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cosmictapestry · 9 months ago

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A48? 👉👈

A48. tentacles

hi sorry it's so lonf and that there are feelings .

morphienne prompt list + fills here

Lucienne, sorting through some new additions to the library, opens to the middle of a newly drafted graphic novel—and promptly shuts it, surveys her surroundings—and then opens it again.

It is always gratifying to see how many mortal desires can only be captured in the imagination, satisfaction only met in dreams. Sexual fantasies are no exception. Still, she would rather not be seen reading pornography on the job.

The woman in the story is a skinny little white thing, drawn with an exaggerated delicacy that accentuates the obscenity of the slimy, muscular tendrils that invade her orifices. Her expression is twisted in bliss, stretched as it is around the tendril plundering her mouth. Lucienne thinks the whole ordeal looks grotesque. Then she thinks it's rather interesting.

She stares for longer than is strictly necessary. The image on the page shifts and resizes, revisions that haven't been made yet, blurry in the way of unfinished things. The following pages are more of the same, the girl suspended in the air, pinned to the ground, braced against a wall, helpless and beholden to the tendrils' whims. It is very interesting.

Interesting enough that when Lucienne feels Lord Morpheus sweep into the library, she does not try to hide her discovery. Instead she holds it up higher, knowing that in a second's time he will be looking over her shoulder to see what's so captured her attention. Indeed, his shadow falls over the page not a moment later.

He says nothing while she flips through, pausing on a particular image of the tendrils retreating and leaving one to flick gently at the woman's clitoris while she trembles and spasms. The tenderness of it is striking. Lord Morpheus gives a thoughtful hum. "Bipedal humanoids rarely take interest in body plans different from their own," he says. "It appears humans are becoming lenient. Moreso than most of their predecessors."

"Surely you've seen as much in their dreams," Lucienne murmurs, tracing the length of one tendril with her thumb.

"Of course. But to imagine and to produce art are very different things," Lord Morpheus steps out from behind her, looking now at the rest of the bookshelf where, presumably, they'd find more of this content.

Lucienne glances at him without turning her head. "Have you known many bipedal humanoids with such interests?"

"Not personally, no," he says, and his eyes wander back to the open graphic novel.

That seems a shame, to have the King of Dreams as a lover and not explore all the possibility he contains. Of course, knowing him, there's every chance that he would find something in that request to hurt his pride or otherwise make him uncomfortable. He clears his throat. "And. Are you. Interested. In such things?"

Lucienne bites her lip to stop herself from grinning and possibly scaring him away. His request that he could not voice. That makes perfect sense, too. "I cannot say I've ever indulged in this act, in particular." The nature of soft spaces in the Dreaming, and indeed in her own quarters, means that raw dreamstuff is at the command of the imagination. And there have been many an attractive shape to fall in and out of style in the universe. "But I am interested."

She makes him sweat, just a little. He stands there and shifts and looks at the shelf, then back at the book, and not at her at all. "With me?" he asks, finally, in a tiny voice.

The grin breaks onto her face despite her best efforts. "Yes, with you, silly man," Lucienne puts her hand to his sleeve, stretches up to kiss his reddened cheek, which he grunts and huffs about. "Only your slimy tentacles will do."

His noise wrinkles; she kisses it, too. "They need not be slimy," he protests. "And those are tendrils, not tentacles, besides."

She laughs and waves him off with a gentle swat on his arm and a tap on his arse, too, for good measure, and when he disappears from view it's with an amused glare.

Their night begins normally, with Lord Morpheus stepping into their room and Lucienne already there, meeting him with slow kisses to coax out the worries he's sure to have let settle in.

The room looks much the same as usual, which she wonders about until he pulls back enough to speak. "I was thinking. Perhaps. They might come from under the bed," he says. His gaze flickers across her face nervously. "If you are comfortable with that. We might change the narrative from there."

Lucienne pauses heavily. She cards her hand through the hair at his nape. "Why would I not be comfortable?" She has seen everything there is to see in all of time and space. Though that matters little in the grand scheme of things. Regardless, she does not scare easily.

"I think I will enjoy this immensely," Lord Morpheus says, and the predictability of it threatens Lucienne's careful neutrality with compassionate-but-agonized exhaustion. He is asking, as he often does, if she is sure. "And the thought that I might not be. Suitably attentive. Is frightening."

Lucienne hums, plays with his hair, aches for him. He is never less than exactly as attentive as she wants him to be. But, oh, who knows what might happen, if he feels too good, if he likes it too much. "Have you experience with similar practices?"

"I do predate bilateral symmetry," he says, faux-offended. He tips his head forward to avoid her eyes and arch his neck into her hand. He enjoys her attention for a long moment before he speaks again. "I remember. How it felt. To be so close."

Her thumb traces his jaw, nail digging soft into the clenched hinge until he relaxes. "I am not afraid of you enjoying yourself," she tells him. Her lord's shoulders lift on a sigh, because he thinks that isn't what he's talking about. "I've known you by every name, and I'd know you by every shape." She brushes under his eye to feel the flutter of his lashes, then lifts his face to hers. "And I would welcome you as close as you can get."

He's moaning before he's kissing her, feverish hunger, like the limitations of finite-limbedness are only frustrating now in anticipation of something more. He wastes little time with her clothing, taking slow, significant care only in sliding down her knickers, gripping her under the thighs and lifting her, bracing her on his hips with his bulge grinding into her. He doesn't stop kissing her while he walks them to the bed, and she pants to keep up, tongue lolling lazily with his, the friction on her clit honey-sweet and rough until it is gone altogether.

Lord Morpheus lays her down in the sheets, bare and hazy and wanting, and when he retreats entirely to sit at the foot of the bed he leaves her skin buzzing. Draped in soft black, one knee drawn up to his chest, gaze unwavering, he is completely still, taking in the image of her, an offering. "I'm right here," he tells her. She knows he is. His hands are clasped in full view and she feels him touch her.

She turns her head to see the expansion of her lord's material aspect. The width of an inkpot, warm and firm, slippery-wet, soft as velvet, a slip of darkness wraps her wrist. From there it coils up, its course seemingly predetermined, to slide smokelike between her fingers and coil in the palm of her hand. Lucienne stares at it, matte black muscular pulse of shadow, and she notes that it is shivering.

Lucienne sits up, the tendril thrumming in her hand. Its tapered head lifts, seeking, reaching for warmth. With her other hand she strokes along its length, down to where it disappears over the edge of the bed. She looks up when she hears her lord's breath catch. "How sensitive is it?"

He swallows and twitches and pulls his robe closer around himself. "It is. Me," he mumbles. That is the encouragement she needs to lean forward, lips softly parted, and kiss the top of the tendril's head. A shiver runs through him. Gently she draws the tip into her mouth.

Lord Morpheus gasps and rocks and whispers her name. The tendril pulses hot in her mouth and squirms deeper like it has no choice. It is silken-soft, sweet-tasting, muscular and firm on her tongue. It is not thick enough to fill her mouth but it makes a valiant effort, folding on itself, trying to stuff its way in. She pushes forward, makes herself gag on it. He sobs out and pulls back. "Lucienne," he gasps.

Lucienne waits, the tip of the tendril resting on her tongue, and she watches him. He is sweating already, and he pulls his robe away, leaving him in soft shirt and trousers that have begun to stick. He pushes one hand back through his hair while he catches his breath. "Can I—more?"

Her heart soaring, her core aching, she takes him back into her mouth. His head tips back, throat bobbing on a broken groan. Lucienne is too busy watching a bead of sweat course down his neck to notice a second tendril appear until she feels it slip, thick and supple, under her breast. It slicks her skin, touches the other breast, tweaks the nipple, wraps it and pulls.

Lucienne arches her chest into the touch, forces the tendril in her mouth deeper. Wet heat grips her left ankle. She suckles on the length in her mouth—it's getting thicker, swelling—and it calms her while a matching shadow takes her right ankle. Her legs are drawn apart, slowly, and she watches her lord's face, watches the way his nostrils flare when she is spread for him.

Her wrists are grabbed next. Sweetly she is guided back in the sheets, laid out and spread open, squeezed in meaty rhythmic pulses, slick pulses and caresses on her breasts and in her mouth and all across her prickling skin. She groans with her mouth stuffed full and shakes when she feels a push at her core.

The tendrils feel so strong, unshakeable, and the one that teases her folds is no exception. Smearing slickness, heat and pressure, maddening soft texture so tender and teasing, playing, thrusting between her lips, flicking her clit. It's thinner than the ones that tie her down, and as it slips inside her, it feels so nerve-shatteringly smooth and good that her eyes roll.

She's choking, drooling, and she feels—a second tendril, twining with the one inside her, entering her, dragging, throbbing, until she is full, strung through on either end, stretched all around him. He is whispering, now, asking her—"can I lift you? Please, can I—" and she can do nothing but moan and scream yes through their dreamscape.

More tendrils, thicker ones, embracing her waist and upper arms and thighs, lifting her up off the bed, sitting her up in the air. More tendrils stroking her all over, a thin one playing with her clit, another sliding in the cleft of her arse, another between her breasts, leaving her skin shining. Her lord watches. Dream-gravity forces her down on the entwined tendrils and she clenches and comes on them until she cannot tell whose pulse she is feeling.

Still reeling, she is maneuvered above the bed, stretched out, wrists lifted above her head. All she can hear are her own stricken sounds and wet slipping and his ragged, desperate breath. A new, thin tendril plucks at her arsehole, rubs at it, worms its way inside. Her legs spread and twitching, she cannot even struggle to get more contact.

He pulls an orgasm from her like that, with sharp insistent thrusts, until she squeezes hard enough to almost force him out. Then she is horizontal, the thick tendrils binding her arms to her sides, her arse spread, and then she is upside-down, one leg dangling helplessly, and then, eventually, at some point, she is back on the bed.

Lucienne gasps and heaves and the tendril in her mouth slips from her. She feels the graze of soft fabric, not so different from living shadow, as her lord climbs atop her and kisses her shocked-open mouth. He pants and quivers and ruts against her inner thigh. "Please," he gasps, shoving his trousers down, heedless of the copious mess inside, smeared as it is over his cock and thighs. "Please, Lucienne, can I—"

He's wetter than his tendrils are, nudging at her clit, mouthing at her jaw. She's possibly never seen him so desperate. She is exhausted. With the last of her strength she reaches down with a newly freed hand and touches him. His hips jump and stutter and he sobs into her neck when she guides him in alongside the tendrils already inside her.

The stretch is immense. It makes her cry. Overwhelmed, stricken, shocked, she arches her back, takes him, barely, speared impossibly. She comes when he bottoms out. He does, too, when she spasms and grinds him into his own tendrils, squeezes him in soaking heat.

The tendrils do not withdraw. They lie together and pant and shiver and are still. The tendrils disappear entirely, and Lucienne is left loose and open, fluttering around him. "Thank you," Lucienne whispers. She takes his face, pulls him up to kiss away his tears and smooth his fear. "Well done, love, thank you."

#first time writing uhhhhh xeno? terra? whatever. very fun #but um i'll write something serious next unless someomne requests the knotting one hinthinthinthinthinthinthitntthinthtititn #<-said as though there's any telling what i will actually write next . i dont fucking know #the sandman #x #morpheus #dream of the endless #lucid dreaming #morphienne #lucienne the librarian #the sandman fic #minors dni

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thatguyoversea · 1 year ago

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felt like doing a little bit of writing so I am going to do it here :) it's under the split

this is my first time properly writing so I do hope it turns out good!

mentions: self harm, description of hallucination

(THIS ISN'T A VENT BTW!!!)

i leave the cabin, searching. it has been ages. most certainly not an eternity, but a long time. i wave goodbye to the old man who gave me shelter. he does not know what i search for. i don't know what I search for. but I search for those who cannot.

hours pass. or days. i could stop and find out, but I must search. i do not know why i search, but it was meant to be, presumably. through my search, i encounter many things. goats. others searching. bodies. snow. many did not survive their search, but many more do not know they must search. that's who i like to think i search for.

the unknowing. those who believe they don't need to search for their unknown. those left to sit and rot in their existence, unaware and prevented from becoming aware of their search. that's who I like to think i search for. the unknowing.

i come across a pile of ended searches. a pile of unfinished endings. yet another pile of stories cut short. it's sad, really. the amount of carefully planned tales which never reach their promised resolution. i like to think that since they got here, they at least reached their climax of their story. the 'pièce de résistance' of their play. i like to think things a lot. and sometimes i am right. but thinking doesn't help the search. my story doesn't require a lot of thinking. just doing. so i do.

i reach a summit. then, another. to any other, they could be their resolution. their final point. at this point, they're free. from it all. no more for them. their summits are gone. their stories told. their writers finished with them. i am not so lucky.

for every summit i conquer, my only gain is the knowledge of others endings. i truly wish I did not. i get to know what i could have if i gave in. a happy life. content. indulgent, at some points. but i do not search for my ending. i search for others endings, for the unknowing cannot do it themself.

i catch a glance of an object. an unfamiliar piece in a new, untold story. perhaps it is somebody elses macguffin. or their own victory in itself. but it calls. it yearns to be taken. it calls that its destiny is already broken. do not take it, and it will stay there forever, it calls. do not trust it. it's lying. to pull you away from your purpose. to free others, unknowing, and unaware, from their story. you'll call final curtains on their play, and they'll be truly happy. their audience applauds. your audience applauds. they want an encore. something to mix up the story.

i walk over to the object. it is shiny under the white-filled sky. i could describe it better, but my story is not for thinking. it is for doing. the item is in my hand. i have hands. the item fills them both at once. it is heavy. it calls me to give my audience an encore. it is sharp. and long. it calls for me. an encore for my audience. to finish my story with a twist. i have no choice but to oblige. why would I find this if it was not put in my story for me?

i drive the sword into myself. my intentions are not for an end, or so I hope. i am uncertain. i am unknowing of my own fate in this moment. as i fall onto the white ground, filled with other drafted characters of interest, i like to tell myself that im not going to end up like them. they're different than me. and that i am correct.

i like to think things a lot. and sometimes i am right.

my vision shifts from a newly bloodied white covered summit to a bright shifting of colors. a vivid dream of hue. i attempt to change my viewpoint, but it does not shift. i am staring now at a spiral of blues and reds. there are colors i do not know, and colors i do know.

after i stare at this for a potential eternity (although it is not likely), i come to a conclusion. a piece of truth beneath the ever-spiralling rainbow. it has taken me an unknown amount of time to get used to these bright, shifting shades. they do not repeat on themselves. i am unlike the hues. i repeat thoughts many times. i end on a conclusion that leaves me content, for the potential (but unlikely) eternity being.

this is a great place for a final curtain.

#writing #under the cut #hallucination #story #Tumblr writing #storytelling

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wisedawn13 · 1 year ago

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The End (dream)

CW // depictions of violence

Okay, so I just woke up from the wildest mdzs dream and as well know, dreams don't exactly make sense, but there was some semblance of an actual story here so Imma try to convey it as best as I can

I don't know where it begins other than lwj (hgj) met a kid while wwx was dead

The kid was xy and hgj was kind to him, one of the only people to have ever been kind. That made xy like him, but it also unfortunately was the catalyst for what's to come.

Some time after wwx has returned, people still are incredibly unhappy about it, lqr especially

Despite wwx being proven to genuinely be kind and good and righteous, he wants him gone but knows that lwj will never allow wwx to leave his side. He tries to get them to separate but it never works. (I think xy definitely had some dark influence over these thoughts and hatred)

Sometime, wangxian meet xy again but the story is different and I don't remember where/why. I do know that xy, before his death, gives lwj a prophecy: the end begins when darkness falls/the end begins when the night dies

They cannot make sense of these words

Some time later, wangxian are walking together through a forest path when lqr shows up, and it begins.

He stops them briefly only to he'd encountered some dark cultivators (or fierce corpses, idk anymore) off ahead that he was unable to stop alone

Of course, wangxian being who they are, run to there immediately to help however they can. Unfortunately for them, their distraction and one-track mind to help out is paramount to lqr's plan.

As they are running, the don't notice lqr swiftly come behind them

They both are suddenly stabbed with needles in the back of the neck, effectively paralyzing them.

While lwj gets launched into a tree from momentum, just able to turn around to look for wwx, wwx falls to the ground harshly and ends up on his back

Then lqr jumps up into the tree over wwx, looks to lwj, and says "I'm sorry," before he jumps down with a knife (don't ask me why it's a knife and not a sword)

Screaming, lwj is stuck only to watch lqr, his own uncle, his blood, come down on wwx with a knife

The moment the knife hits, a blast of dark, purple-ish "light" shoots out of wwx's chest in wide, jagged spikes. He can no long see his uncle through it, all he sees is wwx twitch and scream more intensely and painfully than he's ever heard anyone scream in his life

He watches, paralyzed and wide-eyed, as hundreds of arms reach out of wwx's chest in the center of the darkness. Those arms shift and become full corpses that quickly begin to pile out of wwx and walk away towards populated areas.

In the mass of bodies, a child emerges

The child isn't fully physical, more of a specter—purple and see through, but glowing with darkness. The child, lwj recalls, is xy when he first met him. (Full disclosure, kid didn't really look like xy here and I think lwj called him Billy, but it's xy lol)

Bodies continue to tumble from wwx who is still screaming his throat bloody, while lwj is frozen and watching this child walk up to him.

(From an outsider's view, lwj is also glowing with a blue-white light here)

The child steps right up to lwj's side and looks in his eyes

In a hauntingly normal and nonchalant voice, the child simply repeats the prophecy to lwj, then tilts his head to rest against lwj's side to say something along the lines of "thank you, hgj, for your light and kindness" then begins to walk away

----------

Unfortunately, I woke up rather suddenly at this point and needed to share this dream immediately before I forgot with my wwx brain, so there is no ending. Unless I write this as an actual fic someday, there won't be an official ending.

I think whatever comes is up to you now

Link to thread

#mdzs #wangxian #drabble #mo dao zu shi #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #lan wangji #lan zhan #wei wuxian #wei ying #from twitter #wisedawn13

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years ago

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Hiii Hii!!! May I request for Draco🥺

Fluff prompt 3: "It's you. It's always been you."

Steams scenes 6: "Touch Me"

And miscellaneous 12: only one bed AU

Thank youuu❣️

Travelling Companions // Draco Malfoy

a/n: NSFW - minors DNI. FEMALE READER. 2k words (not really a blurb anymore), and the fic that has inspired my latest series so pieces of this will be taken and used there that’s why this may feel very rushed. The series will be slower.

Fluff 3: “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Steamy Scenes 6: “Touch me.”

Misc 12: only one bed.

Upon the end of the Second Wizarding War and the disgrace of his family, Draco Malfoy left the country. There was very little keeping him tied to England; a family torn apart by their beliefs, a cold house that was not a home, an inheritance built off the very hatred pedalled by his father.

No, Draco Malfoy did not want to stay in the country.

Similarly, you refused to stay at home too. Having seen the lifeless bodies of your friends, the nightmares had become too much for you to remain at home. Instead, you packed up your things, kissed your parents on the cheeks, promising to send them a postcard from every destination.

It’s in Italy where the two of you cross paths.

The night was unusually warm; sweat rolling down your back as you walked through the thick crowds on the Ponte Vecchio. You had no distinct aim of your night; happy to wander until the early hours of the morning, falling into your bed with very little to think about other than your plans for the following day.

It’s as your dodging multiple bodies that you spy a shock of blonde hair that you swear was familiar.

“Draco?” You call, watching the tall figure pause, “Draco Malfoy?”

The blonde turns at the sound of your voice.

“Of all the people to meet in Florence,” You smile, “What are you doing here?”

“An extended gap year as the muggles would call it,” He answers, looking mildly uncomfortable at being recognised abroad.

“Well,” You nod, “It was nice to see you, enjoy the rest of your travels.”

Draco nods, a small, polite smile on his face. He doesn’t say anything to which you turn away, continuing your journey across the bridge in the hopes of finding something to eat and soon.

“(Y/N)!” Draco calls after a moment.

You turn back to the man, finding him only a few steps behind you. His eyes are bright, cheeks flushed as he asks, “What are your plans for tonight?”

“I was going to get some food and then walk about aimlessly. Why?”

“Can I join you?” He asks; the words leaving his mouth in such a rush that Draco looks shocked at the speed. “What I mean to say is: would you like some company? It would be nice to catch up with a friendly face.”

“Of course,” You laugh, “You’re more than welcome to join me.”

Draco falls into step beside you as you wander the length of the bridge, both eagerly looking for a restaurant to catch up in.

Conversation flows naturally with the blonde, as does the laughter and the wine. You reminisce over the lighter days of your education, as well as sharing countless stories of your travels, finding yourself enjoying Draco’s company far more than you expected.

“Where are you going to next?” Draco asks, grey eyes inquisitive as he sips at his red wine.

“Greece,” You answers, “I’m island hopping for a little while. I’ve heard stories of an island that feels like the end of the world, and I want to check it out. Where are you off to next?”

“Greece, if you can believe it,” He answers, topping up your wine glasses with the dregs of the bottle.

“I’ve a proposition for you, Malfoy,” You announce over your refreshed glass of red wine. “I’ve grown tired of travelling alone, I miss conversation and company. We’re both travelling to Greece next – why don’t you join me?”

Draco ponders your proposition through his next bite of food, weighing up the pros and cons through a mouthful of Tagliatelle Funghi Porcini e Tartufo. “Alright,” He eventually says, wiping his mouth on a cloth napkin, “I’ll join you. I’ve grown lonely on my travels too.”

Your shoulders sag as Draco’s words wash over you. It had become lonely travelling alone, that much was true, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were meant to run into Draco tonight. That there was something bigger at play.

-------

The Ionian Islands were beautiful; travelling with Draco at your side made it easier for you to rest at night, no longer plagued by nightmares as often, but it gave you someone to talk to when the night had been bad.

Kefalonia held its own charm; its quiet punctuated only by the clinking of wine glasses on the wine tours shared with Draco.

Your time on the Ionian Islands had you seeing Draco in a different light; the sun had bronzed his skin and you couldn’t help but stare when his shirt came off at the beach. Something was changing between the two of you; the both of you lingering on a night, not wanting to be the one to say good night, not wanting to be the one to draw it all to a close.

You could only hope that things would change soon.

---------

“Are we staying in the port?” Draco asks, eyeing you carefully as you hold your hand out for a taxi. Wearing black slacks and a white t-shirt, Draco was unintentionally drawing the attention of most women and men in the port of Skiathos

“Nope,” You answer as the taxi pulls up beside you both, “We’re staying in Troulos.”

The hotel was a small, family run establishment that you had read about in one of the many travel guides bought before you left England. Draco leaves you to check in, letting you admire the scenery as you wait patiently for him to return.

The owner is the one to lead you both through the hotel, smiling politely at you as he leaves you outside your room, explaining the opening times for the bar and the pool.

“There’s only one bed, Draco,” You state obviously as you enter the room, pointing to the bed in offence.

“I noticed,” He deadpans, fixing you with an unimpressed look. “Look, I’m not sleeping on the tiled floor. So, we either share, or you sleep on the floor.”

“Ever the gentleman,” You drawl, arching a single eyebrow. Draco smirks as he bows; the motion executed perfectly, highlighting his very expensive etiquette lessons as a small boy. “Fine,” You huff, dropping your bag onto the bed, “We share, but I’m warning you now, Malfoy, I hog the blankets.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” The blonde snorts, wandering to the bathroom where you hear the shower begin to flow.

Settling down on the bed, you press a hand to your forehead, already sticky with sweat. Your stomach turned with butterflies as you think of the night to come, sharing a bed with Draco. The feelings for the man had surprised you; you hadn’t expected to feel anything for him, simply happy to have company on the last leg of your travels, but here you were – craving his touch and his attention as if it were your lifeline.

The shower turns off, and you jump up, grabbing your toiletries in an effort to give you something to do to draw your mind from the sight of Draco in a towel.

“I’m going to shower and get ready, and then we’ll go get some food, okay?” You call out, pushing past the blonde as he leaves the bathroom in nothing, but a small, fluffy, white towel wrapped around his waist.

“I’ll be waiting!” Draco calls out, laughter rich in his voice.

As you sink against the bathroom door, it’s then that you realise, you’re fucked.

-------

It became a quick tradition on your travels with Draco that you would alternate who would pick the restaurant that evening. As you chose where to eat the previous night, it was now Draco’s turn.

The restaurant he chooses is quaint, set off just from the main road running through that part of the island. It’s fairly busy, many families laughing and drinking through the evening.

The waitress hands you the menus, her eyes lingering on Draco a little bit too long for you to feel comfortable. You smile politely as you give her your drink orders, immediately feeling awful for the curtness of your tone when you had no claim to the man sat next to you.

Food is ordered and conversation continues to flow, but you find yourself caught up in the way that Draco makes you feel. Every glance, every smile, every unintentional touch – it leaves you close to breathless with butterflies raging in your gut and your heart close to pounding out of your chest. You had never felt like this, and your poor heart could only hope that Draco felt the same.

When the food arrives, it doesn’t take long for you to gush over the meal. “You have to try this!” You cry out as you take your first bite of your meal, gathering another forkful for Draco. “It’s wonderful!”

Holding your fork out, you expect Draco to take the utensil from you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans in, his lips wrapping around the fork in a manner that leaves you hungry for something that certainly wasn’t food.

“What do you think?” You ask huskily, throat dry.

Draco chews, pondering over the food. A smirk gathers on his lips as he swallows, “Delectable.”

The both of you fall silent as your meals are finished; the only sound between you being the scraping of cutlery on plates, but you cannot help but wonder whether Draco can hear the pounding of your heart every time he smiles at you, or whether he can sense the change in your feelings as you yearn for him silently.

“You were jealous – of the waitress – weren’t you?” Draco’s voice sounds, breaking your reverie. Blinking, you find him watching you with a curious look on his face.

“Yes,” You confess in a single breath, shifting your gaze from Draco’s, fiddling with the napkin in front of you.

“There was no need.”

“Oh?”

“It’s you,” He breathes, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, “It’s always been you.”

“Take me back to the room, Draco,” You whisper, leaning into his touch.

Draco wastes no time paying the bill, whisking you from the restaurant and down the road to your hotel.

The door slams against the wall as you both fall into the room; hands pulling at clothing, lips attached save for the breathy laughter filling the room. He tastes of the anise instilled into the Ouzo shared at dinner; his lips fit seamlessly against yours as he backs you through to the bedroom, his hands wandering – memorising every dip and curve of your body.

Draco lays you out on the bed gently as if worried of hurting you in some form or another.

“What do you want?” Draco asks, grey eyes bright in the muted light of the room.

“You,” You state, sitting up on the bed, pressing your hands to the man’s bare chest, scraping your fingernails down his pale skin.

Draco shivers at your touch, barely repressing the low groan growing in the back of his throat. “Where do you want me?” He hums, not giving you the time to answer the question as he begins his onslaught of addictive kisses.

“Here?” He purrs, kissing your jaw. “Or here?” He asks, dropping a feather light kiss to your neck, pushing you back onto the bed. “What about here?” Draco teases, pressing blazing kiss after blazing kiss down the centre of your cleavage to the top of your underwear leaving you a wanton mess as you writhe underneath him.

“Darling,” He whispers, “What do you want from me?”

“Touch me,” You all but beg, reaching for the blonde’s hand, fitting it where you need him most.

It’s then that all self-control Draco had snaps; his hand slips into your underwear, fingers slipping through your slick folds. The gasp that leaves your mouth is swallowed by Draco’s lips, his teeth tugging on your bottom lip as he wrings every single ounce of pleasure from your body.

No nightmares are had that night; finding peace in each other as you sleep wrapped up together in the one bed.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy smut #draco smut #draco malfoy fanfiction #moments with millie #draco malfoy blurb #blurb night #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines

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thefools-journey · 4 years ago

Text

So. Some of you may be wondering why we haven’t written a whole ton about the secondaries or what have you. Here’s the reason: we were waiting for them to end before we really dug into the problems we were noticing. We felt that it was only fair to wait for the routes to finish so that we had an understanding of the writers’ vision. Who knew, we thought, maybe they would see the problems themselves and course correct, maybe they are building to something we can’t quite see yet and these issues will have actual payoff, maybe-

In light of Muriel and Lucio’s endings, and the general mess that has dominated Portia’s route for a year plus now, we are breaking our silence. We are actually going to talk about this shit show.

The fandom at large has talked about a bunch of issues with the secondaries but for me, the cardinal sin, the thing that really all the issues lead back to, is this: the writers lost sight of the tarot themes which so strongly defined and held together the primary routes. Let me explain.

The primary routes each center around three thematic cores:

The Love Interest’s Major Arcana and its Reversed/Upright meanings

The MC’s Fool’s Journey, both how it can go right and how it can go wrong

A question about the MC’s identity and their relationship to said identity

Asra’s route asks: Who was the MC? How does the MC navigate a past they cannot and will not remember? What do they owe a past they cannot remember? How do they handle the revelations of what Asra, Nadia, Julian, etc did? How do you right the past? Can you?

Nadia’s route asks: Who is the MC? The MC has no past. Are they the Fool only? Are they actually the same person they were? How can they tell? Who are they, really? Are they an imposter? No one can answer these questions for them.

Julian’s route asks: Who will the MC become? How does the MC see their future? Is there anything worth fighting for for that future? What will become of them and their loved ones?

Now, if you notice, these themes are expertly woven throughout the primaries. Asra’s past dominates his route, Nadia is also missing memories and trying to construct her identity both with her family and with Vesuvia, and Julian’s fear of the future drives his flailing for control. Asra has to learn to take a broader view of his actions to get his Upright Ending, Nadia has to learn to trust herself and those around her for hers, and Julian has to learn how to let go for his. These lessons are the issues their cards stand for. The primaries are so dang elegant and delicate in their handlings of theme it is honestly awe-inspiring.

Thematically, the secondary routes have completely lost their hearts. First of all, the MC does not have strong, core questions which need to be answered. They just don’t. I suppose the writers did not want to retread old territory (which is weird considering how tightly bound the primaries are; it really tricks you into thinking you’re living the same events but from different angles depending on your route) but they did not replace the old with anything new. Muriel’s route is, on the surface, about discovering and owning his past, the good and the bad. Why not tie MC’s self-discovery to that story? Or they could have taken the angle that Muriel’s route is about convincing him to be present and active in the world while MC builds an identity for themself outside of Asra, the shop, and the memories they cannot retrieve. Why not tie the investigation themes running through Portia’s early route back to MC and their past? Portia has the unique angle of being as in the dark as MC about all of this, why not discover the past together? And for goodness’ sake, Lucio has no future when his route begins, why not tie that to his need for growth, responsibility, and MC’s own future between the Fool, the Devil, or something mortal and in between?

Secondly, the routes lost their tarot backbone. We have a primer on how to get specific endings for each LI and it still holds, but the writers did not follow through on the thematic coherence of each secondary. The Hermit is looking for something, be it perspective, insight, a solution to a problem, whatever. The key here is that the Hermit must find or learn what they are searching for, this thing must change their understanding of the world, and finally, they must bring this lesson back to the world from which they retreated. Can someone please enlighten me as what exactly Muriel learns then teaches the world around him? Nothing Muriel learns from Morga, MC, or even the Hermit ties back into anything. The Devil warns that you are out of control and exerting a lot of manipulative, destructive behavior on the world around you. It asks you to take responsibility for yourself and your actions. So can someone tell me why Lucio’s route actively avoids any interaction or reflection on two of Lucio’s biggest victims: Muriel and Julian? Why does the route only try to make amends with the “easier” of his victims in the cast? The Star is first and foremost the card of clarity, the light at the end of the tunnel. Perseverance, if you will. Yet Portia’s route has been the muddiest of the trio; the writers drop the investigation aspect of her route in favor just handing her and MC information they could have easily found and muddying the waters with Tasya (she blows up the palace but it’s all okay bc she has a secret daughter Julian never thought to bring up or mention) and the complete removal of the Devil as antagonist.

So that leaves just the Fool’s Journey trying to hold this stool up with only one leg. And well...it doesn’t go well. At best, the secondary route books pay the barest surface level homage to the themes of the individual cards. At worst, they ignore the cards completely. Muriel's Moon book has nothing to do with illusions or delusions or lies or even an Alice in the Looking Glass upside down world. Portia's back half is a complete and utter mess, starting with her Temperance book being so badly mangled that Muriel's aftermath book does it better. Lucio's route too bungles the Tower and the Star. There just isn't enough here to carry the routes alone.

Add to the core loss the loss of intertextuality. The primary routes are very good, even great but they too do have their moments and mistakes. What helps strengthen them when the cores stumble is how the trio is woven together. Things you learn in Asra's route can inform the way you play Nadia's, for example. Julian's route informs what is going on in Asra's route and slots some missing puzzle pieces together. Nadia's route tells you of the power struggles she is facing and informs the other two routes' handling of Julian and his trial. On and on, the three routes support each other because they are built out of the same basic plot beats, just tackled in very different ways. Now, the writers are allowed to try and write whatever they want. They apparently wanted to be more experimental and less tied down to an overarching plot with the three secondaries. Okay, fine, they are allowed to do that. The problem is that they sacrificed one of the key strengths of the primary trio and didn't replace said strength with anything else. They also, on some level, harmed the very premise of the game, which is that only the player's choices and route selected change the overall plot. Instead of feeling like legitimate possibilities or offshoots of the same timeline/plot, the secondaries feel almost like Arcana AUs. The secondaries throw out all relations to the primaries and each other as quickly as possible and for what?

It is probably the height of arrogance to suggest fixes for works whose behind the scenes I do not know. At the same time, some small, obvious changes could have salvaged Muriel and maybe Lucio's endings (rip Portia). Instead of having the Hermit appear as a disappointing cameo, why not have him say something cryptic to Muriel, then have MC start trying to seal the Devil. Then let Muriel use his forget me mark to cloak MC and hide them from the Devil's attacks. Protecting MC by hiding them from Lucio, keeping him focused on Muriel, seems to me a simple third solution between Muriel's desire to run and his desire to never fight again. It lets him stand up to Lucio and let him have it while holding onto who Muriel has become. The Reversed End would have MC try to draw Lucio's attention at some point, disrupting the sealing, and eventually leading to Muriel killing the Devil. With Lucio's Upright End, I just have to ask: why doesn't MC fully claim the power of the Fool instead of the Devil? We don't need the other Arcana involved in this fight; we have three routes that demonstrate that. Just have MC pull Scout into the conflict, then have Lucio tell MC he believes in them, then add his power to the mix. You got yourself a full Fool who leaves Scout guarding the realm until they and Lucio's mortal bodies fail and they return to the realm to be together forever. Boom, you're done, you can even add some ambiguous lines so that players can decide how happy their MC is with this arrangement, send me the check.

Here is the bottom line. Our group is full of aroace, and several combinations therein, individuals. We are the last group who should have gotten into a dating sim of all things. But the Arcana did something with the primaries that was special; they wrote a compelling plot with dazzling lore, complex characters, and strong themes wrapped up in a dating sim bow. The writers know better and we know they know better. I do not know what happened with the secondaries, especially around books 10-11, which is where minor issues slowly start spiraling into major ones, but it is clear that Nix Hydra needed some more planning before they released these routes. Hopefully they will learn.

TL;DR: Nix Hydra fired their tarot consultants about eighteen months ago and it has wrecked their secondary routes until they were just embarrassments. They never intended for the secondary routes to even exist and once they had to make them, they scrambled and threw out everything that made the primaries work.

- Mod Telos

#the arcana #The Arcana Game #arcana game #arcana game meta #arcana meta #arcana discourse #the arcana lucio #Lucio route #the arcana muriel #muriel route #the arcana portia #portia route #lucio morgasson #lucio montag #muriel #portia devorak #The Wheel Turns

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years ago

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Rage Like Ice (Sihtric x Reader)

This is my first time writing Sihtric, so let me know what y’all think!

Warnings: assault, attempted strangulation, aftermath of assault (I promise the assault itself is only brief)

Words:2,100

Tag List: @happyveday @evelynshelby

Thyra dabbed away the blood dripping from your split lip. You could see her wanting to say something but soon as she opened her mouth, something would flicker in her eyes and she would snap her mouth shut.

"Thyra… I am glad it was me. We don't need Beocca committing murder." You tried to both tease and soothe, even as you winced after you attempted to smile.

She smiled faintly but you could tell it was hollow. Her lips moved but her eyes remained sorrowful. "The gods were watching over us." She murmured in her gentle voice.

You nodded. Being the only two Dane women in Wintanceaster and both having been saved from different places by Uhtred and his men, you two had bonded. She had become the sister you never had.

"Sihtric may kill him though." Her fathomless eyes dropped down to the bruises forming around your throat then back up to meet your own.

"Shite. I need to cover it up."

She stared, eyes trailing over your face and neck. Most likely realizing the improbability of hiding the evidence of the fight. "Let me see what I can do." She dropped the bloodied cloth onto the table next to you, then spun on her heel and walked towards the bedroom without another word.

Soon as she was out of sight, you dropped your head into your hands and exhaled like it would dismiss all the tension and frustration rolling around in your gut. Your throat was beginning to ache and talking made it worse, even as you tried to mask the pain. You did not need Thyra heaping anymore guilt onto herself. Especially when it was not her fault.

The afternoon had not gone according to plan. King Alfred had summoned Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric to talk about Dane raids. Of course, Beocca tagged along, most likely in an attempt to keep Uhtred in line. Osferth had said something about visiting the church to pray. So while the men were gone, Thyra and you planned on taking a leisurely stroll through the market, getting supplies for a special dinner and working on it together before the men returned. You knew the simple act of making a meal with female company was something she missed from her childhood with her mother, so you tried to do it every time you could.

Of course, fate had other plans.

On your walk, a Saxon man yelled 'Dane whores' at you two from his seat at a pub. When you two ignored him, arms locked together and you rolled your eyes… apparently that was the wrong action to take. He stumbled out of his seat, not quite drunk but certainly not sober, and followed like a stray cat, hissing and trying to be threatening.

What you did not expect was for him to sneak up from behind and shove you forcefully to the ground. It may have been the dismissive look you had given him or how you told him to 'just leave us alone, bastard', but he focused all his anger out on you. He shoved Thyra to the ground also, kicking away her basket, spilling all its content onto the ground. After hitting the ground, you rolled over, Sihtric's training forcing your body to move, to be ready. Before you could move further, the Saxon knelt over you, pinning you beneath him.

Time blurred before your eyes, unable to vividly recall what happened next.

You remembered his hands around your throat, the weight of his body on your hips. You remembered Thyra screaming and trying to beat him off but he shoved her away again. You remembered trying to get him off, lungs shrieking, desperate for air. You remembered your mind demanding, pleading for escape. After all you had survived, after all you had endured… this could not be your end. You remembered in a last-ditch effort, grabbing the dagger you had strapped to your waist and in a Herculean attempt, stabbing him in the thigh with it.

Then, you escaped.

A crowd formed at the sight of the fight. Two men grabbed your attacker, restraining him as he snarled at you, blood dripping down his thigh. Thyra and you did not wait to see what happened next. She snagged your hand and you two raced back to her home.

Now, you could feel your hands shaking. You leaned back in the chair to look at them, laying in your lap. There were some droplets of blood on your skin. Either from you or him, you were not sure.

Your dagger was next to you on the table, cleaned off thanks to Thyra. A gift from Sihtric. When he gave it to you, he explained he hoped you never had to use it but wanted you to always have some kind of weapon on your person. Wessex was not Daneland but it still was not entirely safe.

This was the first time you had used it.

A commotion outside drew your gaze to the door just as it opened and those that you called family spilled in. Beocca led the way into his small home, grumbling and throwing glares at Uhtred and Finan, who were laughing. Osferth came next with a blush on his cheeks. Whatever they were teasing Beocca about, you doubted it was appropriate. Lastly, Sihtric walked in shaking his head.

Your heart thudded a rapid tattoo in your chest as your eyes met his. Those eyes that saw so much, that were clever and loyal and oh so trustworthy. A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth and with that, the air left your lungs faster than when you had been knocked to the ground. Even after all this time, he still left you breathless and giddy like a young girl with her first crush.

Most of all though, he made you feel safe and cherished.

Thyra stepped back into the main room, eyes wary and jumping from the men to you and back. She gripped a scarf in her hand but it was too late.

When Beocca started talking, you ripped your eyes from Sihtric, dropping your head to stare at your still trembling hands in your lap.

"Thyra, dear. Are you alright? We heard there was a fight in the market today."

Before she could answer Beocca, Finan spoke, throwing himself onto a chair with a cheeky smirk. "Oh aye, we 'eard some fool started a fight with some whores and got stabbed. I'd love to find out who the whores were, perhaps see what other moves they have?" He wiggled his eyebrows making Uhtred chuckle.

You could not help sneaking a glance at Thyra, whose own concerned gaze met yours. Was that the story being told by those who witnessed it?

Then what you dreaded happened next.

The sound of footfalls came towards you. You clasped your hands in my lap, hoping to stop the trembling, wishing there was a way to magic the bruises away. It was too late though. He knew. Somehow, he always knew when you were in trouble, or hurting or just needed him.

Sihtric stopped, standing right in front of you. You could see his legs and boots but you refused to look up.

"Look at me." He said softly, yet the command rang loudly in his words. You shook your head, tears gathering in your eyes.

With a tender touch that seemed counterintuitive to his warrior skills, he cupped your chin, lifting it gently. That intense gaze swept over your face, drawing answers without even asking you a question. His thumb touched your split lip, as if confirming what he was seeing was not an illusion. When those dark eyes moved lower, your breath caught in your throat. You witnessed the moment he saw the bruises on your throat. His eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, his body suddenly tense and wound up like a coil, but his touch remained soft on you.

All the sounds of those around you vanished as he met your eyes once again. It was just him and you in this moment.

"Who did this to you?"

You flinched at the ice in his voice. Oh, this was far worse than anger. You knew of the anger that could burn through him, especially in battle. This though… the way frost practically coated his breath, the stillness that covered his body, the dead silence after his question. This was not the fire of anger so easily witnessed in others. No, this went beyond that. This was the icy depths of rage and fury. This was not something that would burn out after a quick fight. No, this lingered until the rage thawed away… only satisfied when the blood debt was paid.

He whispered your name, sweeping away a stray tear that escaped from your eye. "Who did this?"

"Some drunk. It doesn't matter. We got away." You croaked out, your throat suddenly feeling swollen as if words and emotions were stuck there.

He turned to the side, keeping his hand under your chin, baring your neck for all to see, and looked at Uhtred. "Lord… permission to hunt down this bastard and finish what he started."

"Sihtric, no…" You whined but he ignored you.

Uhtred's eyes narrowed, flickering across your face and neck. "Shouldn't be that hard to hunt the bastard down. He'll be limping from a dagger to the leg."

"Uhtred, Sihtric, no." Beocca moved to stand in front of the door. "We shall bring this matter before the king. Let him decide justice. You cannot commit murder."

"It's not murder if I'm stopping him from attempting to kill her again!" Sihtric stated coldly, eyes narrowed, body almost vibrating in rage. "That's protection."

"Sihtric, please, no." You clawed at him, trying to keep him with you. "Stay with me."

Finan stood up, hands raised in an unnecessary show of surrender. "We'll find the bastard, Sihtric. We'll deal with him but not when ya eyes are seein' red, aye? Father Beocca and I can go to the king right now. Uhtred and Osferth can find that piece of shite. We won't let this happen again."

"Please." You tried once again. At this point your voice was no more than a whisper, the dull ache transforming so it felt like someone was rubbing sandpaper against your throat. The adrenaline from earlier had drained and now exhaustion replaced it. All you wanted was for Sihtric to hold you, to stay and not race away on a man hunt for that damn drunk. "Please…. just stay with me."

The Dane stared at you for several long moments, those dark eyes trailing a heat over your exposed skin. Finally, his hard gaze shifted to look at the men across the room. He gave a single nod, draining the tension in the room. Immediately everyone started moving, either to fulfill their duties or to escape from Sihtric's cold fury.

"Thyra, come with me." Beocca said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and escorting her outside. Finan and Osferth slipped out quickly with them.

Uhtred moved closer, eyes scanning over you. "Did he harm you anywhere else?"

"No, lord."

"We'll take care of this. One way or another." He said, but the last part he directed to Sihtric. You could see the understanding in Uhtred's eyes. If someone put their hands on Gisela like that, he would be out for blood…. and no one would be able to stop him.

"Thank you, lord."

After Sihtric's comment, Uhtred nodded once more to the pair of you then stormed out of the small home, presumably on his way to hunt down the man that hurt you.

Once alone, Sihtric whipped around, his hands cupped your face. The desperate fury and fear no longer hidden away on his face. "No one touches you. No one." He hissed out, a hand lightly trailing down your neck.

Many times before he had teasingly told you that the only thing to ever adorn your neck should be his lips. You had even stopped wearing any form of necklace because he would complain that it got in his way. Now seeing the bruises marring his favorite place to lavish his affection on you, you knew this only fueled his blood lust.

"I know. You taught me to protect myself and I did." You tried to soothe, your hands gripping the front of his tunic.

"I should have been there."

"No, you were doing your duty. You were with Lord Uhtred." You paused. "This is not your fault."

His voice dropped to a strained whisper. "I can't lose you."

"You won't. The gods brought us together, they would not tear us apart like this."

He pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around you and kissed the top of your head. With your head against his chest, you could feel the last of his icy rage thawed away as you sank into his embrace.

"I swear you're never leaving my side."

You smiled, burrowing your head further against his chest. "I could think of worse places to be."

#The Last Kingdom #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fandom #sihtric x reader #Sihtric #Uhtred Ragnarson #finan the agile #Osferth #FATHER BEOCCA #thyra #mz writes

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nitw · 3 years ago

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Can you explain what you mean with misinterpreting Chara? I've always been confused about that character and you seem to have a pretty solid read you alluded to in that post about Snowgrave.

of course!!! as your local chara defender since the ripe age of 13 i hope you don't mind me doing a small essay on this. please bear with me tho because i sometimes can't articulate my thoughts well on stories that deal with philosophical themes ;;

UHHH SPOILERS FOR UNDERTALE AND DELTARUNE CHAPTER 2 BELOW

first let me make a few things clear so i don't have to repeat myself a bunch:

only tobias radiation fox himself has The Word of God privilege when it comes to things that haven't been explicitly confirmed in the games yet, EVEN if they're strongly hinted at. don't take anything i say about the plot as more than firm personal interpretation based on the info we have right now!

i cannot stress this one enough: undertale is a game that was never meant to be experienced from a singular perspective/mindset. the genocide route doesn't JUST exist for the sake of "enjoy your personalized edgy fuck-you run for being a serial killer in a video game", every one of the total 93 endings (look it up) in this game exists to reflect the player who achieved it in one way or another. the genocide route is really no different from any of the others, because in the end, no matter what, the player who decided to go through with the things they did will ALWAYS be rewarded for it. the question the player will have to ask THEMSELF afterwards is "is this what i wanted?"

OK MOVING ON-

let's think back to the little but vital amount of info we have on who chara actually was, like, as a person. we know pretty much all of this due to 1) the tapes in the royal lab 2) asriel's additional dialogue at the end of true pacifist.

while we'll never really know why frisk fell into the underground, asriel tells us explicitly about chara's hatred for humanity, and how they jumped from mt. ebott for "not a very happy reason"; supposedly a suicide attempt. chara "never talked about why", it's left intentionally vague because their reasoning isn't really what matters. what DOES matter is how this is relevant to the genocide run, ESPECIALLY with the new obvious parallels in deltarune's snowgrave route. i'll get to that.

when you finish the genocide route, chara will talk directly to the player in person. they talk about your (you AND chara's) success, despite "their plan (having) failed". this "plan" is one they secretly made with asriel when they were both still alive, as revealed from the tapes. chara got terminally poisoned from eating buttercups (whether this was fully intentional or not is still kiiinda up for debate), and while on their deathbed, asriel says that he doesn't like the plan anymore. yet despite his fear, he still fused his soul to chara's when they died.

the actual plan here was to become a monster powerful enough to slaughter humanity, specifically chara's home village by their own dying request - this all ties into their mysterious spite and hatred mentioned before. but due to asriel's resistance against chara, their fused body was killed by the humans - which eventually led to the creation of flowey, and asriel's inner demons after death.

but back to the genocide route. during chara's monologue to the player, they give us a LOT of important exposition. basically:

at the very start of the game, frisk's own determination is literally what brought chara's soul 'back to life'. we know how human and monster souls are different and how "determination" in this universe is something only humans possess, so it makes sense why it awakened them. i won't get into the whole narrator theory because i feel like it's not that relevant to my point (it's fun tho), but chara is always present from the moment frisk falls down, and stays regardless of the player's actions.

if you managed to finish undertale at all you'll already kinda know this (thanks sans), but the EXP and LV you (can) gain throughout your journey aren't just numbers on your screen - they're genuine in-universe manifestations of power that increase when you kill someone. and in genocide, chara explains how they were directly affected every time your stats rose. they could FEEL their spirit growing stronger for every life you decided to take (REMINDER THAT THE GENOCIDE ROUTE CAN BE PERMANENTLY STOPPED AT ANY POINT BEFORE SANS. YOU DID THIS.), so is it really that strange that they felt the desire to grow even stronger?

and once you do reach this point, there's no return. all that excessive time and effort you put into killing off a civilization OBVIOUSLY has some consequences. the consequences HERE being - if you paid attention to chara's life story - you took advantage of a traumatized child who was already at the breaking point and making irrational choices on their own, and you led them to believe that this was what they needed!

this is VERY MUCH SUPPORTED by the snowgrave/weird/pipis/whatever route of deltarune chapter 2 that was discovered about 2 days ago as i'm writing this. i'm gonna go ahead and assume you know what happens in it and i don't care to go into details if you don't, since this post is about chara, but surprise: THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED TO NOELLE, TOO! even in a completely normal run, noelle makes it clear multiple times that she wouldn't mind staying in the dark world; that in spite of how scary and dangerous it seems at times (something something horror movies), she started to feel at home. POSSIBLY even more so than her ACTUAL HOME, with her dying dad and negligent mom. like chara, noelle is a young person with low self esteem and her fair share of trauma, even if it's not as apparent. and like in the genocide run, the player's desire to ruthlessly kill in order to grow stronger affected her already-poor mental state.

someone else already pointed this out specifically, so don't credit me for it, but the main difference between chara and noelle is that noelle managed to break free in the end.

if you're like Most People Who Played The Genocide Route Back In Like 2016 and you played the genocide route with no further knowledge about it than "i have to follow these specific steps to get a harder fucked up version of the game", i don't blame you. you didn't actually know what you were doing in the end, did you? but did the outcome disappoint you, make sense to you, or did it just leave you with an empty/confused feeling? i love undertale because it WILL force you to think about things like that. i mean, if the result wasn't gonna affect you in SOME way, why would you go through all of that trouble in the first place? you had your reasons, as the player of any video game where you know your choices matter. would you have carried out the entire thing if you knew what was coming? the answer to that is only relevant to yourself.

#i'm EXHAUSTED girl.#asks #chara #ut #undertale #dr #deltarune #noelle holiday #dr spoilers #deltarune spoilers

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bitch-biblioklept · 3 years ago

Text

The Darkling x f!oc

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 <you are here> Part 7

Chapter-6: Amplifiers

Chapter Summary: Frustrated with Alina's lack of improvement, the Darkling finally found a way to use her powers for his thirst for revenge.

Word Count: 2.1k

(My gif)

The Darkling knew what he had to do, and went to the bitter old woman his mother had become to inform her of such. He still cared about her opinion, no matter how old he’d grown… even if it had bothered him a lot. She wouldn’t react, most likely.

“I have decided to give Alina an amplifier,” He declared once inside the heat of her hut by the lake. “Hopefully we will find the stag.”

Her head snapped in his direction at the mention of the stag. Her dark eyes looked livid. “Of course,” she muttered, half to herself. “I was a fool for thinking for a second that you’d let her have it.”

“The girl is naïve, she can’t control her powers.” He explained. “She will do better with that.”

“I’m not going to let you take control of her powers.” She said with the certainty of a decision. “I know what you are planning to do.”

“How would you?” The Darkling asked, his lips set in a sneer.

“I gave birth to you, boy.” Baghra said. “I know you better than you think I do. She wouldn’t have wanted this.”

“But she isn’t here to stop me now, is she?” Aleksander said. The lump in his throat was suddenly too much. The lakeshore was a bloodbath again. Baghra was silent for too long. “Well?”

“She isn’t,” His mother agreed slowly. “But the least you could do is honor her memory, her mannerisms.”

“She wasn’t a saint mother,” He reminded. “By all means she was the viler and crueler one of the two of us.”

“Not to someone who hadn’t wronged her,” Baghra added.

“I shall avenge her, whether you like it or not, mother.” The Darkling said. He still had a vague memory of the last time he had addressed her as such. Aleksander had been too distraught, everything had happened just so fast… there was no time to tell if it had been reality or a nightmare. Serephina had been assassinated, found lying with her throat slashed, there were others too, her attackers, only one of them was barely breathing by the time he had gotten there.

That was the first time he had used the Cut in the Little Palace grounds, the first time all the young Grisha realized why everyone was so afraid of him. It was the first time his mother looked terrified.

They were supposed to be happy, it was supposed to be a celebrations filled night. But like Serephina used to say in her Suli sayings, some had jinxed their joy. They were to be a family, they were to become parents.

But all of that had been taken away because he was the Darkling and she was Lady Kirigan, and not Aleksander and Serephina.

A light knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts.

Alina appeared in the doorway a second later, looking awkward on finding she interrupted their conversation. “Sorry,” she said.

“In girl, don’t let the heat out.” Baghra declared instead.

The Darkling bowed as a show of courtesy. “How are you Alina?” he asked to be polite.

“I’m fine,” Her voice sounded forced.

“She’s fine!” hooted Baghra. “She’s fine! She cannot light a hallway, but she’s fine.”

The Darkling had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at her words. “Leave her be,” he said instead.

The old woman narrowed her dark eyes at him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she decided.

He ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to alleviate his frustrations. This was not going well. He turned to Alina. “Baghra has her own way of doing things.” He explained to stop himself from snapping at his mother at the moment.

“Don’t patronize me, boy!” she screamed at him. For a second, he was eighteen again, afraid of his mother’s wrath upon finding about his and Serephina’s marriage, and stood up straighter.

He stopped himself in time, remembering he wasn’t the same boy he had been then, not anymore. “Don’t chide me, old woman,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

There was an intense stare down between the two of them, the tension so thick it could have been sensed even by a donkey. That was until Baghra turned to Alina and said, “The boy thinks to get you an amplifier. What do you think of that, girl?”

He watched as Alina’s face brightened with a smile as if she had heard the most brilliant idea. And for a second, a brief moment, she reminded him of Serephina again, with the curve of her smile and the way her eyes crinkled with joy.

“I think it’s brilliant!” She nearly squealed. And the similarity was gone. Alina was not Serephina, and the differences got more evident as he got to know her better. Serephina’s face had always had a cold mask, much like himself, but he knew how to read her, where to look for in those brown eyes to find the answers. She was a book meant to be read just by him, and him only. Alina’s face was an open book left for everyone to read.

Baghra let out a disgusted sound, and the sound inspired an odd sense of pride in him. Alina was right where he needed her to be.

“Alina, have you ever heard of Morozova’s herd?” he asked.

“Of course she has. She’s also heard of unicorns and the Shu Han dragons,” Baghra said mockingly. If this woman wasn’t his mother, he would have kicked her out by now, but alas.

The Darkling took Alina out of the hut instead, wanting to have one conversation where Baghra didn’t interrupt him at every utterance that came out of his mouth. Though he was aware that she was keeping an eye on everything he was going to do.

“That woman,” he muttered to himself, running his hands all over his face. Then he ran his hands through his hair again, but this time to get the embarrassing image of him hiding behind Serephina to be safe of the rage Juris had upon finding out about the wedding.

“What?” he asked; half-embarrassed by the humor on Alina’s face.

“I’ve just never seen you so … ruffled.” She said.

“Baghra has that effect on people.”

“Was she your teacher, too?”

She was. Of course she was, she was his mother. But she wasn’t just a mother or teacher, she had been through a lot with him, suffered as bad as he had. Perhaps she was the only person alive who would bother to understand Aleksander and not the Darkling. “Yes,” he said in its place. “So what do you know about Morozova’s herd?”

Again she talked about how she had heard children’s stories. Again he told her what he wanted her to, making a passing remark about forgetting how new she was to all this. He was keenly aware of the raven-like gaze Baghra kept on both of them, but he ignored it. Again he was nice to Alina, listening to her talk by the lakeshore when the image of the bloodbath resurfaced. He turned his thoughts to less painful things like how things would have been different had Serephina been here.

After a while, he had had enough and he left. He was desperate for a glass of kvas, or even better, a glass of strong whiskey. The memories wouldn’t just stop invading his head.

So he focused on the night he thought Serephina was going to die.

It was a cold night after a snowstorm, a village in central Ravka that had once been free of the abomination of creation that most people called the Shadow Fold or the Unsea. They had stopped by the village while they were on their way to Fjerda.

There was a pack of large wolves tormenting the villagers, and they had warned them against going out at night. But Serephina had wanted to see them, the wolves. She said something was calling out to her, and that she needed to see the wolves.

And refusing to let her go out in the danger all alone, Aleksander had accompanied her. He was scared, of course. He had always been afraid of the dark but he never showed it, but she knew. He knew that she knew. That was why she had been holding his hand, warming the both of them up to keep them through the night.

It was a little past midnight when Sere had lost hopes of seeing the wolves and they were about to head back, when a deep growl sounded somewhere to their left.

A pair of bright red glowing eyes were fixated on them dangerously. She let go of his hand and shoved him behind herself and then reckoned the alpha wolf closer. Aleksander’s male ego would have been hurt if he weren’t so scared.

The wolf was one of the biggest animals he had ever seen, standing taller and either of them. For a moment he was certain the wolf was one of the Grisha of the old stories, the shape-shifters who couldn’t turn back into their human form after being in their animal form for too long during the first Ravkan war.

Before Aleksander could think of an escape route, Serephina had moved forward, studying the animal. Its dark black fur was blacker than anything he had ever seen, but it gleamed against the white snow under the moonlit canopy. The wolf and the girl regarded each other, assessing the danger.

The wolf leaped in the air with its jaw spread open to attack Serephina faster than he could say, “Stop!” She didn’t leave her ground and raised her hands, shoving them forward with all the force. The wolf fell to the ground as if hit by an invisible wall.

And when her flint sparked up from her sleeve, the cold blue flames scared the large animal. But it got up, shook the snow off its fur and got back into the battle.

Ice, air, fire all of the three elements helped Serephina in her conquest. She even used a bit of the heart rendering powers that she had mastered and paralyzed the wolf, after some of their blood had splattered on the snow, frozen like red pearls.

She walked to the laying wolf, limp in her step from where the wolf had bitten her leg, her hidden knife in hand and stabbed the wolf right where it heart would be. And strangely, the wolf looked proud when she did it, and then raised its paw and scratched it through her chest, right where her heart would be.

Aleksander’s soul left his body in that instant.

The soft glow of moonlight that came from Serephina showed her face, bloodied and contorted in pain, as both their blood flowed freely to the ground, freezing instantly on the snow. The wolf was the first one to close its eyes, the glowing red disappearing.

She fell on the snow next, her breath escaping with a sigh.

He rushed to her side, almost blinded by the brightness of the light she radiated, and cradled her head in his arms, regretting not staying back at their little cave, not being able to convince her to stay, not being able to protect her because of his own fears.

Then her eyes opened, and her thin lips moved, muttering his name. Her eyes glowed bright red, like the wolf’s but the voice was hers, for no one else could ever speak in that musical voice that made him want to drop everything and just listen to her talk all day.

“Sere…” he softly said, tucking her black hair behind her ear.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, and then stood up. Her hair was a mess, her eyes looked tired, but they were back to their brown, and her clothes were ragged, covered in her own blood and the wolf’s, but to him she had never looked more beautiful.

“But the wolf-” he started.

“The wolf is one with me now,” She calmly explained. Her eyes changed to the bright red once again. “I am the wolf and the wolf is me.”

“Like the amplifiers,” he realized.

She smiled. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

“I hope you don’t eat Grisha for meals now,” He joked.

“I might eat someone if he gets too annoying,” she winked at him and walked away. Aleksander was frozen in his place.

The wolf was old, she knew everything. Serephina had always had an answer to his problems. Things would have been so much better had her and their child were with him right now. He would have been so much happier and maybe they would have been done with the fold by now.

But fate always had other ideas.

#shadow and bone #the darkling #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #ben barnes #general kirigan imagine #shadow and bone imagine #the darkling imagine #the darkling x f!oc #the darkling x reader #general kirigan x oc

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skei-seems · 4 years ago

Text

Professor Reid

(PART 1)

Summary: Reader kicks off first semester of university with a team project that requires a trip to another city. Her professor, Spencer Reid, is to accompany the team, but the journey takes an interesting turn when he offers to show her a pub in the city one night.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x (female) reader

Category: Smut [NSFW]

Warnings: Smut, Age Gap, Swearing

A/N: Please send me some feedback on this or requests, I would love to hear your thoughts. Also, do you guys prefer first person x reader or second person pov? Part 2 linked below ;)

-------

You could always see something coming from a mile away, it was a peculiar skill of yours to be able to plan out every possible outcome of any situation (especially the worst ones) in order to satisfy your anxiety. University was a new ground, it was unfamiliar and untrodden, and that’s what made it dangerous - the unforeseeable future.

As soon as you started criminal psychology class, you knew it would be your favourite. Perhaps it was because of the interesting analogy strategies, or the way the minds of the psychos worked, but mainly it was because of the gorgeous golden-locked professor. His intelligent hands gestured each time he spoke and the way they often ran through his hair to fix it, his big brown eyes scanning the room which sometimes met your gaze, and the nerdy button up shirts he wore was enough to set your lust for him on fire. The development of crushes on people that would never be interested in you was a frequent occurrence, and the probability of something happening between you was far from reality - you knew that - and that was where the satisfaction lay in it. Knowing nothing can or will happen, the infatuation was innocent and improbable.

“Okay class, I have an announcement to make,” the voice that sent goosebumps over your skin each time it sounded, boomed through the large classroom. You focused from a distance on his sharp eyes, before he looked down at a piece of paper in his hands. “There will be a trip to another university to join a team which will conduct a research project together,” some ‘ooh’s’ and ‘aah’s’ sounded there, ”but unfortunately I cannot take all of you.” Disappointment flooded through the room now, but a little jolt of excitement went through your body. A trip, to another town, with the hot professor. He continued, “I have selected five students based on how well they did in the last examination, the names of whom I read now please meet with me after class.”

Your heart sped up in your chest, you were even afraid the thumping could be heard by your surrounding classmates as he read off the names, and stopped when yours was the last. Part of you wished you could be as calm as the others when class ended and they slowly made their way to his desk, but the other part of you wanted to lather up every bit of excitement that coursed through your body as you approached the tall smart-looking man.

As he briefed the group on what you need to prepare and the plans for the trip, you calmed down and made some notes, but a strand of hair had fallen into his face which distracted you. When he finished the briefing and made sure everyone was okay with spending their first week of holiday doing a school trip, everyone made to leave. You pocketed your phone, looked around when you heard him say “Bye guys, see you on the weekend!” and made eye contact, he smiled awkwardly and averted his gaze to the others walking out the door. Your heart immediately started racing in your chest and only calmed once you got home, and you could not get those beautiful brown eyes out of your head.

---

It was the day of the trip. You would be driving together in a bus and stay at a hotel; you had free time in the mornings and evenings, project participation during the day and one free days to tour the city with your guide, professor Reid. Apparently if you did well, you would be allowed a night of celebration at the end in a very fancy club, which did not really seem like a reward to you, clubs were loud and full of sweaty drunk strangers.

The drive was long and seemingly endless with not much to do, and you were slightly amused to see that both you and the professor had brought a book to entertain yourselves with for the trip. When you arrived, the whole group set out to their rooms (each with a roommate) except for the professor, who made sure you knew where it was and that each had his number to call in case of emergency. He gave everyone the rest of the afternoon off to do your own activities, but you weren't allowed to go off alone, and had to be back at the hotel by 10.

You spent most of your free time reading or putting together work for the project, and by the third day the others had quickly formed a bond and gone off without you to have fun. It was about six thirty when you heard a knock on the door. Wondering who it was, you opened it to the gorgeous blonde professor.

“Hi Y/N, the others have all gone with the other university’s team to a restaurant and I’ve allowed them a later curfew, don’t you want to join them?” He asked, with a slight concern (probably because you were always alone). His brows were knit into a neat frown and you could imagine them being like that for a whole other reason, almost buckling your knees.

“Um,” you stumbled, thrown off by his sudden appearance and question, and thought for a moment. “To be honest I don’t really feel like being in that big group after spending the whole day with them.”

At this, he looked down and smiled, almost in a knowing way. “Well, if you want to get out, I’m going to meet some of my old university friends at a place that’s really nice,” then he sheepishly added, “and probably better than the restaurant your classmates chose.”

You bit your lip, he was asking you to come with him, without any other student present. “Your old university friends?”

“Yeah, this was where I studied before I moved and joined the FBI to become a profiler.”

Before you could answer, he added, “I just, couldn’t help but notice you haven’t gone out at all with the others. It wouldn’t sit right with me if you spend another night all by yourself.”

His words sent a rush of goosebumps over your skin. It made you look away with embarrassment that your introverted habits had not gone unnoticed. “Okay,” you said with forced sureness, and shyly looked at him again, “could I maybe just change real quick?”

He studied you a little and nodded. “Meet me at the foyer in fifteen minutes. You won’t regret it.” He seemed pleased with himself at convincing you to come out of your shell, and it sent electric sparks through your body that he made an effort for you, and only you.

Fifteen minutes later you walked up to the foyer. It turns out he had made the decision to change as well, going for a white buttoned up shirt, black fitting trousers and a pair of high top converse. You could not take your eyes off the man, and your stomach somersaulted at his rolled up sleeves that exposed his veiny forearms and watched wrist. As you came closer, he turned around and let his smouldering brown eyes travel down your body.

You flushed with warmth and redness as he took in your change of appearance, you wore black skinny jeans, a top that exposed your chest a little more than you would allow at school, and your go-to white sneakers.

“I was almost afraid you decided to stand me up,” he joked and shuffled his feet as the scent of your elegant rosey perfume engulfed him.

“Almost,” You chuckled, this informal stance was relaxing. You made your way down a couple of blocks while the professor talked a bit about the city, and finally entered a retro-looking pub. As you observed the place, you could feel his eyes on you. You realised for the first that he was your grounding now, since there was no one else in the room you knew, an intimate feeling arose at this thought and you moved a little closer to him.

“This is where I spent many a night drinking with my friends,” he said - with pride - while leading you to an empty table. You could hardly picture this smart and always-composed man being drunk, but it was a humoured picture nonetheless. He had to lean in for you to hear him over the music and talking of the people inside, and you could feel his hot minty breath sending tingles across your skin.

“I like it,” you replied. The bar was old wood, the walls were lined with all kinds of posters and signs that made up the aesthetic, accompanied by a small stage area with a landing dance floor.

“It’s my favourite, ahh-” he looked up at someone behind you and got up, “here they are.” Your heart skipped a beat, you were always nervous when meeting new people.

“SPENCE, my man!” exclaimed a tall curly haired fellow as they ‘bro-hugged’. A second, more buff and bearded man followed with “Long time no see!” He looked a little older but the two seemed to make sense as a friendship.

After they exchanged greetings, they realized your presence. Assuming they were out of earshot from a couple of feet away, the curly haired guy complimented professor Reid on his ‘date’ and made a gesture to suggest nice ‘boobs.’ You had to hide your smile when the professor went crimson and explained that you were his student, but you could feel your legs aching a little at the sight of him being flustered. He glanced at you nervously and ran a hand through his loose curls.

Finally, the men joined the table and introduced themselves, sharing stories of when they were your age. The professor seemed so different like this, so warm and relaxed, as compared to his usual formal state. You exchanged glances and a couple of smiles through the drinks and conversations, and you couldn’t push away the thought that maybe you were forming a connection. You focused on the way he sometimes licked his lips or put his fingers to his mouth, and imagined sucking on them, squeezing your thighs at the thought. Maybe you would be different after the trip, but you were snapped back to reality when the two of his friends decided to call it a night.

As the two were saying their goodbyes and making their way to the door. You checked your phone and shocked, exclaimed “It’s only ten o’clock!”

This earned a beautiful laugh from your professor. “I suppose that’s late when you’re my age. But we don’t have to leave. Wanna play a game of pool?”

Relief flooded unto you, you did not want this to be over, no one else had seen the professor like this and - despite your nervousness - you were having fun. The pub had grown fuller than when you first came in. Noticing a couple of lustful glances to your body, and to avoid being crumpled or lost between passing bodies, Spencer lightly put a hand on your lower back as he guided you in front of him over to the pool tables. The touch was barely, and so subtle, but it created a sense of dominince over you and made the area where his fingers connected with the fabric of your shirt tingle and spread to your lower belly.

He was pretty good at the game, hitting with careful preciseness and studying the table for a while before taking each of his turns. Focusing like him was a rather difficult task when you kept watching his veiny hands wrap around the pool stick and grip it tightly before he bent over to shoot. It was a little funny that he took it with such seriousness, but this forced you to do the same, and soon there was an atmosphere of strong competitiveness evident between you two. It came down the last couple of balls, when you decided to throw in a bet.

“If I win what do I get?” You confidently challenged, the alcohol had given your voice a certain assertiveness it lacked when you were sober, but this could also be a bad thing - the alcohol talking for you.

“If you win I buy the next round of drinks, if I win you pay for the round.” He said without thinking too hard about it, then returned his focus back to the game.

A couple moments later professor Reid won, and you reluctantly pulled out your wallet from your bag and made your way to the bar. The look on his face was triumph, but it had been a little exciting for the duration of the game that he considered you his equal, as competition. While you waited for the two glasses of Jack and Coke, a hand groped you from behind. You jumped out of the stranger’s grasp and tried to put as much distance between the two of you, but the line was cramped and it didn’t help much.

A sloppy looking man smirked at you, “How bout I get you a drink, darling.”

“How bout you leave her alone.” A firm voice said behind you, and you felt a warm hand sneak around your waist.

The guy looked annoyed but retreated from the bar. You turned around, a little thrown off from the interaction. “Thank you for saving me, professor.” You said, looking into his chocolate eyes staring off at the guy, now darkened with a little - anger? protectiveness? or was it dominance? Either way, it excited you.

“But I can handle myself”

He cocked his head and eyed you smugly. “Just stick closer to me from now.” He smiled with reassurance, not taking his hand off your waist, and the creep left your mind. All you wanted now was him.

You took your drinks and went back to the pool tables, all of them were occupied. Two friendly biker-looking guys offered to play in teams with you, though. You took on the challenge and played, but you were focusing on a different game. The alcohol had flushed out any thoughts or worry about the age difference or the fact that he was your professor, you were’t sure how, but you were going to get him one way or another. The game progressed slowly, and you got the opportunity to bend down in front of the professor. Behind you, you heard the biker next to him say “dude, if you don’t hit that, I will,” and felt a subtle, but not too soft landing on your ass. A yelp escaped your mouth, more out of surprise than anything, but you shot the ball in and turned around. Spencer looked embarrassed, and pulled you away a little and apologised.

“I’m so sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, sir,” you insisted, then adding, “I kinda liked it.”

His mouth formed into an ‘O’ shaped, and with his eyebrows raised he let out a chuckle, but you could see something change in his eyes as he glanced at your lips.

You were pulled out of your daze when you heard it - the song. The song you had to dance to no matter what, so you grabbed your drink and downed the last of it. “Come on, professor,” you pulled him by his hand.

“What’s happening?” he asked, looking a little amused.

“We have to dance to this song, it’s illegal not to.”

He laughed and followed you. The world was spinning a little and the alcohol had made your body warm, you would have to get out for fresh air sooner than later or you’d start sweating. Not knowing what was going through your or the professors mind, whatever it was, you hoped it was the same thing.

Once on the dance floor, the two of you easily fit in the crowd’s rhythm. He knew the lyrics just as well as you, and you jumped and moved around each other mouthing the words. A layer of sweat had started to make his shirt cling to him, and his hair was a little dampened, god he looked good. As the chorus ended, he stopped momentarily to unbutton his shirt a little for some air. His exposed chest was a huge turn on and you moved a little closer to him, but someone pushed through the crowd and squashed you right into each other.

This was the closest you had ever been, your bodies were completely pressed against each other and his cologne was overwhelming your senses. With your hand on his chest you looked up at him, resuming to the rhythm of the song, but the two of you remained close. He made no move to push you away, he just seemed deeply in though. With a last muster of confidence, you turned around and pushed your lower half onto his and felt him harden against you. Glad for the blaring music at that moment, you moaned loudly. For a moment he did nothing, then his hands shyly placed themselves on your hips.

Maybe it was wrong, maybe you should move away and pretend it hadn’t happened, but he pulled you closer by the waist and kept you rooted to the spot. So there was a dominant part in him, this pushed away the doubts you had momentarily and you continued to rub against his hard groin. The song changed to a slower, more sexy one. He hung his head so it was next to yours, and you could feel his sticky curls tangle with your hair. His hands were on your waist, guiding you and every now and then moving higher to just below your breasts. You slid down against him slowly, then slowly pushed your butt up back against his hardness. Just the thought of what the two of you looked like at that moment could send you over the edge.

Unable to resist seeing what he looked like, you turned around and flung your arms around his neck, his hair was wet and messy, some parts sticking to his forehead, and his chest was rising and falling at a fast pace. What made you stop was how he was staring you right in the eye through his locks, like there was no one else in the room, you pondered whether or not to kiss him but it was hot, it was so hot in the room.

You pulled free from what seemed like your wildest fantasy come true and made way to the exist and out into the open air. Professor Reid had followed you outside into the dark lamp-lit street. He mirrored your out-of-breath and at-a-loss-for-words state. “Let’s get back to the hotel, shall we?” he offered after a while, not looking at you and already walking in the direction of the hotel.

You weren't sure if he meant that in the sense of sleeping together or just going back to your separate rooms, but the reality of it had sobered you up a little and you were feeling a little nervous now. He seemed.. angry? or what he frustrated? Things seemed so obvious back on the dance floor but now they seemed cloudy and unclear.

When you finally made your way back to the hotel the nervousness had almost eaten you up, and you were shaking. You and Spencer hadn’t said a word the entire way back, and the silence hadn’t helped your anxiety. He stopped suddenly and you walked into him, not realising you had already arrived in from of your hotel room.

“Do you have your key card?” he finally spoke up, his voice was coarse and full of restraint.

You nodded, turned and swiped the card to open the door. Stepping half inside you peeked around, your roommate wasn’t home yet. When you turned back to face Spencer, he was staring at you with such intensity it seemed to sear holes in you. Boldly, you took a step toward him. He immediately grabbed you by the waist and kissed you forcefully. Inside, he slammed you against the door to close it and swiped his tongue over your lips, then inside your mouth to explore. His hands were all over your body and yours tangled in his long, messy curls. When you felt his soft lips connect with the sensitive area of your neck, you moaned.

“Professor,” you squeaked. Your voice was full of need and earned a rough groan from him.

He picked you up and set you on the counter in the small kitchen. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he said, looking into your eyes, grabbing the back of your neck and reattaching your lips. His words were sending a rush to your core; you needed more friction. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer, his hardness now rubbing right against your beating core. He groaned and slowly grinded against you, making you want more. His tall lean figure against yours was too much to handle, it was overpowering and you couldn’t stop the soft whimpers escaping your mouth.

As his large hand massaged your breast and he continued to rock his hips against yours gradually at a faster pace, your eyes fluttered shut in pleasure.

He was in the middle of pulling off your shirt when a loud knock on the door made you freeze. He pulled away, eyes wide and lips swollen. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Who is it?” You called, your voice (and legs) shaking.

It turned out to be your roommate. The two of you swiftly fixed yourselves up and you opened the door. With the explained that you and the professor were just working on something more for tomorrow’s project session, he bid you goodnight and left hurriedly.

----

The next day you awoke not sure of how to go about things, or if you should just pretend that nothing had happened at all. But all that was not possible at all, you realised, when you saw him that morning. All the events of the previous night rushed at once into your mind and you bit your lip, it wasn’t over. He cleared his throat and shoved a hand into his pocket while addressing the group, his eye contact with you being only brief, yet strong.

During lunch break you wanted to speak with him, and found him in the cafeteria’s far end. Before coming around the corner, you stopped. He was on the phone.

“I know I know, Sweetness, I love you.”

Tears brimmed your eyes, he had a girlfriend. How could you be a wedge between his relationship, you had messed up real bad, but then again, he was the one who kissed you...

You avoided him for the rest of the day, and the next even though he asked to see you twice. Finally you received a text “Can we talk, please?” Yet you still ignored him, and even forced yourself to spend your free time with the group. It wasn’t too difficult avoiding him, but on the last day it was announced that since the group did so well, they would be celebrating at the great club in town - accompanied by the teachers of course.

You groaned. Slowly, anger had started to rise up to you. He was the one who had known he had a girlfriend, not you. He could have stopped it at any moment, but he didn’t. It was infuriating. Revenge may be the best plot. So you put on the sexiest clothes you could find, and met up with the group.

-------------

To be continued... PART TWO AVAILABLE HERE: https://skei-seems.tumblr.com/post/642815872752353280/professor-reid-part-2

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #dr spencer reid #professor reid #professor reid smut #smut #x reader smut #professor spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #matthew gray gubler x reader

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parkerflix · 3 years ago

Text

about love

wc:1.2k

waking up wasn’t something you were particularly fond of ever. you weren’t a light sleeper, but you had found out quickly as a child that the peekings of the sunshine always made you sitr. so you had invested in more pillows, to surround yourself in your fortress of darkness (named by lolo of course). but today seemed different. the sunshine had peeked its head out from around your blinds and you started to stir.

you opened your eyes slowly and blinked a few times, not registering the body next to you. it took you a few seconds before you realized the arm that was wrapped loosely around your waist. somehow throughout the night, the pillow wall had broken in between you and jisung, and he was spooning you. spooning you.

your face flushed at the thought, and a dull ache in your head started to form. you shifted to rub your temples and felt jisung’s arm tightened around your waist.

“mm don’t leave yet… a few more minutes…”

you huffed and twisted your arm behind your back to poke at jisung’s chest.

“jisung.”

no response.

“jisung.”

nothing again.

“jisung, if you let me go it’ll be worth something.”

jisung moved and buried his face in your hair and neck a little.

“mm like what?”

you giggled and rubbed your eyes.

“your life.”

he immediately let go of you and moved as far as he could, until you heard a thud and an “oof!”

you turned around to see jisung standing up, his hair all over the place and eyes rubbing the sleep out of them.

“you’re so mean you know that?” he pouted, puffing his cheeks out.

sitting up, you smiled at him and nodded.

“yeah i am, but you know what?”

he tilted his head, and gave you a look of confusion.

“what?”

you threw a pillow at his face and giggled.

“at least i won’t be the last one to the kitchen!”

you jumped off the bed and rushed to open the door.

you ran down the hall, not noticing that jisung was gaining on you.

the kitchen was within your reach before you got picked up off the floor and spun around.

“next time, don’t try to win against someone who did track the entire time he was in high school.” he whispered, his breath on your neck.

you flushed, and laughed it off, elbowing him in his stomach.

you turned to him and smiled.

“so, what should we have for breakfast?”

after a few minutes of delegating, and telling jisung not to eat all the cookies he found in a bag on the counter, you both decided to make pancakes.

the mood was light and airy, and you enjoyed the small silence that was in between you two, as you were mixing the batter.

“so, what’s going on with work?”

before you could answer, there was a knock at the door.

both you and jisung jumped a bit, laughing and you put the whisk down.

“were you expecting someone?”

“no, but i’ll go see who it is.”

you wiped your hands on a towel, and walked over to the front door, wondering who it could be.

opening the door you were a little shocked to see someone standing there with an iced coffee and a smile on his face.

“felix? what are you doing here?”

his smiled slipped a little hearing your confused tone but regained his composure.

“well i wasn’t sure if you had gotten my texts but i knew you made it home safe so i wanted to bring a pick me up! you know for your late night yesterday?”

he held out the coffee in his hands for you and your eyes softened at how he made the coffee exactly the way you liked it.

you took it from his hands, ignoring the small blush that crept onto your face as your fingertips touched.

“thanks felix, it means a lot.”

“y-yeah well, i guess i’ll get going. i’ll see you later?” felix scratched the back of his neck, looking to the end of the hallway.

you turned to look inside the apartment and saw jisung stirring and content. you closed your eyes for a quick second before

“do you wanna stay for breakfast?”

felix’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“no it’s okay i don’t want to intrude!”

you smiled at his reaction and opened the door wide enough for him to come in.

“trust me, i already have a handful in there i would love your help with him.”

“him?” he said, walking through the door and taking his shoes off.

“yeah, jisung ended up staying the night last night, i didn’t want to be alone and i was like lonely considering lolo went with changbin.”

“oh.”

you reached out for felix’s hand and he interlaced his fingers with yours.

“don’t worry he doesn’t bite, he’s like a squirrel full of energy. he’s a lot but he means well. i have a feeling you two will become friends.”

you pulled him along with you, not noticing how his eyes wouldn’t leave your hands that were together.

jisung was wondering what was taking you so long, and he was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, trying to listen to your conversation by the door.

he had hear the voices get louder and then, the sounds of footsteps, making him focus again on the whisking.

“jisung, i have someone i’d like you to meet.”

he hummed and looked up, to see a blonde boy with freckles all over his face. the boy had a small smile and waved.

“uh hi, i’m felix. yn said it would be okay if i stayed for breakfast is that alright?”

jisung’s eyes went to felix’s other hand that was still intertwined with yours and nodded.

“uhm sure. we’re making pancakes. do you want to help?”

felix gave you a wary look, and you smiled at him.

“don’t worry i don’t bite, unless you’re pancakes then yeah i do.” jisung said laughing a little at his bad joke.

that made felix laugh and whatever was in the air dissipated.

the rest of the morning went by nicely, jisung and felix trading stories and tag teaming when it came to bad jokes.

while watching jisung teach felix something on his phone, you smiled, grateful they were here with you.

jisung looked up at you, noticing you watching them, taking in how you looked with the light in your eyes bright, before you turned away, bashful that he caught you looking.

felix was engrossed in the phone, but not enough to not notice that you and jisung were having some type of moment. he bit the inside of his cheek lightly, wondering if he should go through what he had planned.

you looked at the time, eyes widening at the fact that it was late and you had told someone you were going to meet before work.

“well this was fun, but you guys need to go i have to run soon! thanks for breakfast, let yourselves out, i’ll be in my room getting ready so don’t worry about the door okay!”

you gave them both a quick hug and ran to your room.

both jisung and felix sat there confused but with the same thought.

she’s so cute.

•••

fourteen- burned your pancakes

previous | masterlist | next

•••

taglist: open! send an ask

a/n: sorry this took me so long i got writer’s block midway and it’s rlly long sorry ahh

•••

taglist! @marsophilia @happy-at-home @dayawantstosleep @90s-belladonna @uwustaytiny @hiy-breadcheeks @itsyaapollochild @skzooo @rindomo @napalmskiez @freckledquokka @bubblegumji @unexceptional-h @ninjaleeknow @hyunnie-bee @jeyyes @skzxexo-vevo @haliwithluvv @astroharry @trials—error

if your name is in bold i cannot tag you!

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cryingcow · 4 years ago

Text

Mine & Daigo - Kirin’s Dream [RGGO]

To celebrate Y3 soon becoming available on the PC, have some RGGO-approved MineDai angst :D This 2-part Event is different from the previous ones I translated, because instead of scratchcard/lottery tickets, the goal is beating Mine up 100 times!

It’s not necessary to understand this, but if you haven’t read it, check out Mine’s Character Story because that’s where they first become drinking buddies :D

(Just look at this weirdly-textured taxi that Mine left Daigo! )

Mine: “I’m giving you all my taxi companies in my will, Daigo-san, because I love you.”

Daigo: “Haha, you mean like family, right? :D ”

Note: “惚れこん” according to the various dictionaries I’ve checked means “fell in love with”, “is charmed by”, “deeply admire”, or “has a strong attachment to”. I went with “enamored” because that seemed like a good blanket word for all that. (Just saying this before someone accuses me of purposely making this shippy XD ). Also, the “hot” that Daigo says is “temperature hot”. I’m leaving it as is because the last time I tried wording it as “burning hot”, it just ended up sounding more suggestive lol

PROLOGUE

|March 2009. A few hours before Kiryu and Mine have their final battle . . .|

Mine: “How soon before we arrive at Toto University Hospital?”

Hakuho Clan Member: “I think we’ll be there in about 15 minutes.”

Mine: “I see.”

{Mine’s phone rings.}

Mine: “Hello, this is Mine.”

Richardson: “It’s me, Richardson. Have you arrived in Tokyo yet?”

Mine: “Yeah, I just came back from Okinawa. I’m heading now to Toto University Hospital where Chairman Dojima is hospitalized, based from your information.”

Richardson: “ O K . Do you know what to do once you get to the hospital?”

Mine: “Of course. I will end Chairman Dojima by my hands. Afterwards, I will take over the development plan of Okinawa as the successor of the Tojo Clan. You can do as you wish.”

Richardson: “Very well. But I worry if you can actually do it.”

Mine: “What?”

Richardson: “You were very fond of Dojima Daigo. More than anyone I’ve ever met. Is it really possible to have a change of heart right before you kill?”

Mine: “. . . A bedridden Dojima Daigo is useless as long as he is alive. I’ll pull the curtain close on him. That’s all there is.”

{The phone call ends.}

Mine: “. . .”

Hakuho Clan Member: “Um, Chairman Mine?”

Mine: “What?”

Hakuho Clan Member: “Do you really want to kill Chairman Dojima?”

Mine: “. . .”

Hakuho Clan Member: “Though you told Richardson otherwise, I’m well aware that you are enamored with Chairman Dojima. Can you really do it once you arrive at the hospital?”

Mine: “You talk too much. Shut up.”

Hakuho Clan Member: “Pardon me . . .”

{The car keeps driving until Mine spots a certain bar outside.}

Mine: “! . . . Oi, park the car.”

Hakuho Clan Member: “Eh? But we’re not at the hospital yet?”

Mine: “It’s fine, stop here.”

{The car stops.}

Mine: “. . . I didn’t think I’d pass here by chance. I’m going out alone for a while. You guys stay in the car.”

Hakuho Clan Member: “Understood.”

----

Bartender: “Welcome . . . what’s this? Isn’t this Mine-san?”

Mine: “It’s been a long time, bartender.”

Bartender: “It’s rare for you to come alone. Usually you’re with Chairman Dojima.”

Mine: “I happened to go past the bar so I stopped by. I wanted a moment to think in a calm place . . .”

Bartender: “Is that so. I heard that the Tojo Clan is having a lot of trouble due to the shooting of Chairman Dojima. So please take your time. Mine-san’s favorite is bourbon, right?”

Mine: “Yeah. Please give me one drink.”

----

Mine: “Phew . . . thank you for the break.”

Bartender: “So, is Daigo-san safe?”

Mine: “. . . No. He still hasn’t regained consciousness after getting shot.”

Bartender: “Is that right. I hope he’ll get well soon so you can drink together again.”

Mine: “. . .”

Mine: “Thank you, bartender. Thanks to the drink, I’m able to calm down. I’ll be taking my leave . . .”

Bartender: “. . . Mine-san. Wait a minute. Can you take a look at this?”

Mine: “What is it? What about that bottle?”

Bartender: “This bottle was previously brought by Chairman Dojima, asking me to store it in the bar.”

Mine: “Chairman Dojima?”

Bartender: “Yeah. When the Chairman brought this liquor, he said this: ‘I got some good liquor, so please store it here so I can drink it with Mine next time.’”

Mine: “!”

Bartender: “That person really thinks of the Tojo Clan as his own family. Even when he comes here to drink alone, that’s all he talks about. Talking with worry or with pride . . . Of course, he talks about you often.”

Mine: “Chairman is . . . what is the Chairman saying about me?”

Bartender: “’Is he being too careful in front of me? Is Mine’s impression of money really okay? I’m just worried. Still, there is no one in the Tojo Clan now as reliable as he is.’ . . . is what I remember him saying.”

Mine: “The Chairman said all that . . .”

Bartender: “Even if he is unconscious now, Chairman Dojima will wake up and be able to come back someday. Mine-san thinks so too, right?”

Mine: “. . . . . . I believe in that person’s return . . . is there a way to wait, I wonder?”

Bartender: “Hm? Did you say something?”

Mine: “. . . No, it’s nothing.”

{Mine’s phone rings.}

Mine: “Hello, this is Mine.”

Richardson: “Richardson. New information about Kiryu Kazuma has been obtained. Apparently he has also learned about Dojima Daigo’s whereabouts. It seems he is heading there from Okinawa now.”

Mine: “! Kiryu is going to Chairman Dojima too . . . Alright. I’ll be at the hospital soon.”

{The phone call ends.}

Bartender: “What happened, Mine-san? You made a scary face . . .”

Mine: “. . . Thank you very much for telling me all this, bartender. It’s time for me to go. I’ll drop by the bar again soon.”

Bartender: “Ah~ I’m sorry, Mine-san. This bar is about to close down.”

Mine: “Really?”

Bartender: “Yes. Sales have been scarce these days, so I’ve been thinking if it was time to withdraw. That’s why I finally served this bottle. I was wondering if you would like to drink it for Chairman Dojima as well.”

Mine: “. . . No. The Chairman prepared that bottle to drink together with me. I can’t drink it alone.”

Bartender: “Is that so. But now there’s a problem. I can’t leave this as it is . . .”

Mine: “. . . Bartender. Regarding that, I have a suggestion.”

Bartender: “A suggestion?”

----

Hakuho Clan Member: “We’ve been waiting for you Chairman. The car is waiting on the street. Please go this way.”

Mine: “Heh. What I did . . . I had a faint little dream.”

Hakuho Clan Member: “Chairman?”

Mine: “It’s nothing. Kiryu is heading to Toto University Hospital. We’ll snuff him out together with Chairman Dojima. . . . Let’s go.”

-END-

EPILOGUE

|A few weeks after the end of the decisive battle between Mine Yoshitaka and Kiryu Kazuma.|

Tojo Clan Member: “Congratulations on your discharge, Chairman Dojima.”

Daigo: “Yeah, thank you.”

Tojo Clan Member: “The car will pick you up by the entrance. Please head there . . .”

----

Daigo: “. . .”

Tojo Clan Member: “What’s wrong, Chairman? Even though you’ve been discharged from the hospital, you’re wearing a heavier look on your face. Are you still feeling ill?”

Daigo: “No . . . I still can’t believe it. That Mine could have caused such an incident . . .”

Tojo Clan Member: “I see, is it about Mine Yoshitaka? The Chairman believed that man to be like family. But he tried to kill the Chairman. . . . An unforgivable traitor, if you ask me.”

Daigo: “The Mine I knew was serious and wise, yet he is a hot man at his core. Why did Mine do such a thing . . . Was the Mine I knew the ‘real Mine’?”

Tojo Clan Member: “Chairman . . .”

Daigo: “I’m sorry. Change your destination.”

Tojo Clan Member: “Eh? But the Tojo Clan Headquarters is preparing to celebrate your discharge . . .”

Daigo: “It’s bad, but I feel like drinking alone now. Head to my usual bar.”

Tojo Clan Member: “Understood. If the Chairman says so . . .”

----

Daigo: “Long time no see, bartender.”

Bartender: “Ah, well if it isn’t Chairman Dojima! Has your body already recovered?”

Daigo: “Yeah, I left the hospital today. So I came here for a drink.”

Bartender: “Is it okay to be discharged from the hospital and drink alcohol so soon?”

Daigo: “The alcohol I drink here is better for my body than the medicine I was drinking at the hospital.”

Bartender: “Heh, alright. Would you like your usual for now?”

Daigo: “Yes, please.”

----

Daigo: “Phew~ . . . the alcohol soaks into my throat after a long time.”

Daigo: “. . .”

Bartender: “Something wrong?”

Daigo: “I was thinking about Mine . . .”

Bartender: “Is that so. I heard he died.”

Daigo: “I was thinking the whole time I was hospitalized. What kind of man was Mine, really . . . I’ve always believed him to be family. But what was I to him . . . I still don’t understand it.”

Bartender: “So that’s what’s troubling you. Chairman Dojima . . . actually, Mine-san had come to this bar by himself before he died.”

Daigo: “What? What did you two talk about?”

Bartender: “We talked a lot. About how you thought of the Tojo Clan as your family . . . We also talked about this bottle that you brought.”

Daigo: “. . . Oh, is that the bottle I asked you to set aside for me to drink with Mine?”

Bartender: “I told you this before, that I’ve been thinking of closing this bar soon due to financial difficulties.”

Daigo: “Yeah.”

Bartender: “But if the bar closes, I can’t keep this bottle in here. That’s why I decided to have Mine-san drink it, and at the time I served him this bottle. However, Mine-san didn’t drink it. ‘The bottle was prepared by the Chairman to drink with me, I cannot drink it alone,’ he said.”

Daigo: “. . . that sounds just like Mine.”

Bartender: “So when I was wondering what to do with this bottle, Mine-san offered a suggestion.”

Daigo: “A suggestion?”

Bartender: “’I’ll buy the bar and help you, so don’t close it down,’ he told me.”

Daigo: “! Why did Mine make such a proposal?”

Bartender: “At the time, Mine also said: ‘This place has my last memories of drinking with Daigo-san . . . so I want to keep it around forever.’”

Daigo: “Mine did that . . . . . . Thank you, bartender. It was nice listening to Mine’s story. So with Mine gone, are you planning to close down the bar after all?”

Bartender: “No, I decided not to close down the bar.”

Daigo: “Eh?”

Bartender: “Mine-san and Daigo-san . . . I thought it would be a bit hard to bear to lose the place of your memories. I’ve found a bank that would loan to me, so I’ll keep it going.”

Daigo: “I see . . . Thank you very much, bartender.”

Bartender: “So, Chairman Dojima. What will happen to the bottle you were supposed to drink with Mine-san? Do I open it here so you can drink it now?”

Daigo: “. . . No, don’t. If Mine didn’t drink it, then leave it as is.”

Bartender: “Understood. Then I’ll put it back on the shelf.”

Daigo: “. . . Really . . . so he was the same one I knew until the end . . .”

Daigo: “. . . You’re a big idiot . . . . . . Mine . . . !!”

-END-

Masterlist

#Mine: 'if only there was a way to wait'#Yeah you could've waited more than 5 days before killing Daigo for one 🙄#rgg online #rggo lore #rggo #rgg #Ryu ga Gotoku #yakuza #Mine Yoshitaka #daigo dojima

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chickawah23 · 3 years ago

Text

Happiness Song Analysis

So I was listening to happiness on my commute home from work as one does. And I had a sharp. SHARP. Connect the dots moment when I heard this line:

“I guess that’s the price I paid for seven years in heaven”

This is a play on words. Has anyone ever played 7 minutes in heaven? If not, it’s a pre-teen party game where you go in the closet with someone for 7 mins and you do whatever you want for 7 mins and everyone expects you to kiss. It’s a weird game when you think about it too hard lol. But anyways yeah Taylor is saying I guess that’s the price I paid for spending 7 years in the closet with someone.

This entire song needs an analysis and this little moment I had inspired me to make one.

Sorry this is going to be a long one.

Before I heard that line I had already been ruminating about this song and why it felt all over the place. It feels like she’s singing to different people and bouncing between feelings.

I am going to break this down by verse, chorus and post-chorus.

First Verse

The first verse sounds like it’s directed at Scott B. She’s reflecting on the fact that she shared everything with this man. Which means he knew how to hurt her the most. Showed you all of my hiding spots so she was an easy prey. And because of this she has no fall back plan. Or the reinvention or reimagining of this story is something she doesn’t want to do.

The chorus and post chorus are her trying to make peace with what once was and then letting it go because it can’t exist. It literally cannot exist because she doesn’t own her past.

She ends the post chorus saying leave it all behind and there is happiness. Like she has to let go of the narrative or love story she was building towards and because she cannot talk about it. She explains this part of the song in her Apple Music Interview with Zane Lowe. She says: I haven’t figured out who I have to become to get over this/You yet.

^^ This is the look in her eye that I imagine when I hear that line.

Second Verse

The questions in the beginning of the second verse feel like Taylor is singing to Karlie from afar. Kind of like the exile “I can see you standing honey with his arms around your body laughing but the joke’s not funny at all.” It feels like watching from a distance and seeing her struggle from afar makes her ask these questions because it pains her to see it.

But then we come out of the questions into an anger that doesn’t really match the pain of those questions. It’s like she turns to anger because of the pain of seeing Karlie hurt. And she directs that anger at Scott B.

And she ends the second verse with You haven’t met the new me yet. And it leads into the chorus which switches the You to me. And she believes there was and will be happiness. This is a different tone than the first chorus. It’s hopeful. And she uses the post-chorus to rephrase the hope.

She says “in our history In our great divide there is a glorious sunrise” (daylight). On the other side of this mess there is daylight.

^^ This is what I picture when I hear “dappled with the flickers of light from the dress I wore at midnight.”

Side note: I also hear New Year’s Day because this party scene from the End Game mv is a New Year’s Eve party. So a glorious sunrise is implying I’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s Day.

Bridge

Ok back to the the Bridge which started this whole post so let’s look at the whole thing.

First a quick recap. So we get the second verse and chorus/post chorus where Taylor is angry. And we know from the beginning of that verse what brings about that anger as well how she resolves that anger by holding on to hope that things will work out in the end. There’s hope in that second verse. She puts hope in the middle of this rage journaling. That is the best way to describe this song.

Then we get to the bridge where she is again resolving what has happened. In fact she takes the blame. She says making Scott the villain in the story doesn’t change anything because I brought this on myself for choosing to stay in the closet for 7 years. She’s saying I created this scenario so it’s on me. The comfort of being in their darkest little paradise, if you will, worked for what they wanted it to be. But now because of what happened (masters sale) that has forced her to rewrite the history of those events. Which leads to her saying she gets “fake niceties.”

This is a definition that feels like it gives her the room to play.

I am choosing the broader definition here because it fits with what she’s already been saying. She gets fake details about their history.

This ending bit of the bridge is really what makes me feel like this is a Scott B song.

This song is a tour de force of teetering between in anger, guilt and working toward acceptance.

Third (Final) Verse

The final verse returns to the beginning because it’s bouncing between these stages of grief and pain. It’s not a linear line. And she returns to anger every time she thinks about who is not by her side atm.

“But now my eyes leak acid rain on the pillow where you used to lay your head.”

Her anger keeps coming back in waves. Then in the next line she feels hopeless. I gave you everything now I have to start from scratch. What do I give after that. How do I trust again? This feels like it’s returning to this idea of reinventing herself but her true self not her personas.

Then she ends with you want me to forgive you but I can’t right now because I’m not there yet. But once I am. Once I reach that glorious sunrise I think I will be able to.

Then to end the song she makes a deliberate choice of using the first chorus and the second post-chorus. And that tells you what she is trying to say.

This choice to end with the first chorus and second post-chorus brings the song together in saying I can accept that happiness existed with scott b and that there will be happiness after. But in order to get there I need to leave everything I worked for behind and create a new me and that sucks. But throughout the song we see that she also understands the role she played in creating this reality.

In conclusion

Happiness is about Scott B. Taylor is singing about trying to make peace with the fact that this decision caused her plans to fall apart. And because she does not own her past she can’t use that story the way she originally intended. The song is a masterclass in processing and grieving and I really do love it.

As always this is just my theory.

And this whole thing ties into the we were happy and circus lyrical Parallel I did awhile back.

#song analysis #happiness

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luvreyn · 3 years ago

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My Manhwa List (2021) Part 6

Hi hi been a while! Hope you’re all okay so now onto the list ~

Your Majesty, Please Spare Me This Time

Source: https://www.tappytoon.com/en/comics/your-majesty

Description:

Following the emperor’s unjust massacre of her family and her own miserable death, Laliette Bellua wakes up to find that she is in the body of her 12-year-old self. She immediately sets her sights on a single goal: suck up to Emperor Rupert Edgar Laspe Vellelum and save her family. Laliette’s plan is foolproof, except for one tiny detail… In her present timeline, the future emperor is still masquerading as a princess named Rapertte! With only a single suitcase and some change in her pocket, she sets out for the capital to become the princess’s closest and most beloved attendant. Can Laliette prove her ability to keep a secret? And more importantly, will she be able to win the favor of the cruel and sadistic Rapertte?

THOUGHTS AND WHY YOU SHOULD READ

- mc is freaking adorable

- plot - 3.5/5

- art - 5/5

- she hates the ML sm omg like she often has thoughts of wanting to kill him and it’s so refreshing?? cause every fl in this type of story are like just scared so I love that she’s so scared but she also wants hurt him

- I know they’re gonna end up together but it’s nice to see her being so adamant and succeeding in hating him despite his sometimes humanity

- shookt at the revelations!!

- the ml... idk what to say about him but let’s hope he’ll freaking redeem himself

- conclusion: an okay read!

The Night When the Crow Caws

Source: https://www.tappytoon.com/en/comics/night-when-crow-caws

Description:

As the hottest actor in the action genre, the handsome and talented Woogang is always being chased by the women around him. But when a mysterious agent on a secret mission breaks into his home, he's the one who falls in love at first sight. Sadly, he has no clue who the beautiful stranger is... until she shows up at his workplace as Detective Park Taeyi to investigate a bomb threat. It turns out that she's no ordinary policewoman, but an elite member of the Secret Intelligence Agency who is after a criminal organization called "The Crows." Fate brings Woogang and Taeyi closer when the actor catches The Crows' attention and needs the agent's protection. Can Woogang break through Taeyi's cool exterior and win her heart as they face off against their dangerous enemies?

THOUGHTS AND WHY YOU SHOULD READ

- ml is kinda annoying tbh or idk maybe it’s just me

- badass female!!

- art = 4/5

- plot = ?/5 ‘cause I forgot lol

- I love the premise!!

- love at first sight? check!

- m y s t e r y

- action!!

- conclusion: an okay read

Saving the Villain from the Heroine

Description:

Sielle is an ordinary handmaid working for the Grand Duke Ferzei Yekarte. The thing is... she knows he's a villain of a story she read in her previous life on Earth. With her prescience, she managed to foil an assassination attempt on her master, only to be framed for the crime! Worse yet, when she drank the poisoned wine to prove her innocence, she turns into a little girl... And now the Grand Duke wants to ship her off to a notorious family of assassins? Will she manage to survive through all this, even if she knows how it will all end?

THOUGHTS AND WHY YOU SHOULD READ

- cute cute cute

- plot = 3.5/5

- art = 3/5

- the art is okay but the deadpan expressions ruins the story like it’s so fake

- the ml is prob one of the most extra ml ever lmao

- found fam!!

- an okay and cute read

Answer Me, My Prince

Description:

Cordelia Grey, a 22-year-old novice editor with many aspirations visited an antique shop to receive the manuscript for the sequel to the fairy tale novel, "The Princess and the Knight." But she ends up exchanging letters with Prince Archie, a character from the fairy tale, using a book chest she obtained through a twist of fate. To Cordelia, holding a conversation with a novel protagonist is like something that only happens in fantasies. To Prince Archie, Cordelia's advice is desperately needed, since she knows the future of the his world. The two continue sending letters to each other, not realizing how the summer nights are slipping by...

THOUGHTS AND WHY YOU SHOULD READ

- omg I'm so shookt

- the plot is = 5/5 chefs kiss!

- art = 4/5

- it’s so interesting and I'm pleasantly surprise when I read it!!

- ml is so smooth

- a lot of mystery and magic

- making its way to my fav list!

I Met the Male Lead in Prison

Description:

I met the male lead in prison.

Okay. I get that I transmigrated into an R-19 tragic romantic novel, but why is he like this?

“Arf! Arf! Arf! Grrrrrr…”

I can’t believe this guy is held by a curse that makes him act like a beast… And that’s not the end of it, because he then returns to normal for a moment.

“I-i-if you aren’t g-going to take responsibility for what you did to me, th-th-then don’t t-touch me!”

At any rate, I felt relieved that I probably wouldn’t have any sort of romantic interactions with this guy.

A year later…

“Th-th-the day I leave this place, please…m-meet up with me!”

Well, it wouldn’t be a big deal to meet him once. But then, when I was released from prison…

***

“Welcome back. My lovely younger sister.”

The day of my release, a man approached me. It turns out, I’m the villain’s sister.

“You must have suffered going to prison in my stead. I waited only for you.”

…F*ck. My brother is the male lead’s sworn enemy?

***

3 years later, I met the male lead again. He looked totally different than when I last saw him.

“It’s been a while, Iyana. I’m going to kidnap you now.”

THOUGHTS AND WHY YOU SHOULD READ

- I've been waiting for this since forever!!

- art = 6/5

- plot = 4/5

- ADORKABLE!!

- she’s so cool!!

- the ml is so cute and I just want to pet him!

- 2nd ml (?) is so whipped I cannot lol

- the bro is the most interesting ‘cause I don't know him yet but he hot!!

- conclusion: a new fav!

#I Met the Male Lead in Prison #Answer Me My Prince #reynlist #manhwa #Saving the Villain from the Heroine #Night Crying Crow #Your Majesty Please Spare Me This Time #reyn.manhwarecs #manhwa recommenation

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hughiecampbelle · 4 years ago

Text

Instinct (Bucky Barnes Oneshot)

((TFATWS SPOILERS))

Character/s: Bucky

Word Count: 1,110

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @megnotfound @ladyeliot @locke-writes @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @randomfandomimagine @amirahiddleston @diana-westmoon @valkyrie-2312

A/N: I haven't written in over a month and I'm scared it shows 💔 I'm really unsure with writing lately, I thought about not posting this, but I feel like I owe it big time. This was supposed to be something different, but I can't say I hate the direction it took. There aren't any major spoilers, it just follows the general plot, but I figured better to be safe than sorry. I hope you like it, and that I'm not too "out of the game" or bad at this lol. Feedback is always appreciated.Thank you for being so patient with my break my loves, it means the world 💜💖💜

Summary: He wants to move on, you don't 💕

Gif Credit: @captain-james / link :)

FIC MASTERLISTS 1 -> 3 / WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

There is a static between you. One that is ruthless, hostile, sharp. It makes your gums bleed to describe it, tasting nothing but iron, bitterness, a resentment that is otherwise untouchable by any other creature. A hatred towards the mirror, towards your own skin and bone, your entire fucking existence. Catching his eyes, even for a second, is staring into the sun. Blinding. Aggressive. Burning, until every inch of you is set aflame, itching to turn and run, to tear apart, to scream. Scream until there is nothing of you left. A reminder of what was, what is, and what will never be. What neither of you can go back to, as fitting as the mold may seem, as secure as that title may be, as comforting as that role used to be, he refuses, and you follow along. Bury the body, he thinks that will make him someone new, someone worth everyone else's time. Do not flinch when they say your name, when they whisper every awful thing you did, when they tease you, leaving the door open, enough so for the light to peak through. An escape plan, you think. You hope. A way back to the life before, where your mind was someone else's, when the world was cruel and you were allowed to be cruel back. He does not see it that way, slamming that door shut, locking it from the outside, and swallowing the key.

One word, an invitation, that's all you need. The risk is great, but the urge is greater. Split yourself open. Self destruct. Skip the steps, skip what they insist is healing when all they do is rip open old wounds. Skip the apologies, the sob story, the introduction. The look in their eyes never flinches, no matter how many times you beg. Why bother? Return to what they wanted, needed, feel a certain belonging you could never get back walking into the civilian world.

Your footprints made of blood, a sticky red trail left wherever you go. That's what they see, and they don't bother hiding it. The disgust. The references you don't understand, too old to laugh, to sigh, to roll your eyes. The world moved on without you, spinning faster than you remember, and you are left to catch up. They have their lists, their paper and pencil, all the recommendations one could offer. It would be endearing, maybe, but you have nothing to offer. None of the energy to play catch up. None of the want. Time slips through your fingers, wasted, growing spoiled, mocking you. You have better things to do than watch a movie, more important things, things that filled you with purpose, no matter how sick.

You would have been disgusted. Horrified. Speechless. You would have hated yourself more than you already do. But you are older now, far more experienced, hardened by a life you never could have expected. Learned to want it, though. An animal secured by captivity does not know how to survive in the wild. You were never equipped to live like this: free. The knives, the guns, the special ways in which you read even the smallest of actions, turning people into pages, an open book for you to skim, before placing back on the shelf.

You adapted, grew to fit what they wanted, who they wanted, until you too loved what you were. Dangerous, powerful, unfeeling. The numb became a high to chase, unsatisfied by anything else. Where he mirrored a version of yourself you left in the past, you embraced this role. The damage was done. The bodies put to rest. None of which you could take back, nor make up for. He sought redemption. You wouldn't dare. It wasn't by your choice, that much you could admit, but you could feel it, from the fits bullet to the last, you were never meant to be anything else. As gruesome as you had been, uncaring, quick, but painful, you would be nothing else. Assassin. Killer. Murderer.

They say it like it's a bad thing.

The guilt eats you alive, chews you up and spits you out, shattering your very being as you wake, each night, from another nightmare. The aggression, the shame, all of it you share as fairly as you can, and yet, you wear it so differently, making you more distinct than you could ever explain. The only other person in the world who has seen you at your lowest, your highest, faced what you have, seen what you've seen, and you can't stand to look at him. Not for the wounds he sewed up, his eyes falling on your broken body, nor is the sobs, the pleas, the prayers he heard escape you in moments of desperation. Not because he knows the way you scream, your body used for their own gain, enveloped in a pain only the Devil can inflict, or because he has seen you shoot without a second of hesitation, moving forward before their body hits the ground. None of it, not even the things you care not to mention, to think about, nit even now. It's that he has become resistant, soft even.

He fights a fight he knows he cannot win. He draws the line between good and bad, hero and villain, as if there even is one, as if they are not the same in moments of desperation, of selfishness, or of great selflessness. That he thinks he can stop being what they made him, resisting the instincts they worked so hard to ingrain. You feel it, too. Turning off everything around you, picking apart the situation before it plays out. Footsteps, whispers, how many there are, where, how quickly they can get to you. A dance you know each step to, the two of you in sync. This time, no leader, no follower, but two soldiers taking orders. Without them, he thinks himself above who he used to be, who you used to be, what you were, but you know better.

You want nothing more than to slip back into old habits. That look, that stare, the wince he hides when they bring up his crimes, he wants the same. Step back, fall into old ways, let go until there is no one left to scorn you for what they put into your head.

Where they see Bucky, a man escaped, in remorse, righting his wrongs, you see The Winter Soldier, a friend, a weapon, an old accomplice. One of them, you respect, trusting with your life. The other, nothing more than a facade, a mask, a weakness, an act even he has tricked himself into believing.

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mhdiaries · 4 years ago

Photo

SDCC 2015 Kieran Valentine Diary

May 1st

When I left Monster High after Draculaura’s Sweet 1,600 birthday party, I was angry, humiliated and stinky from falling into that pit of eternal body odor. I stank so bad, Mom wouldn’t even let me in the house: I had to sleep in the guest room above the garage. Looking back, I can see it was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. Even my considerable powers to charm were no match for the power of the stench that surrounded me. My powers slowly weakened as I was deprived of what sustained them: the love I selfishly took from others. I was in a stench-induced imprisonment - rarely leaving the garage - but it allowed me time to do some serious thinking, and I realized I wasn’t being true to myself. Then one day there was a knock at my door, and I opened it to see a little old goblin woman with a cane staring up at me through thick glasses. “I’m Mrs. Goblin, but you can call me “Mrs. Goblin.” I’m a friend of your mother’s.” She said, “you need to get out of that room, and I need some help, so let’s go.” She turned and walked off, and, with nothing left to lose, I followed. It turned out that she ran an unwanted-creature shelter and couldn’t keep up with all the cleaning, feeding and daily upkeep. It also turned out that she had no sense of smell. “Lost it back in ‘72,” she told me. Mrs. G. ran me through the daily routines and gave me the tour. “You can start today,” she said as she handed me a mop and a bucket. It’s hard to believe I agreed, but I didn’t have any other options. The shelter was home to an unusual collection of exotic creatures: gremlins, flying monkeys, lap dragons, miniature manticores, and many others that had been picked up as strays or turned in by monsters who didn’t want them. Even though the work was hard, and not always pleasant, I began to look forward to it. In fact, I usually felt more energized after I finished a day than when I started. I felt my powers returning and every day I got stronger. Eventually, I mentioned it to Mrs. Goblin who snickered, “You emotional vampires never get it - stolen love is just empty calories. I’ll never sustain you for long.” She could tell I still didn’t get it. “Love that’s freely given is the most powerful source of energy in the monster universe. You’ve been coming here every day, taking care of these critters, showing them kindness, and the only thing they have to give you is their love - and believe me, they have a lot to give.” I couldn’t believe what she was telling me. I must have been standing there looking stupid because she said, “Close your mouth before the the flies get in and go clean the flying monkey cage. They’ve been throwing stuff again.” I was in a daze. Why had no one ever explained this to me? Rather than dwelling on it, I was just happy I finally knew.

May 3rd

I now know that I did it - stealing love - because I thought that’s want an emotional vampire was supposed to do. But it never felt quite right. I thought if I kept doing it, it would eventually feel right. But it only made me angry and frustrated. Then when Draculaura called me - well, Toralei, really - I thought that if I could get the heart that got away, it would change me and everything would be fine. But I was just a real pain in the fang to everyone and made a fool of myself. So I’ve come to a conclusion: being myself has to be easier than not being myself, right? Back then, I hated the thought of who I really was, and that conflict made me become someone who wasn’t me. It’s time to be true to myself, but it’s scary.

July 1st

Today was my one-year anniversary at the shelter. As I left the garage, I ran into Mom. She sniffed. “You don’t stink anymore.” It was true - the stench was gone. I gave Mom a hug and told her it must be due to what I’d learned from working for Mrs. Goblin. I thanked Mom for telling her I needed help. Mom looked at me strangely, “What are you going on about? I don’t know a Mrs. Goblin.” What? I ran to the shelter but when I got there it was boarded up and empty. How could this be? I crawled through a broken out window. A thick layer of dust covered everything and it looked like no one had been there in years. Then I noticed a piece of paper on the table where Mrs. G. used to sit and drink her tea. It was a not addressed to me:

There’s nothing more I can teach you. The rest will come when you put what you’ve learned into practice. Know that you are loved for what, and who you are.

Sincerely,

“Mrs. Goblin”

P.S. Do the right thing or I’ll come back and make you clean out flying monkey cages again.

July 2nd

I decided that I would try and “do the right thing” by heading back to MH to try and make up for my mistakes. I thought if I hid in the shadows and helped the couples of MH, you know be a Cupid to what was my destruction of love, I could make a difference and they would see that I was a changed monster. Well, my intentions were good, but things did not go as I had planned. I kinda, no, did, mess things up. Luckily, it all seemed to work out in the end, I guess, just not as I had hoped. I don’t think any of Draculaura and her friends will ever really trust me. And while I hope one day they can see I have changed, I know it will take time, too. I guess I can’t expect them to just forgive me right away. I will say one good thing hopefully came out of it. While attempting to hide in the shadows I bumped into a student I didn’t recognize. He said his name was Spelldon Cauldronello, he had only been at MH a couple weeks as he had been traveling with his older sister. Meeting him totally made me space and forget to send a text that was supposed to help Clawd. He asked if I went to MH and I said I was just visiting, but I would love to go to MH one day if I can. He said he’d keep me up on the groanings on around the halls if I wanted, so I gave him my number. At least the trip wasn’t a total stake. I do wish I could figure out how to make it up to Draculaura and her friends though. I know now that real friends help each other with their problems, not try to solve them for them.

July 7th

I was tempted to stay in my room today and treat myself to a monstrous blue funk, but, instead, I walked aimlessly outside until I found myself sitting on the beach watching the sun go down. That’s when I noticed something unusual partially buried in the sand. I pulled it out and die-scovered it was an ornate lantern caked with seaweed. I brushed it off... and got the shock of my unlife! The lantern began vibrating and glowing, like I had awakened something inside and it was not trying to get out. I dropped it like it was hot and fell back as smoke swirled up and out of this thing. When the smoke cleared away there was a ghoul floating above me. “I am the djinni of the lantern. What is your wish?”

July 10th

The djinni’s name is Whisp and we have something in common: the direction of our unlives changed because of Monster High. We shared our stories and struggles; neither of us has made the beast decisions, but we both want to be better monsters. We talked so much that Whisp had to remind me I had three wishes. I asked her I should wish for and she said, “I cannot tell you what to wish for, nor can I tell you what not to wish for, but I can say be scareful what you wish for.” I laughed and told her that sounded ominous. She didn’t see the humor in her statement. “Wishes are tricky things,” she replied, “They often have a mind of their own and don’t always come true in the way you expected.” I thought for a moment, and wish I could go back to Monster High and fix the things I had broken. Whisp rose into the air, her eyes glowing, and said, “As you wish.” Instantly, I was back at Draculaura’s Sweet 1600 party, only I was dressed like a repairman - tool belt and all. Headless Headmistress Bloodgood stood in front of me with her hands on her hips. “You need to repair the barrier around the pit of eternal body odor before another monster falls into it!” This wasn’t what I meant by “fixing what I had broken,” and there was no way I was getting close to that pit again. That’s when the other students saw me. A very large minotaur pointed his finger at me, “There he is again! Throw him back into the pit!” I wished myself out of MH and back in my room just in time to avoid another dunking. Two wishes down, one to go.

July 12th

Whisp has been very apologetic but she needn’t be. I wished for something so general that it could have been granted in numerous ways. What I really wanted was a chance to do something unselfish for the monsters I hurt - to give and not take. When I started working for Mrs. G., there were times I wished what someone else would do the dirty work so I could just play with the creatures. Now I know I just wished it to be easy. Whenever I was in the middle of something particularly loathsome, Mrs. G. would cackle, “Sometimes work stinks, doesn’t it?” The first few times she said it, I wanted to drop everything and go home. But I stuck it out, and, although I still have a long way to go, I’m a better monster for it. Unlife is a lot of work and I guess some problems aren’t meant to be solved by wishing them so. Speaking of wishes, I need to think of something non-ambiguous for the last one...

August 1st

I summoned Whisp today to grant my final wish. I admit I put it off because I was being selfish. I’ve never had a friend like her, and once my last wish is granted, the lantern will move on and I will probably never see her again. I considered freeing her from the lantern, but I don’t think she wants that: she loves being a djinni, appearing in new places and granting wishes. But I know she gets lonely at times, so this was my wish: “Whisp, I wish we could always be friends.” Whisp rose up, her eyes glowing: “As you wish!” I could see her smiling as she turned to smoke and returned to the lantern, which shot up and disappeared. I thought for a second that my wish wasn’t granted, but then my iCoffin lit up and I noticed a new app icon that looked like a little mirror. I tapped it and there was Whisp! Now, not matter where in the monster universe she is, we can talk to each other! “Yes, Mother, I’m talking to myself down here.”

#monster high #monster high diary #kieran valentine #sdcc 2015

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