prevents you from rising. You're quickly wrapped in his arms, feeling so happy and safe that you don't even bother to tell him you're injured. It's just a scratch anyway. Even if your leg was blown off, you wouldn't complain about being picked up in his lap like this.

"Shh. I got you. I got you."

He's cradling you like a child while tears stream down your face, but there's no audible sounds of crying. You weep a whole river of tears and your nose is clogged, forcing you to breathe through your mouth, but there's no wailing, no screaming, no bawling. The first words that roll off your tongue are a child's moody complaint.

"You left me," you mope as he caresses your head.

"Only for a little while."

"You came back."

"I said I would."

More tears flow, and this time you sniffle and sob. He rocks you gently back and forth as you cry in his embrace. Simon would make a good father.

"Is he…?" You whisper, then look up at him. He just nods and gives you a quick scan, drawing a sharp breath when he notices the wound on your arm.

You're placed back on the ground as he inspects your shoulder and tells you the bullet managed to scrape some skin but has mostly just ruined your jacket. You're almost sorry that the wound is not as severe as it feels. You thought the burning sensation meant shattered bones and scarred flesh, but the scratch is no deeper than if you had accidentally cut yourself with a kitchen knife.

"No, I don't want… No hospital," you beg as he offers to take you to ER. You're not spending the rest of the day in a frigid treatment room where tired medical personnel only clean the wound and put a big plaster on it.

"Just take me home," you plead like you're his daughter who doesn't want to go to school today. "Please?"

"Sure. Whatever ya want."

He makes a few phone calls, arranges things with the local police or something. You don't want to know anything about it. You don't want to know who got shot in that building and how.

It's not a taxi that drives you back this time. You don't know where he got a car and a driver, but the vehicle is big and black, and your head is in Simon's lap when you lie in the backseat. There's a panel between the driver's seat and the rear, so you don't even know who's driving, but you're only grateful for the privacy after the crazy morning followed by a murder attempt. You look up at Simon, who looks back at you for the first time while you're in a car together.

"Why did you become a soldier?" You ask, not knowing why you're whispering. He's holding your hand – a simple, wholesome thing to do, but his grip on you is solid and warm and feels equally as intimate as the times this man has been inside you.

"I wanted to help people."

"By killing them?"

"By saving those I can."

He keeps a hand on your cheek too. Simon has spoken softly ever since you were fired at, has been humane and caring and tender, and you realize… This man is naked before you; he's stripped bare from all pretenses.

And he's not darkness. He's not a skeleton or a dead man or even a soldier.

He's a beacon in the night.

"You did a good job," you squeeze his hand softly.

The last glass-like veil in his eyes shatters, but far more softly than those windows shot at with a rifle.

"I live to serve, Ma'am...–Miss."

"Don’t… Simon, please don’t call me a–"

He descends. He doesn't need that hand to lift your chin up to meet him in a kiss. It's not a hungry devouring this time, but a soft promise, a lover's seal. You feel the rest of the shock leave your body in his embrace. There's no more coldness, only a fragile burning.

"You never look me in the eyes," you whisper as a tear escapes from the corner of your eye. It's a silly thing to say when he looks at you with all the love in the world.

"Yes I do," he gives you a soft brush of a thumb across your cheek. His lips are right there, an inch away from yours. "How could you have missed that?"

He's right, as always. The dark love almost swallows the brown of his eyes as he looks at you, shining light on you as he has shined for days, for weeks now. How could you have missed that, indeed? You raise a hand to cup his cheek, not caring about the pain, not even mourning that your blood stains his chin. He doesn't seem to mind at all, so why would you?

When you arrive at your house, he drives away the loneliness, sorrow, everything a rich girl can fear by carrying you in his arms, stepping over the threshold with you like you two are married now.

He peels your jacket off with affection and tenderness, tends to your wound and wipes away the blood that has caked dry all over your arm. The gash has bled a lot for such a small wound, and you purse your lips from how accurately it reflects your feelings for him.

He ties the wound, checks at least two times he's not tying it too tight. His care breaks your heart, because you don't know whether he will leave you after this. There's nothing that keeps him here anymore – there's no way you can keep Simon Riley to yourself. So you abandon him first for the second time, ascend the stairs to your lonely domain while he cleans up the small mess in the bathroom.

It's a small miracle that he follows you. He opens the door to your room without knocking – not because he's entitled to your privacy, but because there are no more barriers between you two. You're gathered in a stout embrace for the second time this afternoon, and you wrap your arms around him to hold him closer.

"You'll leave me soon," you speak to the wall before you, to the man behind you, holding you so gently against his chest. "I'll miss you."

"Love," he murmurs behind you, you feel the words against your back as a warm rumble. "I'll come back. If you want me, I'll come back to you."

"You will…?"

"I promise."

You have no more tears to cry, so you settle for examining the stab inside your heart, the wound that will bleed you dry if no one ties it tightly enough.

"I don't believe you."

"It's not a matter of whether you believe me."

He turns you around and lets you bathe in his warmth again, the same golden light that came through the window when he placed his mouth on you in the kitchen. It's almost frightening to know that there's nothing that can keep him from you. Nothing, except you. The only thing that has stood between you was only and ever pride.

"Simon," you breathe, a soft attempt to introduce him to mercy. "It's not a matter of what we deserve."

He blinks a few times, the chest against your side collapses a little. It's a hard reset. The corner of his mouth tugs, a beautiful betrayal of his surrender, a sign of being hit by a boulder – your boulder, finally bringing the rest of those walls down.

"You think so...?"

"Yes. I think so."

He brushes his knuckles across your sternum – a familiar motion that always manages to lift your heart. You used to think it was foreplay when it was in truth, an attempt to touch the organ said to be the house of love.

You think about the times his harsh breaths have hit you just before he cums, the urgent praise he's peppered you with merely seconds before you've cried from pleasure. Can't get enough of you pet, you’re fucking perfect, 'm gonna make you cum, sing for me, just like that...

You always thought it was a catalogue of shallow lust when it was an offering of naked devotion.

He was as vulnerable as you when you drifted through space together, when you drowned in his stunning midnight sea. He was catching fire and burning too, again and again until you were both satisfied and sweaty. He always held you close after, panted desperate love on your skin, planted kisses on your collarbones and neck before resting his head on your heart. Settling there, over your pulse, like he had finally found his way home…

The hand glides between your breasts and molds itself over your waist. It fits there like a second skin. You're relatively sure his hands were made for holding you.

"You asked what makes me happy," he says, completely naked and bare. The heavy love surrounds you with warm safety; your breath flows freely as you await his confession, the last secret revealed. "I think you know, love."

You know. It has finally dawned on you. What you didn't know was that tears of hope could feel like fire too. You've never been more eager to burn.

"Now keep those pretty eyes on me."

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley imagine #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fanfic #mw2 fanfic #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley x f!reader #ghost x female reader #bodyguard au #bodyguard!Ghost

2K notes · View notes

ladythornofrivia · 7 months ago

Text

SING FOR ME (part one) | REVISED

dark!aemond x septa!tyrell!reader 🌹

summary: a once princess from a noble house took sworn oath for the Faith of the Seven blossomed into a septa with immaculate reputation due to her gift and preserving her virtue until the fate encounters with the one-eyed prince. (Also inspired by Phantom of the Opera).

warning: stalking, r*pe, unprotected sex, non-con, dubcon, dark aemond, manipulation, obsessive, kidnapping, aemond being delulu

a/n: I'm so sorry--I had to revise this. I didn't think it's good enough, so I had to make some changes, even the title--it feels off. Please forgive me.

Chapter One

The Pious Rose

The most beautiful rose was hidden away from the gardens.

The rose meant to blossom, not wither. She wasn’t meant to be tucked in the rest of her life. (Y/n) wasn’t meant to be tucked in the shadows. She belonged in the golden daylight, surrounded with flowers and her companions, her servitude in the Faith of the Seven, a lady with a driven purpose for the greater good to the Gods in the Sept. Her fate is supposed to be hers and hers alone.

Her dignity, her honor, her virtue and morals, one that inspires love and peace.

Within this darkness, how will the bask of sun shine her with comfort—living in suffocation. How will she live?

Rigid walls greeted her when her eyes were open. Where is she? Her stomach ached with a sharp jab. What has transpired for your fate to be trapped in a lonesome room with no sunlight, no candles, no sound and touch of breeze gliding through the windows? The windows were shut—no, you were confined.

Like the light, her hope has dimmed, and the shadows of her qualms and debate within her outlive. In this darkness, no one was present to succor her distress. The tattered clothing on your sleeves dampened from tears she shed.

No mother or father or sisters to guide her back home.

No servant or subject would come to her aid.

No guard to escort her out of the darkened room that has confined her to flee.

No sound of laughter, or talk amongst folks and lively music she had grown accustomed to.

The air is vacant. No one is to hear the voice but hers and the walls. And the door is locked. No way of escape.

The world felt so small and cramped, you weren’t sure if your life has been meaningful. Surely the Gods were testing you in this challenge.

The peace didn’t last when a heavy oak door boomed with long croak shattered the silence, flames pierced onto your sleepy eyes, until you met the eye of a certain shadow looming over her.

Several Months Ago….

It is said that the Gods had given grace to someone holy and pious. But you were the most holy and pious of all.

But it wasn't pious and holiest reputation.

With a gift you possessed, you managed to capture everyone's hearts, even the look of your beauty. But a song is what entranced every noble and ladies and children alike--at every occasion--namesdays, feasts and tourneys, and at every private and bond between families. Lords and ladies in every kingdom requested for you to commemorate on their special day.

Your song was a gift of light. A song in your voice is a gift of your heart and feast for the soul. A heart so pure and ethereal, that even men would swoon with tears.

You sang an eternal hymn, a hymn of love. A stellar performance like yours is not like any other--light and airy and amongst the heavens.

Since the days of wisdom, you are the most beautiful princess in all of Westeros, titled as ‘Golden Rose—the Rose In Winter and Sun’, ‘A Rose Never Wilted’—as you were born under a chilled winter under a golden sun, hence the given title. You’re the youngest of all Tyrell daughters.

Guests and family members of the court showered you with gifts, jewels, dresses and dolls that is twice as heavy and shiny with importance. Since when you were a child, you are cheery and bright; cheeks flush with health, as you grew older, your mind is constant with wit and daydream.

You have it all.

A gifted wit such as you shouldn’t be cast aside for a nobleman—whether handsome or hideous, young or old, sick or healthy—and to decay as a mother and a widow. And with your wit, you were also pious. Pious and cautious. For a young woman such as yourself, you’re wiser than others.

With every letter the suitors have sent have been casted into the hearth. Sometimes when suitors visited the kingdom, they would often asked of your presence, which you turned a blind eye.

Men.

Men are close to define as a unhinged beast.

Men are vile—filthy as if men are created from Seven Hells. Men are creatures that are made of fire and lust. Marriage is the death sentence to women as men being dutiful as killers and swordsmen at Night’s Watch, with their cocks gelded and their flesh smeared in sin. A woman’s body is as holy as the Sept, must be preserved and clean and mustn’t be driven with temporary hunger. The thought of your virtue being soiled by a man disgusts you, almost a phantom pain summoned between your legs, jab like a sharp knife. You shall never be clean again—overripe and tainted.

Undesirable, one which you can’t undo, with a child born in a mother’s belly was a monstrous and vile thing to give from an unmarried and unfaithful man—a beast hungered and scorched, burnt into the ashes of regret, unable to reverse the damage has been done. Frightened of a soiled reputation, as to avoid death, you must remain healthy with vigor.

You witness to all noble ladies, to whoever they consummate or shared pleasure with they’ve spent in secret upon a high nightfall, with their pleasurable sighs and moans, coming on their high, neglecting their noble duties, or how they gave a painful birth, you tend to avoid converse your peers and stayed inside, wandering in the gardens with flowers blooming just for you, as the canary birds chirped you’ve found yourself with reading or sewing or tending the birds in your pass time.

Most noble folks mistook you as shy, but in your heart, its grimace and resentment. At this rate, the noble ladies will likely to gain bastards than those with natural birthright.

No, it was never your destiny to tarnish.

You must remain pure.

With a life like yours, it’s perfect.

Almost.

House Tyrell has thrived since the dawn of time—the Age of Heroes and survived through fiery battles and clashing swords and broken oaths, traitor after traitor. Vows reformed and ruined by the likes of men’s lusty thoughts from their lusty cocks. House Tyrell went through all. How Tyrells became resilience is all thanks to lessons from experience—had been passed down generations to newcomers that breathed their first air.

Through beauty, through grace. Tyrells are clever and winsome and sly. Flower among flowers. But with flower with thorns are all the more dangerous.

It is said that your beauty is the fairest of all fairs. The day when you’re born, it is said you are bestowed by the Gods of Old and New. Since you were a child, all families brought together in peace. With you as a babe in a cradle, you are precious that when you were a child, you tend with animals and planted seed in the garden for flowers to blossom, for the grass become greener and brighter and clearer in the air. Sometimes you even sang hymns to the injured--animals, more particularly, to ease the frantic emotion that has been emulating.

But those are the days of past.

For years, you have not experienced duty, but all is thrive with a command with a snap of your fingers or whines in your voice to command. For someone young, courtship and marriage is not your intention. Your intentions are made clear to all with prying ears: you would never soil yourself to be bind by dutiful marriage and loveless vows.

But you, as of now, you are made to forge your own destiny. With beauty and grace, you remained to use cleverness for greater good. When you have been informed of the lords’ son wanted your hand, you declined his offer—an offer of negligence and ignorant bliss. That is when your mother resented you.

"Selfish," they all said.

"Cold and calculating," others concluded.

"A conceited bitch," the other men--who have once looked at you with admiration, muttered in between gossip.

Like flowers, beauty and life of love never lasts.

"She mustn't do this," your mother objected. "A young girl like her doesn't know what she wants. She preserve her status as a princess until she gives birth to children and cherish--remain loyal to her husband. That is her future accomplishment. Her reputation amongst men will be tarnish for eternity if she does this. Some men are turning away from her. There's still a chance to remedy this! We must remedy, we must!"

"We have other daughters, my love," your father said with a tender smile. "They have potential to be married off to the suitors. All of our daughters are kind and diligent."

"But all are not as pretty and useful at their talents as she," your mother remarked, as the father's smile died. "She can't be spending her days in the Sept for the rest of her life. I have confiscated all of the books, locked them away so she wouldn't suggest or spark an idea. A woman's mind is as clear as a man's mind. One must give as a future mother and wife. What good are the other daughters for, if they cannot be as achievable as she?"

"This is the fate I choose," you reasoned your father, in determinable rage. "I must do this."

And so, you cast aside the crown, the future prospects of awaiting suitors, who constantly want your hand in marriage of great alliances, and transformed as a septa. Like your mother, few other members of the Tyrell family objected, but your father had the last say and committed to a subjugation of your apply for a challenging task. Although your father and older sisters and brothers shared their support, your mother's intentions are quite clear as it did everyone else's.

As the matter has settled, your mother stopped you midway. "You will regret, for that there are many dangers beyond the threshold. You shall die alone, and no one to love you. The knowledge in books meant nothing to a woman. Books will only give you delusions of idea and that inspires no love but the selfish dreams that you're meant to fail," she hissed.

She's no rose, but a serpent that leeches the flesh.

"I always knew that you're an insipid witch who inspires no love but resentment, as of others. I must remain clean and pious, ever virtuous and benign. I hope you remain bitter and ugly, so that you die alone in your bed, no one to love you. You have killed the love from my father and my siblings, for I want no part with the likes of you," you told her, and barged out at the doors.

Perhaps your thorns are sharper than theirs.

And so, the raven sent a word from the capital, and by dawn—days later—your status is disposed and born anew as Septa (Y/N), and said your farewells and head off, afar from Highgarden with a single tear dropped on your face, as you recalled your grandmother’s words.

Growing strong.

"Farewell, my family, my home, my life, my garden, my comfort..." is all you uttered.

~*~

In King’s Landing, the capital since the dawn of time—has reconstructed and instructed under Aegon I, the most well-known infamous dragonlord that one day overshadow Westeros with a dragon and fury, as well as Visenya with her stubborn grit, and Rhaenys with her peace and wit. Once upon a time, King’s Landing used to be called Aegon’s Fort, but before Aegon’s Fort, it simply used to be a giant forest. Until all three of the dragonlords’ combination of their superb qualities and giant beasts, they’re unstoppable. Therefore, it’d be wise to bow down and surrender, if not, you’d be burn with dragon flame.

Rumor has it when living in King’s Landing, you can afford all the things and wealth and status you desire, even for being a prostitute in one of the inns at Street of Silk, but you intended to avoid filthy things altogether.

Other whispers you’ve heard is the Green Queen, Alicent Hightower, often visited in the Sept. Queen Alicent shed her blood through heretics on praying to her gods for salvation, whatever it may be, prayers to Gods are as sacred as a woman’s maidenhead. Somehow you felt it was out of duty to remain clean, or rebuke the filth to remain clean.

Since the days you have resided in a newfound residence within a glorified kingdom, you immersed your time on tending the orphans and the sick, you tend to your prayers and studies, sometimes tutoring the commoners and bastards and nobles alike—sunrise until sunset. Sometimes the children liked it when you sang them to keep them distract in daytime, or when you sang to them in sleep, for they have no parents to guide them in the land of sin.

In your private quarters, you summoned the belongings you treasured in your luggage—several books, a ring and a doll. There are times where you have missed your family dearly in your heart. Dresses exchanged with robes, your shining hair draped and tucked by veil.

Every once in a while, in your sleep, when an overwhelmed perception intruded in your blank state of mind, you pressed the porcelain glass doll in between your breasts, stroking it’s stringed hair and embraced it tightly.

Somehow, you felt the doll is alive each time you spoke to it, sometimes sang, pretending to be as your family member. You are alone in the capital, but you will outlive the loneliness. But that feeling of loneliness spread, tears dropped, your heart hitched and clenched as if someone’s fingers pressured onto the bleeding organ in your chest after ripping your ribcage open.

"Please stay close to me, stay close to me, my beloved, for the garden has grown cold without you," as you sang to the doll.

Each time your heart beats, the bell tolled in your ears and head on a slumbering nocturnal hour. In an otherworldly place, on the vast side afar from your former homeland, the bells reminded that King’s Landing is your new home.

Every now and then, you sent letters to your family. Every letter they sent gave you a sense of pride and joy--mostly your father, but only to be address as "Your Lord" instead of "Your Father". And every letter, there was a trinket of love that your father shared. And each time you lay on your bedside, you read their letters repeatedly until you lulled to slumber.

But as of late, you gained no response from them. For whatever reason, you kept on writing letters to them.

To think of a good and peaceful life, think of prosperity and glory to your prayers, guidance to a fulfilled wisdom and grace and flourish as the purest soul to fly within Seven Heavens above is the only way after passing on from a life of blood and lust and wretched souls that are beyond saving.

Days had been busied, and days had been hectic and tedious. Shutting your eyes in prayer in front of a grand statue, mouthing prayers in your mouth that you knew by heart. Each time you utter another thought, tears threatened to spill once more.

But you hardened your consciousness and pressed on.

~*~

One day, when dismissed from duties, you ought to find time a seclusion away from books and scriptures—lessons you have dealt with rambunctious children and spiteful elderly on the other side of city. You attended there, tending needs and care for animals, as well. Tending to endless hours seems forever, no way of escape for isolation.

But alas, you found solace under a spare time on a new night--and you have done this several times in several night previously. The area is empty but the walls adorned in fresh red roses and outgrown vines, reminded you of your garden. It was perfect. Surrounded in a garden, light of moonlight pooled behind the tree. On a marbled bench you sat, you resumed with your stitching of a canary, and sang a song from a book you've last read.

The birds chirped alongside yours, as it remain peace, but melancholy. But with the company of feathered friends, you remain your heart steady and true. You have chosen this life.

But as of late, you grew self-conscious, wondering if anyone was spying on you, in case you didn't do your duty to serve the Gods. Therefore, the passing hour has grown dark and departed from a secluded area.

~*~

The underground tunnels of King's Landing was all but darkness. But with a torch placed upon the walls stirred a bit ease to your liking. You ought to company other sisters back to the main ground.

As of now, you didn't like walking alone, as your thoughts remained at the last converse with your mother.

"You will regret, for that there are many dangers beyond the threshold. You shall die alone, and no one to love you. The knowledge in books meant nothing to a woman. Books will only give you delusions of idea and that inspires no love but the selfish dreams that you're meant to fail."

Immediately snapping out of your dreary thoughts, you marched onward with a sewing fabric clutched to your chest. Tunnels rumbled and echoed from your footsteps, as you saw a glimpse of small light above you.

You were almost there.

The air in your breath held in as you felt a large hand grasp your mouth and waist, dragging you back in the dark part of the tunnel. Struggle you as fought your way out, your needlework dropped, dragging and trapping you, wedged between the rustic bars. Biting off his fingers, you scurried off, but caught in between his hands again. You bit again and again until he yanked the veil back, released a sharp wail as the scalp on your golden brown hair has tugged in brute force.

As you attempted to turn around, but a lithe and large retaliated by you turning back around. Behind you, the shadow of someone's trousers dropped, and bent you forward. With large hands gripped tight on your waist, felt a hot tip, his hips grinding you, and plunged it all the way in, blood trailing down on your legs.

You cried aloud as the cock jabbing in your slick cunt.

No, no--not my virtue. Anything but my virtue.

A man groaned in satisfaction as he plunged into you, positioned your wrists behind you, hearing the wet splat as his hips snapped harshly to your entrance.

"Please...no..." you begged, cried.

But the man ignored you, a guttural moan pressed onto your ear, a man’s breath panted.

As he reached his high, hot semen spilled, leaving you breathless and beaten. Bruises on your skin swollen with numbness and your hair--the veil undone, your tucked hair loosened with tangle. Leaning forward with your shaken hands support from fall, you didn't spare a moment to shed your tears, as your final thoughts head straight to the culprit. Your eyes dazed in confusion and hurt. Why would someone hurt the person who was trying to heal the weak, and to preserve a restoring peace?

In your last moments of awake, your eyes glimpsed of a shadow strutting down at your direction, and passed out before a chance for you glimpse and run away.

Heavy footsteps caved in.

And the breath withhold loosened as a pair of hands reached you.

Like every flower, they wither.

~*~

In the next hour, you woke up, surrounded by darkness on cold bedside. You trudged at the door, finding out it was locked. Your fists banged against the door, screaming, "LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!"

Each time you screamed, your tears formed and stuck between your lashes. The tight, cold air caved into your chest, breathing harshly as your hands reached its exhaustion.

Then a pain between your legs had swollen each time you stride vastly back and forth, unsure to grasp the circumstances. It was then you realized one conclusion. Therefore, you tried to find another path, but how could you when you don't know its secrets to where you're standing now? Everything is dark and you're buried with stoned walls, nowhere to run to, or to hide or to tell someone to help you escape and flee from a wretched prison.

Leaning upon the wall, relying on a dimmest light of candle flame, you rested as your back slid downward, pressed against the wall, cuddled your knees to your chest and wept.

Weeping went on, but your hope wasn't lost.

But months went by, as the consciousness in your heart was trying to cooperate, to survive at least for tomorrow and the upcoming of days. You've been fed and clothed and sheltered. But it's not to your content; you yearned for more. There are times where you have sang to yourself, but still ended in tears with no one to hear but your own.

Oh the Gods have been cruel, but the god in your heart sets alight of hope for freedom, finding its way, but you must find a way within a perfect time.

Until one day, in your confined chambers, the dark room lit up until you faced the tall shadow casted before you with a sapphire glinted under the heavy cloak.

A shiver ran down on your neck, knowing who it was.

Taglist: @fun-loving-peach @kittendoll05 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @snh96 @halsteadstyles @liannafae @buccini555 @watercolorskyy @justyelena @jolixtreesunn @thought--bubble @dixie-elocin @galactict3a @kimsubin05 @blackgaladriel @theboleyngirlx @jmliebert @ilikechocolatemilkh @20thcentwriter @sepherinaspoppies @venmondiese @snowprincesa1 @parttimegay @lcolumbia1988 @witchy-v1xen @1800-fight-me @fan-goddess @persephonerinyes @katie-xoxo66 @darylandbethfanforever9 @wisemiraclesweets @elaratyrell @scorpiovelaryon @peachysunrize @aemondswifeisme @heartagram-vv @vipervixxen @mymoonempress @colored-tr-panels @arcielee @starzz-l0ver @li0nn3stuff @peculiarlyayse @wenris @itsabby15 @blackswxnn @crymeariversworld @fantasticgoateesheep @theloveablestargirl @aemondswif3

242 notes · View notes

medakakurokami · 1 year ago

Text

I finished over 100 visual novels, here’s a long post with some recommendations

Last month I hit 100 Finished VN’s over on the VNDB and I thought I’d shoot out some recommendations while the Steam Summer Sale is going on (even though some of these aren’t going to be on Steam)

I already have finished up some stragglers and caught some shorter titles so it’s up to 104 Finished, but all the better. I have been reading some VN’s since 2015, but it really became a hobby and a genre I was invested in during Covid lockdown in 2020. I had trouble getting into some of the popular titles, but a couple of games that were lesser known at that time really blew me away that year and I started digging more into the medium. I still have a lot to try out and other classics I’m still interested in trying, but here’s a top 10 I’m confident in recommending to most people, at least the kinda people that would follow this blog. A few of these recommendations are actually multi-part series, but hopefully accessible all around.

Planetarian ($10 on Steam and Switch, ~$5 on sale)

This is a very late entry onto this list but I think it’s an easy recommendation. This is a very short 2-4 hour visual novel that got a well received 2 hour movie adaptation in 2016, but it was strong enough that even while knowing the plot everything still hit hard. It is a story set 30 years after an apocalyptic event destroys most of the world, as a human junk-trader comes across a planetarium with a somehow-still-functional robot named Hoshino still performing her daily duties after 30 years without customers or coworkers. It can come across as a bit saccharine, but it is a quick, well made, and effective tearjerker.

Narcissu 1st & 2nd (Free on Steam)

Narcissu’s first two parts are pretty compelling stories to do with suicidal ideation within the scope of the terminally ill. Which is to say they’re also real tear jerkers, and pretty open about some harsh self-reflective emotions. They both have stellar endings, and can be quite immersive despite the very limited artwork (if the screencap looks weird, the game’s art exists within a narrow strip on the screen, with a sentence or two reading out the story underneath it). Maybe the least accessible on this list, but a $0 price tag makes it easier in some sense to get into.

Umineko no Naku Koro ni / When The Seagulls Cry (~$50 on Steam, $30 on sale)

Umineko you’ve probably already heard of, and here’s me recommending it. Umineko comes in two parts, on Steam referred to as the Questions Arc and the Answers Arc. Despite the split, the overall story follows the events of a certain day on Rokkenjima Island in 1986 as a family meets to discuss their inheritance and their family’s mysteries. Unbeknownst to them they are soon haunted, over and over again, by the revenant of the Golden Witch said to live in the woods of their family’s island.

I’m in the minority of preferring the Questions Arc, where well written and deeply human characters find themselves in deeply inhumane and nonsensical scenarios. The Answers Arc back seats some of that to start delving into an esoteric explosion of clues and backstories, and was still very entertaining even if I was more invested in the episodic stories than the overarching mystery. This may also be seen as inaccessible, $30-50 for a slightly older title and over 140 hours long on average playthroughs, but it is deeply absorbing.

Witch on the Holy Night a.k.a. Mahoyo ($40 on PS4 and Switch)

Mahoyo is me and Nasu’s marriage counselor, it really made me see the good in him. It follows a young witch co-habitating with her magic colleague and the puppy-like boy that unwittingly steps into their world at risk to his own life, just as unexplained apparent murders are witnessed in their town.

This could possibly be a higher level recommendation, though it was apparently intended to have sequels and you can somewhat feel that in the isolated feeling of its main conflict. Despite this, the game is definitely worth experiencing for its classy charm and extremely well made action sequences that at times make you forget you’re not watching a full anime film. It’s also a showcase of Nasu’s strengths in writing character interactions and comedy, and he finally lets Show take over and stops Telling you piles of mage society worldbuilding quite so often. It is also has some of the highest quality production value I’ve ever seen, second maybe to...

Marco and the Galaxy Dragon ($20 on Steam/Switch, less than $10 on sale)

Marco and the Galaxy Dragon is an explosive opera of art, energy, color, and of course music. It follows the orphaned Marco and her dragon compatriot Arco as they hunt for treasure across the cosmos, finding their way to Earth on the hunt for Marco’s mother.

If Umineko’s 140 hours seems steep, Marco has you covered with a quick 6 hour rundown of a rebellious orphan fighting back against her space alien menace to find her own sense of place and identity in the universe, along with ALL the friends she made along the way. If Mahoyo feels like an anime film sometimes, Marco actually just has fully animated FMV cutscenes that are fun as hell and have their own unique artstyle to the VN itself. Thousands of pieces of artwork and a 52-track OST fill the game’s short runtime with no cut corners and and overflow of passion from the devs. Honestly even if you don’t want to read it go buy it, it’s cheap and they earned it.

White Album 2 (You’ll have to be creative to find this one)

This is the only recommendation that’s currently only available in an adults only 18+ Rating for the English translation. That being said, it’s one of the few erotic VN’s that felt justified in its pornographic scenes. The story is split into two releases: Opening Chapter and Closing Chapter.

Opening is a short and powerfully delivered love triangle narrative following Haruki, Setsuna, and Touma as their hastily formed 3-man light music band falls into itself with feelings. It’s charming but gut wrenching and sweeps you into its drama very effectively before kicking you on your ass in the end.

Closing Chapter is a long and drawn out disassembling of their lives as they fail to heal from the wounds of the relationships seen in Opening. It, to great effect, takes the readers own experience with how fun and passionate the Opening Chapter was, and shows how trying to cling to halcyon days can make us so dispassionate about our present lives. Painful stuff! Good music, too.

The Princess, The Stray Cat, and Matters of the Heart 1 & 2

a.k.a. Noratoto ($40 on Steam for both, ~$15 for both on sale)

This is a very personal recommendation, and maybe one more easy to make on this blog where many of my followers might be receptive to sincere but slapstick ecchi comedy as art. Every route is highly different however and to me, some are pretty average for galge, while others stand out as amazing. The comedy writing as well feels like it was written by someone with actual comic writing experience, and not just regurgitating the usual ecchi manga jokes.

The general premise of Noratoto is the protagonist Nora, being transformed into a cat by Patricia the princess of the Netherworld, and he must reverse this curse via a kiss before it becomes permanent. A benign fairy tale premise, but one that somehow gives way to underlying stories about existence and finding purpose in families and where that leaves those without families or with abusive or divided families (it is from the same developers as Marco and the Galaxy Dragon, and the themes of finding identity without family match up very closely). Uniquely it is a visual novel written somewhat in 3rd person, narrated by a motherly voice as if the VN was being read to you as a bedtime story.

Like I said, it is dependent on route and some come across as your usual ecchi gal-game schtick, but some stick out, and if every route was as high quality as Nobuchina’s in the 2nd game, it would probably be my favorite visual novel.

The Original Ace Attorney Trilogy ($30 on most platforms, $10 on sale)

You’ve almost certainly heard of Ace Attorney already and have most likely played it. This is me telling any Ace Attorney fans reading that the original trilogy still reigns supreme (regardless of Turnabout Big Top). This is also me telling anyone who has held out on trying Ace Attorney to try it, and to start with the original trilogy.

Obviously this trilogy follows the Meme Man Himself, Phoenix Wright, as he defends the innocent and brings the guilty to justice acting as both lawyer and his own main investigator. While each case presents a unique mystery, the original trilogy has an underlying arc that reaches from beginning to end with a massive conspiracy that Phoenix has to breach to bring justice to the perpetrators and resolve the memory and regrets of his beloved mentor.

These games have some speedbumps as you may be banging your head against the wall trying to find the right evidence, but the experience that breaks through does so with gusto, succeeding on what it sets out to be: games that make you feel like you’ve brought justice to the world.

Utawarerumono Trilogy ($40/60 each on Steam, trilogy bundle $62 on sale)

Utawarerumono was my first proper visual novel, and it set the standards pretty high. I’ve posted about it several times in the last few years, and it remains one of my favorites. It is a labor of love on the part of the developers (the same developers as White Album 2), who developed the latter two games over the course of several years and have made this the spearhead of their company for the time being. Which makes sense, since it is about war.

The first game follows a masked man who is given the name Hakuoro waking up in a rural village with amnesia, confused about the strange population of beast-men living there. Despite not understanding his situation, his ingenuity brings the village prosperity. When the local lords try to put the village under their thumb, Hakuoro and the villagers are able to turn the tides against them. Their village grows into a kingdom as Hakuoro seeks the mysteries of himself and the world around him.

The latter two games pick up some twenty years after the conclusion of the first, and follow a man who is given the name Haku, waking up in the woods with amnesia confused about the... you get it. He is met by Kuon, a young girl on her way traveling to the capital of their nation of Yamato. Haku graciously accepts her help getting out of the cold woods, and decides to join her to the capital. As events play out, Haku finds himself under the direct command of the nation’s leader the Mikado, and carries out missions on his behalf as the nation continues to drag itself into war and conflict and Haku also seeks the truth of his identity.

These games are expansive in scope while still putting a large focus on the day-to-day lives of its characters. Around 100 hours across all three games it is impressive how much story it manages to fit in, but the pacing does bounce around between sweeping conflict and sleepy conversations. It is also in part, a strategy RPG game with the battles in the war being controlled by the player. These are decently made, especially well in the third game, but don’t ask too much of the player and the story remains the main focus and biggest portion of the runtime.

The House In Fata Morgana a.k.a. Fatamoru

($40 complete version on PS4/Switch, ~$40 main game + expansion on Steam)

I’ve gushed about this enough on this tumblr, I’ll keep it brief.

You are a formless soul who is led by the hand of a mysterious maid through the doors of a mansion on an unknown plane of existence. Through each door lies a story of the house in a different era, all following people bound together in ways that leave them cruelly and violently undone by the end of their stories. The connection between these stories, the mystery of the house and the supposed witch that resides within, and the mystery of You the wandering soul all slowly unravel in a bloody show of catharsis and soul. The game is dripping with traumatic poetic text, grating beautiful music, and all of its atmosphere geared toward being oppressive yet enticing. One of the best things I’ve read.

Honorable mentions:

Va-11 Hall-A and Endless Mondays get shout outs as some of the best Original English Language VN’s I’ve read, with cool artstyles and a mature cast they manage to be fun and relatable. Va-11 Hall-A delivers a great arc for its protagonist and Endless Mondays has great dialogue on the threat of automation of creative industries.

Grisaia Trilogy and Hatsumira are both absolutely raucous trilogies that are a lot of fun. Not wholly recommendable to all, Grisaia has some strong moments and a hilarious unique cast but is a mess overall (but we love Michiru). Hatsumira is a bit more consistent, a more stable and fantasy-oriented Grisaia.

A.I. The Somnium Files duology are detective games with highly divisive endings, but great comedy and characters that make them very easy to get through and enjoy the whole way to the end. It’s just a toss-up whether you’ll like that ending.

Sakura Wars games are finally being translated, and they are a great showing for anyone who wants to try some classic dating sim stuff but with some pizazz thrown in with the setting and mecha combat.

The Tears to Tiara duology by the same developers of Utawarerumono and White Album is also one to keep an eye out for. The first game's definitive version isn't available in English and the second game is stuck on the PS3 and no longer available digitally, but if they ever come out on Steam they are worth your time.

Nanairo Reincarnation and Kinkoi: Golden Loveriche are also two solid ecchi comedy galge. Both have surprisingly deep and genuinely heartbreaking underlying mysteries and conclusions.

I still have a lot I wanna read, Planetarian is the only Key novel I’ve read. On the docket are Labyrinth of Galleria, Little Busters, the 9 -nine- series, and Kara no Shoujo and White Album 1 releasing on Steam this year. Some classics I didn’t mention are Fate/Stay Night, Muv Luv, Steins Gate. Muv Luv I read Extra and enjoyed it, but never pulled the trigger on reading the rest, I may at some point on a whim. Steins;Gate I played through half of on PS3 and now my PS3 is in the closet, the VN is really good and has a unique atmosphere to the anime, buuuuuuut knowing the plot has made it hard to want to restart on PC or another console. Steins;Gate is good, if anyone is reading this far and hasn’t seen the anime or read the VN, do it.

#long post #i'll only tag the main ones #planetarian #narcissu #umineko #witch on the holy night #marco and the galaxy dragon #white album 2 #the princess the stray cat and matters of the heart #noratoto #ace attorney #utawarerumono #the house in fata morgana

560 notes · View notes

cyberdragoninfinity · 1 year ago

Note

I would love to hear your thoughts about the fucked-up turtle (Terapagos)

"Now let's talk about the turtle. Can we talk about the turtle please, Mac? I've been dying to talk about the turtle with you all day."

Ok so. Short Answer Re: Thoughts About Terapagos:

WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. WHY DID IT DO THAT. WHY DID THEY [GAMEFREAK] DO THAT.

Long Answer Re: Thoughts About Terapagos [SPOILERS FOR THE SCARVIO DLC naturally. i havent seen Horizons so i dont rly know whats goin on with this little guy in the anime, just what we've got in the games]:

When the last little batch of new Pokemon in Indigo Disk leaked, about 12 hours or so-ish before the DLC dropped, I was at dinner with my bestie and we were looking at our phones like we were reading breaking world news. And I was looking at this tiny ass png of Terapagos's full Tera (Stellar) form.

And I immediately blurted out "holy SHIT it's turtles all the way down."

If you're not familiar with the phrase, check out its wikipedia page; here it's most relevant as a saying thrown around with regards to the philosophical concept of infinite regress, i.e. a series of elements (or questions begging an explanation) that that goes on infinitely with each member producing the next. So let's say the world rests on the back of a giant turtle--well, then, what does that turtle stand on to keep it from falling into the void? Why, another, bigger turtle, of course! But what about that turtle? Well, you're not gonna believe this, but it's turtles all the way down.

And here's the other thing about infinite regress: it's a logical fallacy, it's circular reasoning--honestly it's a little bit of a cousin to the "which came first?" chicken and egg argument. The question in these cases never truly gets answered, it just goes on and on forever. Bigger turtles on top of even bigger turtles.

It's a paradox. :)

So Stellar Terapagos, just look at that thing. Even its dex entries talk about how it looks like a planet, how it resembles "the world as the ancients saw it"--it's very much not only trying to evoke the World Turtle concept, but the symbolism of a classic paradoxical saying. So we've already got that going on with it, that already makes me bonkers. AND THAT'S JUST THE SURFACE LEVEL.

Cuz when we look at how Terapagos behaves, things start to go from "well isnt this guy a little weird" to "oh. oh this thing is kind of fucked up and terrifying, hello, what the hell is wrong with it" REAL FAST. Its two most stressed features we see in Indigo Disk are A.) its crystalline nature and how its the progenitor of Terastalization, but also B.) it is ferociously powerful and borderline uncontrollable. It's violent. It bursts out of a Master Ball and almost kills Kieran for daring to try and control it. Heath's illustration of its Stellar form in the Scarlet/Violet Book looks so otherworldly and almost cosmically horrifying. It has Weird Fucking Powers the game does NOT elaborate on (but I will; see more below.)

And also, hey, yeah, its Stellar Form looks like a stack of world turtles, but why the FUCK does its Terastal form also look like a goddamn dream catcher.

Personally I've been a big fan of the 'imagination theory' re: the Professors and the Paradox Pokemon and Area Zero, and folks have been arguing that Indigo Disk debunks that, but honestly I feel like we're loitering around some untold explanation that's even more bizarre. Terapagos is at least on some level tied to dreams and existentialism, and I really feel like there's more to Tera Crystals and Terapagos's relationship with them than what we've been told. Hell, its cry is even the noise we hear all game when we Terastalize our Pokemon, which produces its own myriad of questions (Are the Crystals some degree of alive? The Tera Crowns all do have Terapago's little turtle head at their base, too--does Terapagos physically or spiritually connect with a Terastalizing Pokemon? And what about that weird crystalizing the AI Professor does during its big boss fight? MUCH TO THINK ABOUT.)

Oh, speaking of Crystals--yeah. I can't NOT talk about the Indigo Disk Crystal Pool Postgame Secret when talking about Terapagos. ONE MORE SPOILER WARNING FOR THAT--SERIOUSLY GO TO THE CRYSTAL POOL AFTER GETTING THE DLC CREDITS. IT WILL BLAST YOU TO BITS. anyway.

Yeah so that's what I mean with Why Did It [Terapagos] Do That. The fact that you dont even need to have it in your party for the postgame Crystal Pool cutscene to trigger and for Terapagos to just pop out of the PC boxes on its own accord and warp space and time (and maybe even reality itself) to irreversible consequence, implying once again some great and uncontrollable power within this beast. Crazy Ass Moments in Pokemon History for CERTAIN.

And the thing that makes me most insane, thinking about Terapagos twisting time to allow you to meet the Professor, the Real Live Professor, to swap notes with them so to speak, the way it facilitates all of that, is the position it now puts the player and Scarvio itself in. If the Professor's research rests on the back of a white book given to them by a child, then what does the research of that white book rest upon? Ah, well, the expedition of Area Zero spurred forth by the fallout of the Professor's research. And what did THAT research rest upon, again...?

Turtles. The whole way down. Chickens and eggs and a paradox you're now responsible for. At the hands of a Normal Type Pokemon that tried to kill a 14 year old.

Terapagos scares the shit out of me. I love it so much. Why Did They Make It Like That <3

#asks #anonymous #terapagos #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon chattering #pokemon #pokemon spoilers #scarvio #scarvio spoilers #scarlet and violet dlc #indigo disk #indigo disk spoilers #long post /#HAD A LOT TO SAY ABOUT THIS TURTLE SORRY. IT'S RENT FREE IN MY HEAD

284 notes · View notes

deutsche-bahn · 6 months ago

Text

I took some time and translated one of the anecdotes I'd written on here, since people keep putting my german posts through google translate in the notes and it makes my eyes bleed

It's a small story of a situation I got myself into while I was travelling through Prague. It was winter, I was 19, and completely disoriented on my way through eastern Europe. That day I'd made plans to meet some folks for breakfast at a café. But me being me I had somehow managed to type the wrong café into google maps, which sent me marching into the wrong part of town.

I burst into this unassuming little café somewhere in Prague like I was a Roman looking for the last unoccupied village in Galicia, walked through the rows of tables, couldn't find anybody. Opened google maps and promptly realized my mistake.

Unfortunately, by that point I'd caught the eye of the waiter. Some young, skinny guy with a pastel tshirt and a bow tie, looking vaguely like an overwhelmingly gay youtuber straight out of 2016. Good for him honestly.

He came flying in my direction, asking if there was anything he could help me with.

This is the point where I should briefly mention what I looked like at the time, since that somehow manages to make this story so much worse, yet so much better:

For starters I was dressed in a giant winter parka that I had quasi-borrowed from my ex. It was oversized to the point of making me look like the world's saddest emperor penguin. I'd spent the night on a flixbus (because what's new), was sleep deprived to the point of delyrium and wore giant hiking boots. The fact that I also suffer from a condition called "always looking like a 12yr old" certainly wasn't helping. In short, I looked like you could've cast me as Gavroche then and there.

The waiter proceeded, in czech, to ask me- well, something in czech. My czech skills are... lacking, and even that's a euphemism. I replied with all the wit I could muster: "What?? Sorry"

He repeated, now in english: "Hi, can I help you?"

I decided to opt for the one answer that could possibly make me look even more like a lost child.

"No, I'm just looking for my friends!"

Fantastic, stellar job, you babyfaced lunatic. Why not tell him that you'd now like to call your mum to come pick you up now? Jfc.

The waiter had already entered lost-child-emergency mode and actually offered to let me call someone if I needed to. Ah shit. "I can make you some tea!" he added. I got the vague feeling that he was five minutes and one more concerning remark on my part away from calling the authorities on me, so my reply of "ah, no no, I'm perfectly fine!" came out with a wee bit too much panic in my voice.

At that point he asked me what I was doing in Prague to begin with. In his eyes, there was a child standing in his cafe, unable to speak the local language and without his friends. Goddamn you, google maps.

I had travelled to the czech republic for a larp, and I'd rather have perished than explain the concept of larping to a random gay waiter. "Oh, it's very very complicated" I said instead. Holy shit, can you act less like a potential human trafficking victim, I fucking beg you?? Thanks in advance.

By this point the waiter was even more concerned, if possible. I thanked him several times (I must've seemed so composed and relaxed) and promptly booked it back out onto the street. Average Wednesday

#translated #tbh mir fehlt die kreativität gerade was neues zu schreiben so translating and revising old texts it is

72 notes · View notes

tototalks · 6 months ago

Text

⚔️ KING’S RISING!! ⚔️

I am SO excited to get going, and am also a liiiiiitle bit terrified lol

- Everyone who said I’d love Nikandros was absolutely correct. Damen really found a ride or die with him. He’s the buddy who saw your cringe phase in high school and stuck by your ass anyway. Jord is the dude you adopted into the group at university.

- Speaking of Jord, I feel like Nik and Jord would vibe. Jord really needs a friend 🥺

- “Gain everything and lose everything” Haha! I’m going to tear my face off! This takes on such a different meaning now. 🥲They really went “okay we’ve been happy for a whole two seconds… that’s enough of that.”

- GOVART, YOU BOOMERANG WILLIAM AFTON I ALWAYS COME BACK TYPE BITCH!!! - I knew Laurent wouldn’t betray Damen in the battle!!

- And finally we get to the face off that’s been due for 2 books. Laurent knew about Damen, because of course he did. He’s too smart to not recognise the man who killed his brother. Tbh I think Damen probably mulled over this possibility too.

- “I said don’t do this.” “You said kiss me.” - 💔 💔💔 Damen is not buying Laurent’s bullshit, and I love that Damen actually challenges him on it too. No matter what Laurent says out of insecurity or ulterior motives, Damen is seeing straight through him and I’m living for it…. Even if it hurts 🥲

- Giving up Delpha… Holy shit, Nik is gonna HATE Laurent.

- I have to hand it to Laurent though. He witnessed Damen dressed in what, to Veretians, is leather underwear, and had to pretend he ain’t giving those thighs the side eye.

- I should stop being surprised Laurent is a genius, but his diplomatic gift was stellar. Tentative approval from Akielos and a backhanded jab for Damen. All earned in one move.

- The Twin Cuff!!! 😨

- Imagine you’re an Akielon being summoned as part of a war. You’re standing under your weirdly not-dead King’s dais. He’s wearing the cuff of a pleasure slave for reasons best known to himself but that’s HIS business. Then he says he has a gift for your new coworkers, and you see him put the MATCHING cuff of a pleasure slave on the King of fuckin VERE of all people with the weirdest sexual tension you’ve ever seen in your life. You are expected to be normal about this.

- RIPPED MEN APART WITH LEOPARDS??! My Queen. I bow to thee. Where do I sign up?

- Damen “I sucked dick on accident” and Nikandros “HOW TF YOU SUCK DICK ON ACCIDENT?!” bestie behaviour. Nik knows Damen’s type and is not dealing with any of his horny shenanigans. Only best friends can humble you this way.

- “He improves with time?” “Oh. No. He actually gets worse.” 💀😭

#captive prince #king’s rising #books #Toto reads

98 notes · View notes

justalittlelilac · 10 days ago

Text

Merry Mishaps, Tinsel, and Mistletoe

Tamarack Baumann x Athena Suzuki - Step 3

My Secret Santa Gift for the wonderful @monicaeidolith! Big thanks to @olnfsecretsanta2024 for hosting this special event!

(photo from Pinterest this isn't your gift lol)

Athena stood in Tamarack's living room, staring at what could only be described as a Christmas decoration crime scene. Tinsel hung limply in various places, a string of lights had somehow tied itself into knots, and the artificial tree was leaned precariously to one side like a tipsy party guest.

"Stellar work," she muttered, dejection thick as syrup. "You can't even handle basic decorations without messing up." The familiar weight of self-doubt settled on her shoulders – she'd only wanted to help. Her bright idea – her master plan – had been to surprise Tamarack by decorating for tonight's Christmas party, but this was harder said than done.

For weeks, Tamarack had been a walking, talking Christmas radio station, bubbling with excitement about the party. When she'd mentioned feeling overwhelmed, Athena's imagination had run wild with Hallmark movie scenarios: them baking sugar cookies while sharing glances, decorating the tree while their hands accidentally brushed, wrapping presents while sharing hot chocolate. It was all enough for her to practically melt into a puddle of holiday cozy goo. Not that she'd ever admit it out loud – she had a reputation to maintain, after all.

"I mean…I can help if you want. It's not a big deal," she'd tried to offer cooly while scratching the back of her head.

Now, here she was, trying to reunite a family of scattered baubles that had escaped from the bottom of a decoration box. The front door creaked open, and Tamarack appeared, arms heavy with grocery bags, freezing in place like a deer caught in headlights. Her usual sunshine smile flickered as she absorbed the chaos before her.

"Wow, this is… certainly festive?" Tamarack commented, her voice tinged with amusement. By this point in their relationship, she was clearly used to Athena's antics. She glided into the room, gently placing the grocery bags on a side table.

"I swear I was trying to help," Athena mumbled with a slight smile that was more like a grimace, running a hand through her dark hair. "Look, I get it if you don't want me to help anymore. I can just leave."

Sweet as candy canes and twice as pretty, Tamarack rushed to her side without giving the decorations or her blunt defense a second thought, looking Athena up and down. "Are you okay? I know sometimes the tree can fight back. Happens to the best of us."

Athena felt her face blaze at Tamarack's close inspection and contact. "Yeah! I'm fine! I can fix it! It's just that the lights staged a coup, and then the tree started wobbling, and—"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Tamarack laughed. She reached out and grasped one of the bent branches of the tree. "Actually, it kind of reminds me of a Charlie Brown Christmas. We could make it a theme," she offered again with another chuckle, a sound as bright as tinsel to Athena's ears.

That was so typically Tamarack – always finding the bright side. It was one of the things that made Athena's heart do little somersaults whenever she was around, like Tamarack was a spot of sunny weather on a cold day. She'd never admit this out loud, though. Some secrets were better left as a gift that a distant relative gave you that sat in the back of your closet.

"But if we're not adding onto the Christmas theme, let me help you sort this out," Tamarack continued, already moving to untangle the lights. Athena nodded, and their hands brushed as they both reached for the same strand. Athena quickly pulled back, nearly knocking over a box of granny's antique ornaments in the process.

"Sorry! I'm usually more coordinated than this," she said, though evidence suggested otherwise. Get it together, Athena thought to herself. This was supposed to be for Tamarack, and she wanted it to be perfect for the personification of holiday cheer standing in front of her.

Tamarack raised an eyebrow, clearly remembering every clumsy moment they'd shared over the years. Her eyes trailed around the room, taking in the work they still had to do, and she sighed good-naturedly. "You know what? Let's have some hot chocolate first. I bought those little marshmallows you like."

Without waiting for a response, she headed for the kitchen, leaving behind a trace of vanilla perfume that Athena had always enjoyed. As she followed, her phone buzzed:

Qiu: Status report on Operation Christmas Party? 👀

Athena: Great! Disaster level: maximum. Tree almost became a casualty. She obviously hates me now 😀

Qiu: You're hopeless and delusional 🤦🏻‍♀️

The next few hours were an exercise in controlled chaos. Athena tried to help Tamarack bake cookies for the party, but her confidence of "no, I've got this. I've done it a thousand times" caused her to swap the sugar for salt. Luckily, Tamarack had extra ingredients to remake the dough. Then, she nearly put a hole in Granny's wall when they attempted to hang wreaths. Yet, each disaster brought them physically closer – catching each other during stumbles, reaching for the same ingredients – but Athena felt like she was sabotaging Tamarack's perfect Christmas party plans.

Athena was completely beside herself. The more she tried to help, the closer she got to Tamarack, the more her heart would race, and she'd end up fumbling something. She couldn't help the sinking feeling that this only proved to Tamarack that they could never be more than friends. Athena could barely help with a party; how could she ever measure up to being what Tamarack needed?

"Maybe I should just stay home for the actual party," Athena suggested after accidentally breaking one of Granny's favorite ornaments. It was useless. She just kept making everything worse. Tamarack was probably better off without her around. It made sense…

"What? No way! The party wouldn't be the same without you," Tamarack interrupted Athena's thoughts before they could spiral. She looked genuinely hurt.

"But I keep messing everything up."

"Are you kidding? This has been the most fun I've had preparing for Christmas in years. Usually, I just have Granny help, but I'm really happy you offered to do it this year." Tamarack said firmly, gathering the broken pieces. "Besides," she added with a mischievous smile, "this one needed to retire anyway. It had my seventh-grade school photo in it. You did me a favor."

The evening and the party had arrived, with a fresh blanket of snow outside. Athena was working on preparations, determined not to cause any more chaos. Guests arrived one by one, and eventually, the party was in full swing, filling the Buamann's home with Christmas cheer straight out of a Hallmark movie.

People milled about with cranberry punch, chatting and dancing to the holiday music. The whole house was draped in a golden glow from the obscene number of twinkle lights Tamarack had insisted be hung on every wall. Athena had to admit, it was cozy, especially the smell…that had an acrid odor on the tail end of it.

"Uh, Athena? The smoke coming from the kitchen isn't a feature, is it?" Came Qiu's voice next to her. Tamarack did a double glance, and her eyes widened as big as ornaments on the tree.

"The cookies!" She exclaimed, rushing out of the living room and down the hall. Athena followed, with Qiu trailing behind. She cringed when Tamarack yanked open the oven door to release a plume of black smoke and reveal cookies resembling more like coal pieces now than holiday treats.

Athena had forgotten to set a timer, distracted by Tamarack telling her the history of each historical Christmas ornament Granny had. "I'm so sorry," she started with a groan. "I can't believe I–"

"Hey, no," Tamarack cut her off, waving away the smoke with a dish towel. "I forgot, too. Besides, we have enough food to feed three parties. It's not your fault," she assured brightly. Except that it was. If Athena had been paying more attention, she wouldn't have added this stress on to Tam. "Let's get this cleaned up before the fire alarm goes off." Undeterred and with the brightness of a star, Tamarack continued on. Athena only shrank more.

The party was back in full swing later when the electricity flickered once, twice, and then went out completely. The whole living room was plunged into darkness. A few people gasped and pressed together for safety. Athena nearly fainted when she felt Tamarack jump and grab onto her arm.

"Nobody panic!" Tamarack called out cheerfully in the darkness. "I have candles somewhere..."

"I've got it!" Athena pulled out her phone's flashlight and headed for the kitchen where she'd seen the candles earlier. She didn't notice Tamarack had the same idea until they collided in the doorway, sending them both stumbling.

"Sorry!" they said in unison, steadying each other in the darkness. They stood close enough for a moment that Athena could smell the cinnamon and vanilla from Tamarack's holiday baking.

"Um, candles," Athena remembered, reluctantly stepping back.

Together, they managed to light enough candles to create a warm, cozy atmosphere. Tamarack's grandfather descended into the basement to investigate what had gone wrong. Rather than ruining the party, the power outage had transformed it into something magical. Guests gathered in small groups, sharing stories and singing carols by candlelight, laughing all the while.

As the evening progressed, Athena found herself relaxing. Maybe she hadn't ruined everything after all. Tamarack and her stood in the living doorway, observing the Christmas cheer they'd created.

"See?" Tamarack whispered to Athena. "Sometimes the best moments come from things going wrong."

Athena's eyes drifted down to her friend. Tamarack looked upon the scene with a twinkle in her eyes. The golden hue of firelight danced in them, making them look warmer—like coals reheating your bones on a chilly winter day. Her rosy cheeks were even more flushed from the raised temperature of the room or maybe something else; Athena wasn't sure. She smiled brightly, returning her gaze back to Athena.

Their eyes locked briefly, and something else flickered in Tamarack's ruby gaze. Athena couldn't quite place it. Still, the moment shrunk to just the two of them. The room's chatter faded, and the candlelight blurred in the corners of Athena's eyes, focusing entirely on Tamarack.

The house lights flickered back on, breaking the spell. The two blinked rapidly like they were waking from a dream.

"Fuse went out," Mr. Baumann said bluntly while shuffling past them toward the tree. "Yep. Just what I suspected. Tamarack, you can't plug all this into one outlet extender," he explained while leaning down and systematically unplugging extension cords and strings of lights, each one blinking out around the room.

Tamarack cocked her head to the side, confusion furrowing her brows. "Huh? I didn't–"

"Sorry. I thought it'd be easier if we plugged them all in at one place." Athena averted her eyes, feeling defeated.

To her surprise, Tamarack burst out laughing, tinkling like sleigh bells. A few others joined in, and Athena raised her head in surprise.

When she dared to look at Tamarack, she found her watching Athena with humor. Her eyes flicked up above Athena's head, then softened.

"You know what's funny?" she mused. "I was just thinking how memorable this party has been."

"Memorable as in traumatically scarring?" Athena asked dryly.

"Memorable as in perfect. Think about it – we now have the Great Decoration Disaster, the Cookie Catastrophe, the Blackout of 2024..." She counted each event on her fingers. "These are the stories we're going to tell for years."

Athena couldn't help but laugh too. "When you put it that way, it sounds almost planned."

"Exactly! And honestly..." Tamarack hesitated, looking slightly nervous for the first time that evening. "I've kind of loved every minute of it. Even the mess ups–especially the mess ups, actually, because they meant spending more time with you."

Before Athena could process those words, Qiu's voice rang out from the living room window.

"Hey, everyone! It's snowing again!"

Guests rushed to the frosted window to watch the snow fall, leaving the two in the archway.

While watching the scene unfold, Athena felt warm, soft lips grace her cheek, only to pull away quickly, taking the scent of sugar cookies with the sensation. Tamarack giggled, her cheeks flushed more red at the befuddled look on Athena's face.

"Look up," Tamarack whispered with a bashful smile.

There, hanging in the doorway, was a sprig of mistletoe that Athena definitely hadn't put.

"Merry Christmas, Athena," Tamarack murmured. "Thanks for making this the best holiday party ever – mishaps and all."

Athena touched her cheek where she'd kissed her, a smile spreading across her face. "Merry Christmas, Tamarack."

The two joined the others, standing close enough that their shoulders touched, surrounded by the warm glow of the remaining Christmas lights and music. Qiu looked over their shoulder, giving Athena a knowing smirk and thumbs up.

As they watched the snowfall, Athena realized that sometimes the best gifts don't come wrapped in perfect packages – they come wrapped in chaos, tied with tangled Christmas lights and decorated with burnt cookies. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

Ahhhh!! I hope you like it, and that I represented Athena well! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

#olnf secret Santa 2024 #olnf #our life #tamarack baumann #Tamarack Baumann x OC #fanfic #fanfiction #our life now and forever

31 notes · View notes

musingmelsuinesmelancholy · 7 months ago

Text

Musings on the HR of the pleaides, or, the return of the Queen

Again I agree with dailmer that it’s similar to the conjunction. The world seemed to ramp up, birdsong became louder, the wind more intense etc. got the impression of being watched though, which I did not experience during the last rite. Overall it had a more heaviness to it, a more otherwordly feeling. The conjunction felt more terrestrial if that made sense? This felt more “watery”? Like pulling a pearl up from the depths. There was a feeling/theme of rejuvenation as well. Feels like the conjunction opens a ‘door’ for descent, the HR a ‘door’ for ascent. In the former it feels as though heaven descends to the depths, the latter that heaven ascends from said depths. No idea if any of this makes sense.

Not a what I expected. Very much excited to see what the next stellar holy days are like.

#return of the queens #Melusine’s musings #pleaides #witch queen #morgan dailmer #traditional witchcraft #witchcraft #stellar holy days

9 notes · View notes

breathingxspace · 2 months ago

Text

Well. This is it. Series finale day.

This show has been a joy to make, and I'm sitting here trying to figure out what I'm supposed to say in wrapping it up.

In thinking about it, I realized that I could go through & yell about every single individual involved with something specific to them, their performances, or their work. And that's a really good feeling-- knowing that regardless as to how large this crew has gotten (and holy shit is it big,) everyone is still stand out, unique, & beautifully talented.

I'm glad to honor that.

I'm not going to do it. But I could. And I think that's cool.

I've discovered I generally have nothing to say at the actual end of a show. I do my yelling as we go. I'm too excitable to wait, and you all do such stellar work, how can I NOT yell when listening?

So. What I'm going to do instead is share some stats.

Because they're frankly really fucking impressive, and y'all should see just how /much/ you've made.

The very first content for BSFF aired on March 13, 2021.

Our very last ep will air Oct 18, 2024.

In that time, we worked with 134 individual cast/crewmembers, including 20 writers, 10 editors, & well over 100 VAs.

We had cast/crew on 5 continents across 9 time zones

There have been a total of 78 individual releases, including episodes, miniseries, & bonus content with a combined runtime of

3,141 minutes

that is- 52 hours, or 2.2 /days/ of continuous Breathing Space material.

So, uh. This has been quite the undertaking.

So many thank yous to everyone who has contributed to the show, and also to everyone who listened.

I hope we've brought you at least a few emotions during the course of our run. God knows we've felt them ourselves.

PS-

While this is the end of BSFF in its current incarnation, there's no way we're leaving The System entirely behind.

Keep an eye on our social media for what comes next.

–ash

#breathingxspace #breathing space podcast #for someone who is generally pretty good with words #I continue to struggle to be eloquent about endings

33 notes · View notes

meatball-headache · 2 months ago

Text

Hey! Dishonored is on sale (and it was pretty cheap to start with). Only like one day left!

Story? It has one. Lore, world-building, immersion? Great, books everywhere, get ready to read. Music? Excellent, brooding, tense, atmopsheric. Aesthetics? Profound. Cold, hard, captivating. Level design? Level design. Holy shit. Don't even, because I can't even. I can odd. The levels are the main characters here. Stealth game, so you spend all your time intimately associated with the fine details of every part of every level—not really, because there are multiple paths through every area, so if you only play once, you haven't seen the half of it. Play again, but this time try going over there, or over there, or over there, or... You learn it, you know it, you feel it. It is stellar. Dunwall is the greatest video game city hands down.

Seriously, this game is magnificent. I can't recommend it enough. A+++++, 10/10, would buy again. seriously lol i'll buy it for you if you ask its so damn good

#dishonored

27 notes · View notes

theblankest123 · 3 months ago

Text

Hey im listening to episode 26 (the bedrock) feom malevolent

Fuck

Christ

Fuck

The acting in his breakdown is so so fucking stellar such a good performance

Just.....holy shit.......... i was so distraught and disapointed at arthur (which yeah is the point) but fuck......im so fucking proud of him now. hes standing back up.

The dawn has risen once more, the new day has come. The cold is slowly thawing, and he is alive. He wanted to die, but once again, through everything, he is alive He saw himself a monster, and yet he is so painfully human. He is a broken mess, but he is back, and he is alive.

God i've missed him, i've missed the curious Arthur with a spark of caring and kindness so much. Welcome back king.

#sorry im rambling im probably not making much sence but man.....fuck......#genuinely cried there #fuck...#im so glad that dawn has risen and a new day broke #malevolent #malpod #malevolent 26 #arthur lester #god he has done so many things good and bad but noone is beyond redemption...#he preaches it and yet. now he is finally applying that to himself once more #im so fucking glad im so fucking proud #feel free to ingore this i just felt like putting my words down and stuff :]

23 notes · View notes

jolyne-best-jojo · 3 months ago

Text

After sleeping on the JJK ending l honestly still can't believe GeGe made a character as good as Gojo and then fucked up the ending that bad.

You create this really fun and interesting character who's goofy but cares a lot about his students like making them play a sport instead of individual battles after an attack on the school. A guy who wants to create a better world but doesn't hesitate to send his students into dangerous shit in hopes of letting them grow and become strong to help create that better world and someone so selfless that he prioritising saving lives over taking out the villains which directly leads to him being captured and when he's freed he actively asks what happened to the people he was protecting.

When Gojo comes back from being trapped and instead of giving him some character development with the entire month there was before the Sukuna fight GeGe basically just skips straight to it. Like wtf? I want to know how Gojo feels about how him holding back his domain led to the death of one of his students, the traumatisation of another, a third getting burned severely, a fourth losing their arm and a fifth losing their body to Sukuna alongside one of his friends dying. How does he feel about Maki reaching her potential and reaching Toji, the man who beat Gojo so bad at 16 that he was forced to learn reverse techniques, level? What about Kashimo? Both he and Gojo are the strongest of their eras yet the pair never talk about how it feels to be the strongest. And then instead of this we just skip to the big fight which ends with Gojo getting killed off-screen and then being insulted by his friends. Like wtf was up with Nanami saying Gojo didn't care about protecting people or continuing sorcery and cared more about fighting? Because that just isn't what you read in the text of the show when he promises Megumi he'll try to save Yuji's life after being asked, monologuing about wanting to train stronger sorcerers to restart the shitty world of Jujutsu society and holding back his domain to 0.2 seconds to save innocents in the subway leading to his trapping.

And that's not mentioning GeGe having Gojo hype up Sukuna as being super strong and how he might have lost even if Sukuna didn't Megumi's technique instead of, idk, caring about the fact his students are now gonna have to face Sukuna? I've seen some people try to claim that him mentioning how he's taken care of Megumi finding out about his dad even if Gojo himself dies but that offhand comment isn't really enough for me, he doesn't give a single thought to Yuta, Yuji or Maki as the three have to face the strongest sorcerer there is when it'd be interesting to see what he thinks of them at the end of everything.

And then there's the bait, holy shit, what was the point of Yujo? You have Yuta defile Gojo's body by putting his own brain into it, have him fight Sukuna, land Gojo's ultimate move, have it do basically no fucking damage because Yuta's inexperienced (just firing a red at a blue to make an impromptu purple was enough to take out Sukuna's arm and that was the first time Gojo ever tried that), then he just falls down because his body control technique is burnt out from using domain expansion and after that they set up Kenjaku having had a way to not have to deal with this problem and never mention Yuta again until the fight's over. What a stellar display of capitalism using characters popularity to make money while giving no respect to the character Yujo is.

And then Gojo isn't mentioned again until two letters given to Megumi and Nobara which gives basically no development to their relationships with Gojo, especially Nobara given her letter is about some new detail we didn't know about her (no relationship with her mum) and then she just rips the letter up. And then at the very last chapter we get a conversation flashback between Gojo and Yuji about how Gojo thinks one day his students will forget him and Yuji tells him he'd never forget Gojo with Gojo replying "Haven't we had enough Gojo Saturo" no GeGe, we haven't, because you haven't given him a proper arc.

Gojo's arc is about the question of "is he the strongest because he's Gojo Saturo or is the Gojo Saturo because he's the strongest" a question some people think is about whether his skill is what made him the strongest or if it was just the powers he got at birth. But what it's really about is is being the strongest just one part of Gojo or is Gojo just the strongest. And this is never really properly addressed, the only way it really is points towards Gojo just being the strongest because that's what is said about him by his students, another school's student and one of his colleagues that he's the strongest, after he dies fighting Sukuna his corpse is used as a means to keep fighting Sukuna and no one ever really honours all Gojo's done for them. Meanwhile Sukuna gets to have this whole conclusion where he decides that him losing means his ideals were wrong and that in the next life he'd follow a different path. Some people have tried to say this is fair as Sukuna's the main villain and Gojo's a side character but Gojo isn't just a side character, he's JJK's most popular character, some of the main JJK memes involve him (Nah, I'd Win, Throughout Heaven and Earth I alone am the honoured one) and he's basically the face of the show given sales dropped after his death and it just sucks so much to see such a good character not get a proper conclusion.

#and that's not even getting into Nobara #or other examples of GeGe's aversion to character interaction #and now I just remembered that q&a about Gojo I am going to scream #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk

20 notes · View notes

femmmie · 1 year ago

Text

Review of Smosh's Funeral Roast

I am harsh at times, but know it all comes from a place of love!

Spoilers under the cut

I live in Europe. This is relevant because of timezones: the funeral roast of Anthony Padilla was live at 6pm for them, meaning 3am for me. I am not the youthful insomniac I once was so I had to train my sleep schedule the entire week - otherwise I would miss it because I fell asleep. But I wanted to witness this live. I love smosh.

The trailer for this roast deserves an award: Ian and the cast have a movie night as suddenly the light turns blue and everyone but Ian freezes. He seems to know what's going on and discovers a zombie or ghost like Anthony levitating. The cast of the roast are all introduced and all play a gothic, churchy kind of character. See the full trailer here (it's currently at 666k views, how fun):

youtube

Around 1am I got impatient and decided not to wait for my alarm clock but to install myself on the couch, with a blanket and a scarf, and a hot cup of tea, god knows I would need it. I watched episodes of the Scott Pilgrim Netflix series to kill the time. The character Todd Ingram reminded me a lot of Anthony and I wonder whether Anthony has 'vegan superpowers' as well. Probably so.

Finally, the pre-show begins. This is pretty uneventful as they play a game and succesfully convince thousands of viewers to buy their tickets to the main show. I look at them. Everyone is gorgeous. But I can't look away from Ian and Anthony. And here is where I stray from actually reviewing the show to let my inner fangirl out: holy fuck they are hot. Me and my friends on tumblr have been making 'forgive me Father, for I have SINNED' jokes because his character, 'the pastor', just brings that out in people. We're not used to Ian in black, or in a robe, and he looks phenomenal. And then there is Anthony, clothed in a ridiculous Harry Styles-esque lace top with lace gloves, resting his head on Ian's shoulder. It's such a cute moment, Ian pushes him upright. He can be alive for a second before his funeral. My heart melts. Honerable mention: Courtney's bikini girl cleavage right behind Ian. The girls were ready to rock. Okay, okay, back to the review.

The room feels kind of small and a bit claustrophobic. The Smosh art dept. always steps up, so the stained glass "friendship never dies" high-five looks incredible, and the megachad-Anthony portrait hilarious. The casket is huge. But the props make the set look even smaller. I think the problem is the cameras. I realize how difficult camerawork is when you have multiple focus points to switch between, but next time they should do a lot of practice with this to streamline, to get everyone in the shot and better capture people's reactions to the roasts.

Ian walks in. He starts off with a bit about who Anthony is: a hot, hardworking guy with a big dick. Those are the main takeaways of his roasts.

Amanda is next. She looks beautiful but very wacky. Her deliverance and accent are stellar, though. She truly is top talent at Smosh. Her roasts are also some of the most scorching of the night. She doesn't shy away from calling out Anthony's past problematic behavior and less than stellar performance in the bedroom ("look it up!") She gets a round of applause and deservedly so.

Tommy follows with a kind of angry roast, and proceeds to read the will, from which nobody comes away unscathed. I feels like his words about Anthony supposedly hating the cast are a necessary evil. Just the same day Anthony posted his interview with Shayne on his personal channel. There we learned that Shayne didn't know before if Ian and Anthony actually had wanted to hire them. Anthony said they were very much involved, something I don't know whether to believe. As apparently, Ian never talked about it with Shayne either, for all those years. Shayne had also been very apprehensive when Anthony came back, not knowing what would happen and the first change was to boot the entire cast off the main channel. I feel like Tommy's roast puts the topic on the table and hopefully they will talk about it more until nobody has any doubt left.

Now I have to insert that one of my main critiques of the night is that lots of people both did a lot of obvious jokes (tattoos, leaving smosh, general appearance) and did not go hard enough. Anthony kind of has an awkward CEO vibe (he's not the ceo but still) about him that seems to make even the cast a bit wary of him. I had hoped for jokes about that.

Brandon Rogers is next and rightfully points out the lack of celebrities in the line-up. Doesn't Anthony have more friends who want to roast him? Either he doesn't or the rest of Smosh don't have access to them. Which is both fine, because it is a Smosh party after all.

Arasha comes in swinging with all kinds of Zoomer slang that I frankly don't understand but her deadpan delivery is like a breath of fresh air. She ends with a very nice message. That kind of undercuts her roasts though, I wish she would have been meaner.

Now it is time for the musical half-time show, which actually deserves its own review. Performed by Angela and Chanse, this is incredible. By far, the most professional part of the evening. These are no theater kids, as they still call themselves. These are Broadway acTORS! I was really taken away by their talent. Not only do they act, but they also sing amazingly? Did you hear Angela do screamo?! And Chanse's riffs? They pointedly mention the sexual tension between Ian and Anthony, both on- and off screen. This has been occupying my mind ever since. Wow, sorry I went fangirl-mode again. But the halftime show simply is that good. Keith makes an appearance at the end and brings the show back down to earth with his humor.

The biggest surprise guests are next in what I can only describe as Dan telling the horny tale of his years long obsession with Anthony, and the many, many times he unloaded on the 'sexy Anthony' calender (which is a real calender, I was there when it came out but was broke at the time, darnit). Dan and Phil have been shedding their PG personas on their own channels for a while now, but for those who don't watch them daily this December - they're doing gamingmas and it's chaos - it is shocking what X-rated stuff comes out of their mouths. Anthony is visibly taken aback. Good!

As the show progresses, Ian keeps moderating as the pastor. It is great to see him so in control and enjoying the roast of his best friend. The joke of Ian not being able to show his emotions comes up a lot, but today I see him mainly just having fun.

Of course, then there is Bikini Girl, whom I had high hopes for, maybe too high. She is hilarious, but nothing really stings. Courtney does also direct the whole show, so super kudos to her. I just don't think she has the best roasts. She is followed by Rhett and Link, who just do their regular thing. It is funny but not very original. You can only hear so many tattoo jokes before it gets old. We do see Link's bare torso, so a win for fangirls (gender neutral).

Then Shayne, or should I say the Chosen has his turn. He is absolutely in character and does great. I just don't know if the Chosen is the best person to deliver roasts. It feels more like a Shayne party than a roast of Anthony. Which enough people love all the same, I'm sure.

Angela is 'the vessel', a possessed girl, reading the roasts from the audience. These roasts are very mid (they should have included mine! /j), but her delivery is again stellar. Smosh is really lucky to have her.

And last but not least, Ian goes on a second roasting spree. Only, it isn't a roast? He just makes fun of Anthony’s baby picture and then proceeds to tell Anthony how grateful he is for him, how he's so glad they are friends again and that he loves him? Anthony is crying by this time, which makes the moment even more tender.

Of course, Anthony has to do a counter-roast. It is apparent that he is still affected by all the roasting or 'love-bombing' as Amanda calls it. And he's not as good at live comedy yet. Still, his jokes are funny and really in Anthony's own style. He concludes with Ian's quote of being happy to burn Smosh to the ground with him. I knew that quote would be ingrained in Anthony's mind. It was one of the sweetest things Ian had ever said to him, after all. Until Ian has now told him he loves him, of course.

And then it was 5 am. I got a healthy two hours of sleep in! I came away from this roast with a content smile and a full heart. This was well worth the ticket, the staying up late. I am happy to be a member and support them monthly, I've loved their humor even before they started their youtube channel. I love Smosh. I'm so happy that Anthony is back. Smosh is whole again. And it brings out that light in Ian's eyes. He is funny in an unhinged way again. I truly love Anthony and Ian and their dumb videos. I want them to continue to make them forever. These kinds of live shows are fun. But Ian and Anthony truly shine in their off the walls absurdist sketches.

Special shout-out to my bestie @only-frann who I could scream at this whole day.

#smosh #Anthony’s funeral roast #Youtube

75 notes · View notes