#the untamed is inevitable

[benevolenterrancy]

magical powers add whole new dimensions to the "annoy your sibling beyond the bounds of sanity" game

[brw]

Incredibly niche post but Bayonetta and Æon Flux are in the same genus of woman and I think they'd get on great.

[bahoreal]

you know i am still so obsessed with lan xichen and lan wangji being told their parents story as a cautionary tale, and lan xichen tried all he could to avoid the same fate but ended up with the one he trusted the most hurting him the most, and lan wangji looked their story head on and tried to do exactly the same, refusing to ever consider wei wuxian as irredeemable, and ended up living happily. i just think about this all the time.

[soyforramen]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian Characters: Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji, Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Exes Summary:

Yes he and Lan Zhan might have broken up ten (thirteen and half!) years ago, but who’s counting? And sure, it might be a bad idea to respond to a text while he’s a little drunk and out with his friends, but surely two people can reconnect? This can’t be that bad of an idea.

Or, the one where Wei Ying is just a guy living in an Olivia Rodrigo world.

---

Fuck, this is a terrible, awful idea. It is now the worst idea ever, so much so that it will end up in the Guinness Book of World Records and his face will be plastered all across high school posters as a warning to impressionable teens what not to do when your ex texts you.

He should go home. Go to bed. Sleep off this weird night in his own bed and think it through. Be the responsible adult he always feels like he’s cosplaying as.

Fuck it, he thought instead, his rideshare app already pulled up. It’s fine.

[masked-alien-lesbian]

Mc showing trauma symptoms

[criticalrolo]

Oh man now you’ve got me curious about other stories about how nmj and nhs’s moms interact/play with the two kids 👀👀❤️

AAAAA would love to talk about these guys forever, I've made up a very cute couple of moms ;__;

NMJ's mom lost her right eye in a night hunt and got a jade prosthetic eye that makes her look SO !! Awesome !! to NMJ and NHS. The kids go WILD watching her take it out and put it back in when they're toddlers, it's their version of like, peek-a-boo

She's also a blacksmith / silversmith. She made a really lovely intricate crane-shaped hairpiece for NHS's mom when they. met. and she makes lots of little presents for her kids too. She hand crafted the flower pins and pauldrons that adult NMJ wears :)

Dual Wielder NMJ's Mom My Beloved. 25% of the reason she agreed to marry Sect Leader Nie is he said he'd teach her nie sect saber techniques. She's NMJ's first saber instructor when he turns, like, six, and NHS has just been born and they're trying to keep him busy while NHS's mom rests with the new baby

NHS's mom is a Genius with talismans, and she is Always coming up with little magical effects to dazzle the kids. it's like she's casting prestidigitation constantly and they LOVE it

She taught the boys how to do cartwheels :)

She is also always ADVOCATING for more color variety in the grey Nie Sect Wardrobes. She's always adding in little splashes of color to the kids' outfits. She's giving them little red sashes and purple hair ribbons and she paints colorful fans for both boys

Sect Leader Nie is the Loves To Toss Kids As High As Possible kind of dad!! And with that Nie Style Cultivation. that's pretty fucking high LOL

The kids say they hate his beard because it's scratchy when he picks them up and hugs them but then one day he shaves and both of them HATE hate HATE it so he grows it back out right away

[rhymaes]

just submitted my first phd application. why did it take so long when i had all the important parts done by Dec. 1st? easy! i'd rather kill myself than write a letter of intent

[nothergator]

I wonder how those Yiling villagers who bought and ate the burial mounds radishes are coping with the permanent Symptoms and Side Effects

[wuxian-vs-wangji]

**Some elements were thrown out of alignment by Fatal Journey, but the vast majority of it still fits

A Bit of a Radical Proposition::

**Based on show, not book.

There is more evidence in the show that Mo Xuanyu was Huaisang’s benefactor rather than the reverse. Think about it–

Jin Guangyao says that he caught Mo Xuanyu reading a forbidden scroll about the Sacrificing Summons and booted him from Carp Tower for it.

There is no mention of Huaisang ever being in the same room as Mo Xuanyu, let alone getting a copy of it from him.

Guangyao wouldn’t have let Mo Xuanyu just walk out with that document and doesn’t mention it going missing.

If Huaisang arranged everything by himself and manipulated Mo Xuanyu- how did he get the Summons? Or how did he know Mo Xuanyu had seen it before and trust a mentally ill man would remember how to do it correctly?

You see Wuxian and Mingjue each figuring out in their own times what Guangyao did, but not once do you even get a hint of Huaisang suspecting Guangyao.

When he comes to see Wuxian and Wangji at the end of episode 50 he says “The things I need to do, I won’t shirk from doing them”, but never makes any mention of realizing what Guangyao was.

Mo Xuanyu was accused of getting too close to Qin Su, what if he either saw Mingjue’s body being taken to the vault while stalking her OR was never stalking her in the first place?

Mo Xuanyu had more opportunity than anyone else in the series to figure out what happened to Mingjue.

Sisi and Bi Cao were looped in using notes from an anonymous source (Huaisang).

Huaisang could very well have been made aware of the plot in that way as well.

‘Your brother was killed by Jin Guangyao. Work with me and together we can destroy him.’

Mo Xuanyu likely hates Guangyao for his own reasons.

Mo Xuanyu returned from Carp Tower and immediately started doing whatever he could to obscure his appearance so that people forgot what he looked like.

Could be part of his insanity (the man definitely had screws loose), but also could be the first step in a plan to pave the way for Wei Wuxian.

Why 16 years? Why then?

Without any mention of Huaisang beginning to piece things together, there is no way to figure out why it took 16 years to solve the mystery.

Everything that happened happened in the past- Xue Yang has had the Stygian Tiger Seal for around 13 years, Wen Ning and Song Lan have been puppets, based on Guangyao’s response to Qin Su, their son has been dead for a long time.

There is no inciting incident on Huaisang or Mo Xuanyu’s side of things.

Unless they were waiting for something- like for the shattered soul of Wei Wuxian to pull itself back together as Song Lan hopes Xingchen’s will.

What happened to Wuxian for 16 years?

SHOW (not book) has Wuxian resurrecting into his own body.

Jiang Cheng searched the cliff below Nightless and never found Wuxian’s remains.

Generic cultivators and Wangji alike tried every method to find Wuxian’s soul, but no one ever could.

Perhaps because it was contained in a pouch?

Huaisang had no reason to hate Guangyao by the time of the Battle of Nightless. He had no reason to save Wuxian’s body and soul other than the simple loyalty of a friend who knew the other cultivators would probably never give him a proper burial.

Huaisang never jumped on the anti-Wuxian bandwagon, neither did Mingjue for that matter.

Mingjue could have given Huaisang permission to place Wuxian’s body in one of the Nie tombs- either as a friendly gesture or thinking they might need to suppress the resentful energy burning inside him.

Could also explain why Wuxian is fine resentment-wise after he comes back- if his soul spent 16 years burning off all of that hatred in a Nie tomb with the monster souls also sealed inside.

Where did Baxia’s spirit come from?

Guangyao is terrified of anything Nie Mingjue. He and Xue Yang kill Mingjue with his own saber, and no one could confirm Mingjue’s death all those years.

The last time you see Baxia whole is in Guangyao’s possession (Xue Yang’s hands), and the sword itself isn’t seen again until the temple drama.

If Huaisang found his brother’s saber there would be mention of it. 

There is no sign in the Nie Saber Vault of one of the sabers being removed, and Wuxian never identifies Baxia specifically until she manifests in her true form. They even specifically say the Saber was taking them there to identify itself as a Nie artifact, not necessarily to show them its casing (the blade itself).

If Mo Xuanyu found some forbidden Wei Wuxian treatise and made a study of his methods, he could coax the spirit from a saber and give it to Huaisang.

What grudge did Mo Xuanyu have with Jin Guangyao?

Guangyao wasn’t coming after Mo Xuanyu (or else he would have continued going after Wuxian when Wuxian was pretending to be Mo Xuanyu). 

Huaisang simply saying “Hey, if you’re doing this anyway would you mind adding a slash?” makes no sense without there being some kind of relationship to Mo Xuanyu (nothing romantic).

How would Huaisang know Mo Xuanyu had seen the sacrificing curse? 

Also, it’s such an unusual, forbidden, and rare curse how would he know enough about how it worked to coordinate anything?

Huaisang didn’t unleash Baxia until well after Wuxian was resurrected, and he waited in perhaps the most gossip-filled place in the city (and close to Mo Manor).

Maybe listening for word of Mo Xuanyu showing strange behavior around the incoming Lan to know when to put their plot in motion?

The storyteller says he was paid to tell the tale of Wei Wuxian for three days, like Huaisang was actively waiting.

The death of Jin Guangyao visibly shook Huaisang.

If he felt that way about the death of someone he hated so much, why would he stand by for the death of someone who never caused him any harm- who was in fact doing him a favor?

Huaisang is always shown to be fairly upright and moral, not someone who thinks the ends justify the means. Certainly not the type to kill an innocent to resurrect an innocent.

How would Huaisang have known to use Mo Xuanyu to resurrect Wei Wuxian?

Again, Huaisang likely wouldn’t know on his own about the Sacrificing Curse. It was so rare it likely wasn’t in many books.

Only acknowledging the book long enough to say the treatise on the curse that Mo Xuanyu read was written by Wei Wuxian as a purely theoretical concept.

Let alone just casually knowing someone he could get close enough to manipulate into using it.

A feat supposedly achieved without the Mo family ever knowing Mo Xuanyu had any contact with cultivators.

If Mo Xuanyu kept it secret that he had met Huaisang, that means he had a reason to.

Mo Xuanyu and Jin Guangyao had almost the same story–

Mo Xuanyu’s mother wasn’t a prostitute, but she was ruined by Jin Guangshan and died wretchedly, leaving behind a son who loved her.

This likely endeared Mo Xuanyu to Guangyao somewhat- kindred spirits and all.

Guangyao kills people for sneezing suspiciously, he wouldn’t just let Mo Xuanyu wander off unless he felt something like pity for him.

Even so, Guangyao threw Mo Xuanyu out of Carp Tower with the same vicious energy he himself was expelled with, returning him to an abusive family.

Both men ended up twisted and angry. Mo Xuanyu manipulated everyone by pretending to suck while actually utilizing highly complex cultivation, becoming only the sixth to attempt the Sacrificing Curse.

Again, only acknowledging book long enough to say how difficult and rare the curse was.

If Guangyao can play the white knight, why can’t Mo Xuanyu play the fool? He wasn’t mad until he returned from Carp Tower and had a reason to hate Guangyao.

Therefore, I would like to propose the following:: Mo Xuanyu wasn’t some victim of Nie Huaisang’s manipulations. He was, in fact, Nie Huaisang’s partner- and perhaps the one who actually started it all. Huaisang built the framework of his vengeance on what Mo Xuanyu brought to him and worked in tandem with him until Wuxian’s resurrection.

[ninibeingdelulu]

How he react when you…

ft. leon kennedy, cloud strife, zack fair, simon “ghost” riley

How he react when you kiss/lick/nibble his earlobe/neck/jaw.

Leon Kennedy -

The hardened former rookie cop would freeze completely still at the first intimate swipe of your tongue along the wiry tendon of his neck. Eyes fluttering shut, Leon would fight back a full-body shudder, teeth gritting as that rugged jaw twitches with mounting restraint.

As your nibbles and caresses increased against the sensitive flesh behind his ear, his calloused palms would clench into white-knuckled fists. Battling the ingrained instinct to defensively seize and subdue like with any other threat. Until, at last, Leon can resist no longer.

A strangled rumble erupts from his broad chest as he twists with feline grace to back you against the nearest solid surface. Pupils blown wide with smoldering hunger, he braces one strong forearm by your head as the other hand cups your nape with surprising tenderness despite the desperation ravening behind each fevered caress of his lips along your jawline. The first of many tremors to rack your entire frame that night.

Cloud Strife -

The stalwart AVALANCHE mercenary lurches as if jolted by a live current when the first pass of your tongue grazes that sensitive spot below his jaw. Spiky blond brows knit sharply over those blazing mako-tinged eyes squeezing shut on a guttural groan torn straight from his diaphragm.

Though his initial fists clench at his sides instinctively, Cloud permits no further retaliation - whether physical or to extract himself from your wandering affections. Quite the opposite, in fact. His head lolls aside, granting you ample access to continue feathering scorching kisses and teasing flicks of your tongue along the sensitive column of his throat.

Only once your relentless sensual torment threatens to buckle those powerful thighs entirely does Cloud shudder and haul you flush against him with dizzying abruptness. Equal parts possessive and reverent, he claims your parted lips in a soul-searing kiss, broad palms framing your face like a precious treasure as he savors every ardent swirl of your twined tongues.

Zack Fair -

That blinding, boyish smile wouldn't dim one iota as your teasing ministrations first make contact. At least, not outwardly. Inside, however, Zack's breath would leave him in a harsh gust as electricity lances up his spine from the languid glide of your mouth torturing that sensitive zone.

Far from the fierce, untamed passion of some of his counterparts, Zack would be endearingly awestruck and bashful at the outpouring of tenderness behind such a simple act. His fingers would splay tenderly through your hair, those sparkling blue eyes crinkling at the corners with unbridled adoration as you eagerly bestow your affections over every inch of accessible flesh.

Inevitably, he'd succumb to the smoldering fog of arousal steadily consuming every rational thought. Zack's doting caresses would roam freely along the sculpted planes of your body, lavishing you in turn with a breathless reverence and earnestness reserved for only you until the lines blurred completely between worshiper and revered.

Ghost -

One glimpse of that icy blue glare, and you'd know the elite marksman's mind was already whirring through a dozen calculated scenarios and counterattacks as soon as your lips made contact. Every toned muscle would go rigid, coiled like a cobra ready to strike or retreat at the first suspicious provocation.

Until, of course, realization trickles through that predatory hyper-alertness - this tantalizing torment stems from no external threat whatsoever, only the exquisite onslaught of pleasure steadily unravelling his razor-sharp restraint. As your roving mouth brands a searing path along Ghost's neck and jaw, his broad shoulders would slump minutely, permitting the faintest hitch of an indrawn breath to escape those chapped lips.

No vocalized encouragement or returned passion yet; such overt displays would likely always be suppressed lest they expose potential weaknesses to be exploited in the field. But like a silent storm front rolling in, Ghost's heated stare would spark with a new, tangible intensity wholly untamed and promising of the inevitable downpour still to come at your unhurried pace.

[sorceresssundries]

Downpour

Pairing: Gale x Fem Reader

Summary: After so long trapped in the shadow-cursed lands, Tav basks in the delight of feeling the rain on her skin. One-shot.

Warnings: Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Smut.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Ok, so I wanted to have a go a a romantic, Austen-esque, fluffy, soggy, sexy love-scene. I am a Pride and Prejudice girlie, and this was definitely inspired by the artwork i've seen floating around of Gale as Mr.Darcy. I STILL BLUSH WHEN I POST SMUT.

In the forest, away from camp, the rain fell heavy, warm, and welcome. After enduring the stagnant shadows of the curse for so long, Tav reveled in the sensation of the heavy droplets drenching her. She longed to feel the rain soak all the way to her bones, washing away the blood and shadow clinging to her skin. She craved cleanliness, yearning to return to the warm embrace of nature before being pulled back onto the road to Baldur’s Gate, where fresh burdens would undoubtedly litter the streets of her city. 

Baldur’s Gate... The Upper City... Her home. Where her expectant fiancé no-doubt awaited her return, eager for her to forsake her studies of magic and join him as agreed in their betrothal. It was a future that demanded sacrifice—her independence, her magic, her heart—all in exchange for providing for her family. This was the destiny that loomed if they completed their quest, and time was slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

So, she lingered in the rain a while longer, relishing the freedom of being a fearless adventurer, a woman unbound, her soul still wild and untamed. She would postpone the inevitable, if only for a few rain-soaked hours.

Her thoughts drifted, as they often did, to Gale. His anger still lingered like a storm cloud after their battle against Ketheric. She had urged him to resist the call of his Goddess, to spare himself from becoming the sacrificial weapon to slay the absolute. In doing so, he had shed his mantle of martyrdom, stepping away from the edge of his perceived heroism. And in the aftermath, when the adrenaline faded and victory cries hushed, she sensed his resentment.

At the height of his struggle, she had hoped he wouldn't need convincing. She had hoped his own worth would shine brightly enough to dispel the dark intent of Mystra's decree, and that he would have enough faith in their companions, in her, to find another path. She had believed their bond ran deep enough for him to steadfastly choose to remain by her side, but she had been mistaken. He required persuasion, and it had nearly shattered her.

She understood he owed her nothing, that no formal declarations had been made. There were moments heavy with unspoken desire, where the air crackled with anticipation. She had savoured each lingering glance and flirtatious exchange. Yet now, she wondered if it had all been a fanciful illusion. How could he desire her when his heart yearned for a Goddess? When the sigil of his devotion was literally branded over his heart? She resigned herself to accepting that he would stay by her side a while longer, and would bask in his warmth for as long as she could.

“Tav!” A distant voice called through the trees, barely audible over the rain storm's fury.

She turned to see him striding purposefully towards her, embers of anger flickering in his deep eyes. Both of them were drenched, the rain pouring down so relentlessly that it only took moments to become completely soaked. His white camp shirt clung to his chest and abdomen, accentuating the contours of his muscles. The emblem of the orb was unmistakable through the fabric, as was the dark hair which spattered his chest, trailing down into the snug, rain-soaked leather trousers tucked into his boots. Heavy droplets cascaded down his nose and fell from his long lashes like tears, and he had pushed his hair back away from his face, so now only a couple of tendrils stuck to his forehead and his cheek. The shimmer of the water cast him in ethereal beauty, and his silver earring gleamed like a lone star in the night sky. He might as well have been naked, and Tav felt a rush of heat at the sight of him. He was divine, and he was furious.

“What are you doing?” His voice was coloured with fresh anger. “You will catch your death!”

“Death has tried to catch me once today, wizard,” she said in defiance, turning her face upwards to the burst sky and running her hands through her hair. “I would like to see him try again.”

“You are stubborn and infuriating to your core! You would not allow me to sacrifice myself, and yet here you stand in the middle of a storm, taunting death as though he is a pawn in your game of heroics.”

She had never seen him this inflamed; the cool bindings of his tightly-wrapped feelings had come loose to reveal a man smouldering with desperate intent. The fact he still saw himself as a sacrifice shot fury through Tav’s veins equal to that of the Wizard before her.

“Do not blame me for what happened today! Your derision is wasted on me. I regret nothing. You were not weak; you were courageous. Vilify me if you will; resent me and cast me aside. It is a price I will pay to know your light still shines in the world. But I take no credit for your act of bravery. That was all you.”

She felt tears spill their way out of her eyes, and she belligerently let them fall alongside the welcome rain, now angry that she was letting herself fall apart in front of him. She could see him subside; he had calmed from raging ocean to a still pond. He said nothing, just waited.

“Baldur’s Gate lies ahead, and so does the end of our journey. Soon I will be home. I will marry a man I do not love, to support a family who does not care for my happiness, and I will take my courage from you, from what you did today. Please grant me the blessing of knowing it was because you wanted to stay here, with me. Just let me have that, even for a moment, even if it isn't real.”

He stepped towards her, and she stepped back, as though it was the first move in a practiced dance. She knew he meant to comfort her; she was unsure how, but it did not matter. She could not bear it.

“No, please,” she pleaded, needing to be alone. Completely soaked by the rain, despite the warmth in the air, her skin was speckled with gooseflesh, her clothing clinging to her in soaked desperation. She felt ashamed and exposed in front of him. He was everything she wanted but could never have. Jealousy, anger, and longing burned within her. If he touched her, she feared she would flame to ash in his arms. “Please, leave.”

He gazed at her face, her damp skin flushed, her dark eyes deeper than he had ever seen them, the usual mischievous sparkle replaced with swirling fear and helplessness. He longed to comfort her, to hold her.

“You should not marry him,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the rain. The silence that followed was heavy with tension. She held his gaze, her tears halting along with her breath.

“I am acutely aware of the shackles that will bind you upon your return. The thought of it has seared my soul. I have seen people marry for all the wrong reasons—wealth, security, anything but love. Some found it suited them, others were torn apart. That fate is for the faint-hearted, and you are not one of them.”

This time when he stepped forward, she did not move.

“They are early spring, and you are blazing summer. They are dappled moonlight, and you are blinding sun. They are house cats and cart horses, and you are a wild thing. You should not marry him,” he continued, his sadness palpable in his eyes and voice. “You will wither.” The space between them felt heavy and charged, the air warm and heady in the humid rain shower. “You talked me down from my precipice; let me help you down from yours.”

She could bear it no longer. Meeting his eyes, she began to move with purpose. That was all he needed. Rushing forward, he pushed her back against the nearest tree. She mewled in surprise before his lips captured hers, soft yet determined.

“Gale..” His name fell like dropped silk from her parted lips. As soon as he heard it exhaled in breathlessness, all soft intent was washed away with the rain. His hands were everywhere, grasping at her soaked clothing, tangling themselves in her dripping hair, pulling her hips against him. The kiss was wet - rain heavy and so so desperate. His tongue danced with hers, in ways he had fantasised about alone in his tent. He had brought himself to ecstasy thinking about the touch of her tongue against his, about all the lust induced pleasure she could summon with it. He was desperately hard, unashamedly and wantonly pressed against her. He wanted her to feel the effect she had on him, how much he desired her in all her vexing, complicated, exquisite glory. 

He had been angry, yes. He had been ashamed and guilt-ridden - but for reasons he did not expect. He did not feel as though he had let down Mystra, but that he had let down Tav. He had the opportunity to rid her of her burden, to strike down the threat which loomed over her head. She would be safe from the absolute, he could have given that to her, and she had talked him out of it. He felt like a coward, a meek ember undeserving of the vivid bonfire of a woman who had blazed her way into his heart. 

He realised now, entangled with her in the wild rain, that he loved her. The simplicity of it was overwhelming. She was exceptional, and he loved her. 

She had thought his feelings for her were wistful imaginings, but the truth was - he burned for her, he always had. Over the course of their journey, he had caught each glance with gentle hope and clutched them to him in times of darkness. He had saved every kind word and pressed them together into the pages of a book, to be taken out and skimmed through when he needed comfort. Her name was carved into his heart, and each beat belonged to her. 

They broke apart, both panting and breathless from the force of their embrace and she laughed. The most beautiful, clear chime of a laugh which stirred his blood and flooded his veins with joy. He smiled at the sight of her, and with a wave of his hand created an invisible shelter above them to shield them from the rain. 

“You couldn’t have done that before?” her pupils were so lust-blown the rich brown of her eyes were thin bands around black pools of desire, and her voice sparkled and danced through him. 

He peppered light kisses along her jaw and down her neck, “And spoil your fun? I wouldn’t dare.” Her hands tangled in his hair in response, and she moaned as he licked away the rainwater which had gathered in the hollow of her throat. 

“Lay down for me.” The grass beneath them was dry from his magic, and a soft purple blanket had been conjured out of nowhere. 

She did as he was told, and the ease of her submission did something to him. She was wild, unpredictable and stubborn, and the way in which she melted and bowed at his touch, at his command, stirred him in a way he had not felt before. He was a man undone.

He spent time slowly undressing her, lifting the hem of her soaking wet shirt and kissing the plane of her stomach, working his mouth along the sensitive ridges of her ribcage, pushing her arms upwards so he could pull the sopping wet clothing over her head. As he lifted her arms he licked the curve of her breast, her collarbone, even her armpit. He wanted all of her, and she arched her back so beautifully under his touch that he could not bear to remove his mouth for even an instant.

“Gale, please.” He had never heard her voice so low before, so wanton and dripping with unfiltered lust. 

“It is unlike you to be so well-mannered.” He teased between tonguing her damp skin “Where is the wild creature who has enraptured me so?” 

Her response came in a moan so primal it could have been mistaken for a growl. She was an altar he couldn’t decide whether to worship at, or desecrate. He decided there would be time for both. 

He peeled the rest of her clothes from her like the rind from a sweet fruit. Putting his mouth to every inch of flesh he uncovered. The rain mixed with the salt-sweet taste of her skin was fresh and heady, and he thought that no ambrosia could taste sweeter. 

He proved himself wrong when he eventually pressed his tongue where she wanted it most, where her desire gathered like a fresh-filled rockpool. She was heavenly. Every moan he pulled from her was a claimed bounty, a treasure he would hoard till the end of his days. He dipped his tongue inside her, savouring her, coating his tongue with her and then swiping upwards to run over the small bundle of nerves which could undo her completely. Her hips bucked in response. 

“Exquisite.” He said in between heated kisses. 

“I want all of you inside me, please.” Her cry was more breath than words. Her fingers raked through his hair and the shocks of her touch ran all the way down his spine. “You shall have me, my love. Body and soul, heart and mind. All of me, eternally.”

“Enough poetry.” She whined “Gale..” 

“I want you to come against my tongue first, sweet girl. I want to taste your undoing.” He re-focused his attention back between her legs, completely devoted in his worship, intent on receiving the holy blessing of her exalted cries as she lost herself beneath him. It did not take long. His tongue was firm, his dexterous fingers stroked into her and curled to find the hidden place of her rapture. His face was lust-soaked, head spun with desire, he was drunk on her pleasure and he ground himself into the earth beneath him as she unravelled with a reckless cry. He did not stop, he coaxed her through it, tongue softening and fingers slowing their pace as her wave broke and the relentless tide retreated. Even when she was spent, he continued to kiss her intimately, revelling in the soft pulse of her muscles. 

She drew him close, kissing him slowly and wantonly, savouring the taste of her own salt on his tongue. Pulling back, she gazed into his eyes, tracing the rough shadow of his beard with the pads of her fingers, fulfilling every longing touch she had yearned for. Returning the favour, she undressed him, their laughter mingling as they wrestled with his soaked leather trousers, finally leaving him as bare as she. With him above her, their bodies pressed together, anticipation sweetening the air between them.

“You are a marvel.” She whispered, tracing the vein-like mark that swirled under his eye, “I will spend each second proving to you that you made the right choice today. That the world is a brighter place for having you in it.”

“I am completely in love with you.” was his simple response, and the smile it earned him rivalled the night sky with its radiance. 

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” was her teasing reply.  He offered her a single soft, chaste kiss, before running his hands once again up her arms. This time to pin her hands above her head. She gasped at the sudden change in pace, and his eyes gleamed wickedly. He kept her small hands grasped in one of his, and slowly stroked the other down her body. Tracing a path to where she was still wet from desire and the focus of his tongue. Her eyelashes fluttered beautifully as his finger lightly brushed over her, and her sharp intake of breath told him she was still desperately needy. “I’m going to need to hear you say it properly, Tav.” Briefly, his strokes became firmer, purposeful, stacking a pleasurable build back from the ruins of her last orgasm. And then, he withdrew his touch from her completely, leaving her bucking and helpless. 

He kissed her throat and moaned against her skin, as he shifted his position to meet her heat. The tip of him pressed against her, and he had to dredge up every drop of restraint to stop himself pushing into her in one, hard stroke. 

“Be a good girl, and say it.” Between the two of them, it was unclear who was more desperate, who was winning their little game. It didn’t matter in the end, the result was always going to be the same. 

“I love you.” She met his eyes and poured every ounce of love-drenched sincerity she could into her words. She meant it. She would always mean it. And with her confession, Gale finally pushed himself into her, not breaking contact with the sparkle of her eyes as he moved himself inside her. 

"Let me touch you, let me show you, please," she begged, her voice aching with desire. At her plea, he released her hands, and immediately her fingers roamed his body. Her pleasure soared as she finally explored him in ways she had only dreamed of, tracing faded scars and kissing each sun-browned freckle.

His pace remained deliberate, slow at first, savouring every moment as he pulled almost completely out of her before burying himself deep inside, revelling in her tight warmth. The pouring rain and distant rumble of thunder drowned out most of their passion's noise, but Tav seemed to take it as a challenge.

She matched his intensity, moving with abandon, grinding her hips against each dedicated thrust, enticing him to unravel, daring him to let go. And he did. His kisses turned into soft bites, caresses into bruising grips on her waist, her hips, the soft flesh of her backside.

Lovemaking turned to fucking, to pure desperation and relief. He rutted into her, primal and hot - the ability to speak a distant memory as all he could do was moan into her mouth as he approached his crescendo. He flipped her over, and placed one of his arms under her leg to move it upwards, and he fucked her into the ground. They were still soaked, and they didn’t know if it was from the rain, their sweat or their pleasure, neither of them cared. 

He had angled her hips so he could move more deeply into her, and still wrap his arm around her to stroke her where she needed. It was exquisite. It did not last long. Tav threw her head back against his shoulder, and gasped out a choked cry as she clenched around him - wild and lost. The sensation of her was too perfect, and Gale followed her breathlessly and completely. All rhythm lost in the chaos of her unravelling orgasm. 

As they descended from their high together, he gently turned her to face him, and kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her nose, the pads of each fingertip. 

“I love you” her voice was soft hope, he gaze a bright future. They would keep each other safe, and face each challenge with hearts and hands entwined.

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” He replied breathlessly, and her laugh mingled with the sound of rain and thunder to create the most beautiful music he had ever heard. 

[silviakundera]

Yeah, I would personally argue that WWX is neither oblivious nor does he, during the Burial Grounds era, in essence misunderstand LWJ! They certainly do not know all of the emotional undercurrents and personal secrets of the other. But LWJ is not mistaken to think that WWX won't back down and bow his head to orthodoxy, give up his flute and the Wens. WWX is not mistaken to think that LWJ will ultimately adhere to society's rules of order and obey his sect - this isn't a misunderstanding. In both novel and drama, LWJ is simply not ready to walk his own path, against gentlemen's etiquette & proscribed moral behavior, and decide on his own (& against his family) what is wrong and right. Not until WWX is at death's door...when it's too late.

I too dislike the miscommunication tropes when it's lazy. But MDZS isn't a lazy narrative. This is a tragedy that's built step by step, that happens because of who these characters are. It's incredibly true to all of the characters and no one is forced by the narrative to be stupid in order to make the plot work.

I think the reason the wangxian miscommunication doesn't upset me as much as other stories using that trope is because they're not misunderstanding over a surface level issue that could be cleared up with one conversation they're aren't speaking the same language. When lan wangji says "come back to gusu with me" wei wuxian hears "let me punish you" and lan wangji means "let me save you". Not to mention that there's a lot about their circumstances that make it so they can't clearly communicate like wei wuxian can't reveal he doesn't have a golden core so lan wangji can't understand why he chose the demonic path. In the end its only post resurrection when they learn eachothers language and secrets come to light that they can be happy and honest with eachother.

[connorsui]

“Earth and pine, breath and heart” || Halsin ||

Synopsis: Amidst the quiet nature of the forest, Halsin finds a new kind of peace in your shared intimacy, realizing that you are the missing piece he's been searching for beyond the balance of the wilds.

Genre/warnings: fluff, a tad bit of slow burn, itty bitty soft moments, quiet intimacy, emotional vulnerability, halsin lowkey loving you …no warnings tho …halsin ain't about that angst

Note: halsin has been on my radar for like awhile …I needed to make a fic out of my bear man

w.c: 1.1K

The warmth of Halsin’s breath whispered across your skin, delicate yet undeniable, carrying with it not just the scent of pine and earth but the very essence of the forest itself. His presence was vast, ancient, yet it didn’t overwhelm—you felt steadied, as though in his nearness you had discovered a sanctuary amidst the wilderness of life. The air between you hummed, alive with unspoken thoughts, the silence more profound than any words.

Neither of you dared break that silence, a fragile thread woven from the crackling of the fire and the rhythmic night sounds. Halsin’s eyes, deep and unyielding like the forest at midnight, flickered in the firelight. His gaze held no urgency, no demand—only a patient curiosity, like the pull of the moon on the ocean, inexorable yet gentle.

“You are different,” he said at last, his voice a low rumble, steady as the roots of an ancient tree. It felt as though he were speaking from some place beyond this moment, reaching for something timeless.

A soft smile ghosted across your lips, but you could not hold back the curiosity his words stirred within you. “In what way do you see me, exactly?”

His brow furrowed slightly, a crease forming between his eyes as though he were contemplating something larger than either of you. “In you,” he said slowly, his voice hushed with reverence, “I see a reflection of home. Not the wild, untamed places I’ve known, but a kind of stillness. A peace that settles, like the calm after a storm. You carry it with you, though you may not realize it.”

His words took root within you, warmth blooming in your chest like the first light of dawn. His hand, rough from years spent in the wilds, was surprisingly tender as he turned his palm upwards, meeting your fingers with a gentleness that felt like a promise, unspoken but deeply understood.

"The wilds will always be part of me," he murmured, more to himself than to you, his gaze distant for a moment, as though searching the horizon for something he had long lost. "But lately... I’ve begun to wonder if there’s more. If balance, in all its beauty, is enough." His eyes found yours again, and in them, you saw not the fierce protector of nature, but the man—uncertain, searching, longing. "Now, I find myself drawn to you, as if you’re the part of me I didn’t know I was missing."

There was a weight to his words, a quiet intensity that made your breath catch. The world seemed to still, the sounds of the forest fading until all that remained was the rhythm of your heartbeat and the warmth of his hand in yours. In the space between words, something passed between you—a recognition, a quiet understanding of something neither of you had named, yet both had felt growing, quietly and inevitably.

You smiled softly, a flush rising in your cheeks as your thumb traced slow circles across his palm. It was such a simple thing, this touch, yet it felt like so much more—a bridge between you, a silent affirmation of the connection that had taken root.

What you hadn’t realized, or perhaps had only begun to understand, was that Halsin was as captivated by you as the forest was by the rain. His gaze lingered on the curve of your lips, the way your hair caught the firelight, making the ordinary seem luminous. You spoke, and he listened—not just to your words, but to the melody of your voice, filling the spaces between the trees and reverberating in places within him that had long been silent.

Without thinking, your knee brushed against his, and you didn’t pull away. In that touch, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. There was only the quiet thrum of connection, as natural and inevitable as the turning of seasons.

Halsin’s breath caught, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. His eyes, dark and fathomless, never left yours, and yet within them, you saw something tender, something vulnerable. Gently, almost hesitantly, he lifted your hand, his thumb grazing the soft skin of your fingers before tilting your chin upward, guiding your gaze to meet his.

Even sitting, he seemed to tower over you, a force of nature contained within a man. Yet, there was no dominance in his gesture, no need to assert power—only a quiet tenderness, as though he had found something precious in you and could not look away.

His thumb brushed your lower lip, so soft it might have been a dream, and in that instant, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you, suspended in a moment both infinite and impossibly fragile.

The air between you hummed with unspoken possibility, and then, as though drawn by something greater than either of you, he leaned in. His lips met yours in a slow, deliberate kiss—a gentle, careful press that felt like the first touch of spring after a long winter. It was tender, yet full of promise—a beginning, not an ending.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between words. His eyes, so often distant and watchful, were soft now, vulnerable in a way that took your breath away.

"You are my peace," he whispered, the words a quiet confession, a truth that had long taken root and was only now finding the light.

The silence that followed was full, rich with meaning, like the stillness before dawn. And as you looked into his eyes, you understood that this was no fleeting moment. It was a seed, planted in the fertile ground of shared breath and whispered words, and it would grow—quietly, steadily—into something deeper, something that would stand the test of time.

Halsin’s thumb brushed your lip once more, lingering, as though he could not bear to let go just yet. "The peace I’ve sought for so long," he said, his voice faltering slightly, "it’s not in the wilds alone... I see it here, in you."

Under the watchful stars, you came to understand that peace was not a destination, but something carried within—growing in the quiet spaces between heartbeats, in the brush of a hand, in the unspoken certainty of a love that needed no words to be felt.

Halsin, with his unshakable connection to the untamed wilds, had found a new home—in you.

I want another kiss like a selfish woman that I am

[zvaigzdelasas]

[BBC is UK State Media]

Truong My Lan is charged with taking out $44bn (£35bn) in loans from the Saigon Commercial Bank. Prosecutors say $27bn may never be recovered.[...]

The evidence is in 104 boxes weighing a total of six tonnes [!!!]. Eighty-five defendants are on trial with Truong My Lan, who denies the charges. She and 13 others face a possible death sentence.

"There has never been a show trial [sic] like this, I think, in the communist era," says David Brown, a retired US state department official with long experience in Vietnam. "There has certainly been nothing on this scale."

The trial is the most dramatic chapter so far in the "Blazing Furnaces" anti-corruption campaign led by the Communist Party Secretary-General, Nguyen Phu Trong.

A conservative [sic] ideologue [sic] steeped in Marxist theory, Nguyen Phu Trong believes that popular anger over untamed corruption poses an existential threat to the Communist Party's monopoly on power. He began the campaign in earnest in 2016 after out-manoeuvring the then pro-business prime minister to retain the top job in the party.

The campaign has seen two presidents and two deputy prime ministers forced to resign, and hundreds of officials disciplined or jailed. Now one of the country's richest women could join their ranks.[...]

Although Vietnam is best known outside the country for its fast-growing manufacturing sector, as an alternative supply chain to China, most wealthy Vietnamese made their money developing and speculating in property.

All land is officially state-owned. Getting access to it often relies on personal relationships with state officials. Corruption escalated as the economy grew, and became endemic.

By 2011, Truong My Lan was a well-known business figure in Ho Chi Minh City, and she was allowed to arrange the merger of three smaller, cash-strapped banks into a larger entity: Saigon Commercial Bank.

Vietnamese law prohibits any individual from holding more than 5% of the shares in any bank. But prosecutors say that through hundreds of shell companies and people acting as her proxies, Truong My Lan actually owned more than 90% [!!!] of Saigon Commercial.

They accuse her of using that power to appoint her own people as managers, and then ordering them to approve hundreds of loans to the network of shell companies she controlled.

The amounts taken out are staggering. Her loans made up 93% [!!!] of all the bank's lending.

According to prosecutors, over a period of three years from February 2019, she ordered her driver to withdraw 108 trillion Vietnamese dong, more than $4bn (£2.3bn) in cash from the bank, and store it in her basement.

That much cash, even if all of it was in Vietnam's largest denomination banknotes, would weigh two tonnes.[!!!!!][...]

David Brown believes she was protected by powerful figures who have dominated business and politics in Ho Chi Minh City for decades. And he sees a bigger factor in play in the way this trial is being run: a bid to reassert the authority of the Communist Party over the free-wheeling business culture of the south.

"What Nguyen Phu Trong and his allies in the party are trying to do is to regain control of Saigon, or at least stop it from slipping away.[...]

faster growth in Vietnam almost inevitably means more corruption [sic]. Fight corruption too much [sic], and you risk extinguishing a lot of economic activity.

10 Apr 24

[tightjeansjavi]

Hi!! Love your writing!! Can you write a cowboy fetish joel miller with boot riding 🥺🥺

Hi nonnie! Thank you for sending this in! It scratched my brain just ✨right✨ and I hope it does the same for you! I couldn’t just do some boot ridin’ without some plot ;) enjoy 🤠

Dinner & Diatribes

~word count: 3.7k~

Pairing | Cowboy/bounty hunter! Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: you’re the kind of love that Joel Miller has been dreaming of all his life

Warnings: smut,fluff, angst, cowboy in shining armor vibes, unprotected piv, boot ridin! dick slingin, mutual masturbation, voyeurism, implied age gap, dom/sub vibes, sir/mister kink, implied abuse (not by Joel) Joel is a bounty hunter during the Wild West, reader is a runaway bride wanted for murdering three men, filthy language, pining, protective! Joel, assumed unrequited love, swearing, AU that might not 100% be historically accurate but I tried! reader has no physical descriptions such a skin tone or body type, readers nickname is Chickadee, +18 minors dni! Let me know if I missed anything!

Joel Miller knows that keeping a bounty for himself ain’t the way to go about things..he knows that there’s consequences for his actions, an imminent problem would surely arise if he didn’t bring you back to the town you fled from. Wanted for the murders of three men. A wild untamable thing on the run is how the sheriff described you to Joel. And the most important detail of all; I don’t care if you bring her back alive, or in pieces.

And then Joel found you, tracked your trails for miles and miles through the barren rough terrain of the Wild West. You didn’t even put up a fight when you heard the distinct sound of thundering hooves drawing nearer and nearer. You were exhausted, dehydrated, and on the verge of collapsing to the dusty earth while vultures circled ahead.

This didn’t mean you gave up entirely when Joel Miller had you circled, cornered and lasso at the ready. That’s when he took notice of your state, your attire. A once glittering wedding dress now hanging on by threads of shredded fabric. The bottom tooled fabric was now a dirty sand color, blending in with the dirt. Remnants of your eye makeup cracked and stained beneath your eyes and cheekbones that were once painted in a pretty pigment.

He watched from the saddle of his horse as you sank down to your knees, awaiting your inevitable fate to be delivered. “Have you come to turn me in, Mister?”

His head cocked to the side, eyes studying your vulnerable form intently. You couldn’t see his face as it was obstructed from your view with a tied bandana, but even from where you sat on your knees, you could see that his eyes were a deep shade of brown, dark and mysterious.

He dismounted his horse swiftly, silently, boots tearing up dusty patches of earth with each heavy step he took. The spurs on the back of his boots chimed through the air as he stopped in front of you. His broad frame casted a shadow over your kneeling form. His hands were encased in worn leather, and he smelled of tobacco smoke, saddle soap, and musk.

He crouched down, hat tipping forward while one leather clad hand reached for your jaw, thumb brushing across your skin as he tilted it upwards, forcing you to look into his eyes. He saw your grime and dried blood stained face up close. Your eyes flickered nervously as he turned your head to the side.

“Ain’t you gonna get on with it and turn me in? What’re you draggin’ this out for, huh? You caught me, mister. Go and collect your fuckin’ reward.” You spat defiantly into the dirt, a glob of salvia landing on the toe of his boot.

His grip tightened around your chin, jaw ticking sharp like a knife, eyes narrowing in on your face and the subtle wobble of your severely cracked and dry lower lip.

“What happened to you?” He finally spoke. His voice reminded you of fire crackling, ominous thunder and heavy rain. Thick, gravelly, deeper than the Grand Canyon itself.

“What’s it matter if I tell ya, huh? You gonna take pity on me or somethin’ mister?”

He was silent again, appearing deep in thought as he continued to study your face, searching through the grime and dirt for any clues..then, he saw it; The eyes of someone that suffered abuse. His grip around your chin softened

“Stand up.” He commanded.

You struggled to your feet, confusion etched in your features, the obvious sway in your step before two strong hands grabbed your shoulders to steady you.

“We’ll have to move fast.”

“What’re you—” You were still confused, head spinning from his words and malnourishment.

“I don’t turn in folks that killed outta self defense, Chickadee. And certainly not a woman that killed her abusers.” He gave you a curt, tight nod. “Better you than I cause I woulda tied those sons a bitches up and dragged them through the fuckin’ desert.” He rasped.

“You’re..not turnin’ me in?”

“No. Ain’t morally right for me t’do so.” He said softly.

And that’s how you ended up riding through the countryside with Joel Miller to protect you. You’d patch up his shiners, his wounds, keep his belly full with hearty stews that kept him strong and alert. You’d clean his gun, shine his leather till you could see your reflection in the fabric. And in return, he protected you. He never asked for any sexual favors, or for your hand. He viewed you as his equal, his partner.

It hurt sometimes, to flirt with the man you owed your life to and for him to brush your attempts off everytime. As if you were a pesky horsefly, or insignificant gnat. Yet, you couldn’t help it. Joel was handsome, ruggedly so and you’d often find yourself fantasizing about kissing him, feeling his fingers touch you in places you craved to be touched in. To feel his caress on your skin, the bite of his leather, the scrape of his scruffy beard. The stretch of his cock inside of your wet cunt.

You were driving yourself mad with want for a man that didn’t want you back, or so you assumed that was to be the case.

That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Joel Miller was on the edge to finally just give in when he caught you one night with your skirts hiked above your thighs with your boot clad feet firmly planted in the dirt. Under the pale glow of the moonlight above, and the glittery shining stars, he could see your hand between your thighs, touching yourself and moaning his name.

It felt wrong to watch you, to invade your privacy and your modesty. But he’d be damned if he’d go another night without feeling the hug of your pussy around his aching cock. Or to feel the taste of your kissable lips on his tongue. Damned. Damned. Damned. Fuck, he couldn’t survive another second without knowing what it was like to be loved by you.

For years he had pushed you away despite knowing the pain it caused both you and him. A man could only last so long pretending to not love a woman that he’d throw his life down for in a heartbeat. That’s the kinda love Joel Miller had been dreaming of all his life.

Your head snapped at the sound of a twig snapping behind you as your hand stilled between your thighs. Your heartbeat rattled wildly in your rib cage at the fear and excitement of being caught.

Oh, please. Please let tonight be the night.

“Don’t stop on my account, Chickadee.” He drawled deeply before stepping closer to where you sat.

The heat rushed to your cheeks like a wildfire spreading, your stomach clenched inwards as you began to touch yourself once more, eyes staying locked on his own.

When he was close enough, you used his shins for support as you rubbed your swollen clit in tight, fast circles.

“No.” He shook his head. “Slower. Take your time, darlin.’ There ain’t no rush. Let me see you.” He rasped, before slowly sinking into the dirt behind you. His strong thighs corralled your own almost possessively as his hands gently grasped the hem of your skirts, pulling them up higher. You felt the brush of his beard against your cheek when his chin came to rest along your shoulder. “Nice and slow for me.”

“I’m—sorry, Joel.” You whispered ashamedly through the cool darkness of the desert night. You slowed your fingers, dragging them through the building slick that pooled between the seam of your cunt.

“Sorry for what, Chickadee? Sorry for touchin’ yourself? For moanin’ my name? Why would you be sorry for that?..” His deep tone sent sparks flying through your body as you leaned back into his strong chest.

“Because—you don’t want me, and this is wrong for me to do. To touch myself and moan a man’s name that doesn’t desire me the way I desire him.” A whimper was clawing up your throat, begging to be released, but you wouldn’t allow it.

He dropped the fabric of your skirts briefly only to dip his hand between your thighs and place his massive palm over the top of your hand, guiding your fingers over your clit once more. “This man desires you plenty, Chickadee. I was only tryin’ to protect your modesty..and our hearts.” He whispered against your ear, lips ghosting across your exposed skin. “Been wantin’ to love you all these years we’ve spent together.” He admitted. “I’m a terrible, rotten man for keepin’ you starved this long..” he trailed off, pressing open mouthed kisses at the spot where your jaw met your neck. “M’sorry.”

Those were the last words you ever expected a fucking bounty hunter to whisper..let alone to you?

A shuddered breath slipped past your parted lips, just for him. Your head lolled to the side, granting him easier access as your lashes fluttered shut. “I’ve felt like..such a fool, Joel. A dirty little fool for a bounty hunter.” You took your lower lip between your teeth, biting down harshly and drawing blood to the surface. You let him take full control of your hand, letting him guide and manipulate your fingers to play with yourself just right.

“Shh..I know now, Chickadee. M’sorry, truly. But I’m here now, ain’t I? M’here. Here forever if you’ll have me. I understand if I've bruised and neglected your heart far too many times..I can accept your rejection if it is coming.”

You could detect the edge of sadness in his tone, the acceptance already settling into his bones and heart.

“Joel, please kiss me.” You nearly begged him, dying to finally know what his lips would feel like on your own.

“Why didn’t ya just say that sooner, Chickadee.” He chuckled. “I wish ya woulda just grabbed me by the breeches years ago and knocked some sense into my thick skull. Woulda taken your ache away a long time ago, darlin.’” He said in a hushed whisper. “But I know you were afraid..can’t blame ya for that. Not really. ‘Specially since I ain’t the nicest of men to come by.”

He was taking too long, and you were an impatient woman.

“Joel.” You huffed, fighting the urge to curse him out before you decided to take matters into your own hands, finally. Tomorrow was never promised, not when you and Joel were constantly on the run.

He kept rambling on until he felt the soft touch of your fingertips brushing against the patches in his scruffy beard and the magnetic pull drawing him in closer, closer till he could taste your mingled breath on his lips.

Here in the middle of the desert, with nothing but the moon and stars as a source of light, you finally knew what it was like to kiss Joel Miller. You learned his lips quickly, liking that they were both soft and a bit chapped. As you licked slowly into one another’s mouths you could taste the faint remnants of tobacco on his tongue. It was a bruising kiss, one that both ignited the fire deep within you, and sent a delicious tingle curving down your spine.

So, this is what the girls back home were all talking about. Being kissed by a real man.

And then you found yourself straddling him in the dirt, saying fuck all to your modesty because you had never wanted a man more than you did now. And you wished that your mother could see you now. To see what her perfect little daughter had turned into.

Fuck you, mother. Fuck you for forcing me to marry that monster.

Joel brought you back down to earth with both his lips and his words tattooed on your skin. He caged you with his body, acting as a shield from the chilly night ear that sent goosebumps rising.

He worked your blouse open, growing more frustrated by the minute when the clasps wouldn’t automatically give. He was desperate to feel more of you, all of you because he knew then that you were his, and he was yours. And if you’d end up being the death of him, so be it. At least he could go out being loved rather than unloved.

“You gonna fuck me now, mister? Gonna take what belongs to you, Joel?” You mumbled against his lips in a chasing kiss, growing more desperate as the seconds ticked by.

“Gonna do more than that, Chickadee.” He rasped. This was a promise, and a man such as Joel always kept his promises.

The howl of a Coyote far off in the distant sent uneasy nerves rolling through you, because the realization hit you then that you and Joel were out in the fucking wilderness, and you suddenly felt bare and exposed.

“Jus’ a coyote, doll. He’s singin’ to the moon. We’re safe here, I promise. Ain’t ever gonna let somethin’ happen to you again, Chickadee.” His strong calloused, yet gentle hands came to cup for your face. His deep brown eyes met yours through the pale glow of the moonlight casted over your faces. “I swear on my life, you will always be safe with me.”

and while the lone coyote sang his song to the moon, Joel Miller had you singing your own song, just for his ears too.

After that night spent together, you never had a night where you slept alone. Joel was always there. Holding you, kissing you, fucking you into a blissful state.

He still feared for your safety, and you feared for his. This would never change, but you refused to live in fear for the rest of your life.

It was a boiling hot day under the blazing desert sun. You and Joel were moving west towards California. Hearing about the gold rush there sounded like as good of an opportunity as any. Not even just for the gold, but the prospects of a new life. Joel had dreams of owning a ranch, sheep specifically and living out his days with you by his side.

“Come join me for a swim, cowboy.” You were sitting side by side under the one single tree along the river's edge. Your two horses were drinking their fill after traveling for days in these conditions.

Your cowboy had his arms crossed behind his head, biceps bulging under the thin fabric of his shirt. His hat was tipped down over his head. You only witnessed Joel being fully relaxed on a few occasions where he would let his guard down for just mere minutes.

“Mmm. That’s alright, doll. Y’go on and enjoy yourself.” He said with a lazy sigh.

“Just a quick one together? Please?” You reached over and gently lifted the brim of his hat just enough so you could see his closed eyes.”

“Chickadee..” he said in a low warning tone, peeking one eye open to look up at you before he shut it once more.

“You’re no fun.” You huffed while releasing your gentle grip on his hat.

“M’plenty fun, doll. I gotta keep watch, anyway. Can’t do that if I’m stark naked in the river with ya. What if someone tries to sneak up? Won’t have my gun at arms reach.” He sighed.

“I know, Joel.”

Maybe when we get to California..he won’t have to worry about all of that.

He sat up turning his body to face you before his palm came to rest upon your cheek in a gentle caress. His thumb brushed across your lower lip, tugging it down gently before he leaned in and kissed you sweetly. “Now go on and cool off, Chickadee.”

You kissed him back with the same amount of sweetness before you pulled away and gave his nose a light boop. His face scrunched inwards before he reached around and gave your ass a light and playful swat that sent you giggling as you rose to your feet.

You shot him a seductive wink before you raced down to the river's edge, kicking up a cloud of dirt with your boots.

Joel watched from afar with a hooded gaze as you stripped down from your skirts and blouse followed by your unlaced boots. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when your one boot wouldn’t give right away and you nearly tripped before finally getting it off. He kept watch as you dove into the crystal clear waters and reameraged moments later.

He reached into his pack, pulling out an apple and pocket knife while you splashed around like a kid on Christmas. He cut off a small slice before biting it off on the edge of the knife, chewing thoughtfully as he leaned back against the sturdy tree.

When we get to California..I’m going to marry her.

He didn’t want to end your fun so soon..but it was time to get moving again. He brought his thumb and forefinger into his mouth, whistling to let you know that it was time to pack up.

You had been floating peacefully on your back with your eyes closed when you heard his whistle that immediately tore you from your daydream state.

He was just about to stand up from where he was resting against the tree when you emerged from the river. You reminded him of a goddess. Bare, beautiful, skin sprinkled in water droplets that were kissed by the sun. You looked unreal, and he was the luckiest man alive.

“C’mon, Chickadee. We gotta head out.” He called for you when you were within earshot.

“I’m coming!” You bent down to gather up your clothes before the idea struck you. “Can I dry off first, please?”

He let out a grumbled sigh before he ultimately nodded his head in agreement. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt..

“Jus’ till ya dry off, doll.”

With your clothes and boots gathered up in your bare arms, you approached him casually, setting everything down on your nearby saddle while he watched you with piqued curiosity.

“I was thinking about you out there..laying on my back and feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin..” you trailed off.

“Is that so? Hmm..what were you thinkin’ about, Chickadee?” His eyes slowly trailed down your bare body. From the swell of your breasts, down your tummy and thighs and what lay between them.

“Want to take a guess, cowboy?” You asked teasingly.

His brow raised as a grin tugged along the corner of his lips. A game is what you were playing, and he was the willing participant.

“Based on your tone, I’m gonna guess it’s got somethin’ to do with..my cock?” He wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner while his hand casually came to rest between his own thighs. Oh, he was playing alright.

“Mmm..perhaps I was thinkin’ of ridin’ your cock right under the shade of this tree..but that would be too obvious, Joel.” Your eyes drifted down to where his hand was before the traveled down the expanse of his strong thighs and ending at the toe of his leather boots.

He caught onto your drift almost immediately and you saw his pupils begin to darken. “Y’wanna ride my boot? Is’that it? Well, ain’t you a filthy thing, Chickadee. You wanna get ‘em all shined up for me? Drag that sweet cunt of yours over them?”

His eyes stayed locked on yours in a challenging stare while he palmed himself through his pants to relieve the growing tension.

“I do, sir. I really, really, really want to ride your boot.” You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks because never in your wildest dreams did you expect to take part in debauchery such as this.

“On your knees then, girl. Kiss ‘em for me.” He fell right into character with a flip of a switch.

You found yourself lowering onto your knees without a care in the world about the dirt while you bent down over his boots, pressing a kiss to the leather, dragging your tongue down the stitched seam.

“That’s it, doll. Get ‘em nice and shined up for me.” He said while popping the button on his pants open and pulling his cock free from the confines.

“You gonna touch yourself while I ride your boot, mister?” You were sitting upright again before you crawled closer, letting your hands rest along his thighs as you positioned yourself right above his left boot. The imprint of your kiss had already begun to dry from the scorching heat.

“Yeah, doll. I’m gonna fist my cock while you ride my boot like the dirty Chickadee that you are.” He spat into his palm before he wrapped his fist around the base of his cock just as you lowered yourself over the expanse of his boot, taking your lip between your teeth when you dragged your clit right across the smooth leather.

“Fuuck me. Ain’t that a sight. Look at you, fuckin’ filthy girl. S’feel good, Chickadee?”

You rolled your hips forward slowly at the rate that he was pumping his fist. A soft whimper slipped past your lips while your eyes stayed locked on his.

“Feels so good, mister. So—so good.” You moaned freely with each steady roll of your hips, chasing that high. Nothing would ever compare to Joel’s cock. You knew this, he knew this, and you also were aware that this little game would only last so long.

And then he watched you lose yourself completely on his boot with each roll and grind of your hips against the dampened leather. Crying out his name, nails digging into his covered thighs, head thrown back, tears nearly flooding your eyes.

He had the same sense of urgency and realization that nothing would ever compare to the warm hug of your pussy around his cock. That’s when the game ended as his strong arms came to lift you into his lap by your thighs. His lips met yours in a bruising kiss filled with intermingled moans and teeth clashing together when he finally slipped into your warmth.

California could wait a little longer, he wanted to savor this moment for as long as it lasted because now he had the love that he had been dreaming of all his life. Right here in his arms, cock buried to the hilt under the shade of this very tree. Right here with his Chickadee.

That’s the kinda love I’ve been dreaming of

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day four: teratophilia (the attraction to monsters) | NSFW MDNI 18+

You were raised in an anti-mutant household, which meant you were constantly exposed to the kind of negative rhetoric that painted their kind as dangerous, lesser, or unnatural. Every family dinner or news segment seemed to include some passing comment about the threat they posed, how they didn’t belong, and how the world would simply be better off without them. It was almost inevitable that those opinions seeped into your mindset, shaping the way you viewed mutants, even before you had the chance to really understand who they were.

You're entire life, you were told that they were monsters, and you believed it.

But now, here you were, living next door to one, and it turned your entire world upside down. Logan was everything you had been warned about and yet somehow, despite your life-long terror, he drew you in like a moth to a flame.

At first, you kept as much distance as possible, only peeking through the curtains of your window, observing him as he moved about in the outdoor world. You'd lock your doors when he'd be home, barricading yourself from any potential contact with him. A few times you had been caught peering at him from your bedroom above, he'd stare holes into your glass trying to decipher your surveillance. There was an intensity in his gaze that sent a thrill racing through you, a raw power that naturally made your heart pound. He had a rugged handsomeness that felt almost primal; the scruff on his jaw accentuated his strong features, while the glimmer in his piercing eyes hinted at wisdom and untamed desires.

When he moved, it was with animalistic intention, every motion deliberate and prowl-like. You noticed how his muscles flexed beneath his fitted shirts, how the tension in his body oozed strength and danger. It made you feel alive in a way you’d never experienced before. It was wrong, but felt so good.

As time went by, you grew slightly more comfortable with the fact that you coexisted on the same plot of land with someone of his kind. Logan was handsome, and if you didn't know what he truly was underneath that attractive exterior you would also find him quite charming as well. When you'd cross paths he'd give you a simple wave of a hand or a smile, and once in a blue moon, you would receive the "How ya' doing?" or even the "Nice day today, huh?"

Some of his attributes were stereotypical monster-like traits that both terrified and fascinated you: the sharpness of his teeth that peeked out when he smirked, his canines ground into finer tips at the ends. Hair covered his limbs from head to toe in thick dark curls. His sharp adamantium claws that protruded from his knuckles when he was angry. When he was, it wasn’t just a simple outburst; it was a full-blown rage that sent shivers down your spine. You’d watch in awe from your window as he sliced through miscellaneous objects outside in fits of anger, showcasing the lethal power hidden inside of his human exterior. The way he seemed to tap into that primal fury was horrifically mesmerizing, drawing you in even further to the glass as you found yourself wrestling with an undeniable attraction to the very characteristics that were drilled to repulse you.

It was maddening how someone you were taught to fear could also make you blush and fantasize at night. Your attraction bubbled beneath the surface, fueled by a mixture of desire and confusion. With each simple encounter, you felt your walls beginning to crumble, leaving you exposed to feelings you hadn’t anticipated. How could someone so captivating, so fierce, also be the very monster you were told to fear?

The night was thick with silence when a sudden roar shattered your stillness, yanking you from the depths of sleep. Heart racing, you threw off your covers and swung your legs over the side of the bed, the coolness of the wood hitting the soles of your feet like a jolt. You padded to the window, pulling your curtains to the side.

You squinted as illumination from the streetlight poured into your room. After your eyes adjusted slightly, you identified Logan in his yard, dressed in only a white tank top and pyjama bottoms. His primal rage echoed through the darkness, throaty screams that sent your stomach whirling into a knot. You could almost feel the tension crackling in the air as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess.

You didn't know what it was, but something inside of you was bringing you out to him. You slid on your silk robe, crept out of your room and made your way outside mechanically. Your legs moved on their own, not processing the danger you were about to confront. As you stepped out, the cool night air bit at your skin.

You followed the shrieking sounds and found him in the backyard, surrounded by scattered debris, his metal claws gleaming under the moonlight as he sliced through anything and everything in his path. Blood dripped from his knuckles, painting the dried grass beneath him red.

“Logan!” it came out before you could knew it. His rabid attention snapped onto you, and for a moment, the wildness in his eyes made the hair on the back of your neck stand. He didn't speak, the only sound coming from him was the exhorted breaths that escaped his flared nostrils. You kept your eyes locked on his not wanting to let your guard down for a second. You stepped into the beast's lair and there was no longer a simple way out. You approached him apprehensively, your voice stayed strong despite the turmoil around you. “What’s going on?

"Go back inside." He rasped sharply, scanning your concerned features.

"Why are you destroying your yard in the middle night?" Your voice hitched in a mixture of genuine care and nervousness.

As you spoke, your eyes traced the outlines of his massive form. The seams of his tanktop barely hold in his muscles. His metal claws glinted menacingly, still extended and glistening with blood as he began shredding through branches again like they were nothing but paper. It was an entirely different experience to witness it up close, you could feel the heat radiating off of him as his strength coursed through him. Blood flew in the air as swung mindlessly, and a drop landed on the tip of your white shoe.

“Logan, please,” you pressed, stepping closer despite the urge to retreat and lock yourself back in your house. “You’re hurting yourself. You need to calm down.”

He turned his head slightly, the tension in his jaw stark as he fought to retract his claws, but they remained locked in place. The frustration in his eyes flickered with something deeper, something raw and untamed. “I can’t,” he growled, the deep rumble vibrating in his chest.

Your heart raced as you took another step forward, drawn to his intensity, yet cautious of the storm that surrounded him. “What’s got you so worked up?” you asked, your voice softer now, trying to break through.

“Just… stay back,” he warned, his voice strained, a desperate attempt to keep you at a distance, but you could see the frustration etched across his face. The claws seemed to pulse with his agitation, and you felt a mixture of fear and empathy tugging at your heart.

"Logan," you said, your tone steady and firm, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. "Let me help you."

His gaze flickered to you, conflicted, as if he were teetering on the edge of control. “You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, but there was a softness in his eyes, a flicker of vulnerability that you couldn’t ignore.

“You need to talk about it,” you insisted, your resolve strengthening. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

As the words left your mouth, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his thick arm, a tentative gesture of support. The contact seemed to snap something within him, and he let out a deep, frustrated sigh, the tension in his body wavering just enough for you to see the man beneath the beast.

"They won't go back in. Can't go out like this, I look like a fucking monster." He snarled, looking down at his claws.

His words hung in the air, heavy with self-loathing. The muscles in his jaw clenched tightly. It was as if he were battling an internal war, torn between the primal instincts that coursed through him and the desire to keep you safe from the chaos within.

“Logan, you’re not a monster,” you replied softly, your heart aching for him. “You’re just… different. And I kind of like different.” You could feel the rhythmic thumping of your heartbeat in your throat.

His brow furrowed as he studied you, equally in disbelief of your boldness as you were flickering in his eyes. “You say that now, but—”

“Seriously,” you interrupted, stepping closer. At first, you hesitated to reach out and cradle his face in your hands, but with a deep breath, your fingertips dug into his facial hair. “Those claws? They’re just part of who you are. They don’t define you.”

A flicker of vulnerability passed over his face, and you felt the tension in his body begin to ease, just a fraction. “You’re playing with fire,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, laced with something that felt dangerously close to desire.

“Maybe I want to get burned,” you teased, a playful smile creeping onto your lips. “Monsters can be sexy, you know. I've been watching you.”

He snorted at that, a half-hearted chuckle escaping him, but the weight of the moment shifted as his gaze grew more intense. “You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all,” you replied, your heart racing as you leaned closer, emboldened by the growing chemistry between you. “There’s something powerful about owning who you are, even if it means embracing the monster inside. Besides, I don’t think I mind a little danger.”

“Dangerous is an understatement,” he growled, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes darkened with something primal. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“Try me,” you challenged, biting your lip as you stepped even closer, daring him to meet you halfway. The air crackled with an electric tension, and for a moment, the world around you faded into a blur.

Logan took a step back. “The claws,” He began to warn you.

“I don't care” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

The tension between you grew palpable, a charged current that ignited the space around you. He hesitated for a moment, but you could see the walls he had built slowly crumbling as he fought against the primal instincts urging him to take you right there.

With a sudden movement, you closed the distance, your lips crashing against his in a fervent kiss that felt like the collision of two worlds. Your hands tangled in his hair and you knew in that moment you were both stepping into uncharted territory.

You pulled him to the tree he was slicing before your kiss, your back hitting the bark. His tongue glided against yours skillfully making you moan into his mouth. He dug his claws deep into either side of the trunk caging you in between his arms. You looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Gotta make sure I don't accidentally slit your throat while I fuck you." He let out with a smirk.

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