#the center and circumference

[pynkhues]

Hi! I know you’re taking a break from GG at the time, but I was re-reading See You in the Light and was wondering if Rio eventually finds out that Beth’s only family is all of Annie and Ruby? If so—could you share a tidbit from when he does? I’m really curious as to how it all goes down in his head! Thank you!

Hi! Thank you both for your very kind words! C&C is absolutely a fic that has a very special place in my heart, and I definitely put a lot of thought into Beth concealing her limited family and Rio's discovery of it in that 'verse. I think for me one of the things I love most about them as a ship is how reluctant they were to give over any information to each other (you just know that they'd hide their coffee orders from each other), and I love exploring the root of that in 'verse as a trauma response which I definitely think the show was implying.

But yes! Have the scene! Since I'm not sure when (if ever) I'll finish this fic. I wrote this a long time ago and have given it a little tidy, but it's mostly a pretty messy wip-y excerpt, so please keep that in mind, and I hope you like it. <3

-

“You talked to Annie about it?” Elizabeth asks, voice thick with disbelief, and nah, she doesn’t get to play it like that. Doesn’t get to pretend he’s the one who’s stepped outta line when she’s spent the last two weeks spinning the truth around her finger like she used to her old wedding ring. He gets to be mad here. Gets to feel it – that he’s the one laying his cards on the table while she keeps hers flush to her fuckin’ chest.

It frustrates a laugh out of him, and the sound is coarse even to his own ears, and the thing is, he doesn’t even blame her for rolling her eyes, even though it prods at the embers of his temper. He rocks his jaw, lets his gaze drift sideways to the pile of boxes lining the side of their bedroom because they ain’t even unpacked upstairs yet, at least not outside of the kids’ rooms, and he doesn’t like it. Any of it, but least of all the fact that he’s dressed for her, in some soft cotton button down his sister got him, while Elizabeth’s dressed as she always is, fuck, might even be in the same purple dress she was in three years ago, and he’s only just starting to realise that maybe everything about her is a type of armor.

Downstairs, he can hear his sister hoot and the call of steaks up from Elizabeth’s dipshit ex-husband, can hear the start-stop-start of a playlist no one can agree on, and Marcus’ giggle, loud, always, and perfect, and he looks back at Elizabeth, two feet away, and he just thinks - - who the fuck is she.

He sniffs.

“Yeah, see, I figure this whole thing was about family, right? You gettin’ to meet mine, me gettin’ to meet yours, and since your sister’s the only one fuckin’ here - - ”

“She’s not the only one here, Ruby and Stan are here, and all the kids, and Judith, and - - and - - ”

Rio sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“Oh, I’m supposed to feel good about your ex and his mama bein’ here?”

It’s instant then – the way Elizabeth’s look hardens. Her shoulders back and her jaw set, and it ain’t right, how much that look on her face sparks deep in him.

“Your ex is here too, and I haven’t said a thing about that. She’s Marcus’ mother, just like Dean is my children’s father, this whole thing is about - - about blending and - - “

“She didn’t bring her mom, darlin’’.”

“Well, she could’ve,” Elizabeth bites, and she takes a step back, rounding the bed, grabbing at the first box she sees and yanking off the tape. The sound’s loud, ugly, and he knows it, feels it, the need to have somethin’ to do with your useless fuckin’ hands. “I wouldn’t care if she did. And for the record, I’ve known Judith for 30 years, and you know how much she’s helped the last few weeks.”

Thing is, she has. Judith’s been on call more than his own ma’s been, more than Dean has, and it eats at him, that Marcus likes her, that she’s made the fuckin’ effort there, but still doesn’t quite know how to string two words together when it comes to Rio, and it sits in him that Elizabeth calls her, she doesn’t call his mom, and she doesn’t call - -

Rio sucks in a wet breath, watching as Elizabeth unpacks a box of ugly bubblewrapped ornaments onto their bed, and fuck it he thinks.

He just says it.  

“Yeah, coz your parents ain’t here, and you ain’t in it.”

He’s not sure what reaction he’s expecting, but it’s not for Elizabeth to reel back, her face bare naked with shock, and she blinks. Once, twice, three times, before she abandons the box in front of her and throws her arms out broad.

“What? We just bought a house together. We’re moving our children to the same school.”

“Yeah, and everyone here’s mine. My family, my friends, shit, the men in my fuckin’ employ - - ”

“Oh, what? You wanted me to invite Molly from PTA? You want her talking to Mick about getting wine drunk watching episodes of Vanderpump while Mick’s got a glock in the back of his pants? And these guys are in our employ now, just for the record, okay?”

And fuck, if this whole thing hasn’t completely derailed. Rio clenches his eyes shut, pinches the bridge of his nose, paces, briefly, in their whole ass brand new fuckin’ bedroom, and this wasn’t supposed to be what happened here. This shit was supposed to just be them, real, but Elizabeth’s never known when to drop the knife.

“Elizabeth,” he says slowly, too patiently, if the way she looks at him is anything to go by, and he asks the question he’s wanted to all night: “Where’s your family?”

She just exhales, exhausted, gestures, vaguely, towards downstairs.

“They’re here.”

He huffs, shaking his head, feels his face clench, and something in his chest tighten, and this ain’t right, it ain’t workin’, because they talked about this, and she doesn’t just get to give him the parts of her he already knows like they’re a step forward. Doesn’t get to play that this honesty, this vulnerability is his to give and hers to take, doesn’t get to - -

“My mom’s dead, if that’s what’s got your panties in a twist.”

Rio blinks, lifting his head, staring at her sullen look back at him. She swallows, shrugs, and shit, he just stares at her.

“And my dad left, like, a million years before that. This is it. I’m not,” she gestures limply. “I’m not. Hiding anything…Like there’s nothing to hide because there’s nothing else. This is it. For me. Annie, Ruby, the kids…you met my whole family a long time ago.”

He stares at her, searches for the lie, but there’s not one. It’s just Elizabeth, her eyes glassy but her chin jut forwards, defiant, and somewhere outside a car pulls up and he hears Annie yell Greggles! Nance! And it’s just all so fuckin’ stupid. He swallows, thick.

“You didn’t say it, when we were talkin’ about all of this.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a kid until you brought him to the park one day.”

“Circumstances,” Rio hums, and Elizabeth gives him a look.

“Circumstances,” she says, gesturing to the house, and Rio thinks the context ain’t it, but shit, with the two of them, maybe it is.  

[infinitesofnought]

Two tasks set at the beginning of life: limiting your circle more and more, and constantly scrutinizing whether you haven't gone into hiding somewhere outside your circle.

– Franz Kafka, The Zürau Aphorisms

[mesetacadre]

one of the most infuriating parts about yanks their country is like 50 different countries is, apart from overestimating the remarkability of a federal system of territorial administration, that the lines along which those mini "countries" are drawn are not drawn following any form of cultural similarity and dissimilarity between peoples, they're drawn in spite of it. This is most obvious with straight borders, but behind every single state border, straight or not, is a history of a gradual theft of land from indigenous people, and afterwards a series of petty disputes between state governments to get more productive land.

Take the dispute between Ohio and Michigan over the Toledo strip. It was not a conflict of nations, it was squabbling over who controlled the most economically important city in that area taking advantage of a border treaty that used the wrong latitude of the southernmost tip of Lake Michigan. The northern border of Delaware is literally a circumference drawn with a church as its center. Perhaps the only change in US state borders born of an actual cultural difference was the West Virginia split over slavery. Either way, whichever perceived cultural differences exist between states, they originated barely over a hundred years ago, after most of those borders were drawn. All of these miniscule differences which are exaggerated into constituting different nations were the product of the artifical borders themselves, themselves a part of the process of genocide and settler-colonialism. If the square that is Colorado had been drawn 10 kilometers to the west and 1 km to the north respective to where it is in reality, there would not have been any depatriated coloradoans. There would have been slightly more Kansanians and slightly less Coloradoans.

Acknowledging that all of those truly miniscule differences relative to actual differences between actually different cultures elsewhere in the world are recent, artificial and the product of a genocide is a necessity for any USamerican who wants to ever do something productive, just like recognizing the ways racism was institutionalized and ingrained into the country even before its founding is necessary to combat racism now. Acting cutesy about how actually Kansas and Missouri are as different as France and England is not a way to do this. Nationalism for your state or your closest national park is as insidious and reactionary as nationalism for "America".

[s6daz]

Hi hi! I love you’re writings💗

Can I request for g!p soft Sevika with breeding kink please? Maybe Sevika is bottom and reader just ride her and tease with idea to cum inside…

Thank you🫶🏻

♰ sevika x f!reader ִ ݁ ˖ ◜

cw: g!p sevika, sevika bottom (if u squint too much), breeding kink, teasing (from the reader), reader dominating the situation (?, porn without plot

note: i honestly don't remember much of what i wrote here but i saw it was for this request in my notes so... i hope it's what u asked for

they were a chaos of soft moans and groans. wet kisses, saliva spreading from the corner of their lips that almost reached their necks and gasps for air. your hands were firm in her hair as you moved your hips torturously over her clothing covered bulge, her hands gripping your hips, occasionally releasing moans into your mouth desperate for you.

you broke away from the hot kiss for a moment and gently licked her lower lip, sucking it softly before letting your teeth sink into the flesh of her dark lips: listening to the grunt and gasp that sevika let out, you felt how all the heat began to rise through your body.

"did you like that, love?" you teased with a tempting smile, subtly watching sevika reaction, who let out a heavy sigh before looking back at you.

"yes, i love it doll" she pronounced quickly no matter how begging she looked in front of you. "mhh should we level up?" you responded as your hands went down to the hem of her pants playing with them.

she simply nodded as if all her words had been swallowed, she leaned her head back to rest on the pillow, letting out soft sighs.

when you saw that sevika gave you permission, you moved a little to be able to take off her pants more easily. you grabbed the hem of them along with her boxers and slowly lowered them. your eyes widened with pleasure when you saw how sevika cock finally came out from her cage, the erect cock jumped against her stomach but you continued lowering the fabric down her toned thighs until you reached her knees.

"you look so pretty like this" you said looking at how sevika was breathing unevenly while her eyes were closed and you could notice the slight sweat running down her forehead, you laughed just thinking about how desperate she could be right now.

not hearing any words, you looked down at her penis, you could see that there were already droplets of precum near her tip. you smile when you see what you could provoke in sevika and slowly wrap the phallus in your hand, giving gentle movements up and down.

"does it feel good?" you ask, watching as sevika began to cling to the sheets, she simply moaned and nodded. “good girl…” you praise.

your hand continued making the movements from up to down, watching as her cock became increasingly wetter from the precum, your thumb went to her head, caressing it gently, causing sevika to shudder.

"did you just shiver, vika?" you muttered with some sarcasm, hearing her groan at your comment, clearly annoyed.

you had her at your mercy and that only makes you hornier, you don't want her to cum in your hand so you put her penis aside feeling how she was complaining when she no longer felt your heat on her circumference, slowly you moved to being able to take off your shorts easier.

you threw them to the side and since you didn't have panties you focused on sevika, trying to position yourself to feel how your skin was sticking to hers. you moved your hips, rubbing from one side to the other only on her tip and this only made sevika desperate further.

"damn it princess, put it in now" she speaks impatiently as she takes a look at you, you stopped the games since equal deep down you were desperate and you began to align her cock to your needy entrance watching those anxious eyes that watched all your movements while her stiff cock collided inside your wet center, making its way between your tight walls. you saw how she rolled her eyes and let out a subtle moan as she felt everything all your insides in her circumference.

her hands moved to your hips, squeezing them tightly. her reaction was so exquisite that you raised your hips and fell back down only to hear her cute moan again.

the intensity of the moment fueled your need to dominate her and explore every inch of her body, you leaned closer to her; "does it feel good?" you asked, knowing full well that she couldn't answer because of her euphoria.

you clung to her shoulders and began to push your hips, riding her so exquisitely that sevika would occasionally let out moans louder than normal, you weren't far behind either, the rhythm of your hips made you feel a thousand things; feeling sevika cock inside you touching all those exact points that led you to lose your sanity made you delirious.

"i-it feels so good vika" you gasp for air to fill your lungs suffocated by pleasure.

in her first attempt to control the situation, she began to push her hips in rhythm with yours, making your back hunch and you felt slight tears begin to threaten to come out.

"fuck..." she managed to formulate letting out a sigh, in response you squeezed your pussy around she making her let out a grunt. the intensity of the moment began to be noticed when the splash began to intensify and you could feel how sevika was throbbing inside you.

"so fucking perfect" she gasped as her flesh hand went down to your ass giving it a squeeze, you smiled when you the heard and leaned in to whisper to she; "do you want to cum inside?"

you could see how her eyes darkened just by mentioning being able to end up inside: since you never allowed her to. "get me pregnant, i'm sure you want it" you whispered, provoking her even more. "would you give me your cum, love?"

something clicked in sevika and her hands quickly grabbed onto your body, starting to thrust harder into you with a very great urgency. you grabbed onto her back, scratching the in her wake. the sound of skin against skin filled the room and you let out all the noises and complaints that you couldn't before.

"damn it... i'll leave my son inside you" she let out between gasps before feeling her climax approaching. jets of her semen filled your insides and uterus, making you collapse in her arms. for a few minutes, the only thing that could be heard in the room were her agitated breathing in search of air. they enjoyed the silence until you felt sane enough to to be able to move and want to take her cock out of you, if it weren't for the quick movement that sevika made you fall back into her chest.

"this is far from over, darling, i will fill you until i am sure you have my son."

[bratbby333]

it's just a game, my love

gamer!bf sukuna x fem!reader ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ nsfw mdni warnings: language (duh), rough sex, mild degradation, creampie, established relationship, sukuna is his own warning summary: sukuna can't stand losing, so he takes his anger out on you in the best way possible author notes: this my first request, courtesy of @youliveincassisworld !! i hope u love it, thank u so so much for sending this in. this was so fun to write. my reqs are open! send a message here♡

“No FUCKING way!” You jump at the deep, booming voice that resonates through your apartment. You sit upright, hoping to hear more.

“You’re trash. Scum of the earth.” 

You peel yourself off the sofa and walk down the hall, pausing in the doorway of your boyfriend’s office. 

“Stupid bitch.” He spews out. You see him leaned forward, headset adorning his unruly pink locks. The rapid clicking of buttons and the soft sounds of gunfire that escape the padded circumference of his headphones let you know he was playing Call of Duty. This game always gets him so worked up. You don’t understand how it’s still enjoyable at this point.

You watch from the doorway, his body mimicking the movements he’s making in the game. An amused smile dances across your face. He’s so cute when he’s focused. 

“Fuck!” He shouts, throwing his controller down and sitting back abruptly in his chair. He’s enraged. You walk up behind him, placing your hand on his shoulder. 

Placed 5th displays across his screen. 

“Sukuna, baby, you alright?,” you ask, rubbing your fingers into his shoulder blade.

“Does it sound like I’m fuckin’ alright?” he bites back at you, rubbing his fingers between his eyebrows. You don’t take his anger personally.

“It’s just a game, my love. Why not take a break and try again later,” you suggest, attempting to calm him down. 

“It’s just so fucking stupid,” he seethes, his eyes covered by his large hand. 

He finally meets your gaze. You expect to see anger plastered across his face. Your heart drops when you’re met with a different, unexpected look; arousal. 

A coy smile spreads across his face.

“Bedroom. Now.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Laid on your back, Sukuna smirks down at you. Positioned in the center of the mattress, knees pressed against your chest, ankles on either side of Sukuna’s neck; the mating press. Deep, powerful strokes cause your head to bounce around. The pressure of your legs against your ribcage makes it hard to breathe. 

Sukuna’s lustful red eyes gaze deeply into yours. “C’mon, brat. Give me your cum.” His large, firm hands dig into the backs of your thighs, pushing you deeper into the bed, his cock reaching unimaginable depths. You can’t help but cry out for him. 

“I-I don’t think-ahhh-I can c-cum again, Kuna,” you stutter out, overstimulation raking through your body, hands pushing against his stomach. 

“Do you think I care? Move your fucking hands.”

Frustration is still painted across Sukuna’s face as he plows into your pretty pussy. He’s taking all his rage toward the game out on you, and you couldn’t be happier. His strokes are mean and demanding, eliciting such crude noises to fall from your lips. 

“You better take that shit…let me fuckin’ break you.” His thrusts are unrelenting, the head of his cock bullying your g-spot. 

You can barely keep your eyes open, undeniably falling apart on his cock. He feels you tightening around him, and he grins back at you.

“Let it go. C’mon.” he rasps, his hand grabbing your throat tightly. 

“Mmmph, Su-Sukuna…I-I…” you gasp out. You can’t form a coherent sentence, his rough hand constricting your windpipe. Your wide eyes stared into his as if you were pleading with him to give you a break.

“Shut the fuck up. You better cum for me. Now. Make a fuckin’ mess on my cock.” His coarse, demanding voice was all you needed to lose it. Your eyes roll back, body shaking violently. Sukuna growls at how tight you’re gripping him, the warm squirt of your release painting his abdomen. 

“That’s it…I knew you had another one in you. Such a good girl for me” he groaned out, hand still tight around your throat. He shifts his position, sitting back on his knees, one arm straightened out and pressing your folded leg against your chest, the other holding your extended leg flush to his chest, your ankle resting against his neck.

“Takin’ me so fucking good…want me to fill ‘ya up?” he cocks an eyebrow at you, seemingly amused at your fucked out expression. 

“Mhmm,” you hum out, eyes low and head foggy.

“That’s not how you ask. Beg for it, brat.” he bites back at you, still stroking deeply. 

“P-please…Sukuna.  Please fill me with your c-cum.” You gasp out. He fucks into you, his strokes never losing momentum. He repositions again, leaning back over you, pushing both your legs back into your chest with his hands. He bottoms out inside of you, thick ropes of his cum painting your walls. He stills, his cock twitching as he empties himself completely. He remains deep within you, his pelvis pressed firmly against your aching core, ensuring you take every drop of him as you both struggle to regain your breath. 

“Sucha good fucking girl for me, baby,” he says, voice softer now, his hand cupping the side of your face, the rough pads of his fingers dragging down your cheek. He pulls out and lays beside you, his hands rubbing your stomach, as if he was massaging his cum deeper into you. 

"You feelin' better, my love?" you ask lazily, eyes low and breath labored, shifting your body toward him and propping yourself up on your elbow.

"No," he replies simply, "I think I need another round." His eyes follow the curves of your body hungrily.

As much as he hates losing, you can't help but love it.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

author notes: have a request? drop it here♡ thank you all so much for the support on my stories,,i appreciate it more than you know.

more gamer!bf sukuna here and here

© bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not distribute. 2024.

[blood-smiles]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 ᡣ𐭩₊⋆

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 TW MDNI Fake religion . angel being creepy . profanity and small blurbs of NSFW . M!preg to some degree?

Eyes, many eyes, all watched you silently, feathers fell around you in a circle, the beautiful fluffy bird like wings curled around your form, a gorgeous man stood in front of you, eyes alike to those of a prism shining under sun, a kaleidoscope of colors reflecting off his beautiful hues and back into your own (e/c) irises.

He held you ever so gently, his fingers trembling as he softly caressed your face, his long ashen hair flowing down his back, alike to smooth silk.

He opened his mouth to speak but as soon as he was about to form a sentence your eyes snapped open.

ᝰ.ᐟ Your friend poked you with their finger, waking you up from your surreal dream and back into reality.

You were thinking about angels again, weren’t you?— They had been appearing in your dreams for the past few days, strangely they always centered around this man, a beautiful man.

After waking up you couldn’t remember anything else but his stunning crystalline eyes, those rainbow eyes were burned into the back of your head, you knew that he was beautiful, could it be your guardian angel visiting you?

ᝰ.ᐟ You had been assigned an essay on the topic of the heavenly protectors, your professor wanting to have a change of pace and focus on something more niche.

There were limited sources, so you had to dig deeper.

You had been looking at links as of late, locations that centered on religious themes and creatures.

ᝰ.ᐟ Lucky for you a new location appeared on your browser, what seemed to be a library that nuns and priests went to often, to study and solidify their fate.

ᝰ.ᐟ You walked into the library quietly, clutching your messenger bag close to your chest, your feet tapped against the pristine white flooring.

ᝰ.ᐟ This library was large, huge even. You had no idea how you never noticed it, the structure being a behemoth among other buildings.

The architecture of this place was simply breathtaking, your eyes drinking in every inch and centimeter of the temple, you knew you came to the right place when you noticed cherubs intricately carved into the white plaster above you.

ᝰ.ᐟ You were too much in awe to realize that you were about to crash into a person, instantly hitting their chest with your face and falling back onto the floor.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere!Angel let out a faint breath of air when he saw you, his heart beginning to beat rapidly, he had found you. He had finally found you!

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel helped you up immediately, gently taking your divine hands in his own, holding them as if they were golden 3 carat chains.

“Oh my! Are you alright, dear?”

ᝰ.ᐟ You thanked Yandere! Angel, your jaw slightly ajar from the beauty of the man, Yandere!Angel laughed lightly, covering the lower half of his face with his hand bashfully.

“You can take a picture so it lasts longer, hm?”

ᝰ.ᐟ Your eyes drifted down to his neck, star shaped scars lining the circumference of his throat over his skin. How strange.

ᝰ.ᐟ You cleared your throat, deciding to ignore that comment all together, taking out your small note pad you read from the pages, asking Yandere!Angel if the library had any books on your selection.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel’s brows raised, he knew you were here for something.. But about his own kin? It seems that he was guided to you and you were to him, just like faith.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel took your hand and ushered you to follow him, a slight flush centering on his cheeks. the both of you ventured to the very back of the temple like library, the undercover angel pushed a book case with impressive strength to a side.

A cloud of dust came off the shelves, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth and nose from the puff of dust. 

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel beat you to it as he gently put his hands over your face, protecting you from inhaling grime particles, the unexpected and honestly intimate gesture making you gaze up at him quizzically.

“Wouldn’t want you getting sick, dearest.”

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere!Angel couldn’t believe he had just touched you, he had touched YOU. Ecstasy flooded into his system, the golden blood surging in his veins boiling.

His face twitched, eyes behind eyelids making small movements, a nervous smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he dusted your shoulders off.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel took out a few books, blowing the dust away with a flick of his hand, he grasped the human leather cover, staring at it for a moment before handing the heavy enciclopedia to you.

“This is the most in depth book we have here, it isn’t every day anyone asks for books such as these.”

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel watched as you opened the pages, tracing the book with your hands, he shuddered, would you touch him like that too?

He gently plucked a feather from the wings attached to his back, gently putting the soft feather in your hand, he opened his eyes for a split second.

Beautiful. Breath taking crystalline eyes, those eyes. You could recognize them anywhere! Those were the eyes from the man in your dream!

“This feather is from an angel, Seraph if you may. Treasure it, keep it with you at all times and it will keep you safe.”

ᝰ.ᐟ You stared at his eyes, it was like they were eating at you, just who was he? It would be silly to think he would appear in your dreams.. Wouldn’t it..?

“..Lucien.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Lucien, (Y/N).”

ᝰ.ᐟ How did he know your name? You never told him your name.. you gave him a funny look, you smiled awkwardly while turning on your heel to make a hasty departure.

You glanced back over your shoulder, a bad habit you had developed as a result of walking home alone during night time.

ᝰ.ᐟ Your breath caught in your throat, Lucien. That same strange librarian was no human anymore, he stood in front of a window, he lifted his hand slowly waving to you, a nice flush tinting his cheekbones.

Long white wings adorned his back, lush feathers falling onto the pristine floor of the temple. A golden halo behind his head, circulating and hovering in clock wise motions. Small wings that hid under his hair twitched and fluttered as they unfolded, looking unbearably soft and pretty.

“..What the fuck..?”

ᝰ.ᐟ You gasped to yourself as you stared at him, he smiled wider, you had noticed, he knew you had noticed! And you didn’t go crazy!

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel was delighted to make the discovery that you weren’t driven to insanity while seeing his half form. most humans would have been having seizures on the floor right about now, but you just blinked a few times and turned back around, shoulders tense and rigid.

ᝰ.ᐟ He shivered in delight, humans were at times so adorable— Well more like you were the cutest little thing he has ever seen! 

ᝰ.ᐟ He just wanted to grab you and tuck your little self into his nest and have many many children! He hasn’t had his first batch of eggs yet.. he was going to be plump with eggs soon.

ᝰ.ᐟ the both of you were mates! Yes, yes there was no other explanation for these events, perhaps [ REDACTED ] had finally blessed him!

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel ‘s face turned a deeper shade of red, he could swear there were little hearts coming out of him.

He held his face in his hands, his cheeks felt agonizingly hot, he put his hands to work, trying to bat his face a little to keep the blushing down.

ᝰ.ᐟ You were safe. You had taken his feather. Basically a natural tracking device, and soon he would work his way into your life little by little.. Guardian Angel or not he was going to take you as his.

“My wings..? You want to touch them? Well of course, darling! All of me is yours.”

(Touching an angels wings is an intimate act where mates solidify their mating bond. Discretion advised.)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have any notes on hair and hairstyles by any chance?

Writing Notes: Hairstyles

Some writing tips to describe your character's hair:

Frame your character’s face with a hairstyle that reflects their story. A crewcut might signify a military soldier or someone who likes to be in control. A ponytail or pigtails might indicate a young character. Describe a character’s hair color—black hair, dark hair, brunette, redhead, blonde, gray, or white—in interesting ways instead of just stating the shade. It makes a difference whether your character dyes their hair or keeps it its natural shade. Describe the length of their hair. A confident businesswoman might have short or shoulder-length hair. A musician might have longer hair. Match your character’s hairstyle with their personality.

Make facial hair an element of a character’s style. How a male character keeps his facial hair is telling. If he’s constantly clean-shaven, he might go to a regular corporate job. A bit of stubble can signify a more casual career. From a beard to sideburns to a goatee, facial hair helps paint a picture of a male character and can help represent their life and what they do.

Write detailed character descriptions. Visualize a character in your own mind. Make them three dimensional by fleshing out both the character’s personality and physical appearance. Write down their physical details like hairstyle and hair color—do they have brown hair, blond hair, or dark hair? Describe how they move through the world and hint at what their body language and mannerisms reveal.

Here are some words to help you select more precise language and improve the clarity in your writing:

Descriptive Words to Describe Hair

Hair Texture. Relates to the circumference of individual hairs as well as the curl pattern and general state of the hair, with regards to how it looks and feels.

body, bouncy, bristly, brittle, bushy, coarse, crinkly, delicate, downy, fine, flat, fluffy, frizzy, fuzzy, glossy, lank, limp, listless, luxuriant, luxurious, medium, nappy, no body, puffy, rough, satiny, silky, sleek, smooth, soft, sticky, stiff, straight, straw-like, supple, touchable, velvety, wavy, wiry

Hair Thickness. This means the same thing as hair density. There are a number of terms for how thick a person’s hair is.

lush, scraggly, sparse, stringy, thick, thin, voluminous, wispy, wooly

Hair Styles or Cuts. Properly describing how hair is cut or styled is critical in describing the appearance of a character in a story or the subject of a work of nonfiction.

afro, a-line, angled, asymmetrical, bangs, beehive, blunt, bob, bouffant, bowl cut, braided, braids, brushed back, bun, buzzed, center part, chignon, chopped, choppy, clipped, coils, comb over, corkscrew curls, cornrows, crew cut, curled, dreadlocks, ducktail, emo, extensions, face-framing, feathered, fishtail braid, flat top, flyaway, french braids, french twist, fringe, Jheri curl, kinked, layered, long layers, loose, military cut, mohawk, mullet, natural, pageboy, parted, pigtails, pin curls, pixie, plaited, pompadour, ponytail, Rasta, rat tail, ratted, ringlets, shag, shaved, side part, slicked down, spiked, spiky, spirals, springy, stacked, straightened, swept back, swept to the side, swept up, teased, topknot, trimmed, twisted, undercut, up, updo, waterfall braids, weave, wedge, wings, wrapped

Hair Length. Hair can vary greatly in length. Choosing the right descriptive word for hair length helps readers get a better picture of the character or person about whom you are writing.

cascading, chin length, close cropped, cropped, ear length, flowing, long, medium length, mid-back length, neck length, short, shoulder length, tailbone length, trailing, waist length

Hair Color or Tints. Since there are many hair colors in different tones, some natural and some not, it’s really important to choose the right descriptive word for hair color.

ash brown, auburn, black, bleached blond, blonde, blue, bluish, bottle blonde, brown, brunette, burgundy, burnished, chestnut, coppery, dark, flaxen, ginger, golden blonde, gray, green, honey, jet black, light, mousy, multi-colored, natural blonde, oil slick, ombre, peroxide blonde, pink, platinum, purple, rainbow, raven, red, salt and pepper, silver, strawberry blonde, streaked, sun-kissed, sun-streaked, wheat blonde, white, yellow, yellowing

Treated Hair. There are a number of treatments people can use to alter the appearance of their hair.

bleached, body wave, brassy, colored, conditioned, deep conditioned, dyed,frosted, highlighted, highlights, lowlights, permed, relaxed, smoothing, tinted

Messy Hair. There are a number of ways to convey to readers that a person has messy hair. Whether the individual’s hair is messy due to a lack of care, general unruliness, or having been engaged in activity that caused it to become messy, choose the right word so readers will understand.

bad hair day, bedhead, clumpy, disarray, disheveled, drooping, knotted, matted, overgrown, shaggy, snarled, tangled, tousled, towheaded, uncombed, uncontrollable, unkempt, unmanageable, unruly, unstyled, untamed, untidy, windblown, windswept

Neatly Styled Hair. Some people take great pains to ensure their hair is the exact opposite of messy. Use these terms when you want to describe someone with neatly styled hair.

blown out, coiffed, coiffured, done, neat, runway-ready, tamed, tidy, well-groomed

More Ways to Describe the Appearance of Hair. The categories listed above aren’t all inclusive when it comes to describing hair.

beautiful, brushed, classy, clean, combed, damp, dirty, dripping, dull, elegant, enviable, fashionable, filthy, gorgeous, greasy, healthy, luscious, lustrous, nourished, shiny, singed, slick, soaked, squeaky clean, stylish, sweaty, trendy, vibrant, voluminous, wet

Words to Describe Hair Problems. There are a number of different hair problems. If the person or character you are writing about has a visible issue with his or her hair, be sure to choose the best word to describe it.

alopecia, bald, balding, bald patch, broken, damaged, dandruff, dry, flaky, fried, hair loss, lice, needs a touch-up, nits, oily, overly processed, pattern baldness, receding, roots are showing, shedding, split ends, thinning, thin on top, widow’s peak

Hair Accessories. Thoroughly describing a person or character’s appearance may require giving some information about hair accessories the person is wearing. Choose the best term to describe any items placed in or on the individual’s hair.

ball cap, barrette, beret, bobby pin, bow, butterfly clip, chopsticks, elastic, feather, flower, hair clip, hairpin, hat, headband, headscarf, kerchief, ribbon, scarf, scrunchie, side comb, snap clip, sweatband, tiara, tieback

Names of Hair Tools. When you need to describe what someone uses to style their hair, be sure to accurately describe the type of tool the individual uses.

blow dryer, clippers, comb, curling iron, diffuser, dryer, duckbill clips, fine-tooth comb, flat iron, hairbrush, hot rollers, rollers, round brush, scissors, thinning shears

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ Facial Hair

Hope this helps with your writing!

[astarioffsimpmain]

When I get so horny that I can't take it, I black out and write smut. So....

♡♡♡

You whimpered softly, the hairs of his beard scratching gently across your quivering thighs. You hovered above him, minding the pressure you put on his head as you braced yourself against the headboard. The copper taste of blood tinged your mouth, and you let go of your bottom lip, not realizing how hard you had been biting. You wriggled, moaning as his hot breath fanned across the expanse of your slit, sending jolts of warmth and wetness directly into his view. He groaned beneath you at the sight, and you felt him tense, lifing his head to reach your folds.

Licking a desperate path up your center, he shuddered, your taste flooding him. Above him, you mewled, your hips bucking of their own accord. "Hnngghh more, my love," he rasped, his usually honey-smooth voice rough and deep. You lowered down slightly further, jutting your rear end back as you further relied on the headboard, now pressing against your nipples. But it still wasn't enough for Gale. A frustrated growl rumbled through him, and his hands found your hips, fingertips pressing in.

"Apologies, my love, but this will simply not do," he murmured against your slit before yanking you all the way down. You saw stars as his tongue impaled you, swirling the circumference of your walls before finally settling on your clit. He laved at you so studiously, and you screamed out, the sound stuttering to a cry as he sucked you in, drinking you like water in the desert.

🤭🫠

Tagging, Darlings: @fanon-and-canon , @just-a-refrigerator , @micropoe10 , @charlenestrawart , @senualothbrok

[talonabraxas]

“God is a circle whose center is everywhere, and its circumference nowhere. ” ― Empedocles

Mac Baconai @Macbaconai One ring to rule them all

[girlsdads]

#ok it’s giving girl dad wearing his daughter’s handmade necklace special for him into work 🥺🥺😩😩

couldn’t stop thinking about this tag of mine, wrote a little smth about it 🥰

The stomping footfalls racing down the hall behind him could only be those of a toddler. Daniel turns and squats just in time for his tiny blonde projectile of a child to come barreling into his chest. The force sends Daniel falling back onto his butt with a surprised oof, his daughter giggling delightedly in his lap.

“Hey, Ellie-bug,” Daniel smiles. “Daddy’s gotta go to work, remember how we talked about it and you promised to be a big girl?” He brushes a strand of hair away from her mouth where it’s gotten stuck in a little smear of jam leftover from her breakfast. Daniel had shown Max how to make it just the way she likes—the pancake batter shaped in the silicone star mold, the silly faces drawn in jelly and jam.

Ellie’s head bobs up and down dutifully, but she makes no move to get up.

Max appears from the kitchen then, looking like a man who’s been fighting a losing battle with the second pancake. There’s a splatter of thick batter on his white t-shirt. He’s holding the spatula like it’s offended him somehow. Daniel looks at him over their daughter’s head, and loves him fiercely.

“She is of course the biggest girl,” Max says. Ellie grins proudly. “Why don’t you give Daddy your present now, then we will finish your pancakes.”

Daniel watches her grey-blue eyes light up like she’s just now remembering why she came running at him in the first place. She reaches a chubby hand into the bib pocket on her overalls, embroidered Enchanté script stretching as she roots around and produces a string of brightly-colored plastic beads. She holds it out to him expectantly.

Daniel takes the strand delicately in hand, wraps it around the backs of his fingers and rotates his wrist to get a good look. It’s a necklace, probably more of a choker given its relatively small circumference, the fat pony beads the only real indication it was made by a child. The powder pink and fuchsia beads are separated by interspersed pearlescent white orbs and clear sparkly stars. Smack in the center is a single number bead, a glittery pink three.

“Jeepers, did you make this for me? It’s beautiful!” Daniel says, and means it. He’s already been wanting to talk to his team about adding a jewelry collection to a future drop, and what better inspiration?

Ellie nods excitedly. “Papa helped me do a…,” she pauses, squints and tilts her little head, searching for the word, “…a pattern!”

“We made it the other day, while you were out with Blake,” Max chimes in. “For good luck.” He sounds almost bashful, like maybe it wasn’t their daughter’s idea in the first place. Daniel’s heart is so swollen it’s threatening to leak out through the gaps in his ribcage.

“How’d I get so lucky, huh?” Daniel muses, softly, mostly to himself. He stretches the elastic over his head, feels the smooth plastic three settle in the hollow of his throat. His pulse thrums evenly against it, grounding.

He flashes his biggest smile at his family. “How do I look?”

“Pretty, Daddy!” Ellie throws herself forward again, wrapping her arms around Daniel’s neck. It leaves him locking eyes with Max, who’s gazing down at the two of them like nothing else in the universe exists. Daniel can never quite get used to that look—still feels butterflies dancing up the back of his throat, his stomach dropped into a glorious freefall.

“Beautiful, Daniel,” Max says, reverent. “Always.”

[pynkhues]

Hi! Are you still planning on posting the pregnancy scare fic before the new year?🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

Hey! I don't think I'll have it quite done by New Year now, but I'm aiming for before I go back to work on the 16th January, so hopefully it won't be too long of a wait!

[skvaderarts]

Jayvik Poll Request: Dinner and Diatribes

Because THIS POST has been haunting me for about three weeks lol!

I've made you degenerates wait long enough!

Chapter 1 Summary: Word Count 2.6K A03 Link

Jayce returns from the ruined future to fulfill his promise to Viktor, only to find him inconspicuously missing and his commune in shambles. As it turns out, his disappearance is the work of none other than Ambessa, twink hunter extraordinaire and connoisseur of only the finest local cuisine. And what cuisine could be more exquisite than the Herald of Zaun himself?

She isn't in the business of asking nicely, but perhaps a bribe is in order? After all, why ask when the stakes are this high, and you hold all the cards? A spicy meal just means more flavor, right? Jayce better hurry and find Viktor before she decided to have a taste and find out...

For: @melonbear51 @wuekka @mythbookworm18 @ahsokasgfriend @dragonling348 @coldcoleslaw @chaosyetorder @fandomsarepainful and @gonzanova

Still working my way through this list of one-shots from the poll! 2/6

Chapter 1: Sectarian Drift

Note: I can only apologize for how long it took me to start this cursed project. I’ve been in the Jayvik trenches fighting for my life working on so many other projects all at once trying to find the time for this one because LOL! ALSO! This is going to be multiple chapters because PLOT, damn it. 

—

The comune loomed large against the backdrop of the trenches, sparkling like a gleaming beacon of unearthly splendor amongst the squalor and dissidence. It was brilliant, reflecting the light and casting a divine halo across all that came within its circumference. A promise made in silence that assured safety and respite. As resplendent and beloved as its founder. A haven born of a genuine wish to better the community it sat within.

Beautiful.

And yet, it was quiet. So very quiet.

Approaching from a crevice in the side of the canyon that overlooked the encampment from the left side of the crystal dome at its center, Jacye stood silently. Readying himself for the descent. For the grim task that awaited him below.

An air of anxiety and despair filled the area as he proceeded. Everyone seemed on edge, as though their minds were focused on other more troubling matters. Or perhaps that was just his perception of them. It was a beautiful place, but something about the somewhat vacant stares that the majority of the inhabitants wore made his skin crawl. He felt a strong jolt of pain shoot through his body and slam into his head as he snuck through the village, causing him to buckle and clasp his ringing skull in anguish, groaning in pain. Fragments of undefinable light and sound slammed through this tired brain. Oh, how he longed for them to be simple figments of his imagination. But he had seen the horrors of that place. Of the waking nightmare brought about by their shared Hextech dream.

Using what little remaining strength he possessed to pry himself off the ground and back into a standing position, he continued towards the gleaming dome in the distance. Ravaged as his mind was by flickers of the truth of his environment, he pushed ahead, his heart racing as he was startled by the act of walking into a group of comune dwellers. He drew his weapon, aiming it at one of the misshapen creatures that stood before him. So clear in his mind and yet something felt off. He closed the maw of the corrupted Mercury Hammer, taking in the sight of a young boy before him. A shudder lurched up his body as his stomach turned. 

Another child. Not again. It was always a child.

Rushing toward the golden dome, he slowly made his way inside. A heavy sigh shuddered past his lips as he lifted the handle of the hammer, his back aching from the endeavor as he swallowed and readied himself for the brutality he would eminently commit. His body quaked like a weak branch in a storm at the thought of what he was about to do. Could he look Viktor in the eyes and watch as they dimmed, the life leaving his body as a direct result of his action? Would it be a merciful kill, one faithful strike that would serve as the guillotine for his execution, snuffing out his brilliance in a single, painless strike? 

Was it wrong to say he hoped so? He didn’t want Viktor to suffer. The last thing he’d ever wanted was to make Viktor suffer.

The more he pondered it, the less he wanted to. This had to be done. He’d sworn to stop Viktor, and this was the only surefire method of accomplishing that goal that he could fathom. No matter the cost to himself, he had to end things here and now. For the sake of the very city they’d always aimed to make a brighter future for by virtue of their shared dream Oh, how had it come to this?

He stepped through the dark passage and into the brilliant light of the central sphere. No doubt the place that Viktor would reside. He didn’t need to ask the members of the comune who their leader was. Who else could it be? To enshrine in them the virtues of blacksmithing and botany in the form of agriculture and construction, both branches of their singular interests. Viktor always had such a way with plants. It was no wonder that fragments of those interests should manifest here. Even the dome that had been constructed for him to take up residence in resembled the Hexgate. Their magnum opus. And a dark, golden reflection of that masterwork. A masterpiece that now threatened to destroy everything and yet the thing they’d put so many sleepless nights and priceless memories into the construction of. Oh, why had their beautiful dream been cursed from its inception? It had been such a beautiful thing once upon a time. But that felt like a lifetime ago now. Long before the pit he’d plunged into. Before the Hexcore. Before the cruel realities of the world had been laid bare before them. Better days.

But as Jayce stood at the heart of the comune, a sense of disquietude gradually trickled into him. This structure was… empty. There was no furniture. There were no decorations. No other entrances were apparent to him from where he stood. Instead, he was greeted with an unshakable sense that something integral had vanished from the place where he now stood. Something unspeakable was at work here. Something undeniably sinister.

Retreating the way he’d entered, he stepped out into the blinding daylight, his head slamming yet again as he felt his stomach lurch. With willpower alone, he managed not to collapse and vomit, instead steadying himself and using his free hand to rub his face and scalp in an upward motion, shaking his head back and forth as if to rid himself of the kaleidoscope of colors and sensations that plagued his troubled mind. Would these attacks ever stop, or was this another aspect of his self-made hell? Only time would tell, and the capacity for optimism has long since left him.

A man with short, shaggy reddish-brown hair approached him in much the same way that one would approach a manic dog; with an abundance of caution and a low, gentle voice. He seemed sympathetic and worried, but vaguely displeased by what he saw.

“Please, sir. This is a place of peace. Of rest. I’d ask that you-”

Jayce sighed. Ah, so that was what this was about. Still, as taken aback as he was by the request, he understood. No one here seemed to be armed. It was impressive that he’d approached someone as potentially dangerous as he was at all, with that reality taken into consideration. And judging by his face, this wasn’t the first time it had happened.

“Where’s Viktor?” He was tired. He didn’t mean to come off as curt to the man, but he was operating on the vestiges of the adrenaline that he’s costed on to make it this far. He didn’t have time for this. He couldn’t delay lest he come to his senses and lose his resolve. Remaining diligent was his only recourse against the nightmare that unfolded around him.

The man shifted into a more formal position, clasping his fingers together behind his back as he did a half-decent job of concealing how thrown off he was by Jayce’s wild-eyed stare and his feral demeanor. To look into his amber brown eyes was to delve into the depths of madness itself, and to do so unflinchingly took resolve. A resolve that Jayce would have admired if he’d been cognisant of just how out of sorts he appeared. He had some concept, but no concrete idea of just how deranged he appeared.

“Our Herald… He has gone from us. To where, we do not know, but… “ He admitted sheepishly, unable to hide the tinge of sadness and concern in his voice.

Jayce’s pupals momentarily widened in surprise before he let out an exhausted huff. He didn’t need to ask the man who stood before him if this was typical behavior. It wasn’t. Now the uneasy air about the commune made perfect sense. They’d misplaced their messia.

“But?”

The robed man with the auburn hair looked from side to side, hesitant. He did not wish to speak the words that he was about to speak. “He vanished not long after the Noxians arrived.”

“I see.” He suddenly felt eyes on his back. The Noxians. He’d seen a handful of them on patrols as he’d ventured into the depths of the Undercity, but now it made better sense.  “Do you think he just left with them?”

There was no hesitation as the robed man shook his head, his eyes flickering and shifting in rainbow hues. There was a seriousness that had not been there moments ago. All sense of diplomacy evaporated as he leaned in just a smidgen, keeping his voice low as he sighed and shook his head again, this time more vigorously than before.

“I would not like to make accusations but… they entered one of the domes. The conservatory over there that our Herald so often frequents…” He gestured towards a domed structure not far from where they stood. The emerald stained glass that its roof was partially constructed with appeared to be mottled with holes as a means to invite fresh air and sunshine in. “ I saw them carry something out. Not long after a transport of some sort left here.”

Viktor always had such a way with plants…

Now things were starting to add up. But at the same time, they genuinely weren’t. Judging by the sense of unease that enveloped every particle of air in the commune, Viktor’s sudden disappearance was as unannounced as it was ominous. This was out of character for him. Everyone who hadn’t seen something was still suspicious, but they were keeping as quiet as possible about it. To maintain an air of normality, if ever such a thing existed in the first place.

“No one tried to stop them?”

“As I said, this is a place of peace. Our Herald was very clear that there would be no violence within the walls of our sanctum. Not even for his sake.” He looked down at the ground, disheartened. His concern for their wayward leader was more apparent than ever.

Jayce eyed him linguistically, making a mental note of the markings that covered his face. They looked like… fingertips. He noticed the pattern that the flowing metal patchwork on his body took; how much of his body it had covered. His condition, whatever it had been, had seemingly been mended by Viktor’s influence. To the extent that the Arcane mended anything. But if his faith in his savior was a result of this treatment, then he couldn’t help but understand. And wonder if Viktor truly understood the ramifications of what he’d done to these people.

They seemed content. Happy, even. But something was just missing from them.

“Uh huh,” He nodded, clenching his jaw and squinching his eyes shut momentarily as another disorienting wave of incomprehensible arcane energy pulsed through his frayed mind, fragmenting it further. He huffed in frustration as it passed, shuddering as he slowly reopened his eyes one at a time and fixated them on his conversation partner.

What had happened here?

“I am genuinely sorry for the Herald’s absence, as I am certain he is as well. I’m sure he would be more than happy to help you with… “ The commune member gestured vaguely towards Jayce, unsure of how best to describe his current condition. But his conviction that anything that might be ailing Jayce could be addressed by their wayward leader was as unsurprising as it was founded. From what the tired man could make out, everyone here seemed to have been touched by the arcane. Touched by Viktor. By the Hexcore and whatever terrible will it wished to exert upon these people. He wished he understood what was going on here.

It was time to get some answers.

“Where are the Noxians?” Jayce would start with the obvious culprits. It wouldn’t be as simple as waltzing up to their door and politely asking for his missing partner’s whereabouts, but… “And how long have they been here? How long has he been gone?”

“Since this time yesterday on both accounts. Give or take a few hours for their arrival. They have an encampment nearby, but I must advise against visiting it. They are well armed and you appear to be… alone.”

Jayce grumbled under his breath, huffing heavily in annoyance as fatigue set in faster and faster due to how long he’d been stationary. Yes. He was certainly that. Alone.

That being said, nothing about this situation sat right to him. What were the Noxians doing down here at the bottom of the trenches? And what could they possibly want with Viktor? Viktor who didn’t so much as entertain the notion of violence, let alone participate in it. Nothing about that had changed during his absence. If anything, his pacificism had seemingly been doubled down upon to the point of it actively endangering him. Their presence there was so out of place. Had they ventured to this place in search of something else and he’d simply been a casualty along the way?

He exhaled heavily. It didn’t make sense to him. What value could Viktor in particular have to…

The reality of the situation hit him like a stone to the back of the skull.

Ambessa.

Mel had warned him about her involvement with the higher houses of Piltover. About how she’d been attempting to maneuver her way into the good graces of its governing body through Salo. Salo who he’d made short work of at the gates. Who had shown him a small glimpse of Viktor’s newfound power upon his arrival back in his own timeline. Ambessa had tried as much with him not long before everything had gone so horribly wrong. She was the only person who he could imagine would make a play at Viktor specifically. But did she have the motive? Was she aware of his knowledge of Hextech? Who could have told her? The vast majority of the general public didn’t acknowledge Viktor’s existence, even less his vast contributions. Something that had always irked him on his former lab partner's behalf. Even if Mel was her daughter, he highly doubted that she would risk putting Viktor in such danger. Her relationship with her mother made that possibility even less likely. It hadn’t been her. But someone had brought Viktor to her attention one way or another.

They were a legion of war at the beag and call of the matron of the battlefield. Nothing was beyond her knowledge or reach. Her presence here proved as much. Who else would march a Noxian detachment into a place as inhospitable and unknown to the world above as the depths of the trenches? They had to be making a play at Hextech through Viktor.

It was the only motive he could think of. But then it wasn’t, was it?

Jayce remembered the first time he’d met Ambessa. She’d summoned him for a meeting in a bathhouse, of all places. A bathhouse where he’d been attended to by a young man who looked mysteriously like Viktor, if he was willing to be honest with himself. He’d nearly mistaken him for his friend at first sight. It was clear that she had a type, but surely…

For some inexplicable reason, he felt his blood boil at the prospect. He was there to confront Viktor and do what needed to be done, yes… but the prospect of him potentially being in danger, of someone being in a position to harm him. For him to be exploited for the nefarious ends of an insidious warmonger. He gritted his teeth in anger.

He needed to find Viktor. Now.

—

A shorter intro chapter than I normally do. Rest assured, the others will be longer. I’m not sure yet how long this story will be. It’s sort of a “it’s done when it’s done” situation in terms of chapter count. I’m thinking around 5 currently but you never know. Depends on how long it takes for Ambessa to make eye contact with Viktor lol! But I hope you’ve enjoyed it so far! Please let me know what you think if it’s not too much trouble (I enjoy feedback!) and I’ll see you in the next chapter! Hoping to have part two out ASAP!

[gallusrostromegalus]

How does trash pickup, Recycling centers, &/or Hazardous Material Disposal work for Soul Society in AEIWAM? Is there a Kido-based ritual to break things down into Reishi? Are there Tech Repair Shops?

Sewage in Soul Society works really well but very dangerously because those fucking idiots built the city directly on top of an active supervolcano.

Let me back up:

There isn't a good consensus on how big the Seireitei is (Yoruichi says it takes 10 days to walk 1/4th of the way around the circumference, but whether that's her speed, the average person's or how long a patrol group takes is unclear), Or any real maps of the place, but it's generally agreed that

the city is LARGE. Yoruichi says it would take her and the kids ten days to walk to the next gate 1/4th of the way around the city. Maybe that's 8 hours average human walking speed minus 'trying to herd a bunch of teenagers' but that's still a long trip!

Even before the Seki-Seki stone wall was put up, the city was pretty much circular.

Unlike pretty much every real city, there's no river running through it. Where are they getting their water?

There is a Small but substantial and TOTALLY ISOLATED mountain in the middle of the city made of apparently hard-to-mine rock. A Lonely Mountain, one might even say.

The only visible natural sources of water I've seen evidence of are hot springs in both the Yoruichi/Urahara Super Secret Training Ground/Love Nest and the first division grounds.

Soul Society is run by jackasses and if there's a stupid way to do things, that's the way they're doing them.

In fact, the Soul Society as a whole is almost suspiciously Amestris-shaped, but instead of nefarious alchemy, it's negligent civil engineering

...all this leads me to believe that Seireitei is built DIRECTLY ON TOP OF the caldera of an enormous supervolcano. The city gets it's water from the aquifer of rainwater that's collected in the underground cracks and fissures of the Caldera, and the seki-seki stone wall is set up around the really convenient geographic barrier made by the rim of the caldera.

"Hey!" I hear some of you nerds objecting "Aren't calderas usually concave? Seireitei is convex, if anything!"

You're right! Most Calderas are concave! But they will absolutely fill in with sand and dirt over the true floor of the caldera over time and develop Mounts like the thing at the central part of the city and start to rise WHEN THEY'RE ON THE VERGE OF A CATASTROPHIC ERUPTION.

So yeah! The Gotei-13 has an almost infinite supply of hot water, and probably less than a century to figure out what to do before The Big Kaboom.

Anyway, back at sewage:

There's been a city where the Seireitei is since time immemorial, and even though it's done the istanbul-not-constantinopple shuffle a few times, very little of the actual infrastructure has changed. Empires rise and fall but the desire paths stay the same.

This is especially true in Seireitei, because unlike very nearly every major IRL Municipality, it doesn't have a river running through it, something that usually necessitates Sewer updates By Force. But compared to a river which is constantly moving around in it's bed, a volcanic aquifer doesn't move much until it moves a whole fucking lot real fast, so the undercity of the Seireitei has really had time to... Develop isn't quite the right word.

"Ferment" is closer.

Above-ground waste management is the provenance of the actual local city government- yes, there is a Mayor of the Seireitei that the Gotei-13 has to pay property taxes to. Yamamoto maintains a lot of goodwill with the Mayor by dint of sentencing ill-behaved shinigami to shore up the municipal labor pool, and by knowing the mayor's family for the last millennium. So you'll see Shinigami doing things like trash collection and street-sweeping, but they're just there on probation.

-But nobody wanted to deal with the undercity. It's got a soul of it's own. Washington DC, which is less than 500 years old as a city and on top of a swamp, has an undercity that goes down over half a mile. Imagine how deep the sunken buildings, abandoned secret tunnels, and sewer system of a city that's millenia old, not sitting on actual mud and constantly subjected to high levels of magical background radiation might develop.

An Appetite, for one thing.

The 11th likes to talk a big game, but the reason the 4th is in charge of sewer maintenance is because the only people with the guts for it were people who got degrees rummaging in the guts of living people. Sewer maintenance really is a lot like abdominal surgery, if you were able to walk around inside the patient.

It was Retsu Unohana's idea, actually. Chigiri was a battle medic and aged rapidly for a shinigami. She was old when the court guard finally went from "Yamamoto and his gang of assholes" to "A for-real governing body". Her successor, Kirinji was more interested in traumatic injury recovery than preventative medicine, for obvious reasons- his triage was constantly full of combat casualties and early kido experiment victims Blood Loss was still his #1 Killer.

But Retsu had been reincarnated in and spent her youth in South 80, in the utterly undeveloped conditions there, and held deep, personal grudges with Dysentery and Cholera. For all his talk of healing waters, Kirinji had no sense of the importance of water sanitation, and it was a continuous point of contention between them for her apprenticeship.

"FINE!" He shouted one day after a particularly nasty row. "IF IT'S SO GODDAMN IMPORTANT TO YOU, YOU HANDLE IT! FORM NOW ON, YOU'RE IN CHARGE OF SEWAGE, SLUDGE QUEEN!"

She made her first descent the next morning.

She did not return for six weeks, and Kirinji almost thought he'd resloved that particular problem when she reappeared from the depths, a changed woman. That long in the darkness, alongside the buried secrets and skeletons of the city, with the horrors that did not dare brave the sunlight- it would change anyone, and most would come up looking at least mildly haunted.

Retsu Unohana is not most.

She looks radiant, almost like The Kenpachi again, covered in the horrors of the underground as she used to be covered in blood. She thrives on a challenge, and excels at the art of purification, and now, she has been given the single greatest challenge of purification in history. There is something beautiful and terrible in her eyes as she explains that it does down at least five miles, look at this, she thinks it's from the neolithic era, and there are incredible boneyards of thousands of skeletons, and fungi the likes of which she's never seen before- She is ecstatic- a creature kept in captivity, finally released into it's natural habitat.

It's hardly a surprise, if you consider Minazuki. Stingrays are benthic creatures, right at the bottom of the river, deep in the muck and decay.

It's been a little over eight hundred years into her tenure as a medic, and she has tamed much of the beast. The upper levels are well-mapped and have been made clean and well-lit, enough that even the civilian sanitation forces of the city can regularly enter and work in them without any particular unease. Infant and preventable disease mortality has dropped astronomically. Nobody's had cholera since the 1800's . While they have other jobs, all members of the 4th division are required to take at least one tour in the depths of the undercity.

Horrors still lurk in the depths.

They're pretty sure they lost Tokagero Kenpachi chasing one of those, shortly before Unohana became captain, and she's been reluctant to let other divisions assist since then. The Fourth Division's Fourth Seat, rumored to be the unluckiest post in the entire Gotei-13, is permanently stationed underground, and she loves it that way.

It's only recently that the 11th has been allowed to come along on descents, after Zaraki vanished for two days and then emerged victorious from a manhole in the 5th division with a tentacled horror she'd been tracking for decades that lived at least three miles down. He apologized- he had meant to come up in the 4th to present it's corpse to her directly, but well, you know what his sense of direction is like. Anyway, I saw it scuttling around in the rain aquifers and we don't need it tracking literal shit into the water supply so I went after is and d'ya think maybe I can take the lads down sometime? They' get lazy between deployments and you have a triage up here to manage.

Charmed, she agreed.

---

Hm. I just re-read that ask and it's actually about dry waste managment.

Sorry. I got very excited about the sewers.

I am now about to get worse about trash.

I don't think they have plastic in soul society- given how bug-themed the 12th division is, I'm pretty sure the casing on Rukia's soul pager is made of Chitin, and if you break it, it bleeds. Also it makes people with shellfish allergies break out in hives.

Since pretty much all the waste in Soul Society is either recyclable or organic matter, I think those trash pits Yumichika and Ganju were fooling around with are really more like Kido-enhanced composting centers. All waste goes into them and the bottom of the pit is pulled out in a tray, like with a vermiculture tower, if the worms were eighteen and a half feet long and hungry enough to swallow anything that falls in the pit, because Mayuri is incapable of making anything that is not at least slightly awful.

The compost is then shaken out for any spare glass or metal that made it into the compost and that's sent off to the 12th division forges to be recycled. it's baked to kill any dangerous pathogens and Giant Garbage Worm Eggs so they don't breach containment, and measured for nitrogen, phosphorus and other important plant nutrient content. Based on it's composition, it's then shipped out to farmers in the upper districts of the rukongai because "Free, A+ grade fertilizer if y'all don't start revolutions, pay your taxes and give us first dibs on crops" is an amazing incentive for rural farmers to not start backing the local warlords.

It was 12th division founder Uhin Zenjohji who came up wth the scheme- he remembered the lengths upper-district farmers were willing to go through to make sure their land remained fertile, what kind of demand Nitrogen was in, and the ravages of phosphorous runnoff, so he could kill two birds with one clod of shit by supplying farmers with 'free' fertilizer that kept them loyal to the court and was tailored to that area's nutritional needs and watershed capacity.

The fact that it kept a lot of swamp and waterway areas pristine so he could indulge his birdwatching hobby was a nice benefit too :).

NORMALLY, those pits are covered, clearly marked, and usually the site of a major traffic jam because that's the local collection point, but when Ichigo and friends arrived, Aizen had whipped everyone into believing they were being invaded by an elite force of super-assassins and not like. 4 high schoolers and a furry. All the street signs and markings came down, civilians shuttered themselves inside, and generally made the Seireitei as difficult to navigate as possible.

I wonder how much Zaraki's rotten sense of direction was exacerbated by that.

ANYWAY! That's my thoughts on trash! Deep undercity horrors and giant compost worms over an active volcano!

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 74: Fitz's Metronome

Previous > Masterlist > Next

tw: mind control, body control, emotional abuse, torture, captivity, hypnosis

September 1905

With a cold, stiff hand resting just on top of his head, Fitz was marched out of the dank basement like a marionette. He couldn't even find relief from being done with Lex's torture -- for now, at least -- because he was drowning in terror at his own fate, wondering if he'd ever control his own body again.

The Maestro had carried the weak lantern with him, so that Fitz could see a bit of the manor surrounding him. The oppressive patterns of the wallpaper, the dark wood door frames with their yawning openings, the intricately carved wooden furniture, all of it seemed to swallow what little light there was. The main floor of the manor was less obviously a prison than the basement where Lex had been chained, but it was a prison nonetheless.

Was this where he'd spend the rest of his days, in the dark, cold gloom? Would he die here?

His new master led Fitz into a room which seemed slightly more welcoming than the others. It was a music room, and what he could see was filled with antique instruments in perfect condition. Polished horns sat in neat brackets on the walls, violins and other stringed instruments rested in their stands, and an antique piano occupied the center of the room.

Fitz's body came to a stop in the middle of the room, standing as still as a statue, with Fitz hardly even able to blink. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Maestro pull a measuring tape from his pocket. He measured the circumference of Fitz's chest and stomach, the lengths of his legs and arms, the length and width of his feet, and more, while Fitz's automatically body shifted to accommodate the measurements.

It reminded Fitz of the last time he'd been measured so thoroughly, that night in the auction house where he'd first met Lex. He'd been scared out of hits wits then, too, but he'd also had hope, hope that his charm and charisma and ability to look great in a red velvet ballgown would earn him a permissive master. Fitz couldn't muster up any such hope now. There would be no softening of Lex's sire, no manipulation to earn privileges, not when he wasn't even allowed to speak.

The Maestro sat down at a nearby desk, leaving Fitz standing stiff as a board in the middle of the room. He dipped a pen in ink and wrote out a note, then rang a small brass bell. A moment later, a tired-looking older man in a modest black suit appeared at the door.

"Fetch clothes appropriate for these measurements. I have another new thrall this evening."

His eyes flicked over to Fitz very, very briefly. "Yes, sir," he said, exiting the room as swiftly as he appeared.

Another new thrall? Fitz wondered how many he had. But he didn't have much time to wonder, because the Maestro stood before Fitz again, running an icy hand below his chin and tilting his head up to meet his eyes.

His eyes were as deep as the ocean and as dark as a moonless night, and Fitz couldn't look away from them, even as he felt their pull. He was being enthralled. His new master wasn't simply content with controlling every movement of Fitz's body. He was trying to control Fitz's mind too. Fitz could feel himself scrabbling for purchase, trying to keep his grip on his thoughts even as they began to slip from his grasp.

"That's it, child," he said in that dreadfully melodic voice. "You will look deeply into my eyes, and you will lose yourself. Your mind, your body, and your will are all mine, to do with as I must."

He slipped. He was falling, falling, falling down a pitch-black well that seemed to go on for miles and miles. His thoughts began to empty as he sank further into a daze, unable to resist the thick blanket of control that was smothering him.

"Fitzwilliam de Hastings. Third son of the de Hastings family and an abject disappointment in every conceivable way. Am I correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Despite that unfortunate history, you may be excellent raw material." A porcelain thumb stroked Fitz's cheek just below his eye. "Your parents didn't have the strength, the knowledge, or the time to mold you into anything better than this pathetic creature, did they? Despite having little understanding of humans, I can be certain that they did not love nor care for you. If they had cared for you, they wouldn't have left your talents and better qualities to rot and spoil."

Fitz was sinking so deeply under his spell that he couldn't muster even an internal denial to any of this. No, his parents most certainly didn't care for him. They probably thought it was just as well that Fitz was gone, if they even gave it any thought.. His heart ached with the jealousy he'd felt each time his father praised his golden older brother, praise that Fitz would never hear himself.

"If someone had cared about you, they would have corrected your personality."

No, that wasn't right, couldn't have been right. Correcting Fitz was all his father ever did, and he knew that his father hadn't cared about him, would've just as soon not had a useless third son.

"Make no mistake, child, I certainly don't care for you either. I would be incapable of such a thing, even if you did deserve such tender treatment," said the Maestro, pulling Fitz in slightly closer. "I don't care for you, but I have time. All the time in the world, and some dim flicker of curiosity. Curiosity to see if I can mold something like you into something perfect. That is why I am prepared to do you a great mercy."

"Mercy…" Fitz's voice came out as a pleading whine.

"Yes, a mercy. I will be the one to correct your vile personality. Despite your deficiencies, I think you understand that it has brought you nothing but suffering. A lifetime of poor choices and waste."

Fitz wanted to deny it, but it was his choices that brought him here, wasn't it? If he hadn't pursued the stage, if he hadn't taken Miss Lily's bet, if he hadn't charmed Lex…

His master suddenly broke his gaze and released Fitz, who was still falling, lost in his spell. The servant from earlier had arrived silently, and handed the Maestro a set of neatly folded clothes with a deep bow. The Maestro looked over the clothes and nodded at the servant, who exited the room with an unnaturally rhythmic gait.

Fitz knew that would be him, a puppet on strings, fit only to serve, and the cruel voice in his head whispered that maybe it was all he was good for.

The Maestro turned back to Fitz and began unbuttoning his shirt, one button after the next. His chest was exposed to the cold, damp air of the manor, but under his master's power, he could hardly even shiver. There was nothing he could do to resist as one leg lifted, and then the other, allowing the Maestro to remove his shoes and socks, followed by his pants.

As his clothing was removed and set aside, Fitz was reminded that he was wearing his stage magician's costume. He'd had a performance just earlier tonight, his last. It already seemed like ages had passed since them.

And then he was standing utterly nude before his new master, body fully controlled and mind ensorcelled, with no protection and nowhere to hide.

Fortunately, the Maestro didn't seem to care for Fitz's nude body. He wasted no time dressing Fitz in the clothing the servant had brought. The drab suit was scratchy and uncomfortable, and it was such a small thing, but Fitz couldn't help but despair at it. A lifetime in uncomfortable, stuffy clothes.

Once Fitz was dressed, the Maestro examined him this way and that, pinching at the cloth here and drawing it upwards there. "This will require some tailoring, but that can be handled later. It's an improvement for now." He tossed Fitz's old clothes to the side like rags and rang the bell once more. The servant arrived to collect them, and then the only possessions Fitz had left were gone.

The Maestro gestured to the piano, and Fitz's body moved to sit on the bench. He was going to have to play, and Fitz already knew his meager skills and repertoire of popular ragtime tunes wouldn't satisfy his master. There was a metronome with a shining brass arm sitting on the top of the piano, a surprisingly modern touch.

His master reached past Fitz's shoulder and started the metronome in a slow rhythm, and Fitz couldn't help but watch it and listen to its tock-tock-tock. His fogged mind wondered when the Maestro would make him start playing, but as the minutes dragged on, he realized that he wasn't going to play. No, all he could do was sit there and watch the metronome.

Almost experimentally, he tried to turn his eyes away, and found that he could not. His master had taken hold of his very eyes, keeping them glued tightly to the metronome's arm. Now he was aware of the way his eyes were being forced to follow, and he couldn't help but try to resist it, with a spike of panic. Resisting it was like walking through a wall, or struggling against thick chains, and it only made his pupils jitter strangely, the metronome's arm going briefly out of focus.

"You will allow the rhythm to enter your head," said the melodic voice near his ear. "You will allow it to govern your thoughts, your movements. You will allow your own thoughts to fade."

Fitz could feel it, the way his thoughts were slowing and swirling in time with the metronome, the way his emotions were growing dim. He dug in, determined to stubbornly fight it as long as possible. Even if it was futile, he didn't want to go out easily.

"Everything you are, everything that is not me will fade away. You cannot fight this. You will not fight this. You are weak and you know that you will slip."

He tried to pull whatever happy memories he had from the recesses of his mind, one last moment of fun before the doom. Taking his bows to raucous applause. Laughing and drinking with fellow actors after a show. Bluffing his way to a poker jackpot.

"The only sound in your head is the rhythm. The only thoughts in your mind are mine."

tock - tock - tock

Dancing in the music room with Lex. Lex holding him while he fell asleep. The night he'd finally got up the courage to kiss him.

"The only desire left to you is servitude. You will submit."

No --

"You will submit. Blank. Empty. A doll on which to impose my will."

Lex wouldn't want him this way. Lex wanted him just the way he was.

But…

As Fitz was kissing Lex in his mind's eye, he saw that handsome face with a silver knife jammed into the eye, dark blood dripping from the wound in a rhythm like

tock - tock - tock

Fitz knew he wasn't worth it. Fitz could never have been worth all of that.

tock - tock - tock

"You will feel relief as you are washed clean. It is the only relief you will have for some time, so I suggest you savor it."

His mind swirled with the images of Lex's tormented body lying motionless on the basement floor.

tock - tock - tock

Relief. Yes, he wanted relief. He didn't want to see that any more.

"No more thoughts. No more wants. No more needs. No more distractions or decisions. You are my doll to pose, to mold, to break. My empty vessel. You are better this way. Far, far better."

One more memory flashed into Fitz's rapidly fading mind. His father looming over him, so tall and so stern, and all Fitz wanted was to please him, but he never did. He grabbed Fitz's arm too tight. It hurt, and Fitz bit back tears. "Why can't you just do as you're told?"

He wanted to. He wanted to just do what he was told so badly, but he couldn't.

"Yes, Fitzwilliam," said his master. "You will never again have to despair at not doing what you're told. I will make you do what you are told, always. I will make you perfect."

Tears were dripping down his chin in the same rhythm as the metronome. "Thank you, sir."

Previous > Masterlist > Next

Next week, Vivian is on Alexander's trail.

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[zoropookie]

WHAT YOU WON'T DO FOR LOVE (WYWDFL) — NINE

YOU couldn't be having a worse halloween night. choose your fate with your fellow readers and see if it gets better!

chapter eight — chapter ten

soulmate!wanderer x gn!reader

What year is it?

When your eyes finally fluttered open...the world around you circumferences into a blob of fading pain. Even though you were met with the strong realization that you were still in the same situation as you were...probably 7 hours ago? This time, in the front seat of the car.

The passengers seat of the car, bathing in a light of the rising sun you'd thought you'd never witness. Cold leather of the interior pressed against your back, your skin throbbed relentlessly still with a tourniquet wrapped around the stab. A dull and distant pain now, a memory that hadn't fully settled but stung like one. The first time in a while you wished you were back home wasn't frequent. This was definitely one of those times.

The car hummed with a soft engine, lower with a sound of rhythmic value. "Huh..." You drawled, a trail of drool that traveled down the car window slowly maneuvered in swishes with every turn. You mentally cursed yourself for falling asleep, heart pounding in your chest again.

Your stomach churned, and it all suddenly made sense.

"Pull over." You said lowly, feeling bile rise up in your throat at the sudden image of the dead body in the trunk rearing its ugly head.

He didn't answer immediately, narrowing his eyes with a frown as he switched his gaze from you to the road. "No time."

"Unless you want chunks of pastries and candy corn all over the dashboard, pull over." Your tone was so dull that he couldn't even tell if it were an emergency or not. Quickly, he pulled over.

Before the car came to a full stop, you spilled out as soon as you tugged on the door handle. You fumbled down to the ground, propping yourself on one arm to leave the wounded one unbothered before spilling onto the pavement with a large cry. You coughed, retching the contents that were in your stomach rise and spill onto the ground. It was a relief you were in a different position, despite the heavy smell of your own vomit clasping your nose violently.

You couldn't muster up any strength to pick your head up from your position, so you laid there still, shuddering at you felt the contents touch you. Your body shook from the strain of your wound, aggressive and continuous vomiting that had you emptied. Pavement beneath you rough and cool, yet uncomfortable with the rocks cutting into your cheek.

You could feel him standing over you, presence looming irritably. But you couldn't even pay him any mind with focusing on your ragged gasps. You heard him sigh, low and exasperated as he too, began wincing once holding onto your body and lifting it. "You're fine," He muttered, despite having no real heat in his voice this time. Just impatience. "Stop fighting."

You wanted to bite his head off, to tell him you'd make an effort to comply when you felt like it, but your body surged sweltered with agony to even measure how capable you were of fighting him. "It hurts." You responded, dazed.

"Then, adapt."

Your vision swam back and forth, trying to make a sense of his mood from your view. But much like a fogged window, you couldn't see anything. His words shot harsh, but the way he lifted you back onto your feet was careful, working his way around the article of clothing that now were filthy in your bodily fluids. You weren't going to hold up much longer, and by the sound of his hissing every now and then, he seemed to be having a hard time himself.

Your legs wobbled beneath you, sagging immediately against the seat of the car, using the center console as support. He stared at you like he wasn't worried about his prey leaving, frustration evident in the tense line in his jaw. You thought he might just knock you back out, and you hope he did. You leaned back against the car, head spinning wildly.

Without saying anything, he walked around to the backseat and opened the door to rummage through the back. He pulled out a bottle of water, his shoulder tensing every now and then. It was the same shoulder that you actually had a stab wound on. He languidly twisted the cap off, flicking it back into the car and leaning closer to your form, holding the bottle closer to your mouth.

"Open." His voice was flat, it telling to you that he obviously saw this as another inconvenience.

Your eyes glazed over, eyes meeting with his in desperation. All you could really find yourself doing is looking at him, sickening weight of his actions plaguing your minds and his eyes cold and unwavering coinciding. His hair fell messily across his forehead, look defined a certain response you couldn't place your finger on. The haphazard way he moved made him seem less calm than before, even if his voice was still demanding.

"You don't have to think about it so hard," he said, this time more impatiently. "Drink, now."

You swallowed, stiffening as you let him watch you closely. This was insane, you thought. How could you even be sitting here right now, okay with him treating you like you were a vegetable? You parted your lips slowly, the cool water trickling into your mouth, the refreshing icy cold soothing the rawness and the roughness of your throat. He was cataloguing your every move, studying your every breath you took, attempting to tear your eyes away from him.

"Why?" The absurdity of his ways made you grit your teeth, your voice barely above a whisper. "You don't gain anything. Why are you doing this?"

He pulled the bottle back once you'd had enough, wiping your face coated in your own sick with a clean wet wipe he reached out from the backseat as well. "You need to stay alive." He said, absentmindedly. "That's all. Just for a while longer."

The cut on his face wasn't as fresh anymore. Your knees were tucked up to your chest in a lame attempt to help your unsettled stomach. Seemingly satisfied, he rounded the car again after shutting the door and got back into the driver's seat. The car after it started up again was filled with nothing but icy silence, you slyly glanced at the man beside you. There was something... off about him.

You didn't know how much time had passed with you feeling out the throbbing soar through half of your body. Too focused on making sure you didn't throw up again, but when you looked out the window again after regaining your sight through tears, the uniformed rows of tall fir trees thinned out. Civilization was close again, and you took a long time processing it.

The dark trunks of said trees blurred past the windows, bending toward the road like they were part of some wide-open fields of grass stretching far. There was no sign of civilization, nor houses or power lines. The car veered off the main road onto a narrow path of gravel, the wheels crunching under the texture. He slowed the car to a stop beside the home, letting the engine idle for a moment.

He sat still for a beat longer, then turned towards you. "You'll be dealt with, then. And I don't want to hear a sound from you. One syllable, go anywhere you're not supposed to, you're going back in the trunk."

"Charming," You scoffed, stomach twisting. You looked up at the house. It was nice, yeah, but you could still feel your pulse quickening in your throat.

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[elkement]

Reality and Imagination for real

Real and imaginary part of complex function 1/z - "Reality and Imagination" - for the first time drawn traditionally on paper, therefore I call it: "Reality and Imagination for real".

I picked the colors intuitively, but now I see: Red pill versus blue pill :-)

Geometric drawing - axonometry, creating the "3D view" from the view from above - "cloverleaf-like", placed in the center of the drawing - and from the side - where circles become just lines. Graphite pencil, watercolor pencils, ballpoint pens.

The contour lines of these functions are actually just circles whose radii decrease reciprocally with height, and which are aligned along one point of the circumference. The towers of reality and imagination can be rotated into one another. I also often call them "trumpets" - it's 4 trumpets, two blue and two red ones, each opening up to an infinite circle.