#they search each other out when they are nothing but themselves in concept

[purpleleafsyt]

Unity, in your purest form

[rinhaler]

Rin Itoshi and female s/o taking each other first time

omgggggg i tried to make it romantic and sweet but i do love a slutty ass dude who's in control so apologies if this isnt exactly what u wanted hehe

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, virgin!rin, virgin!reader, fingering, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, tit sucking, "just the tip" pfft, slight manipulation, brief condom use, premature ejaculation, creampie.

words: 2.9k

Your heart races as you watch Rin scroll through his phone and find some music to play. He looks so serious, though that’s nothing new. You don’t dare speak, worried you’ll say the wrong thing if you do. He looks up at you, briefly, offering a weak smile before looking through his phone again.

“We don’t have to do this, you know.” he tells you without even looking at you. You watch him as he starts hooking up his phone to the Bluetooth speaker in your room, and you shuffle uncomfortably on top of your bed.

“I want to… ‘m just scared.” you confess, breath shaking slightly as you exhale. “Do you still want to?” you wonder, feeling shy as you ask. You’re sure he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to, though.

Rin doesn’t do anything he has no interest in.

“Yeah.” he tells you, setting his phone down before looking back at you, finally. He’s so far away, it feels too formal. Though you assume he wants to set the pace and make sure everything is comfortable for you both before you proceed. “We agreed,”

“I know.” you nod, recalling the moment you decided as teenagers to give each other your virginities if you hadn’t lost them after you turned twenty. “Just checking.”

The concept of Rin being single, let alone a virgin, is something you can’t even begin to comprehend. You’ve been best friends with him since you could talk. You remember him having no interest in you until you forced your way into playing soccer games with him and his brother. You soon gave it up once you got what you wanted, but you’ve been inseparable ever since.

Girls have always thrown themselves at Rin, but he never cared. Not really. You remember him having one girlfriend and it never went anywhere. It only lasted three weeks. He told you the gory details of their sex lives, though. Only because you asked.

It didn’t go past hand stuff.

“I brought condoms.” he tells you, pulling a box from his bag and setting them down on the desk he’s sitting by.

“I- I’m on the pill.” you respond. “I heard it feels better without… those. But we should use them.”

“Okay, yeah.” he agrees.

“… but we don’t have to.”

“I’ll use one.” he assures you, not wanting to make you feel pressured to go raw for his benefit. Though you’re sure it would be for yours, too. “If you want me to take it off, I can do that.”

You nod, agreeing.

“This is so…” you think, searching around the room for any inspiration of a descriptor to use. He stares at you, intently, wondering what you might say. He’d never tell you, but he’s just as nervous as you are. Of course he has an edge of experience ahead of you, but he’s still clueless. He wants to make sure this is going to be nice for you.

Perfect, if possible.

“What?”

“Formal.” you shrug.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” he responds, scratching his neck as he thinks about what you told him. He looks around, feeling a little too awkward to make eye contact. “I just want to make sure everything’s going to be okay…”

“It’s fine, you’re right.” you smile, “I just thought my first time would be… romantic. It’s stupid, I’m sorry.” you shake your head, dismissing the idea.

You knew you’d end up here with him eventually. You had no intention of losing your virginity to anyone else, after all. You’ve been in love with him for years, and finding out he got a girlfriend almost killed you. It was hard hearing about how they became intimate, but you were so fucking relieved when they broke up.

He only decided to get a girlfriend because he thought you weren’t interested in him, though. You’ve always been a forbidden fruit he wouldn’t dare try to cross a line with. You’re his best friend, after all. He wouldn’t want the romantic feelings he has towards you to ruin that.

“It’s not stupid.” he assures you. “Here, pick some music.” he hands you his phone.

You start to scroll and realise you’re looking on a playlist he created aptly named sex playlist. It makes you giggle, but you don’t comment. And you don’t pay him any mind as he leaves the room while you continue searching for a song.

The boy has good taste, you soon realise.

He comes back a few minutes later with some candles from a nearby cupboard. He knows you too well. You hoard them, you always have. You get an abundance each year for Christmas and rarely use them. He starts lighting them and placing them around the room.

You finally look up as he turns the light on, the room dimly lit by the burning flames scattered around.

“Is this better? I should have gotten some rose petals or something…”

“N-No, this is fine.” you smile, “Thank you, Rinnie, this is nice.”

He clears his throat and sits beside you on your bed. You quickly hand him his phone, prompting him to lean over to place it back down on your desk.

Your heartbeat begins to increase rapidly as he faces you. You haven’t even so much as kissed before, let alone what else will follow. He reaches out to caress your face, and it takes all of your willpower to not flinch.

“R-Rin… do you, um, d-do you watch…”

“Porn? Yeah. Do you?”

His reply makes your face flush with heat and the thought of confessing your own truth makes you even hotter. You look away from him, twiddling your fingers in your lap and looking at those instead.

“I know it won’t be like that… it’s your first time. And mine.” he reminds you.

He’s always been so mature. And you’re glad he’s doing all he can to put you at ease. He puts a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him again. You gulp, nervously, before nodding. He smirks at that.

“Good, I’m glad,” he tells you, beautiful jade eyes flickering with flames as he stares at you. “Means you know what you like.” he leans into you, an attempt to kiss which you immediately back away from. And you apologise, profusely, assuring him that you’re still a little nervous.

“I— I know guys can, you know, it can be quick… s-so don’t feel bad.”

“Don’t worry about that.” he shakes his head. “If I cum quickly, I’ll make sure you finish.”

He closes the distance between the two of you, his lips planting softly on your own. His eyes close as he loses himself to it, though you keep yours open for a little while as you process what is happening.

You’re making out with your best friend!

Though when his large, dominating hands begin to fondle your chest, you pull away entirely.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” he wonders.

“N-No, I didn’t expect you to be so confident.” you whisper, and he kisses you again, smiling into it.

Your eyes close as you allow him to continue locking lips with you. His hand entirely gropes one of your tits and his thumb casually strokes over it. Even through the layers of your crop top and bra, you find yourself mewling softly.

He smooths his hand over the curve of your waist until he reaches the bottom of your crop top. His fingers breach upwards towards your bra, roughly groping at it and the fat of your tits.

“O-Ow.” you speak, softly.

“Sorry,” he whispers back, “Can I take your top off?” he asks between continuous kisses.

“Uh-huh.” you nod, dumbly.

He breaks the kiss to quickly pull your crop top over your head. His lips attach to yours again almost instantly as he starts to fiddle with your bra. He stops kissing you, again, to look over your shoulder so that he can undo the clasp. You gasp when he finally unhooks it, keeping the pink material against your chest to preserve your modesty.

“Can I see?” he asks, his eyes moving between yours and your hands. You hum, nervously, but nod. He helps you pull down your straps as you keep the material held firmly against your chest. Sighing, slightly panic in your voice as you strip the material away. “Fuuuuck…” he mutters to himself, adjusting his hardening cock in his pants as he looks at you.

“You should take something off.” you suggest before he can kiss you again. He immediately pulls his t-shirt over his head, tousling his hair back into place right after.

You continue to moan against his lips when he kisses you again. And they only get louder as he kisses down your neck whilst flicking his thumb over your pebbled nipple. He grunts against your skin, battling on whether he should say something to you or stay silent.

He’d hate to ruin the mood.

“Are you hard yet?” you ask him, your shy demeanour leaving you as you lose yourself to the sensation of his hands caressing your body. “S-Should we do it?”

“Wanna feel?” he asks, not waiting for an answer as he pulls your hand towards the bulge in his jeans, moaning immediately from the contact. “Look what you’ve done to me.” he laughs, pulling you closer and hooking one of your legs over his own.

He scratches the back of his nails up your thigh, stopping just short of dipping under your skirt as you shiver from the touch. His eyes find yours, kissing you reassuringly.

“Can I feel you?” he wonders, and, of course, you nod. His fingers disappear under your pleated skirt, quickly cupping your panty-clad mound. He barely gasps when he comes into contact with your panties. “You’re so wet…”

“S-Stop…” you reply, shyly, “s’embarrassing…” you tell him.

“You need to be wet for me,” he responds, that big, logical, brain of his immediately putting you in your place. Reminding you that he is the one with a little more experience and you need to listen to him. “You’ll be so tight… even for a finger.”

He forces your body down, flat against the bed and flips up your skirt. The cute triangular shape of your panties makes his cock throb, and he moves them into the crease of your thigh.

“Tell me if it hurts…” he requests, staring into your eyes as deft fingers come into contact with sopping flesh. He runs them through your folds, and you jolt when a finger tip grazes your clit. He moves it towards your hole, slowly teasing around it before pushing in. He stops, quickly, when you yelp. “Sorry, I’ll go slower. Hold onto me.” he instructs, a hand wraps around his bicep and squeezes as he continues to plunge his longer finger deep inside.

“Kiss me,” you whimper, pathetically. He drops his head so that your lips can meet again. He devours the moans and cries you emit as he curls his finger in and out of you. It feels odd, but not unpleasant. It’s still painful but it begins to subside.

“Gonna add another, okay?” he asks, and you nod. You hiss, instantly, hands flying down to pull his away. “Sh, sh sh, I’ll go slow again, okay? Gotta be able to take them or we can’t fuck.”

You fight back tears as the stretch begins to sting. He sinks his head lower, taking one of your hardened nipples into his mouth. Your back arches off the bed slightly, coaxing him to look up at you. And then he remembers all of articles he’s read. All of the research he’s done.

He even thinks about his teammates talking about sex.

“You have to worship the clit.” he recalls one of them saying.

He pulls away from your tit, briefly, to line his thumb up with your clit and apply pressure. He circles it carefully, monitoring your expressions as he does. You yelp, trying to close your legs, but he opens them back up with his free hand.

“Are you gonna cum?” he wonders.

“It’s too much, Rinnie!” you gasp, skin tightening over your knuckles until they turn white as you grip the sheets. “S-Slow down, please! S’too much!” you cry, unable to hold back your tears any longer.

He doesn’t relent, however. Hoping the way your body trembles means you’re about to cream all over his fingers. It was an achievement he never reached with his ex without her assistance. She showed him how and where to touch to make her cum. But you’re not her. You’re perfect.

You gasp, breathlessly, as your pussy begins to tighten around his fingers. Your clit throbs as he teases it just right and you begin to cum hard and fast for him. He kisses between the valley of your breaths, whispering sweet nothings as you reach your peak and plummet back down to earth. He slows down his ministrations as you begin to shudder and twitch from the after shocks, looking up at you adoringly when you start to calm down.

“Good?” he asks.

“Very,” you pant, laughing lightly as you find your sense again. “Rinnie…” you speak, your confident bravado disappearing again as you feel naked and exposed.

“Yeah?”

“Promise me… promise you’re a virgin, too…” you say, looking up at the ceiling. You feel too needy and desperate as you speak. But that was too good for him to not know what’s he’s doing. He’s seriously only done that once on another girl? It’s a little hard to believe.

“I promise. Was it really that good?” he smirks. He kisses both of your nipples softly before sucking his fingers clean of your juices. “I’ve been preparing… reading about stuff. Asking advice. I’ve told you everything I’ve done, I swear.”

He stands up, unbuttoning his jeans and kicking off his shoes at the same time. He pulls of his jeans and underwear in the same movement, revealing his large, blushing cock.

“We don’t have to do this.” he assures you, picking up a condom from your desk and tearing the foil with his teeth. He rolls it down his length, the rubbery sheen covers the pretty pink colour of his dick. “Do you want to stop?”

“Um,” you think about it. He’s asking as if he isn’t already raring to go. You look between his erection and his intimidating stare as you think about what to say.

“What about just the tip?” he asks. And at that, you nod. He reaches under your skirt and pulls down your panties to ogle your drippy cunt one more time. He feels himself throb at the thought of splitting your virgin hole open on his fat cock. He’s always known he was big, and he really doesn’t want to hurt you. He can only hope his fingering was enough prep before you rob each other of your innocence for good.

He lines up his cockhead with your virgin slot as he cages you in beneath his wide frame. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to kiss you, your moan semi silenced as he pushes his tip in.

Oh God this isn’t enough.

He knew he’d need more.

Just a little more.

He pushes in a bit further, and you pull your lips away from his to voice your concern.

“H-Hurts,” you tell him. “You’re really big.” you inflate his ego further, earning another inch of his cock.

He can’t help it, you’re spurring him on!

And he can only imagine how much better you’d feel wrapped around him without this stupid fucking rubber on. He stops pushing when you place your palms on his shoulders, forcing him to pull back a little. “Is it the condom, Rin? Is it t-too dry?” you wonder, batting your eyelashes up at him so innocently.

“Yes.” he replies, without hesitation. “I’ll take it off.”

He pulls out of you instantly. He hisses a little as he pulls at the condom too hard and it snaps back. He decides to push it up from the base of his cock, lining up with your cunt again right after.

And it’s like you’re made for him as he pushes in. He smothers any whimper you can make with a searing kiss. You feel his tongue slip into your mouth as he pushes in further and further until there’s nothing left to give.

You’re crying, again, not expecting to feel so much so soon.

“God, you’re beautiful.” he praises you. He moves his hips, slowly. His cockhead unintentionally nudges against your soft spot with every rut. The blinding pleasure prevents you from telling him, once again, that it hurts and it’s too much. “I know I said just the tip, jus’ feel so good, princess.” he whispers delicately against your skin.

And, as expected, he doesn’t last long.

A few pathetic strokes of his cock inside of you have him spilling thick spurts of white cream into your unprotected walls. He collapses on top of you, panting violently as he stuffs you full.

He was so backed up before this. He masturbates, of course, but not as much as the average guy. You’ve had this planned for a few weeks, now, so he decided to abstain so he could really enjoy feeling you for the first time.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry. Should have jerked off before I came over.”

“It’s okay.” you tell him, fingers mussing through his hair as you come to terms with the fact that you’ve finally lost your virginity, to your best friend of all people.

“I need to fuck you again,” he confesses, your fingers stop as you look down at him.

“W- now?”

“Soon,” he corrects you. “I want to taste you first.”

© 2023 rinhaler

[avatarkv]

EVERY CORNER OF THIS HOUSE IS HAUNTED. (3)

Synopsis ! Jake had taken you as his own after Tsu'tey's passing, leaving no one to care for you. Things had been good before your relationship with him had blurred along growing of age. You and him fought all the time; argued each other's ear off and tonight was no different-- except words have been said, severing the already damaged bond. Content & warning Jake sully x Daughter!Reader, Sully kids x Sister!Reader Neytiri x Daughter!Reader.(wc: 5211)

“You will make a good olo’eyktan.” 

Jake snorted, downing the last dregs of amber liquid from his worn wooden glass. He shook his head in amusement as he put it down on his lap– It must be the alcohol speaking, he thought to himself. Tsu’tey had been speaking vaguely; roughly in between asking where his loyalty lies and if he was willing to stay for the people. To say Jake was confused was an understandment, and he wasn’t a brick of a wall to not feel that something was wrong. 

“Don’t you mean would?” He asked, refilling his cup. “I would make a good olo’eyktan. A possibility.” 

Tsu'tey's merely shook his head as he finished his beverage, letting a few drops of liquid trickle down his chin. He didn’t bother to wipe it away, gaze far into the crowd of young warriors celebrating themselves. The festivity had gathered everyone and his eyes darted constantly to his lover– the one who rightfully had this heart.

And that was something Jake had noticed about Tsu’tey tonight, he realized. Tsu'tey was never truly looking at him. Although he had only spoken to him on this particular night, his eyes never once met Jake’s; it seemed as though he was constantly searching for something else– someone. 

Could it be Neytiri? His heart seized as the thought crossed his mind. He was selfish. Eywa knows just how impure his soul is; how cruel he is to love a promised woman. 

“What is that human word you use when you have not been truthful?” 

One of the things he became aware of as he continued to learn life in Pandora was that the Na’vi didn't recognize or understand the concept of lying; there wasn't even a word in their language for it. It was a revelation for him, that such an integral part of his motherland - dishonesty and deception - was nonexistent here. He feared he would be the one to taint their morals, to be the example to its definition. 

Jake was a liar. 

“You mean lie?” 

Tsu’tey nodded. “I fear I have done such a thing.” 

Jake furrowed his eyebrows, narrowing his eyes in thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to pry– not when his eyes seemed distant once more. He thought he looked at Neytiri, but standing beyond her was the figure his eyes desperately sought. Tsi’ewa looked like a vision in the firelight, her every gracefully swaying movement becoming alive in the mesmerizing glow of the large bonfire.

And she was just there– how could she sit there and laugh and look so beautiful?

Jake puts an awkward hand to his shoulders, attempting to comfort him with a pat. “Eywa will forgive you– whatever you did.” 

But Tsu’tey only shook his head again. His steady hand made quick work of refilling his cup to the brim once more, as if he was trying to drown out the rising truth that was spiraling from his stomach. He paused for a moment before lifting it up to meet his lips, “No. She would have to ask for my forgiveness instead.”

“We must tell the people now.” 

They continued to walk aimlessly, steps wide and quick. The night had seemingly stretched on for hours since the gathering had ended, and they were growing ever more irritable– both bodies awash with alcohol and both minds clouded with judgment. “Your thoughts are muddled, Tsu’tey. You’ve had a bit too much to drink.” She said in a dismissive tone, making it clear that she didn't want to discuss the topic further. Tsi’ewa was nothing but distant— tonight where Tsu’tey felt most painfully vulnerable. 

“I can think just fine, Tsi’ewa.” He carefully takes her arm, steering her to face him. “We have to tell the people now.” 

“And risk your place in the clan?” She quickly swats his hand away, her face twisted with a troubled expression. “I will not let you ruin your name.” 

They finally stand still, exhausted— bodies glistening in sweat. Tsi’ewa frantically looked around, perhaps for something to hurl or something to tightly squeeze'; anything to relieve the knot that churned deeply inside her stomach. Letting out another lengthy sigh, she finally looks at Tsu’tey. “I am but a songstress, Tsu’tey! Someone who people wouldn’t care enough to give two glances.” 

“And why do they matter?” He replied in the same tone, just as defeated as she was.

“Because I am nothing. I am unheard, I am not seen– but you. You are to become leader. The people need you, Tsu’tey.” She steps in closer, just enough to feel his warm breath fanning over her face. Her finger digs into his chest as she speaks, pressing harder with each word that spills from her mouth. “You have to choose.” 

“I do not have to. It is you who I want.” He answers, almost casually– like he had lost a screw or two to trade such a title for something so miniscule. Tsi'ewa releases a frustrated sigh, her posture wilting in defeat.

“You are being stubborn!” 

“And you think too low of yourself!”  

Silence envelopes their heaving bodies once more. He takes a deep breath before speaking, “I am unhappy with the union– it is against my will and most especially my heart. Do not make me choose the people.”

He finds promise in the crooks of her body, the warmth of her palms; a place of sanctity he wouldn’t mind kneeling to for hours. It was the kind of romance so tender, it would dissolve right on his tongue the moment he would consume it– he just knew he would love her for a very long time. Tsu’tey would let his title be damned if it meant having her for eternity. 

“We will be miserable.” She whispers. 

“Only if you push me away.” He answers. 

Who knew Tsu’tey was quite the romantic? Well– people would’ve known if they had given him the chance to truly love. The day he died, Tsi’ewa knew her heart was buried along with his. 

The flickering firelight created a somber ambience as Jake sat motionless, lost in thought. The dancing shadows casted by its light created an indescribable feeling of unease– an overwhelming weight of dread settling on his shoulders. His mind raced endlessly, thoughts clamouring in his head to be brought to the forefront. 

The clan– the people. His family. Himself. Deafening, deafening sound.

Quartich was back and he had to think fast. Sure, they were far from where the old shack is, but it wouldn’t be long until they were eventually found. The thought strikes an indescribable fear, reeling him in and getting the best of him. 

To say Jake was tired was an understatement. 

Tired is a word used to describe how one feels after a busy day; one that promises a better tomorrow– a green light that lets you go ahead and continue once more. He fears this is more than just casual exhaustion, but something that threatens to bury him six feet under.

And then there was you; a particular voice desperate for a minute of his time. He hears your voice, even in mind. His stubborn eldest. You might as well be the reason for why his hair is turning white so early. He thought it was just a phase– he thought that every child would eventually grow out of their angsty-teenager stage. Heck, he went through one back on earth. Jake was once a little boy too, he’d know. 

But as time stretched on, he realized that your actions had rooted from actual hurt and not just some juncture in life. When you said you hated him, you actually did. When you said he was being a shit father, he actually was. He made you feel that way. 

Jake wonders when it happened– what had slipped through his fingers for everything to become so messy. He swears he hears you as much as you don’t think he isn’t listening. 

You’d make a great olo’eykte. He knows it. Somewhere along that line frightens him– makes him terribly uneasy. He doesn’t mean to tell you otherwise, but in his eyes, you will always be his little girl; the same kid who cried to him once because everyone had been too mean. Jake would burn the whole world if he had to; shed blood if it meant your safety. 

Being a clan leader meant exactly that. He knew you’d do everything to ensure everyone’s safety, even if it meant your life. Jake wasn’t ready for that– he wasn’t ready to hear that his little girl was capable enough to not need him. 

He wished he’d rather made that clear instead of severing your already strained bond. The gulf between you two has grown too wide for him to bridge the gap, and it's slowly eating away at him. 

There was just something so complicated between a father and a daughter’s relationship– a kind of complication that neither of you could tell what you really meant. He wishes he could understand you; take away the troubles that made you restless. Maybe then, your eyes wouldn’t feel so distant– maybe then, you wouldn’t look at him like he wasn’t your own dad. 

He numbly reaches for the machine gun– its surface still emanating heat from its earlier use. He can feel its weight in his grasp, a firm reminder of the violence that had just transpired. He clenches it in his hands, his sweaty palms pressing against its hard surface in an almost comforting way. 

“The children are fine and taken care of,” Neytiri gently announced as to not worry her already troubled mate. “Your mind is clouded, ma Jake, tell me about it. ” 

“Just thinking,” Neytiri sat in front of him, allowing the silence to linger for a moment longer while she awaited his response. “That maybe Tsu’tey had been hinting at his relationship with Tsi’ewa for much longer than we thought.” 

That wasn’t at all what her mate had expected him to say, thinking that he would likely talk about what had happened back at the old shack. The wrinkle between her eyes deepened as she questioned aloud, "Why is this being brought up now?" 

Jake released a lengthy exhale as he released the empty shell from his gun, letting it amble towards the fire pit. “Maybe I could have done something to save him from dying a warrior’s death so soon.” 

Neytiri straightened her leaning posture, clicking her tongue. “This isn’t about Tsu’tey, is it?” The way Jake's reaction was almost too subtle to notice only solidified her suspicions. His posture seemed to slightly change, his shoulders stiffening ever-so-slightly as if he was attempting to contain the emotions running just beneath the surface. “It’s about y/n.”

“Always about that daughter of ours.” He attempted to make light of the situation, stifling a chuckle. This demeanor was a thin veil for the obvious elephant in the room and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to make it known just yet.  “Hard headed and snobby, just like Tsu’tey.” 

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe she got it from you instead?” Neytiri narrowed her eyes at him, mouth twisted in a slight scowl. When Jake only released a snort in reply, his gaze still fixated on the machine gun, she lightly swatted him on the nape of his neck with a hiss. “You are too hard on her– on everyone! Don’t you think that you’re being too harsh on them?” 

Jake winces before replying, voice firm and just as loud. “I am only doing what I can to protect everyone.” He flails his arms around, trying to emphasize his words. “Everything that I do is for them. You think I enjoy being like this? Being the mean parent?”

“Then stop!” 

Jake let his long fingers run through his hair, slightly tugging at the braids in exasperation. His eyes closed for a fleeting moment as he drew in a sharp breath, attempting to compose himself. “It’s not that easy, Neytiri. They had their knives right under our children’s necks– I’m only trying to keep this family alive and together.” 

“By pushing everyone away? By telling your eldest that she isn’t enough? Listen to what you’re saying, Jake! You aren’t hearing yourself!” Neytiri presses a finger into his chest. “This isn’t about war– it wasn’t always about fighting. It’s about you and the children.” 

Everyone falls silent, letting the weight of their words settle in the air. The only sound is that of the distant fire crackling, filling in the otherwise unbearable quiet. They took in each other’s heaving figures, eyes softening in mutual understanding. 

“You’re scared you’re going to fail her like you think you did with Tsu’tey.” Neytiri whispers softly this time. Jake’s ears flatten in response– stiff shoulders slumping in defeat. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Neytiri.” 

“Oh please– you are never this rough with Kiri and Tuk. Y/n is your daughter too, so why does she have to be on the receiving end of such hard affection?” She lets out an agitated scoff,   “You do not hear her, ma Jake. When she shouts, she does not call for Toruk Makto– ma’ite does not challenge the olo’eyktan. She yearns for just you, her father.”

And that was Neytiri for you; ever the wiser one. She always knew what to say. Jake looks at him with such tenderness– an admiration that was strikingly reminiscent of the first time he ever saw her. 

“You fathers always do not know what to feel– what to say. So you tend to be less understanding, because in that way, less words are spoken. Silence is better than talking it out, yes? Ma’sempul was the same. Only when he died did I realize– but will you take it to your grave before you let her know that she is loved?” 

A daughter is only a daughter once, not until you make her forget. 

“Make her understand. Your intentions are fair, but your ways are ill— they are ill, Jake.” Neytiri's words stung like a slap in the face, she might as well strike him straight to the chest. It rendered him speechless, yet he knew something shifted— and for the better. “She is your daughter. Not Tsu’tey’s.”

His daughter. 

“Am I a bad father, Neytiri?” His voice had cracked and she swore she could hear the faint breaking of his already fragile heart. The realization slowly seeped into the wrinkles of his weary face, accentuating the creases from fatherhood itself. He failed everyone and he knew it. He always thought his actions were justified– but it was the consequences that struck him the most: He didn’t know Neteyam’s favorite color, but he knew how odd he held his bow. 

He didn’t know his children.

“No, just misguided.” Slowly, Neytiri cautiously wraps her arms around his rigid form. She can feel the warmth of his skin against her face as she nestles her head into the crook of his neck. She swears he could hear the rapid beat of his heart and it pounds in sync with hers– they were both lost and terribly exhausted. “I know earth did not allow you to be soft, but you’re not alone anymore. Put your burdens at ease, ma Jake.” 

Jake returns her embrace, squeezing her body softly. He allows himself to bask in the moment of stillness, taking in the sweet smell of her hair and skin. With a shaky exhale, he attempts to savor the fleeting peace before it's gone. When did everything become so difficult?

After a while, Neytiri finally stands, feeling the exhaustion of all she has endured today seeping into every fibre of her body. “The children are staying over at Mo’at’s for tonight.” 

She stands there, lingering for a moment before finally turning to leave. “Just talk to her, Jake.” 

And there he was, alone with nothing but the warm glow of the flickering fire to accompany him once again. 

Fruits. You love fruits, he thinks. 

Perhaps you didn’t get the memo that everyone was staying over at your grandma’s for the night; perhaps you were waiting for him to come home too. He carefully sliced the yovo fruits, placing them a bit too delicately on the bark bowl. 

Jake was undeniably nervous. His own teenage daughter made him nervous.

As he slowly trudged towards the hut, his toe lurched into one of the wicker chairs– a loud string of curses exploded from his lips as he clamped his eyes shut in frustration. Through gritted teeth, he peered down to the seat. immediately noticing its snapped leg which seemed to mock him for his carelessness. He exhaled deeply. crouching down to take a closer look.

Funny enough, it was yours– your name glaring right back at him.

If there was something that he learned best back on earth, it was to be handy— good with his hands. (well, considering the lack of legs, he had to make use of thereof.) He thought he had cracked the code back then; giving everyone gifts and crafting whatever they pleased. Jake failed to realize that it was not more toys the children wanted– it was him. Just him.

"Listen, I'm sorry," Jake visibly winces at his poor attempt at an apology. He takes a pause, deciding on the right words to say before continuing, “Let’s talk about it, kid– promise not to raise my voice." He waits for her response but only silence greets him in return. He releases a deep sigh and mumbles under his breath, “-- or maybe not. This is fine." He carefully slides in the bowl of freshly cut fruits under the flap of the hut after taking a few moments to rest against its wooden walls. He looks around, his eyes wandering everywhere, “You listening?” He waits again, “Your father– he was a good man. A very good man, in fact."

“Neytiri was promised to him and he was to become the olo’eyktan. I was only an outsider; barged in and made a mess of an already good clan.” he reminisced, “He had every right to view me as a threat– heck, he could’ve even greeted my approach with a spear right to the chest the moment I arrived. He didn’t. No one did.” 

“I’m thankful for that. Everything I have now is because of him.” He looks back at the entrance, hoping for even a flicker of light being lit by you– he thought maybe you were also leaning against the wall that separates you both. “I was wrong. Your father was far more than enough, and of all people, I should have known that better– should have known better than to talk shit about him to his very daughter.” 

He exhales a deep, heavy sigh for what feels like the hundredth time, his frustration evident as he rubs the back of his neck anxiously. “Look, what I’m trying to say is. I miss you, sweetheart. I’m growing old– and while you aren’t getting any younger either, I want you to understand that when I shout, it means I want you to listen. When I push you to your limits, I only want you to do your best.” 

He looked back at all the times where you and him argued– when he thought what he was doing was right. Jake wondered if he pushed you away everytime he raised his voice. He probably did.  

“Well– raising my voice probably never worked because you always shouted back.” he says, shaking his head with a snort of laughter. No matter how loud either of them got, the other always managed to raise their voice even higher. “Time is fucking with me– you all are growing so fast. One second I’m snuggling with everyone in the same hammock and then all of a sudden I find myself making everyone a separate one because we’re all too big now.” 

He grows quiet, a lump welling up in his throat that renders him speechless. “I’m not olo’eyktan– I’m no Toruk Makto. I’m just a father, baby. And I think that’s the most vulnerable I’ll ever be.” 

“Never wanted any of you to fight. Never wanted to put everyone on the line for war–” Another breathy exhale, “I was scared. Fine, there it is, out in the open. My star failed me, sweet girl. I know how humans worked back there and they worked ruthlessly. We killed our own land– our own mothers.” 

His stomach would lurch at the thought of it, an overwhelming pang of nausea stirring within him. Jake could barely survive back there– he truly was lucky to be chosen by Eywa. He could already be dead if not the past occurrences for all he knows. 

“I wasn’t allowed to be gentle back then and I’m glad eywa is a lot more merciful here.” He looks up, staring at the starry sky. Earth had taken too much from him and ironically, it was also humans who kept ruining him here in Pandora too. Jake was always one step behind no matter how hard he tried. “But you got to give me a bit of recognition here, baby girl, I'm trying. I didn’t automatically become a father after having children. I think I’m forever learning. I still have a lot to go.” 

“I did what I thought was right; I had to ensure that my family was safe, no matter the cost, and I didn’t even realize I put a damn war over everyone’s head. Sweetheart, I never wanted any of you to fight– I never wanted to put everyone on the line to battle. I would never wish for anyone to experience what I went through back on earth and funny enough, I brought it right to our doorstep.” And he felt his voice break as words tumbled out of his mouth in an incoherent pace, desperately trying to release all these emotions that had been clogging up his throat. He brought a hand roughly to his face in an effort to hold himself together, fingernails digging lightly into the delicate skin around his eyes. “I’m scared, babygirl.”

“Eywa was kind enough to give me children in the image of people I’ve already lost; Tsu’tey, Grace– hell, I even see Tommy on Lo’ak. That knucklehead is just too curious for his own good.” He didn’t know if it was a curse rather than a gift; every corner of his house was haunted and grief had made a home right on his very lungs. 

He looks back at the flap of the hut and still no sign of you– even the bowl of fruits was left untouched. “Tough crowd.” He murmurs to himself before finally deciding to stand, his legs stiff from sitting still for too long. He awkwardly pats his thighs, shaking away the dust he collected. “Everyone is staying over at Mo’at’s. You can have the hut to yourself for the night.”

Space. Maybe you needed space.  (And he was terribly wrong. Space was all that remained between you two.)

Jake starts to slowly walk away, yet somehow he feels like his troubles remain firmly on his shoulders. The guilt was there— all of it. He looks back one last time, praying. Eywa, give me one last chance. Let my daughter come running to me in an embrace and I’ll swallow my pride. 

Nothing.

He felt his heart slowly breaking, the pieces of it slipping lower and lower down his stomach with every passing second. His mind was a mess; he could feel all his doubts and insecurities swirling about inside his body, each one vying for center stage. I am no better than my own father. I am no better than my own father. I am no better than my own father.

Unbeknownst to him, you were never in the hut to begin with. It was sick– such a cruel joke for the words you’ve been desperate to hear to be left unheard. 

“Give me strength, dear mother. Tell me what I’m doing is just.” 

You were kneeling on the damp, mossy ground close to the roots of the tree of souls, your hands tightly gripping onto your queue. The thick foliage that surrounded you was awash with the lavender hue that emitted from the vine-like leaves, lending you warmth from the chill eclipse. Woodsprites floated nearby, swaying close as if to welcome your presence. 

Inching closer, you stretch out your arm before allowing the tendrils of your braid to coil around the hanging threads. Taking a deep breath, you let yourself feel– taking in the presence of Eywa. 

Your mind was clouded. Once a dark space turned into something light– too light, it was almost blinding. Everything was blurry, almost like a dream, but you knew it wasn’t; knew well where you stood and why you were here to begin with. 

Slowly, a vision emerges - a woman standing just a few paces from you. She feels something in the air and her ears perk up, as if she is trying to figure out the space she’s in too. Her head turns from each corner, cautiously checking the blurry surroundings. After a few moments of searching for something visible to the eye, she turns and finally spots you. A sudden shock passes through her body, evident by the way her eyes widen in surprise. She stands there for what seems like eternity, you can almost see the gears starting to move and click within her mind.

“Oh, my sweet child–” 

She reaches out to envelop you in an embrace, but you take a step back in response. Her arms remain open– still hopeful that you’d run to her like how a child would to her mom, but you were just there, staring incredulously. 

“I don’t know who you are.” 

This couldn’t be Eywa. You would’ve known. 

You two stood still, eyes drawing over each other’s lines and curves, trying to etch it in memory– then it dawned to you– could this be your mother? 

“I knew Tsu’tey had the stronger genes, I just didn’t expect him to take up most of the space in your face.” She lets out a breathy chuckle, “Come close, child, let me see you.” 

And you shouldn’t.  You haven’t seen this woman all your life nor did the people provide enough stories about her. She was nothing but the person who had birthed and given you life– that should’ve been enough for you to run straight towards her, but you stood there, gulping down a familiar grief. 

It’s weird for mothers and daughters to just coexist like she had not brought you upon the world at all. Sure, you have her eyes and you might grow to have her exact physique, but the word ma’ite sounded distant on her tongue– cold and unloving. Her arms weren’t inviting. 

This wasn’t your mother. Mothers are kind and warm, like Neytiri.

Your legs moved forward in a hesitant pace, as if you were being pushed against your will. You stood closer, enough to let her cup your face. She lets out a choked sob– or was it laughter? You couldn’t follow. She lets her thumb mindlessly brush against your soft cheeks, eyes filled with so much love, you feared it would be too heavy. That love was reserved for you and only you– for all the ages you’d grow to be.

But all energy is borrowed. She has been carrying this longing tenderness for years in the afterlife. 

You had Tsu’tey’s eyes, his lips. She’d argue that the nose is debatable, but surely if you rip open your heart, you’d find your mother’s own. Sweet, sweet child, forced to grow up too quickly. Tsi’ewa was sure you’d be the kindest soul. 

You ponder deeply– what kind of life would your mother have had if you had never been born at all? Would she still be here, with all her vitality and vigor, relishing in the gift of her youthful years? Would she perform to the children, singing them lullabies they drift off into a peaceful sleep? The thought causes you profound anguish– your mother was just like you; full of life and once was a little girl too.

You wish you knew her enough to let the grief prolong.

“Time has been unkind to you,” She said softly, her fingers tenderly sweeping the loose strands of hair away from your face.

“You are not my mother.” 

“I know.” She replies. Tsi’ewa doesn’t take it to heart how harsh your responses have been– you were just her little girl, lost and terribly misguided. “For all we know, I’ve only been one to you right now, so just this once– let my words bear meaning.” 

You chose to wait; giving her the opportunity to slowly get acquainted with you, taking in every little detail of your face - from the stars of moles to the creases around your eyes. You were patient with her, allowing her to digest all that made you who you are – beyond just looks. She was just a mourning mother that grieved her little girl. 

“You do not have to stay.” She whispers and her words hit a little too close to home, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut and suppress a sob. “A boy would be Olo’eykte of the Omatikaya– but you, ma’ite, shall be mine.”

As the words slipped her mouth, you had finally granted her an embrace. You swear you had felt yourself turn smaller. Your head rests against her stomach, letting your ear listen for whatever you might hear. This is where you came from, you thought. Who knew a mother could bear a stranger? She clings to you with a desperate grip, preventing you from falling apart— as if it's her own way of trying to hold you together. 

Just a bit more, Eywa. She begged. Give me a minute more to hold my girl.

I wish you’d give birth to me again, you cried, maybe then I’ll turn into something better. 

You open your eyes, feeling beads of tears roll down your face. You mindlessly wipe them away, not truly grasping what had transpired or how the weight on your shoulders lightened. Woodsprites quickly flutter away once you regain consciousness. Your head shoots up, and a silent thank you escapes your lips as you bask in the warm glow of the light that touches your face.

Forgive me Eywa for leaving. Your ikran lets out a sharp shriek as you climb onto her back, taking steady steps up her body while gently caressing her back. The animal quiets down at your touch, eager to fly once more. 

A heart is meant to be cupped by unscathed hands and if you cannot find palms big enough for yours, then you fear home is somewhere else.

finally posted a new chapter, how is everyone doing ! i honestly don't know what to feel about this part just yet, but i had to write through a writer's block so it might be ass. had to fight it or else i'd be stuck in a rut on god

very important ! i've decided not to take any more tags ;( i'm really sorry, but they take up most of my time and it bugs my posts because it only lets me tag to an extent? so if your name isn't mentioned, do know that i had to take out a few (or because your user didn't pop up when i tried) please turn on your notifications instead ;(

already proofread but please don't be hesitant to point out mistakes, i tend to be blind when it comes to editing teehee i listened to jacob and the stone by emile mosseri while writing this so you might want to do so too to set the mood !

love everyone so bad, thank you for being patient w me. smooch !

tags: @reyalvr @sparklyphantom @iwanttohitmyself @planetslove @teyamsjustsleeping @sully-stick-together @grandgreengrapes @erensbbg @queen-dk @loaklvr @theyoungeagle @ducks118 @teyyyteyyy @yeosxxx @simply-lovely78 @ellabellabus07 @thehoneymushroomhealer @saturdayrj @kingjulian0o9 @hippiezworldz @joemamalackin @random-3455 @zoetrope1997 @cl0esblogg @anxietydrogz @lokisfirstandlastwife @lunyyx @blkmystery @marsbars09 @gcldtom @luna-salem @wolflover384 @mushy-mushroom04 @whatthemonsterfuckisthis @eternalidentity @celi-xxmoon @dumb-fawkin-bitch @pinkeroppi @mellowdiy @jimfiqs @ell0ra-br3kk3r @ayra2452008 @vodoo-heart @rose-brulante @starxao @bluevenus19 @entertain-my-lvst @wwwellacom

[a-polite-melody]

“Omg the transandrobros trying to make autoandrophilia (AAP) a thing are so transmisogynistic. They see the transmisogynistic theory of autogynephilia (AGP) and say ‘how can I make this about me?’ There’s nothing here to reclaim for you, you’re just stealing valour from transmisogyny.”

Way to just make a bunch of assumptions.

There absolutely is a concept that’s been weaponized against gay transmascs from medical bs around transition (it was basically impossible for lesbian transfems, as well as gay transmascs, to transition in the US at least until the 1980s; look up Lou Sullivan for more on that) to social media callouts, dogpiles, and doxxings. It is a concept that doesn’t have a formalized name like AGP (though a quick google search shows that prominent people who speak about AGP have been using AAP in conjunction with AGP since 2009) but is a concept which is similar to that of AGP and used in some similar ways against transmascs as AGP is against transfems.

One place you can very easily find this attitude (to go back to the stuff about social media, though there are implications beyond the scope of just social media here) is baked into the transmed “criticism” of gay/mlm transmascs/AFAB nonbinary people which featured (unfortunately) pretty prominently in the tumblr trans world for a long time, and while it may not be nearly as prominent now, it’s still around and easy to find if you look specifically for transmed stuff. Hell, it moved out of transmed spaces and became a tumblr-wide phenomenon of harassing (and worse) the “fujoshis”—these gross women who were so fetishistic of gay men and into gay fanfic and bl manga they deluded themselves into thinking they’re the gay boys in their favourite anime—in the name of protecting the trans community and the gay community from these infiltrators and walking conversion therapy fakebois.

I denied that I was transmasc for so long because I was worried that this “phenomenon of delusional women tricking themselves into thinking they’re men to absolve themselves the guilt of being fetishistic creeps toward gay men, reinforced by encouraging each other into the delusions” was an actual, real thing I needed to worry about, and that I might have been falling into this trap.

I worried, because the world was telling me that this (though not called the phrase) AAP phenomenon existed at the same time as when I had to actually like… actually fully delve into learning about the LGBTQ+ community after realizing I was bi to even know that being trans in a way that was something other than MTF even existed. It made more sense to me that I, while actively trying not to, was actually internally fetishizing gay men and falling into delusions than it did for me to be transmasc, because being transmasc seemed like hardly even a thing while the problem of these “fujoshis” seemed like something huge.

But yes. Absolutely nothing to reclaim here. Only wanting to steal valour from trans women and be big huge transmisogynists by making trans women’s problems into our own, not talking about any actual problems transmascs actually have because we don’t have those kinds of problems because some dumbass on the internet says so. (/this whole paragraph is sarcasm)

[creature-wizard]

Magical Correspondences 101

So I figured I should put all of my stuff on correspondences in one place for convenience's sake, since having them spread in a bunch of short posts isn't really helpful if I need to link them. Anyway, for those of you getting into magical correspondences, here's what I've got!

So, what are correspondences?

A lot of modern witchcraft operates on the belief that things like stones, plants, colors, and so on have certain metaphysical properties. Why do they have these properties? There are multiple explanations. Sometimes the properties are supposed to be innate. Sometimes they supposedly exist because the object in question is a symbol for something else. You'll find that many spells combine these two ideas, such as using an herb because of its inherent properties it's believed to have, then also using a flower because it's a symbol of a deity.

(Will it hurt anything to mix these concepts? Personally, I don't think so. Spiritual beliefs and metaphysical models are often messy, and occasionally contradict each other. I've never really seen it hurt anything.)

If you search around, you can easily find charts that describe various properties associated with various things. People sometimes assume that these properties were handed down to us from authorities who were so in tune with magic or the divine that they were basically infallible, and newbie witches just have no hope of figuring things out for themselves.

Fortunately, that's not really true!

Some correspondences are informed by nature. Others are social constructs.

You might see correspondence lists say that gold is associated with wealth, that apples are associated with love, and pink is associated with femininity. These are all social constructs that have nothing to do with the natural qualities of these things.

Other correspondences are informed by nature, however. Green is associated with life because healthy leaves are typically green. Hot peppers are associated with pain and torment because capsaicin produces a burning sensation.

(This isn't to say that social construct correspondences are all inherently bad, or even lesser. But it's good to be mindful of the differences, because it makes it easier to figure out what you can change and mess around with, and how!)

Even when correspondences are informed by nature, they can still be subjective.

The world is full of vastly different ecosystems, climates, and geological structures. Different regions have their own plants and animals. And even within your own region, you'll find that nature lends to many different correspondences for the same thing. Hot peppers might be orange or red, but so are many sweet fruits. Water can nurture life, or it can drown it.

Some people who acknowledge this will say that it's all about intent, but I personally believe it's a bit more about context. Just look at at the infamous children's hospital with the red path on the floor, and how the it creates an unnerving atmosphere despite whatever "positive connotations" red can have. I think if you're trying to figure out what to put in your spell, thinking contextually can help you make appropriate decisions.

In any case, I do think it's important to lean toward correspondences that have meaning to you. What some ancient guy who lived and died on the other side of the planet thought doesn't override your lived reality and your cultural experiences.

If you want to really learn correspondences, observe the world around you!

Correspondence lists can be good references, but they don't really help you develop a proper understanding. To do this, pay attention to plants, stones, colors, shapes, etc. and ask yourself:

Where do they turn up naturally?

How do they behave? What do they do?

Where and how do people use them, and what are they associated with in these contexts?

Where are things often grouped with other things? What is the significance of these groupings?

(If you keep a Book of Shadows or other magical journal, I recommend writing down your findings!)

So yeah, that's the basics on magical correspondences. They can look a little intimidating at first, but they're actually a lot more simple and straightforward than you might realize.

Happy witchin'!

[thesirencult]

THE TRUTH ABOUT ESCAPING TWIN FLAMES AND OTHER MLM NEW AGE BULLSHIT

"You don't get rich writing science fiction. If you want to get rich, you start a religion."

L. Ron Hubbard (Founder of Scientology)

I won't lie to you. What got me into tarot was a very raw and real dream about a man I've never met in my life. I had this dream when I was 15 and it felt like I was floating in a parallel universe.

Dreams with this "stranger" kept coming and going and during a search I stumbled upon the concept of "twin flames".

As with anything NeW AgE it is nothing new. All New Age bullshit are concepts familiar to human civilizations for thousands of years. In all ancient cultures these concepts show up again and again.

Astrology, cartomancy and other forms of divination and guidance have been used by Mesopotamians, Egyptians, Greeks and Hindu people for centuries. They were villainized after the come up of Christianity.

I always have believed there is a higher power. Some name it Allah, others Moses, other Dias etc. Doesn't matter, it's one God above us. Actually contrary to what many want you to believe the Ancient Greeks didn't have "12 Gods" but 12 (and much much more) expressions of DIVINITY. Metaphors and symbolisms.

Hermes Trismegistus has written everything about "manifestation". Others just repackaged it. Some help us understand the concept and others just want to make a quick buck.

All people have some primal needs. Connection and love. Money and wealth. Wanting to be beautiful and powerful. Some people prey on that and, in my opinion, the self-improvement industry will only keep on growing.

The concept of twin flames can be found being expressed by Socrates in the dialogue "Symposium" by Plato :

“Now, since their natural form had been cut in two, each one longed for its own other half, and so they would throw their arms about each other, weaving themselves together, wanting to grow together...

This, then, is the source of our desire to love each other. Love is born into eve­ry human being: it calls back the halves of our original nature together; it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature.

Each of us, then, is a ‘matching half’ of a human whole, because each was sliced like a flatfish, two out of one, and each of us is always seeking the half that matches him."

Sidenote: Obviously I used only two snippets of the dialogue. Socrates' stance on homosexuality and other matters of love can be found in there and it is a good read. It will definitely show you that some concepts have been around since humans walked on this earth.

Moving on, I want to give you some tips on how to best use astrology and tarot/oracle cards as TOOLS to better yourself.

1. First try them yourself.

Don't let others dictate how you see astrology and tarot. Go online and search up your birth chart on astroseek or visit the Light Seer's Tarot/Muse Tarot website which has an incredible pick a card feature.

Don't contact an astrologer or tarot reader before familiarising yourself with the tools and "taking the magic out" of them.

2. No one and mean NO ONE can predict the future 100%.

In our lives there are moments who seem synchronized. They make you believe in fate. I do believe that God intended for us to live through some things but I also absolutely believe in FREE WILL. I always say that to clients especially those who have tarot readings.

Tarot and astrology can help you see the paths laid in front of you. They help you dive in your unconscious mind. Don't let anyone fool you that they are magical and whatever the cards say can not change.

3. If you purchase a reading don't purchase a love/romance one at first.

Don't get me wrong. I love love and romance. I love doing love readings. They are sweet and sexy.

BUT. Even in my love readings I incorporate a "general energy of you" for the person. I do that cause I want to show to my client, who trusted me and chose me that a tarot reader can be vetted.

Sadly even with PAC readings I can see that the romance ones are read and reposted way more than ones that assist with personal development. I try to keep a balance and do both.

The thing is a good tarot reader, astrologer even a therapist or a fitness trainer want to help you become INDEPENDENT. I don't want you to keep coming back and purchase love readings about your ex.

It's toxic. I won't accept that.

4. You are perfect the way you are.

Telling you that "yeah, you have an issue right here and it can be fixed by doing so and so" is okay.

Telling you that "YOU SHOULD LOVE YOURSELF. YOU DON'T LOVE YOURSELF THAT'S WHY YOU WON'T FIND LOVE UNTIL YOU DO THAT" is toxic. People control you this way.

It's like saying give me more money. Ask me how I can make you LOVABLE.

Your other half won't cheat, manipulate or make you feel awful. Your ex who was an asshole is not your Twin Flame.

Light up the flame within and love out your dreams. You will attract people who will adore and love you by being AUTHENTIC.

Anyone that abuses you and puts your flame out should GO.

5. All big corporations prey on your weaknesses & Do not trust anyone who tells you they are the only ones that can set you free or solve your issues.

Be disciplined. Control yourself and your mind. Read "The 48 Laws Of Power" and other books on influence and manipulation. Learn how narcissists and cult leaders operate.

All big companies do not sell you products (I will probably post this part by itself too).

They sell you emotions, feelings, status. BMW doesn't sell cars, it is selling power and prestige and confidence.

Nike doesn't sell shoes and shirts, it is selling dreams of being powerful and different, of making it in the jungle, of WINNING.

But there are some companies which I'M NOT GOING TO MENTION by name who influence you by breaking you down. Astrology apps that send you negative predictions about your day to make you anxious so you will check back every single hour. Cult like influencers who sell "How to get rich quickly" courses that cost thousands of $ and offer no value.

Be careful. Be prepared. Be strong and firm.

I hope everyone who was taken in this cult (wait ! myy username is the siren cult, lol) can find peace and the power within them.

[minkyungseokie]

𝕃𝕖𝕡𝕦𝕤 | Dreaming of Space

warnings; none for this part

note; this series isn't popping off the way I want it to, but it doesn't really matter since this is mostly for my own enjoyment. I hope you all continuously enjoy this if you do choose to read.

Also, you might notice a change in how I've written things. I decided that I wanted this series to be more poetic than my other one, so I busted out Grammarly, thesaurus, and dictionary. I don't know how to make Reddit threads, so bear with me.

fc; Jung Ho-Yeon

Alex Masterlist​ | Autosports Masterlist | Main Masterlist

​Series/Full Fic Masterlist ​| Talk to me​

Like the Stars Above Us | ☙ Previous | Next ❧

I do not allow anyone to change, copy, or put my work on any other platform. It will only be on top, so if you see it, please report it. Or let me know.

Also realized that the timelines don't match for the shows, when lockdown started, so I'm changing the timelines. The Uncanny Counter was filmed in 2019 and released in March and Alice in Borderland has yet to come out. I apologize for fucking everything up, I didn't think about it until now. Hopefully, you can still enjoy this series

The times and dates are fucked up on the Twitter threads too. Just ignore it

When they first met online, Lily and Alex were convinced that they were destined to be together. That they were soulmates.

They were confident that their destinies were intertwined and, upon finally connecting in late 2019, they anticipated forging a profound connection and finding fulfilment. To their surprise, their relationship did not live up to the idealized depictions of soulmate connections often portrayed in popular stories.

Despite experiencing intense happiness in each other's company, they couldn't seem to shake the unsettling feeling that something wasn't quite right.

While one part of their being felt content and joyful, basking in the bliss of soulmate connection, the other part felt an unmistakable sense of desolation and emptiness

Soulmates was a rare and beautiful concept. If one were to have a soulmate, they would be considered fortunate and compared to the stars.

The concept of soulmates is often described as something rare and enchanting, like precious gems buried deep within the earth's surface. Having a soulmate is considered a profound stroke of luck, akin to being compared to the stars in the vast night sky.

Soulmates are believed to be two souls originating from the same celestial body, destined to cross paths and find completeness in each other.

It is said that they are destined to meet and become whole again, like two halves of a perfect whole.

However, despite this romanticized notion, Lily and Alex couldn't shake the feeling that the idealistic view they had of soulmates was far from their reality

Lily was comfortably settled in her cosy bedroom, with 'The Uncanny Counter' queued up on Netflix. She and Alex had eagerly devoured all the available episodes and were now craving more.

They were aware that the lead actress, Jung Y/n, had other shows, but they were uncertain whether these shows were available on Netflix or elsewhere.

As they delved deeper into the show, the initial feeling of intrigue diminished, leaving them puzzled as to why they had been so captivated by a previously unknown Korean actress.

Rather than simply checking her IMDB page to see what else she had featured or starred in, they found themselves fixated on unravelling the mystery behind their unexplained connection to her.

Alex looked up from his phone with frustration written all over his usually soft features, "Nothing." he said, running a hand through his hair. 

He had been searching the internet for any information on why their soulmate bond felt incomplete and why they felt a connection to someone who wasn't part of their bond.

And since he was more frazzled than when they had begun their respective searches, he came up with nothing.

"Isn't it frustrating? I can't believe that someone can be so famous yet there's hardly any information about her online, other than her age, the fact that she has a YouTube channel, and that she's an actress," Lily pondered.

Alex fixed his gaze on his lap, deep in thought, before lifting his head to look back at his girlfriend.

"I have an idea. It may sound crazy, but it's the best way to get answers," Alex confidently declared.

Lily sat up straighter and looked at her boyfriend, "Well then tell me what it is." Lily urged. 

"What if we take to Twitter for the answers about Y/n and we take to online forums to ask about the bond? I know it sounds crazy, but people won't assume much if you ask about the actress and I'll make a throwaway account that gets deleted as soon as I get my answers." Alex suggested.

Lily bit her lip in thought, "You'd be correct. It's crazy idea," Lily said causing Alex to let out a disappointed sigh, "But it's one that might work the best. We'll get no answers otherwise." Alex smiled and picked up his phone again, "You take care of the tweet and I'll take care of the forum thing."

ily bit her lip in thought, "You'd be correct. It's crazy idea," Lily said causing Alex to let out a disappointed sigh, "But it's one that might work the best. We'll get no answers otherwise." Alex smiled and picked up his phone again, "You take care of the tweet and I'll take care of the forum thing."

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

Lily bit her lip in thought, "You'd be correct. It's crazy idea," Lily said causing Alex to let out a disappointed sigh, "But it's one that might work the best. We'll get no answers otherwise." Alex smiled and picked up his phone again, "You take care of the tweet and I'll take care of the forum thing."

Lily left the thread feeling frustrated. All she could see were people either expressing shock that she was into Korean dramas or arguing with each other. 

Disappointed, she closed the app and tossed her phone to the side.

Lily felt the urge to release another deep sigh. The situation was far more significant than anyone could comprehend. 

As they had felt an unexplainable connection to the actress, Y/n, it was imperative to unfold the mystery 

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

r/soulmatequestions ⤷ u/concernedsoulmate

Hello, this is my first time using this app, so pardon me if I'm not doing this correctly. My partner (20f) and I (25m) got together at the end of 2019 after meeting each other online and communicating as much as we could through DMs and then text.

We were friends for the longest time, only confessing feelings for each other when I decided to visit her in her home country and state. 

We found we were soulmates quickly after we sealed the relationship, but instead of that warm tingly feeling that everyone described, we felt like there was something missing.

We felt like there was something that wasn't there with us, but since it might've been us just being new to our relationship, we ignored it.

Skipping to the month before this one, January, my job decided we should all go home and quarantine until at least March, so we couldn't stay together since I live in Monaco and she lives in the States.

Anyway, during the day, I'd hop online and play games with a few of my coworkers while my girlfriend sat at her home watching Netflix.

The thing is, after getting recommended a certain Korean Drama by a couple of...friends, my girlfriend saw one of the actresses and felt a deep and instant connection with her

After I finished playing my games with my coworkers, she told me about it and had me look up the actress. When I did, I felt like a warmth spread over me and the fireworks I felt when I met my girl.

After a while, the feeling went away, but my girlfriend and I were left confused and curious. 

I need to know if any of you know what's happening. Does anyone have an explanation or theory as to what this means? Has this happened to anyone else before?

↑ -269↓

u/sascrotch_eater Dude, this isn't the place for stupid jokes. Unlike most of Reddit, this is for serious questions.

u/slutty_nutella69 OP, do you think we're fucking stupid? This would never happen

u/noi-the-boi-licker If you are being deadass about this, then this is a rare case you'd have to take up with the pros, not Reddit | | | u/balldestroyer6000 Are you actually believing this BS? There is no phenomenon where a soulmate duo would feel connected to a third. It's impossible

u/bussyslayerthirdform (mod) I will close this thread and take it down due to trolls and people disrespecting the OP.

You all know the rules of this subreddit and you're breaking some by disrespecting a valid question

OP, please DM me

This thread was deleted

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

Alex grumbled and ran a hand through his hair. That was the most useless thing he had ever done. He thought the Redditors would be helpful, but they're just as despicable as people online say they are.

He was about to deactivate his account and delete it when he received the notification that someone sent him a DM. It was the mod of the Reddit he was recently on.

Alex picked up his phone and clicked on the notification, immediately being taken into the app and into the dm with the moderator

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ U/balldestroyer6000

Hey, were you serious about your question?

Me: Of course, mate. I don’t have any reason to make up such a thing

Hmm, well, we do tend to get a lot of trolls. People who weren’t fortunate enough to be blessed with a soulmate and take it out on us in the r/soulmate questions Reddit subreddit

Me: I’m sorry you guys have to go through that, but I don’t think that was the reaction normal people have towards trolls. They were genuinely upset that I asked such a question

You’re right and I apologize on behalf of those members who treated you as if you were an idiot.

Me: it’s fine, I guess. I just need answers

The members were correct. Having a soulmate and feeling incomplete isn’t heard of in any corner of the internet…

Me: Fucking hell. Why DM me just to say that bullshit

Calm down and let me finish, you fool.

Me: Sorry

As I was saying, it’s unheard of and seen as nothing but a myth.

HOWEVER

There was one story about it. It was based on a true story, but everyone takes it as nothing but a fairy tale. But its not. It’s all true

Me: What’s the story? How do you know it’s true?

One question at a time, concerned.

Me: Call me Alex

Okay, Alex. It’s a story very similar to yours. The main character, Leo, met his soulmate as a High schooler in America. Just like you, they didn’t feel complete.

Unlike you though, they were unhappy. They didn’t act as if they were soulmates, but rather as if they were strangers

They loved each other deeply, but they couldn’t act as if they were in love when they felt devoid of something they couldn’t pinpoint. It wasn’t until Leo had bumped into another man that he understood. Leo wasn’t gay by any means, but the connection he’d been missing was finally felt when he was around the man.

Leo befriended the man and soon introduced him to his girlfriend, who also felt the connection.

Long story short, the three felt fulfillment within each other.

Me: Wow..

Me: How do you know this story? You tell it as if you went through it yourself

Because I did

This story is mine. I’m telling you this because there’s a chance you have a third soulmate, but you won’t be able to tell unless they have your mark and you theirs.

Me: Thank you

No problem, man. Feel free to come to me if you have anymore questions

Me: I will, but I’m probably gonna delete this app after this conversation. It’s cursed

Understandable. My Twitter and Instagram is Leoloves_ if you need me

Me: Thanks again, mate.

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

Alex jumped up, forgetting that his laptop was on his lap, sending Lily crashing to the ground, “Woah, are you okay? Baby?” Lily called out.

Alex got off of his bed and grabbed his laptop, uprighting it quickly, “Yes, Lily, I’m fine. I think I got an answer about almost everything.”

Lilly’s almond shaped eyes widened, “You did! That’s amazing. What is it?”

“Now, I’m not 100% certain this is right and it might be a stretch, but it’s possible that she, Y/n, might be our soulmate.” Alex explained. “That’s not possible though. Soulmates are only supposed to be pairs,” Lily denied

“Lily-“

“No, it’s not possible. There has to be another reason for why we gave some inexplicable connection to Y/n.”

“Lily, I know it sounds out of reach and impossible, but it’s an option.” Alex said in a soft voice, trying to soothe his girlfriend’s nerves. Lily took a deep breath and ran a hand through her thick brown hair, “You’re right. It’s the only explanation, but it’s so hard to believe.”

“I know. I barely believe it myself. That’s why it’s only one option,” Alex sighed, “Maybe check your Twitter again to see if you have any answers.”

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

Lily smiled and clicked on the tagged Twitter account, following the profile immediately before going to Instagram and typing the profile into the search bar.

She clicked on the verified profile and followed, making sure to turn on her notifications, “Did you find her?” Alex questioned.

Lilly’s head snapped up and she gave her boyfriend a sheepish look, “I did. Her Twitter is Jung underscore Azul. Her Instagram is… I’ll have to spell it to you cause this is kind of hard. It’s n-y-g-n-u-j. That’s it.” Lily spelled out.

“Got it. Just followed her. The Reddit moderator told me that if she shows any signs of having a soulmate mark that relates to us, then she’s our soulmate.” Alex said.

“Okay, but, like, we don’t have any other marks than each other’s, so it’s highly unlikely that she’s our soulmate.” Lily pointed out, holding up her wrist to show a F1 car tattoo.

“I know, it’s still a possibility. A very small one, but still a possibility.” Alex rebutted.

Ding!

Lily looked down at her phone, which was now showing the lock screen that had Alex and her together, to see that Y/n had posted.

Lily clicked in the notification and gasped, nearly dropping her phone

I was working on this for so long. I wasn’t going to publish this today, but I’m at my nurse job at Amazon and we’re just sitting around doing nothing currently.

I promise that this’ll get better, so just put your faith in me and hold on a bit longer

[gizm0-gadgetz]

Oki doki! I don't really have a name for this au so if yall think of one lemme know. Call this the first chapter of my Post DTTM New Texas time travel fic I guess?

I don't know how well the concept is worded in this but I hope yall enjoy. Please please please lemme know what ya think

Under the read more (spacing might be a bit weird as its copied from my docs

    When Jonny came too he was pissed. This was supposed to be the end, why was he still alive? It was like the universe was just trying to rub it in that he'd be alone…yet he felt someone else next to him. Somebody quite cold. Slowly and with much more effort than he expected he rolled over onto his back and sat up, having to do a double take at what he saw.

   The entire crew was there, presumably knocked out themselves. Nastya was sitting closest to him, her body radiating a cold chill. Carefully he put a hand on her shoulder, almost jumping at the lack of warmth. He didn't let it dissuade him and carefully began searching for a pulse. It took a moment to find, he wasn't the greatest at it in the first place, but soon enough he found a pulse. It was slow but there. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and began to check everyone else in the area. Everybody who had a pulse normally still had it. They were all alive and all together. 

    That was that problem solved now where were they? It was a large empty clearing, a dry planet it seemed. Something about it nagged at him, like it was framiler. He tried to focus in on any noises and smells traveling in the wind which was harder to do than he expected. Perhaps he'd run out of practice? His ears twitched, alerting him to the sound of his friends starting to move. 

    He looked over to see Ivy slowly sit up and try to orientate herself. She brushed some dust and sand out of her hair and metal plating as she looked around before locking eyes with Jonny. Neither of them knew what to do for the moment, just staring at each other before finally he made a move. He practically launched himself at her to pull her into a tight hug, not saying a word. It took her a moment to process before she hugged back. 

    “Where are we?” She finally asked once he had let go. He just frowned and she seemed to get the message. “Should we awaken them?” With a simple gesture to the crew they agreed and began to shake everyone else awake. It wasn't too hard, most everyone woke up quite easily. Soon it was just the Toy Soldier left who didn't seem to respond to anything. 

    “Shit. How do we wake it up?” He looked to Ivy for ideas since everyone else was still adjusting. She stayed silent for a moment, staring at its body intensely as she analyzed the situation. 

    “It stopped pretending.” 

    “Yeah. Can we make it start again?”

    “I think so.”

    “How?” 

    “Pretend back.” 

    “And how do you suggest I do that exactly?” Jonny had to fight an eye roll at the simple suggestion. She paused to think it over before snickering quietly. “What? What did you come up with.” 

    “Well the most effective way, a 90 percent chance I believe, would be to give it a little kiss!” 

    “Wha- i- it's always kisses with you people!!!” He groaned, ignoring the rest of the crew's snickers as he crawled over to the toy soldier. After a moment he frowned and gave it a little kiss on the forehead. It seemed like nothing happened for a good few minutes before suddenly its eyes opened and it shot up like a bullet, hitting Jonny as he was still kneeled over it. He tumbled backwards holding his head. “Motherfucker!!!” 

   “Oh! Sorry Jonny old chap!” It held its hand out for him, clearly not picking up on his glare as he took the hand and let himself be pulled up. Once its hand had been taken the Toy Soldier pulled his friend into a tight hug, lifting the man off the floor ever so slightly. The others just watched as he attempted to wiggle his way out of the embrace, it being none the wiser of his escape attempts. “Lovely to see you again!!” 

    “Toy soldier, drop him.” It frowned but released the first mate from its grip, looking to Nastya who had given the order. “Thank you. Now, where are we exactly?” She turned her attention to Brian and Ivy, both of which were trying to work on recognizing the area. 

    “I do believe there is a town nearby.” Ivy clarifies after a long moment of silence. “Do you feel it?” Brian nodded and began walking toward something. 

    “Hold on, we can't just be going off into the middle of nowhere!” Jonny called out, having to sprint to catch up with his long strides. Brian paused for only a moment, scooping Jonny up in his arms once he was close enough. “Hey!! Hold on a fuckin’ second!! Put me down, bastard!!!” 

    “It's better than staying out here in the middle of nowhere. What's the worst that could happen?” Nastya's breath was visible as she spoke, the intense difference of the hot climate and how cold she was obvious. 

    “Shes got a point.” Ashes chimed in, catching up with the group. 

    “Theres a lot we need to discuss too.” Raph added; stretching as she walked. “Wouldn't that be better over some drinks?” Jonny didn't awnser right away, just staring at the group from over Brian's shoulder before sighing. 

    “Fine.” He grumbled, his tail flicking like that of an agitated cat. “Just…” Suddenly he sat up fully in Brian's arms, eyes narrowed and ears twitching. A low growl reverberated in his throat. The rest of the Mechanisms were confused. Clearly something had caught his attention but they couldn't see anything. 

    “Jonny?” He didn't respond even as Brian shifted to try and make them look eye to eye. Clearly whatever had his attention was important in some way. “What do you see?” 

    “I know where we are.” He finally clarifies as they continue to walk. “and we are going to stand out a lot. Now the problem is when..” He sighed and closed his eyes, ears twitching forward toward the horizon. 

    “Well, spill. Where are we then?” Ashes paused to light a cigar, missing the framiler taste. Jonny doesn't answer right away, instead shifting in Brian's arms so he could see ahead better. He was squinting in the bright sun's gaze, eventually deciding to pull his goggles over his eyes to focus.  

    “When would be a better question.” He grumbled mostly to himself as the town started to come into view.

    “Looks like Vegas almost..” Tim pointed out as they approached. “Old party city on earth. Filled to the brim with gambling alcohol and all that fun stuff.” He explained after getting a few confused looks. 

     “Yeah…that's one way to describe this place.” Jonny sighed and climbed out of Brian's arms, this time allowed to do so. He did a wide gesture to the whole place as he began to talk. “Welcome to New Texas,” choosing to ignore the soft gasps coming from a few of his crew, he continued. “You're almost all going to stand out a lot just for being tall. I'm the taller side of average here.” 

    “No way. Really?” Tim had his doubts as he looked over his significantly shorter partner. 

   “Yes!! If you don't belive me you'll see in just a minute!!” He turned around and stormed toward the city, his tail betraying just how agitated he was about it. 

    “Well…I belive its about time we learn about Jonny.” Ivy pointed out as she began to follow the man. 

    “Oooh, do you think we can learn about his medical history here?” Marius chimed in with an excited look on his face. 

    “That would be wonderful!” Raph clapped her hands together with a big grin, the others simply choosing to ignore their interest in the topic. They kept walking until they reached the edge of town, proceeding into Jonny who had stopped. 

    “Something wrong chap?” Toy Soldier asked as it followed his gaze into town. After a moment the man just sighed and turned to face his companion. 

    “You look too clean, you're gonna stand out.” It didn't even have a chance to ask what he meant before he pulled him down by the shirt and took its hat away. He took a moment to ruffle its carefully styled hair before letting go. “That'll do for now. Right, listen up. As your captain-”

   “First mate!” 

   “-You need to listen to me. Especially here.” For once he didn't even react to the jest. “This place is…shit. People here are gonna try and trick ya and rob ya at every moment. Just…keep a look out i guess.” He sighed, his gaze drifting back into town. “Blasted timelines.” After a moment he shook his head and ruffled his hair up. “Lets go to the bar.” He didn't even wait for a response before heading further into town. They had to hurry to catch up, lest they lose him in the crowded streets.

    “Wow…he wasn't kidding.” Tim mused as he walked, paying attention to where he was stepping.  

     “So many of them-!” Raph squealed, barely able to contain her excitement. 

    “Until we know exactly what is happening you are not touching anybody.” Nastya’s tone left no room for discussion on the subject. She pulled her coat closer, glad she still had it as the cold had permeated her bones.

     “This certainly explains a lot about our first mate!” Toy Soldier exclaimed, looking around with an eager smile. Eventually Jonny finally stops outside a larger building in the center of a crowded street. He took a deep breath and looked back to his crew. 

    “Right-” 

     “This is One-Eyed Jacks??” Tim interrupted, looking up at the sign. 

     “Yes. As much as I absolutely detest this place...they serve good drinks. Just…don't do anything stupid.” Jonny takes one last deep breath before opening the door and stepping inside. Everyone started following him in before there was a soft thunk. Turning back they saw tim holding his head, having clearly hit the door frame on his way in. Jonny just stared at him for a moment before chuckling which quickly turned into a proper laugh. “Should'a ducked jackass-” Tim only grumbled, still holding his head as he ducked this time before purposely stepping on the smaller man's foot. His hand flew to his holster only to find it empty. Right. He had thrown it away a while ago. “Yer a lucky bastard Tim.” 

    “Jonny.” Nastya scolded, looking down at him and then at Tim. “You already said we will stand out, do not bring any more attention to yourselves.” 

    “Yeah yeah…” He grumbled, hating the fact that she was right. Once he had taken the moment to calm down he led his group to the edge of the bar and took a seat on the farthest end he could get. It was clear to anyone paying attention he was very fidgety compared to normal. “Ashes ya got gold?”

    “Always.” They dug into their pocket and pulled out a wallet, glad to see the papers weren't burnt. “Not in the mood for violence huh?” He just watched them as they took the seat next to him. After a moment he answered with a shrug. 

    “‘M too tired.” He spoke quietly, a very rare occurrence for himself. Tim decided to just stand next to Jonny, leaning against the bar as everyone else took a seat. Nobody knew what to say as they waited for a bartender to spot them. 

    “Good afternoon gents, and ladies of course.” A voice spoke up as someone approached. Jonny had to stop himself from growling as he recognized the man behind the bar. “Can't say i've seen yer faces ‘round here before ‘nd I know everyone. What can I get ya?” It was pretty easy to figure out that the bartender was the “one eyed jack”, owner of the casino and bar. The eyepatch made it quite obvious, confirmed by how much Jonny tensed up. 

    “Just whiskey,” Ashes decides to take the wheel before Jonny reaches over the bar and strangles the man.

    “For all of yall?” They just nod as he reaches under the counter and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. “Never seen yall ‘round here before. Where'd ya come from?” 

    “We came from outer space!” Jack pauses pouring a glass and looks at the Toy Soldier who only smiled. He was certainly intrigued, especially as Ashes elbowed it. 

    “Soldier! Don't answer random questions.” They scolded, watching as it paused for a moment before nodding and doing a mini salute, a signifier of having taken an order. Jack takes a moment to finish pouring the nine glasses before looking at them again, this time taking in as many details as he could. 

    “So, outer space huh? We ain't get many of those ‘round here too often. What brings ya to our lil’ town?” Clearly he was trying to sound nonchalant about it all despite being very interested. They could all see it from a mile away. 

    “None yer business jack.” Jonny grumbled before very quickly slamming his drink back. The man's ear twitched as he turned his focus to Jonny. 

    “Visitin’ after ya left huh? Ain't a very common thing to see. Dunno I've ever seen someone come back.” Jack leaned over the counter right in front of Jonny. Everyone just watched, unsure of what to do. If a fight broke out there was no saving the guy as Jonny was clearly barely holding back. “I can hear it in yer voice. Yer from ‘round here.” Jonny didn't answer, just staring at the man for a long moment before reaching over to Ashes and swiping their cigar. 

   “Wh-Jonny! You could just ask for your own!” They gently punched him in the shoulder but didn't bother taking it back as he took a puff.

    “Taking yers is more fun.” Jack opened his mouth to say something before his attention was pulled away by someone knocking on the bar. Someone set an unmarked envelope on the table which Jack slipped into his pocket without a word. They didn't get much of a chance to look at the stranger before they disappeared through a door behind the bar. Jack watched them leave before turning his attention to the group again. 

    “Anything else I can get ya?” Jonny just shook his head. 

    “No. We should get going.” He could feel the rest of his crew look at him weird, after all they hadn't been there long and he almost never left after only one round of drinks. Quietly he just gestured to the door, mouthing something about explaining in a second. It took them all a moment to understand but soon enough Ashes was paying the tab and they were out in the hot sun again. 

    Jonny wasted no time in walking away, clearly having his mind set on something and not sharing what it was per usual. Since he was essentially their guide the rest of the mechanisms had no choice but to follow, each with varying levels of curiosity on where he was going. After a few minutes of silent walking he took a turn into an alleyway. 

    “Okay, what are you doing Jonny?” Nastya eyed him suspiciously as he pulled himself on top of a dumpster. 

   “Gonna check somethin. Stay put.” It was strange to hear him so serious as he climbed up the side of a building and onto the roof. He paused to look down at the group, once again gesturing for them to stay before walking across the roof and out of view. 

    “Well thats not suspicious at all.” Ashes scoffed, lighting a new cigar as Jonny hadn't given theirs back. 

    “Should we be following him?” Marius fidgeted awkwardly with his coat tail, unsure of what to do.

    “We should give him a few minutes.” Brian piped in, startling a few of them. He had been very quiet since they arrived in New Texas and had been the last to finish his drink. If Brian was encouraging something it usually meant he had an idea of what was happening so they agreed to stay, at least for the moment.  

    Still they couldn't help but wonder what he was up to that climbing onto a roof was the best way to go about it. Clearly he'd taken that path many times as he got up with ease. It was just more mystery about his actual backstory. 

[agattthaa]

Just doing laundry with you

Paring: Anna/Lane

Word count: 1.018

Rating: T

[Mentions of absent parents]

Summary: Chores were always a bother, unless Anna was with her.

Tagging: @rc-catalog

The concept of chores was not something that Lane has ever got used to. 

When she was little, she spent as much time as possible away from her house, as much time as possible away from her parents. And neither of them seemed to mind about her absence, they only cared for her to be around enough so that the neighbors wouldn't gossip too much. And when she went to Siberia to work on the book, there were cleaners on the base, and she only ate frozen meals and junk food, so she wouldn't have to waste any time on cooking and doing the dishes.

But there wasn't anyone wanting her to stay as far away as possible from her or someone paid to clean on her new base. 

The squad shared all the chores as evenly as possible. Everything, from cleaning the floors to cooking to washing the bathroom. Everything, but washing the clothes. Which was fair, since the majority of them didn't share the same clothing items.

But Lane did.

She shared with Anna. 

She shared everything with Anna.

From their snacks, to their bedroom, to their blankets, to their clothes and to the obligation of cleaning them.

And it was supposed to be a chore, that should be something boring to do and to want to be done with as soon as possible, but the entire situation brought a strange sense of peacefulness and familiarity to Lane. 

It was an obligation, but one that she didn't have to stay awake to do or to enter a dangerous place to do or to search for clues outside in the cold cold snow like her job always forced her to. 

It was an obligation where she stayed inside the deeply guarded manor, in the warm bathroom, simply washing the clothes in the lukewarm water that came from the snow that they heated themselves and used a small pastille to clean it.

It was an obligation that allowed her to stay in Anna's company the most. 

Now, even during the nights, they spend more time apart than together. Sometimes Lane was still working on the book, other times Anna was searching for any clue on the mysterious pathogen in the library that she now had access to. They had been in so many separate missions in that week that the two of them basically didn't see each other anymore, and it was happening with such frequency that Lane wondered if the general was doing it on purpose just to irritate her.

But while they were alone in that dirty bathroom washing their shared clothes, there was nothing else but them. There was no book, no pathogen, no teammates or general. Only them and the silence and the focus on finishing the task in hand. 

But the silence wasn't a bother. Nothing ever was with Anna. 

Most people were bothered by the silence, even Anna was a bit on the start. But it was understandable. Lane didn't trust any of them and it was clear that the feeling was shared. 

But instead of noticing that Lane was not very talkative and just leaving her be, Anna stayed. She noticed that Lane's silence was not out of a lack of interest, but simply who she was. That, although she listened in silence a lot, she was actually listening. And in her respect for Lane's silence, she talked, and a lot. 

And Lane listened to her. Always. She talked about her childhood, her family, and her brother. How he got into the military and how she got into microbiology. About her professors and her first girlfriend. About the apocalypse and the squad and all her missions until she met Lane. About her favorite snacks and the types of food she liked to cook. 

And Lane listened. And listening to her, she started to talk more. To Anna. About her own childhood, her parents and why she started to study immortal languages. 

Anna never interrupted her, never asked too many questions, never prying too much. Lane knew that it was because the woman feared that she would lock herself up again. 

But Lane didn't want to. Not to Anna. 

She had created something so unbelievably comfortable between them. A space that Lane felt comfortable, a space where she knew that her silence would be as much appreciated as her speech. Anna never tried to force her to say anything or to be silent or to be on her side. She just left a space open in her life and on her side to Lane at all times, not forcing the other woman to occupy it, but making it clear that her presence was desired. 

Something that it has never been before and that she never believed that would be.

Because if not even your parents wanted you to be around them, who would? 

Apparently, Anna did. 

Anna did, because she always grabbed two snacks when she was going to Lane and always made Lane's favorite tea.

Anna did, because Lane had never told her what her favorite tea was. Anna had just paid enough attention.

Anna did, because she always saved a seat for Lane on any table by her side and always leaned closer to listen to her when they were in public, because she knew that Lane didn't really like to have everyone's attention on her. 

Anna did, because she always looked at Lane with her beautiful smile as she knew something that Lane didn't, just as she was looking at her right now. 

-What?

Anna simply smiled wider, pointing out at Lane's hand.

-You've been scrubbing these pants for almost five minutes on the same spot. Are you thinking about someone? 

-Yes, about you. I like spending time with you. 

The microbiologist didn't say anything, turning her attention back to the shirt she was washing. But she could not turn away her face enough for Lane to not notice the red tarnishing her face and the small smile that adorned her lips. 

And maybe that was all the peace that Lane needed. Just to be doing laundry with Anna. 

[hungergamesheadcanons]

Odesta Observations

Finnick can't actually flirt with Annie.

It was a realisation that took a while to sink in, but once it did, Katniss saw it everywhere.

The way he'd stammer over his words when he said anything even remotely romantic towards her.

The way his brain seemed to short-circuit whenever Annie smiled in his direction, or placed a kiss on his cheek, or lent her head on his shoulder.

Or, more damningly, the way an unusual red colour spread across his cheeks and nose, going all the way down his neck and up to his ears, whenever Annie (god forbid) flirted back.

It was actually a hilarious concept.

Finnick Odair, darling of the Capitol, playboy prince with enough lovers to create a small army, was shy.

And not shy in general. Not shy in that flirty way, where the flirter blushed ever so slightly to appear cute and endear themselves.

No, in front of Annie Cresta, Finnick was the tripping-over-his-own-feet kind of shy.

He was the stammering-over-his-words-so-hard-he-forgot-how-to-English kind of shy.

He was the slamming-his-head-into-the-table-to-hide-his-face-even-though-she's-right-there-oh-my-GOD kind of shy.

And Katniss was 99% sure Annie knew exactly what she was doing too. Because Annie flirted back a lot, and laughed every time, pressing gentle kisses to a bright red cheek or nose and allowing him a little time to compute what exactly happened. And when he tried to continue flirting, voice small and kind of uncertain, she'd just raise one eyebrow, as if challenging him to a verbal battle.

Usually this ended in Finnick dropping his head onto her shoulder, grumbling about her wittiness and how unfair this was. Annie would pat his head lovingly, telling him that he'd get her next time and that he'd just have to practice.

He never did.

It actually became something Katniss did to pass the time. Her and Johanna nicknamed it 'Odesta Observation', just watching them and reporting back to each other the most embarrassing things Finnick managed to do.

"She smiled at him and he managed to catch his toe on nothing and fall flat on his face." Johanna reported one day, still cackling.

"He tried to tell her a pick up line, gave up halfway through, turned around and walked straight into a wall." Katniss whispered to Johanna in passing, walking ahead with a slight smirk as Johanna barked out a laugh.

"She said that he was the most precious thing in her life and he took a whole ten minutes to react."

"He ranted about her hair for 25 minutes straight and then when she walked into the room he panicked and jumped so hard he fell off the bed."

"Annie caught him mid-story about a dog with pink and his voice raised three pitches before he started talking about Annie's dogs in 4."

"He saw Annie helping out in the baby ward and came to my room and screamed into my pillow for a few minutes before telling me he was fine."

Sometimes though, their observations weren't quite so silly.

"He held her for ten minutes while she seemed to come down from some kind of panic attack."

"She always kisses his chin when he seems to be drifting away, and he always puts his head on her shoulder after that."

"He likes to tug at her hair when her eyes go all vacant, and it seems to bring her back to reality."

"She likes to fiddle with his hair, braiding and brushing and playing with it until he falls asleep."

"She wakes up in a cold sweat when he's not beside her."

"He pleads for her to come back in his nightmares."

"She wanders the complex when she's not fully there, crying and searching for Finnick."

"He sneaks into her room at night, unable to sleep without her by his side."

Annie and Finnick were in love. They were entirely dependent on each other, both of them needing the other to complete them. Their adoration for each other was palpable, and Katniss could feel the devotion radiating off them.

It wasn't a surprise when Finnick popped the question.

And if he blushed and stammered his way through his wedding vows, Annie smiling ever so indulgently at him while he did so, Katniss would only tease him a little bit about it.

[crimson-iden]

So I figured it’s about time I cover the Creaking and my personal theories about it. Its kinda randomly organised and some of it might be a stretch, but this is creativity game so idc here’s what I think,

I believe that the Creaking is a type of Golem mob, perhaps an early concept.

Basically, this hinges on the fact that we can see Illagers and Ravagers run away from the Creaking the moment they’re in close proximity, possibly meaning there’s some kind of history or relation between them.

I think that, in the early days of the world of Minecraft, the civilisation that would become what we know now as Villagers used to live within the Pale Garden biome, perhaps building structures that were lost to time. It makes sense, it’s a quiet part of the world, the lack of passive mobs could possibly imply that it’s a completely lifeless forest, leading threats such as Illagers to avoid it, as they’d have nothing to gain.

Of course, there are still threats in the Pale Garden when the night comes in, so the Villagers designed a golem, something practically invulnerable to all damage that could protect them from the monsters of the night, this of course is what would later become the Creaking. In my own design if the Creaking, I draw it with a hole in its chest, I believe this is because when they were designed, the heart was exposed in case of maintenance or repairs needed, it could be easily removed or swapped if necessary.

Nothing is safe forever though. Eventually, the Illagers would find out about these hidden homes, perhaps because of groups of Pillager scouts. They’d attack over and over, eventually forcing the Villagers to flee from the Pale Gardens, but during the searching of their homes, the Illagers would encounter the defenders that had been constructed. Almost three metre tall golems, invincible to most of their efforts, they stood no chance, eventually having to escape with only the tale to tell.

Over time, the Creaking would learn to camouflage with their surroundings, blending in with the trees and hiding their hearts amongst them for protection, now left to wander in the dead of night through silent forests, still guarding a civilisation long lost. Rather than disappearing in daytime, I believe that they become one with the trees, or at least shape themselves to appear as one of them.

In general, I think it’s a good idea to use the Creaking as a guardian, they’re immune to fall damage, they can’t drown, immune to lava and all direct attacks, just that physically, they might be a bit weak, so they come in numbers in the forests.

Their descendants, Iron Golems. Immune to fall damage, can’t drown, it’s just that the trade off is less lava and attack immunity, instead making them stronger and only needing to come as a singular guard to each village.

Best guess as to why it attacked the villagers in that one Villager news thingy could be that it’s been generations and they may have forgotten, or maybe that the villagers developing over time may not completely resemble what the Creaking remember.

I know it’s a bit of a stretch based of very limited information about them, but that’s my theory on what the Creaking are and why they exist in the world, I’m open to other ideas or corrections of course, but yeah, I hope y’all enjoy !! Do with that what you will !!

[pancakes4two]

baby please come home

happy holidays everyone! i wanted to write something short for @watchmegetobsessed​‘s fanficmas to close out the year. i’ve had the best time writing a bunch of concepts these last few months so... here is an ode to the first harry i wrote this year & the most recent 💗 enjoy!

preview: Harry disappears from public view until January, wanting to close out the year in private. He does, however, decide to share a photo of the three of you sitting under the tree on Christmas. You’re grinning at the camera, leaning close to Harry. Beau is sitting in your lap, fuzzy antlers sitting atop his head. His entire body is turned towards Harry, big brown eyes glittering as he stares as his dad and reaches for him with tiny hands. Harry’s smiling so wide his eyes may as well be closed, his face flush with nothing but pure joy.

He captions the photo: Christmas Morning. Harry’s House. December, 2022. It gets 10 million likes in 24 hours.

MASTERLIST | TALK TO ME

1. christmas with dadrry (from this blurb!)

Harry is playing his last show of 2022 when he decides to have a little fun. He’s been in Brazil for the past couple of days, closing out the Latin American leg of Love on Tour. Three stops ago in Argentina, he’d sent you and your son off on a plane home to London. With the two of you now being 5,000 miles away, he can’t help but ache for home a little more than usual, despite the fact that he’ll be joining you at home soon. A sign at the barricade reminds him of this fact, as he prepares to give a speech to lead into his encore.

“So…” Harry says, popping out his hip dramatically, “Before we move on to our last couple of songs, there’s a sign up at the front here that I want to address.”

The arena explodes in chatter as a spotlight comes down from above, searching for the flashy poster board. Harry squints and twists his microphone cord between his fingers, (he mentally notes that next year will be the year he finally starts using a wireless mic) and points when he manages to spot the sign he had noticed earlier.

“Right, this sign says,” Harry pauses as a cameraman beside him zooms in on the sign, projecting it onto the large screens behind the stage. “We came here for Y/N and no-one else.”

The crowd bursts into collective laughter and hoots, and Harry sees a few phone shoot up in the front row, eager to capture the obvious fan interaction that’s about to take place. He walks closer to the edge of the stage, and kneels down directly in front of the two fans that had brought the sign.

“Let me just start by saying how could you,” Harry brings a hand to his chest, squeezing his fist and trying his best to school his expression into one of dramatic anguish. One of the fans belly-laughs, while the other takes his reaction more to heart, waving her hands in the air and trying to rationalize the statement that had been written on their sign. “Only joking! But I am a bit hurt. It’s my name that’s attached to the tour, the posters, the merch, after all...”

“Sadly, I do have to inform you that Y/N has left with our son to go back home,” Harry squints out at the audience. The crowd groans loudly at that, and the sound of Mitch’s laughter comes through his in-ear monitors.

“Soooo, you’ll have to deal with it just being me up here!” Harry points a thumb at himself, turning around to give Mitch the finger with his other hand. “It is, however, close to Christmas, and I must admit I’m missing my family too. So we’ll see if we can do something about that.”

Harry gestures for the production lead then, and the fans that make up the first couple of rows in the stadium look to each other curiously, wondering why Harry’s suddenly gone off-script. While they whisper amongst themselves, the production lead runs up on stage and hands Harry his phone. He wiggles it in the air, brandishing it in front of the crowd. They cheer in anticipation for what he’s about to do next. The screen on Harry’s phone turns on in response to all his movement, and the stadium unexpectedly gets a glimpse of his wallpaper. It’s a picture of you and Beau, taken not more than a month ago, posing in front of Foro Sol in Mexico City. Beau’s wearing a Love on Tour shirt that’s comically large on his tiny body, sucking on a pacifier as you hold him to your chest, pointing at the massive screen displaying Harry’s name behind you. The entire crowd coos upon seeing the image, and even more phones shoot up to record the moment. Harry smirks knowingly, as if to say: adorable, isn’t it?

He holds his phone to his chest then, hiding it from view as he types in his passcode and swipes through his apps. He opens up your contact card and presses the FaceTime button, shushing the crowd when the call goes through. It’s late enough at night back home in London that he’s sure Beau’s asleep already, but you’re still awake and will be able to pick up his calls without disturbing the sleeping baby. The screen takes a moment to load before your face pops up, slightly pixellated and makeup-less, but beautiful nonetheless. Harry turns his phone back towards the crowd, and they can’t hold in their excitement when they see your face projected onto the stadium screens.

“Say hi everyone!” Harry waves at his phone, grinning at how the crowd has welcomed you. “Y/N, everyone’s been missing you, and now that I’ve got you here, it only seems fitting that I sing something special tonight...”

You give Harry a confused look through the phone, and he says nothing in response, just smiles and cues Pauli in. Pauli twirls a set of mallets between their fingers and begins to play a xylophone in front of them. They count themself in, and the starting notes to Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas Is You sound through the stadium. 

Harry can’t hear you over the noise of the crowd, but he sees you shake your head at him and swears you yell out, “Shut the fuck up!!!” as he starts to sing.

“I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need. I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree. I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know, make my wish come true... all I want for Christmas is you!”

Harry prances around the stage with you on his phone, directing the lyrics to your smiling face on the screen. The crowd dances along and Sarah points and laughs when Harry passes by, fondly admiring just how much of a hopeless romantic he is. As the song continues, Harry decides to leap across the catwalk, determined to make this performance as extra as humanly possible. The crowd reaches for him, but in this moment he only has eyes for you. He brings his phone out in front of him as he shimmies in front of the camera, reminding you that, “Baby, all I want for Christmas is you.”

When Harry launches into the bridge, he points up at the sky. A loud pop sounds through the venue as cannons that had been rigged onto the stage release tiny pieces of confetti that had been shaped into snowflakes. The paper rains down onto the crowd, blanketing the entire stage and floor into a sea of white. The pretend-snowflakes continue to cascade through the sky, glistening under all the stage lights, and Harry ends the song by running back towards the main stage and collapsing backwards onto it. He moves his limbs up and down through the confetti that now covers the surface as if to make a snow angel. He looks up at your smiling face, still watching him sing through his phone, and it’s almost as if you’re there with him. It’s only been a few days and yet he still misses you like crazy. Harry gets lost in the moment for a second, before the crowd drags him back down into reality. He sits up, brushing the confetti out of his hair, and smiles at the sea of people looking at him adoringly.

“Hope you didn’t mind that little switch-up, there,” Harry beams, “just felt like singing a Christmas song tonight.”

“Now, we’re gonna say bye to Y/N,” he continues, placing his microphone behind his back so he can speak to you privately. The crowd boos in response, and you laugh. 

“Let me talk to your fans!” you say, wagging a disapproving finger at Harry.

“You’re a demanding bunch!” Harry jokes, putting his microphone back under his phone speaker. Your voice comes through over the venue speakers, a little tinny, but understandable. 

“Goodnight everyone! Hope you had lots of fun tonight, and thank you so much for the surprise. Take care of H for me so he comes back home all in one piece,” you blow a kiss to your phone and Harry catches it, keeping it in his back pocket.

“That was for the fans, you idiot!” You laugh, and Harry throws his hands up at the crowd when they start to laugh at him.

“Okay, no more listening privileges for you lot if you’re just going to make fun of me,” he sighs jokingly, hiding his mic behind his back again. He brings the speaker up to his mouth so you can hear him properly.

“Be home soon,” he says, “love you so much. Sleep well and text me when you’re up.”

“Love you too, goodnight, H,” you smile, hanging up the call. Harry turns back around and sees his crowd looking disappointed at the fact that they weren’t able to hear the last bit of your conversation.

“Don’t look at me like that! Some conversations are better left private,” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Mitch throws a guitar pick at him, having heard the conversation and knowing that it had not gone at all like what Harry was implying. “Anyways, onto the encore...”

LONDON, A FEW DAYS LATER

Christmas morning arrives in a blur. Harry’s finally sufficiently rested after battling with jet lag, though he still finds himself waking up slightly earlier than usual. The sun is only starting to rise, and it had snowed the night before. He looks outside the window to see the landscape painted in a winter glow. The Christmas lights that you’d put up after coming home are wrapped around the trees and shrubs outside, providing some warmth to the otherwise blue atmosphere.

Harry makes his way into the living room, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He finds you awake already in the kitchen, with Beau on your side, heating up a pot of tea. Beau is looking determined, sucking on a baby bottle with force as he clings onto his mother. You both notice Harry at the same time—you look up at him and your features soften, while Beau drops his bottle on the counter and reaches for Harry, babbling for his dad.

“Alright, alright; there’s more than enough me to go around,” Harry laughs, taking Beau from you. “Good morning. Happy Christmas.”

“Mm,” you hum while Harry kisses you. You pour two cups of tea, putting milk in sugar in one mug for you and just milk in the other for Harry. You hand his mug to him, and the two of you head over to the tree. It’s placed right in front of the largest window in the living room so it catches the most light. In the early morning, the entire space fills with a cozy light, the ornaments shining softly under twinkling lights. Both of you had decided on not giving each other gifts this year, preferring to absolutely spoil Beau rotten instead.

“Let’s open your presents now, Beau-bear,” Harry coos, bouncing the infant gently in his arms. It’s crazy, how much his life has changed in the last year. He looks at Beau, who’s looking curiously at the box in Harry’s hand, and you, quietly sipping on your morning tea. Harry’s chest swells with a whole host of emotions that he doesn’t necessarily know what to do with—but he does know that this is exactly where he belongs. He’s spent the better half of the year away from home and written an entire record exploring the idea of home. But he knows now that this is it. This is home: Christmas morning spent with the love of his life and his child. The presents that fill the entire space underneath the tree, a Christmas album playing over the sound system in the living room, Beau in a reindeer onesie, you wrapped up in a wool scarf, the snow that’ll decorate your lashes later when the three of you go out in the snow.

Harry disappears from public view until January, wanting to close out the year in private. He does, however, decide to share a photo of the three of you sitting under the tree on Christmas. You’re grinning at the camera, leaning close to Harry. Beau is sitting in your lap, fuzzy antlers sitting atop his head. His entire body is turned towards Harry, big brown eyes glittering as he stares as his dad and reaches for him with tiny hands. Harry’s smiling so wide his eyes may as well be closed, his face flush with nothing but pure joy.

He captions the photo: Christmas Morning. Harry’s House. December, 2022. It gets 10 million likes in 24 hours.

2. christmas with young harry (from this blurb!)

“Y/N!” You hear someone call out distantly from your bedroom window. “Y/N!”

The voice gets closer, and you realize it belongs to Harry. Abandoning the notebook you were currently writing in, you cap your pen and run down the stairs. Once you’ve turned the corner into your living room, though, you see that your parents have already let him in. Harry waves at you from the front door, pulling off his shoes and dusting snow off of the knit beanie resting atop his head. He hands a tin of what could only be Christmas cookies to your mom, and she pulls him into a hug.

“Happy Christmas,” Harry grins, “Mum said she liked the cookies best plain, but I think they’re better with warm milk.”

“We’ll have to try them both ways, then,” your dad responds, clapping Harry on the back. “Happy Christmas, H. Did you bike here?”

“Yeah,” Harry responds a little breathlessly. You notice that his cheeks are more pink than usual due to the cold, and the parts of his hair that weren’t covered by his hat were curling in all different directions, blown out of place by the wind. “Wanted to give Y/N her present before dinner.”

“How lovely!” Your mom coos in response, “We’ll leave you to it. Don’t forget to keep your door open, Y/N!”

Harry laughs while you roll your eyes exasperatedly at your mom. The two of you head upstairs, him trailing slightly behind you with a careful hand on your waist. You hadn’t realized earlier, but he’s wearing a backpack. It looks rather full, like the zippers are about to burst from the size of whatever he’s stuffed inside it.

“What are you planning on giving me, a bomb?!” You joke, poking at the bag’s exterior.

“Shut up!” Harry groans, “of course not! I couldn’t bring a bigger bag with me on the bike, so like, I had to make do.”

“Only joking,” you giggle, opening the door to your bedroom. Harry takes off his jacket and hangs it on the back of your desk chair before flopping onto your bed. He’s wearing a navy-colored crewneck that’s too big for him, and the sleeves go past his hands. His skin is still flushed from the temperature outside, and you think he looks absolutely adorable like this, all cozy in your room. You sit across from him and tangle your legs together. The two of you have been together for almost four months now, thanks to your friends leaving you in a room alone and basically forcing you to confess your feelings to one another at the end of the summer, but you can’t help but still be a little awkward. Harry’s your first boyfriend, and you’re still trying to make sense of the magnitude of what you feel for him. It scares you a little, how much you’ve started to care for him and how you find yourself wanting to know more about him always, from the big things down to the tiny mundane details of his life. But it also brings you comfort, knowing that you can hold so much fondness for someone else, and have those same feelings be reciprocated.

The two of you have been looking forward to Christmas—you got together too late in the year for Harry to be able give you what he had called a proper, boyfriend birthday gift, and Harry has yet to celebrate his own in February. Both of you were excited to exchange gifts as a couple for the first time, somehow, they just meant so much more to you now that your relationship had evolved beyond just friendship. October had barely ended before you started thinking about his gift. You wanted it to be absolutely perfect.

“Were you doing homework before you came?” Harry asks incredulously. He must’ve caught a glimpse of your notebook when he set his backpack down. “How do you still have work left to do?”

“It’s for next term,” you reply sheepishly, “I got bored and wanted to plan out the classes I’m taking starting January... I figured I might as well get a head start while I’m home...”

“Ever the bookworm,” Harry looks at you fondly, reaching over to ruffle your hair. You loved that about him, the fact that he never made you feel badly about anything you did. Between the two of you, you were definitely the more academically-inclined one. While you sat diligently at the front of class taking notes, your boyfriend preferred to sit near the back, cracking jokes until your teacher got annoyed and focusing more on making the setlist for his band’s latest gig, instead of his assignments.

“Wonder if I can convince you to do my homework for a month as a gift,” Harry pulls you closer to him, cupping your face in his hands. He’s about to kiss you when you turn around suddenly, forcing his lips to meet only your cheek.

“No can do,” you smirk when he pouts at you, obviously disappointed that his act of affection didn’t go as originally planned. “We both know you’re meant for bigger things than school, H, but you just need to stick it through for a few more months and before you know it, you’ll be all done with GSCEs.”

“I suppose,” Harry huffs childishly, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning up at you. You kick at his arm with a socked foot, giggling at him. He reaches for your hand and unzips his backpack, pulling out a large, misshapen object that’s been tied together with ribbon. You’re not sure what the gift is meant to be—the Christmas tree-patterned wrapping paper is folded and bent in ways you didn’t know were physically possible, and there’s several pieces of tape stuck to the sides of it, patched on in an attempt to cover places where the gift wrap had ripped.

“I wanted to wrap it myself,” Harry explains, pulling at a non-existent thread on his sleeve, “but it obviously didn’t go too well.”

You laugh as he hands the gift to you, looking sufficiently deflated. “You get full marks for effort.”

“Before you open it,” Harry adds, watching you pull at one end of the ribbon. “I tried my best to get you something you really wanted, but I didn’t know if, like, someone else had already bought it for you, or anything... so there’s a receipt in there for you to exchange it for something else if you’d like.”

“Don’t be silly,” you reassure him, taking extra care to tear the paper carefully. The gift feels delicate in your hands, as if the item inside were made of something soft and pliable. You pause on opening the present for a moment to press a gentle kiss to your boyfriend’s knuckles: the last thing you’d want is to make him think you’d ever be disappointed in anything he gifted to you.

You finally manage to pull away at the gift wrap and tape, and your hands land on a cream-colored cardigan. You gasp and look at Harry, who’s looking between you and the object in your hands fondly, like he’d known exactly how you’d react all this time.

“There’s no way...” you say, turning the cardigan over in your hands, running your fingers along the careful stitches and admiring the tortoiseshell buttons. “But this is so... it costs so much... how?!”

Harry smiles at you, watching you unbutton the sweater carefully. “Well, I remember how much you liked it when you tried it on in the shop, so I worked some extra shifts at the bakery at the beginning of Christmas hols. I made Gem drive me down to the city yesterday and got it for you. It took a lot of convincing. She’s making me do her laundry for the next month.”

“It’s so perfect,” you say sincerely, enveloping Harry in a hug. You wish you could stay like this forever, safe in the embrace of a boy who makes you feel so massively, his arms locked behind your waist and his heartbeat steady against your chest. “I love it so much. You’re just the best.”

“Glad you love it,” Harry says softly, kissing your forehead and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He watches you intently as you reach under your bed and procure a holiday-themed bag. You hand it to him, tapping on his knee while he plays with the tissue paper inside.

“Your turn.”

“Did you gift me a bomb?” Harry jokes, weighing the bag in his hand and pretending to drop it because of how heavy it is.

“Like I’d kill you off after that incredible present you just got me,” you retort, kicking at him impatiently. “Enough stalling. Open it!”

Harry pulls away at the tissue paper and pulls out a large vinyl record, covered in plastic wrap. He shakes his head and looks at you with wide eyes. “Y/N. You didn’t.”

“I did,” you reply, grinning at him as he continues staring at you in amazement. Over the summer, Harry’s parents had accidentally donated his copy of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours to a charity shop along with a box of his old clothes. You knew how much that record meant to him, so you’d gone to a small record shop the last time you were in the city and picked up a replacement.

“Y/NNNNN,” he drags out your name dramatically, peppering your face with chaste kisses.

“Come on, look at the bottom of the bag, there’s more,” you say, playing with his hair. Somehow, the two of you had ended up shifting closer and closer to each other in your excitement, and now you’re basically sitting on top of Harry, eagerly waiting for him to finish opening his gift.

“No way, two gifts?” Harry clutches his chest dramatically, “you must really like me.”

He pulls out a book from the bag, checking to make sure there’s nothing else inside that he’d accidentally overlooked. The cover is made of linen and bound together with ribbon. Stuck to the front is a polaroid of the two of you on Harry’s bike, you sitting behind him as he poses for the camera, both of you brandishing massive scoops of mint chocolate ice cream.

“What is this?” Harry whispers, flipping through the pages. Each page is covered in memories of the two of you, filled with pictures and tiny souvenirs from places you’d gone together.

A picture your mom had taken of the two of you asleep on the living room couch, your head enveloped in Harry’s chest. There’s a blanket covering the two of you, and in the distance, a TV is playing the ending of The Notebook--you’d obviously fallen asleep before getting to the best part.

A ticket stub from the first concert you’d gone to together. You still remember how you felt that night, colorful lights streaming down from above as music filled your ears, Harry dancing and singing loudly from right next to you.

A picture you took on your computer when the two of you were meant to be studying together in the school library, Harry sticking his tongue out at you while you flip him off playfully.

A picture your friends took of the two of you holding hands on the bus. The two of you dancing in Harry’s garden. The two of you running through a corn maze at the local farm. Harry waving at you from outside your bedroom window. A photobooth strip of the two of you: a vignette of him looking at you, a vignette of him turning your chin towards him, a vignette of your lips meeting.

“I figured, next year, when you’re off to the X-Factor and you get all big and famous, you can keep this with you when you’re away and it’ll remind you that I’m always thinking of you,” you say shyly. “You know, so you don’t forget me while you’re away.”

“How could I ever forget you?” Harry asks, and his voice is so sincere that it cuts straight to your heart. “I’d never get big or famous enough to forget about you. But this book, Y/N, it’s amazing. It means so much to me that you made this for me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Mhm,” you respond, smiling at him.

“Of course, you’re going to feel silly when they send me home right after auditions, and it’s back to me being your average boyfriend.”

“That’s not going to happen,” you say, and you mean every word of it. “Whole country’s gonna know your name soon.”

“Well, then I couldn’t be more grateful that you were the first one to know,” Harry says, pulling his phone out from his pocket. “Let me take a picture of us and tweet it to my two fans.”

You laugh then, and run your fingers through your hair to tame it. You pull yourself into Harry’s chest and he brings his phone out in front of the two of you. He kisses the top of your head, smiling through the action, and the digital camera clicks. You watch as he attaches the photo to a tweet and begins to type up a caption.

Christmas with my number one fan. Lucky she doesn’t know I’m her biggest fan, too. 

Harry presses send on the tweet and locks his phone. For now, no one sees it except for his sister, and the four other friends who actually follow his Twitter account. But twelve years later, when the whole world knows his name, a fan will find the tweet on his account, buried under thousands of other messages, and tag him in it. He’ll open it in the morning, with you asleep still beside him, and smile to himself as he remembers your first Christmas together. He’ll pull you a little closer as snow falls silently outside, brush your hair aside and listen to you breath steadily in his arms. He’ll lean in and whisper, Told you I could never forget you, and count himself lucky for all the holidays he’ll get to spend for the rest of his life with you right there beside him.

TAGLIST: @crazygirlinthisworld​ @grapejuice-rry​ @b-reads-things​ @s8tellite @michellekstyles​ @vrittivsanghavi​ @alienorknight​ @flwrmuse 

[gowns]

from time to time i think about how people used to ask me for advice on this blog... i was young and still figuring things out, and i thought it was funny that people asked me for advice. but it's like: you open a conduit one way, and more things start flowing that way. so the asks kept coming in. people are very mimetic.

i feel Older and Wiser now, and might be able to give better advice, but more of my writing is private, my blogging more sporadic... (i am still an external processor in many ways, but at least i have close deep friendships, and i can process with them instead of on a blog.)

there came a point when people started to get weird with me -- the asks got more invasive, spiky, cagey. so i had to close down my inbox

it's open again, but maybe i've done a good job with setting boundaries with strangers, hahaha. there's no pile of messages waiting for me. tbh, i feel like most of the quandaries i used to get, now people could just make a throwaway account on reddit and make a post there. polling a large group of people seems to make more sense than just asking one writer; trying to account for subjectivity and the multiplicity of human behavior and thought...

--

outside of my own experience, i have thought a lot about the concept of "asking for advice"; the concept of "externally processing" (via blogging, therapy, talking to friends, publishing writing, etc etc); the more codified concept of an "advice column" and the wise "advice columnist." the advice column is kinda old-school at this point, and most of them today seem to exist as clickbait to drive people to the comment section, where everyone can put in their two cents on the letter writer and the competency of the advice-giver.

polling the audience. that's a modern thing, too -- quite recent that we could all conduct polls. like, legit, easy polls. when you want to find out people's opinions, and they'll easily give it to you if they don't have to talk or type, they just hit a button. hit this button if you like this food. hit this button if i'm right. if i'm not right, explain.

it's quick and to the point...

--

in "a field guide to getting lost," rebecca solnit brings up an interesting fact that people didn't used to get as lost as people get today. like, there's a lot more search and rescue expeditions today than there used to be. outside of population growth and etc, she said it's likely because of a few factors: people used to be more aware of their surroundings, and their schedules weren't as packed, so they had a slower pace of doing things. people could meander. they weren't worried, they'd find their way home eventually (and in the meantime, they knew more about the flora and fauna, what to eat, and so on). people who get lost today tend to freak out and get themselves more lost, or into more dangerous situations.

thinking about that in relation to the way that people relate to each other and communicate today... the idea of writing someone a letter for advice and waiting a few weeks to hear a response sounds useless. everyone needs an immediate response to everything.

on one hand, it's neat that i can get an immediate response to almost any query i have -- google, wikipedia, polling the audience, texting friends. I Am a Conduit for Information

on the other hand, if the immediate response is incorrect... or only a partial response... or nothing comes up... i tend to feel like a broken computer. come on! obtain the information! complete the task!

and there are many things which will not be easily answered and processed right away. there are a lot of things you have to sit and chew on. hold in your pocket for a while.

this is very frustrating

i just want the answers

--

ask / answer ask / answer ask / answer

answer a person's question, and they will be satisfied for only a moment. teach them how to ask and answer their own questions... and they will likely never be satisfied, but hey, it's good practice

we have to get lost and meander

[ficbrish]

Stay A While

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

[AO3 Link]

[Kinktober 2023 prompt thanks to @absurdthirst! October 21st - Hair Pulling, Masturbation]

[[TW/CW: Cptsd, blood]]

Summary: Astarion wants to linger the morning after one of their initial trysts.

Takes place in Act I.

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

“Where do you think you’re going?” Astarion’s droll tone harbored a tinge of excitement.

Vistri froze in her tracks, but answered with her back still to him, “Surely the others are waiting.”

He clicked his tongue with a slow shake of his head. “Back to camp,” he observed dryly, drawing out the word camp, then giggled, “How droll!”

She turned to face him; not an agreement to stay, just to hear him out. His pointy-toothed grin charmed her more than she’d like to admit.

“What’s the rush, darling?” he asked mischievously.

The only rush she felt was her pulse, but she couldn’t say that even if he already sensed it. Admittances such as those were for late nights spent together—Well… They said those sweet things all the time, and to anyone, but it was different when they actually meant it. Truth belonged to the midnight hours and their illusions, where it could hide in the dark. But it was simply out of place under the sun.

Vistri crossed her arms, suppressing a creeping smile, “I’m guessing you have other ideas?”

Admittedly, Astarion was curious. The tadpole gave him freedom, a new lease on undeath, but Vistri opened up entirely new pathways of pleasure. He woke up feeling the best he’d ever felt after drinking her blood. Only to be topped when they added a fuck into the mix. In a bit over a tenday, Astarion had a few of the best mornings of his life. He didn’t think it was possible to feel any better. Unless…

Light filtered through the trees, adorning him in spotty shadows. Rays of sunlight hit the side of his face, making one of his eyes sparkle like a rich ruby as the other was cast into darkness. He held up his hands innocently and made a show of looking side to side, “I don’t see any search parties.”

Ah, to never be found. Oh, to stay in this little grove and fuck ‘til death.

Vistri raised her brow, tentatively interested, “Say there were. Just how disappointed would you be?”

That was his cue to walk towards her, “Be careful of the way you talk to devils, girl. You might entice one. The sun may be high in the sky, but you’re never safe alone with a monster.”

The word, monster, stuck itself in Vistri’s mind like mud on a boot. She tried to scrape it off and put it on Astarion, but she couldn’t. She looked into his scheming, slanted eyes and said, “I’m not afraid of you under the moon either.”

He uncrossed her arms and wrapped them around his waist, “You little fool.”

His mouth was so close to hers, Vistri felt dizzy, “I’m no fool.”

They were nearer to each other now than they’d been all morning. Vistri always fell into her trance on his chest and came back to the present with her face against dirt. He never held her after the sun rose, never kissed her good morning or farewell. It wasn’t like he’d set a clear boundary; he just never did any of those things, and she wasn’t going to be the first to do them. Whatever this was existed for the sole purpose of trading themselves for a bit of ecstasy, and they were simply each other’s catalyst. And that was fine. It’s the way she wanted it to be. It’s the way things always were. There was nothing special about this time, about him.

Astarion smirked. She tried to move away but he held her forearms against his sides in a firm grip.

“You’ve only survived thus far because I chose it.”

She continued fearlessly to meet his gaze. It was a misplaced confidence, like she had no concept of a reality where he’d actually ruin her. So much trust she laid on his unworthy shoulders, if it wasn’t foolishness, it had to be self-destructive.

She laughed at him. A real bitchy, mocking laugh, “Oh, you chose it?”

He grabbed her throat, tilting her head back with his thumb, “Yes. I chose not to rip you apart. Every. Time.”

“Pity.”

“No, not a pity,” he purred dangerously, “You’ve been so worth it.”

Vistri fought herself and lost. Swept up by a sudden rough current, she immediately gave over to drowning. She just let go, let it happen, and took a terrifying leap at his kiss.

Astarion moaned in pleasant surprise. He had a few more moves queued up before going there himself, but he didn’t mind the way she leapt in first. Her tongue was otherworldly, like it had been spilled out of Sune’s gossip at Loviatar’s tea party, salacious and indecently lush.

Nothing in the world compared to the way he felt. Like the sun, he colored all the greys in Vistri’s world. He felt like everything fascinating, and thought she was worth keeping alive. Someone, who felt as good as he did, deemed her worthy of life.

He was so grateful to himself for obeying his impulses. Astarion didn’t know whether she’d deign to touch him like this in the daylight. Come to think of it, she was the very first person he’d touched in 200 years under the sun. Yes, he’d pulled a blade on her then, but she was still the very first. And his first true drink. And the first fu—

“Oh, shit!” Vistri pushed him away, remembering herself and their unwritten rules made of habit, Sorry!”

Their kisses were only meant for teasing, their touches only meant for petting. She wasn’t supposed to love him at the end of her lips. Unless it was for pretending.

“Don’t be sorry,” he muttered, bringing her mouth back to his.

She felt her knees grow weak. Stupid knees. Backstabbing cunts.

“I kissed you,” she protested.

“And I kissed you back,” he went in for more.

Vistri eventually broke away again, “But we don’t kiss in the mornings.”

“And I usually don’t drink in the mornings,” he spoke into her neck, “But I think… I think we can do whatever we want. Don’t you, darling?”

He could take her blood, “I want you to drink me.”

He could take her body, “And ravish me.”

He could even take her heart, “Just make it hurt for me, lover. Would you?”

He grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled it until she cried out. His voice dripped with a bright, shiny toxin, “Oh, I can make it hurt, if that’s what you like.”

She tried to nod, but his grip was too tight on her scalp, so she just begged, “Please.”

Astarion licked her neck from base to chin, then crashed into her mouth after whining, “Gods but you make a mess of me!”

Lines like that were usually bullshit, it’s why he said them so readily. But as it tumbled out of him now, it felt real. Maybe he was just that good of an actor, and he’d really begun to believe his part. That would be so much more convenient if it was. He picked her up, overcome with a desire to possess her. He didn’t own her, didn’t belong to her, but he could steal her away from gravity. She wrapped her legs around him, and he moaned deeply; tangled in her lips, in her hair.

The others were definitely going to have to wait. That or just start the day without them.

Vistri felt her back press into a tree, just like on the first night. She kissed him and felt every star she’d ever seen. That night, she thought it had to be a fluke, a trick of the bad wine. But Gods! It was still there. It was screaming. Her heart broke whenever he pulled away, and mended only when his lips were back on hers.

He chuckled, “I’ve got you right where I want you, little pet.”

“Where’s that?”

“At my mercy.”

“You did try to warn me.”

“I’m not a nice man to be alone with.”

Her smile messed up the kiss. He was so adorable. And he was right. So right. Vistri shivered as he nibbled at her ear. It felt a lot like love, but it wasn’t. Great fucks pierced the soul like great works of art. But that wasn’t care, it was an appreciation for expertise. Sure, Astarion felt indescribably right, but that didn’t make him her god. She’d just finally met her match.

He unbuttoned her corset to fondle her breasts. She twitched whenever he brushed her nipples delicately with his fingertips, and he giggled like a naughty fey each time. The line between reaction and performance was beginning to blur. She didn’t know anymore whether she twitched on cue because he touched her or because he liked it.

“I don’t want you to be nice. I want it to hurt.”

He pulled her hair again, smirking as she let out a sound that was something between a moan and a yelp. The harder he pulled, the more she felt like his. She didn’t want to want that, and yet it possessed her, like a sob forcing itself out.

“More,” she pleaded.

“More?”

“Aren’t you a bad man? And I a fool alone in the woods?”

He let go of her hair and spoke onto her lips, “Oh, you’re not alone, darling. You’re very much not alone.”

His hand took hers and brought it to the front of his trousers. Grasping and gasping, she felt him. How hard he was; thick enough to break her. The anticipation made her shiver as he kissed her again.

“Use me,” she sighed, “However you’d like.” It was the only way for her to say, I’m yours.

She gave herself so willingly, it was intoxicating. Not like it was anything he wasn’t used to, but it was new, startlingly so. He melted into the feeling of being wanted by someone who knew what he was, of being wanted by her. The world grew smaller, more manageable. All he had to be was the salve to her desires. Hers wasn’t an itch; it was a death wish.

Astarion felt something pull on him, and for a moment froze, thinking of Cazador’s compulsions. Noting his twitch of fear, Vistri took her words for the cause. Fuck. Simultaneously, they asked the same question through their eyes; Have I been found out?

“Touch yourself,” he commanded, saving them both any need to explain.

“Will you watch?”

“As I hold you tight,” he offered.

It was overwhelming. Astarion didn’t want a performance, not the kind she was used to, but something candid, completely her. He wasn’t asking her to curate his pleasure, he demanded she create her own. She never showed anything like it to anyone before. Accustomed to one type of role, she stepped into something unfamiliar. And not even a role, but the actor in their bed alone at night.

Vistri’s hand travelled between her legs. She felt Astarion spread them further apart, holding her steady with a grip on each thigh. She was close to him again, held and admired; the only thing he wanted in the moment. Her fingers traced his lustful expression onto her soul, encircling herself in his web with every stroke. Determined to trade her life for a little death, she exposed her aching need to be coated in his poisons.

She closed her eyes.

“Open them, darling. I want you to watch me, as I watch you.”

Her breath skipped with her choking heart as she met his gaze. Astarion looked as raw and exposed as she felt. His eager fangs rested on pouting lips. She leaned forward to lick them.

“No, no, dear. You’ve got to earn that,” he cooed, “With your ecstasy.”

She moaned stupidly, “Okay.”

Vistri was everything his hand had been slapped away from these past 200 years. She ran through his thoughts entirely on her own. His body forced him to comply instead of the other way around. Sure, he was using her at the end of everything. She was by no means the first to surrender, but there was something sweeter about hers, and not just because she was his to savor. This time he was actually having fun.

“Does it feel good, dear?” he grinned.

She tossed her neck and sighed. Her eyes closed for just a moment before snapping open again to obey him, “Yes.”

Astarion kissed her neck, and she moaned, leaning into it. He whispered into her ear, “You think you’re in control, but I’ve got you tangled up.”

“You do,” she panted, “You do. All yours.”

“My, but you put on a show,” his warm tongue wrapped around her lobe. His breath gently broke over her skin.

It was like watching her layers peel back in a way he hadn’t seen before. Reading her eyes, Astarion watched them become saturated with the whole of her. The void in them brightened from her dim presence, and the light grew with her gratification. Shy at first, she stepped and then stomped into herself. Until there it was in those violet depths, the core of her on a silver platter, ready for him to devour.

 Vistri let his name slip lazily from her lips.

“Do you call out my name when you’re alone?” he chastised.

“S-Sometimes. Once. Accidently.”

Astarion licked her throat, desperate to eat her up, “I’ve yet to call out yours. But I’ve thought of you.”

Her free arm tightened around the back of his neck. Her breathing got faster.

“That’s it, my darling. You’re so close. Now give it to me. Be a good pet and cum for me.”

Astarion could feel his own blood throbbing as she fulfilled his wish. His eyes were open, greedily watching, but seeing nothing. There was just a great feeling, like when their tadpoles bent reality to the other’s experience. Her eyes were shut tight as if in begging prayer, and all he could do was stare blindly into her abandon.

Her cries, only loud for being close to his ear, pierced his heart. At the end of them, he finally allowed himself to kiss her. It was his turn to let her name slip slowly out of his lips.

“I earned it?” she asked happily.

He nodded, chuckling, “Yes, I think you’ve earned it.”

Vistri closed her eyes and kissed him again. She felt him undo his laces, then helped him pull down his trousers. Alone in the woods with the naughty rake indecently arrayed; she knew she was wiser than that. Giving herself to Astarion was a decidedly stupid thing to do, and that only made her want to disappear further inside him.

He nestled himself against her soaking, warm, soft, “Oh gods…”

“Astarion!” she cried out as he tore through her with a hard stroke. Her lips trembled from the sanctity of his name. It was a spell that brought everything out of her chest, even the dust tucked between her ribs.

He cracked her open.

The more they took, the less they were sated. He wasn’t near enough. He wasn’t in her skin.

Maybe they’d never go back to camp. The others would have to carry on themselves while the two of them stayed here, tangled up in each other until they inevitably sprouted tentacles, out of the artifact’s reach. And what would that matter? Astarion never wanted to be anything other than buried inside Vistri ever again. That was his new identity now, just his pulsing cock deep between her thighs.

“Drink me.”

“In a moment, love,” he said, then tousled a little with her tongue, and spoke again, “I quite like this as it is. Feeling you.”

It was more the desperate growl in his voice than the words themselves that made her tremble. It sounded like she meant something to him, even though she didn’t. Pretending it was real made her eyes roll back. Or no… it had to be the devilish thrusting of his hips. It had to be—

“Astarion!” she shouted so suddenly; birds took off in terror from their branches. Her staccato cries and their warning calls formed a cacophonic duet, like ritual music for the purchase of her soul.

He sunk his fangs into her neck, just below her ear, as the squeezing and pulsing around him coaxed his throbbing self to bursting. He rolled deeply into her as he let himself go, overtaken by a blinding wave of ecstasy. It felt like it would never stop, stunning them both, wave after wave. Even after it stilled, Astarion tenderly moved himself in and out of her. The mess he made dripped between them. Regardless of any overstimulated shiver, he savored the feel of his spill in her.  

“You’re my little slut, aren’t you?”

She nodded emphatically, panting as her breath fought to settle her pulse. He rested his forehead against hers, and they lingered there, head pressing into head. They were both so dizzy, they had to get hold of their bearings, remember who they were.

How long could they stay there like that until the other had something to say about it?

It didn’t matter that his arms grew tired. They could fall off before he let her go. Astarion shut his eyes against welling tears. His disobedient forehead softly nuzzled hers; subtle enough to sneak passed his own notice. Catching himself, he cleared his throat.

“Time to go back?” she asked, tone heavy with a sense of sorrow.

Astarion reached for one more kiss. Saying goodbye until their next, inevitable tryst, they clung so vehemently to each other it couldn’t be paid attention to; couldn’t even be muttered about.

Arms wobbling, he finally set her down.

She immediately started to collapse under her weight. He stopped her fall.

“Easy now!”

“I’m all right.”

“You can’t even stand.”

She smiled dazedly, “Bloodless times two.”

“Gods, you’ve gone all silly. Look at you! You’re barely alive!”

“No, you’re barely alive.”

“Ha-Ha. Very funny,” he huffed, scooping her into a bridal carry.

“Weeee!”

He couldn’t stop himself laughing. It wasn’t even funny.

“You’re ridiculous—Stop squirming! I’ll drop you, and if I drop you, I’m leaving you.”

“Arsehole!” she pouted, “You’d leave me behind?”

“I’m sure Karlach or someone would come get you, but I’m tired. We can only do our best, darling.”

“You’ve had two separate helpings of my blood, you’re not tired.”

Vistri closed her eyes for a moment, just to savor this rare occasion of him holding her after. His arms felt as solid as she was wibbly. His chest felt like the stars as a pillow.

“You put me to work just now. I’m exhausted, and on top of that, now I’m carrying you all the way back to camp.”

“Whose fault is that Mr. Fangs?”

“Yours!”

“Mine?!”

“You turned back ‘round when you should have marched on.”

“You asked me to!”

“Darling, I’m a villain!” he chuckled, “You’re supposed to say no. Right my wily ways.”

“I quite like your wily ways.”

He couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him the way she did now, with lackadaisical joy in their eyes.

“Astarion?”

“What?”

“You’ve stopped.”

“What?—Oh, right. There was a stick.”

“A stick?”

“Had to maneuver around it.”

“Took a while.”

He blushed, “Sounds like somebody wants to get dropped.”

“No! Please! Don’t drop me,” she giggled.

“Drop you?”

“No! Don’t drop me.”

“But you said please so nicely.”

“No!” she laughed, “Don’t drop me!”

“Shush! I have to pay attention to our surroundings, my dear. I want to give a good description for the others to find you.”

Vistri squealed, hysteric. Astarion crushed her tight against him.

“Silence, girl!” he teased in a booming voice, “Otherwise I’ll observe no great detail, and the only landmark the others will know to look for is ‘somewhere by a tree that has leaves on it.’ And then they’ll never find you, and then I’ll never get to shag you again. Would you like that tragedy to come to pass?”

She blushed in his arms, “…No.”

“Good. Then leave me to my concentration.”

She nodded her agreement and didn’t utter a sound.

“Oh, never mind that! Please say something. I grow bored so easily.”

Vistri chattered away as Astarion brought them out of the woods. Totally wrapped up in conversation, they forgot what a sight they made when they eventually showed up midday.

“Where the hells were you?!” Karlach growled. She’d be happier to see him if Vistri was walking vibrantly by his side rather than carried like a ragdoll with two big bite marks on her neck.

“Don’t light your pants on fire,” Astarion said, “Where’s Shadowheart?”

The cleric tore out of her tent, “What have you done to her?!”

A huge smile broke over Vistri’s face, “Shadowheart! Come give Mummy a kiss.”

In a fury, she grabbed hold of Astarion’s tunic, even with Vistri limp in his arms, “I will repeat myself only once, Spawn. What have you done to my best friend?” Her voice was lethal.

Vistri’s was not, “Bloodless times two!”

Shadowheart let go of his shirtfront to bury her face in her hands and sigh deeply, “Just put her on the ground.”

“That’s a good cleric,” Astarion smirked.

She glared up at him, kneeling to treat Vistri’s condition, “Good clerics stake vampires.”

“Then let’s call you… a good, nuanced cleric!”

“Whatever.”

Vistri sat up like a galvanized corpse once Shadowheart muttered her spell.

“Wow! Thanks, Shadow. Owe you one.”

“Owe me plenty.”

Vistri chose to ignore her and smirked at Astarion, “My, my… You look more powerful than ever before. My blood suits you so well.”

He gave a little turn, “Doesn’t it?”

“Very,” she confirmed, surveying his form. She lost her train of thought until Shadowheart elbowed her side.

“Right!” Vistri said, addressing everyone, “Let’s go slay a hag or something!”

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

[wispmotherr]

so a couple days back @signalterminated responded to my call for prompts with an idea about III or IV transforming into a monster/eldritch horror type situation and while a horror writer i am not, i had a loose concept/scene from a fic that i ultimately chose to not pursue that i doctored up a bit and turned into something that's meant to come off as 'IV descending into madness as he slowly realizes he's joined a magical cult and why are we wearing masks now? or something'. i don't think it's exactly what you were after, my friend, but it's what i came up with, for worse or worse. enjoy.

Vessel had never been very forthcoming about what might happen to them, if they devoted themselves to Sleep.

At first there had only been promises, vague and hopeful and so, so enticing. Promises of belonging and finding purpose and the insinuation of happiness and that had been enough for the three men to join him and forego any questions, enough even for them to drop the names their families had given them and pick up the numerical mantles the man who had only ever called himself Vessel gave them.

‘What’s a name, anyway?’ he’d asked as he told each man their number. ‘Besides an anchor to the things that haunt you?’

And they’d agreed. They’d agreed and accepted their new names and everything seemed fine because, for a while, it was. Because it didn’t take long for them to find those things Vessel had promised, that he said Sleep could give them.

Of course they all found them in different ways, in different degrees but they each of them had their belonging and purpose and happiness so it didn’t bother them that they were living these new lives in an ancient, crumbling manor hidden away in the woods, kept apart from the world at large. They had each other, they had Vessel and they wanted for nothing; their only work was carrying out and aiding in the bizarre but seemingly harmless rituals as their enigmatic prophet instructed. It seemed like there was no price to pay for these new lives, outside of their professed devotion to Sleep and their obedience to its high priest.

But one day, things changed.

It started with II, when he went missing for a week. 

It was as though he’d utterly vanished from the manor and the grounds and while IV and III searched for him, pleaded with Vessel to tell them where he’d gone, to call the authorities, to show a modicum of concern that their friend was gone without a fucking trace, the tall man simply told them that he was finding himself, and he’d be back soon. III had raged at the man, and in the moments where III threw insults and accusations at Vessel and the other man said nothing in response to any of the vile things hurled his way, IV couldn’t help but feel a sense of lurching dread seeping into his bones. Because as III grew more and more angry, he could hear the anger in his voice begin to fester into fear, and soon his words were loud and teetering on panicked and each slice of his words fell on an indifferent, stoic target and that’s what unnerved IV the most. That Vessel seemed so beyond concern with what III was saying or what might have happened to II; it felt like a complete 180 from the man who had shown so much compassion for them, who had brought them together in this place. 

But even with his deepening dread, something in III’s bladed words stirred something in IV; it was like a veil shifting in a delicate wind, and with each shift of the veil, slips of that wind reached IV, caressing his mind as if to shake him out of a dream and allowing him to think clearly for just a moment before a fog eagerly rolled back into his thoughts.

Had Vessel always worn that mask? What did he look like beneath it?

Why was Vessel’s skin painted so dark? It made him look like he was made up of the spaces between stars, endless and cold. How long had he been painting his own hands and forearms the same way? And III?

Why did it not feel like paint on his skin? Why did it stain him so thoroughly? Why did this change not frighten him?

When had he last heard his name? What was his name? What were III’s and II’s names, why couldn’t he remember them?

When did II get back, and why was he wearing that mask?

That last thought stuck hard and the shifting veil and the wind ceased to exist as IV barked out a sound of surprise, cutting off III’s vitriol. They rushed forward to their friend, taking him by the shoulders and chiding him for not telling them where he’d gone, for making them worry. II only gently, placidly patted III’s face with his hand, his eyes unfocused and dream-like behind his mask as he murmured that III would understand for himself soon.

And as if nothing had happened, II stepped past the two men and silently followed behind Vessel, leaving the others alone in the large, empty foyer of the manor. 

IV looked to III, dread still crawling in his veins and the taller man was staring at his hands, a distant and troubled  look on his face. When he looked up to meet IV’s gaze, his expression was stark and unreadable and he stared and stared at IV.

The next week, III went missing.

IV had torn through the grounds and the manor proper, calling for III. He never once saw II or Vessel and as his search grew longer and longer, tears stung IV’s eyes, born of frustration not aimed so much at the fact that he felt so profoundly alone in his search, in his corner for the other man, but at the creeping realization that he was trying desperately to hold onto the panic and worry and fear he knew he should be feeling, that he vaguely recalled feeling when II had gone missing. 

Now, though, he somehow couldn’t quite hold tightly enough onto those feelings and they slipped from him like sand through fingers, or a fish from a palm. Only when he rounded a corner and saw II standing outside the library was he able to fully hold onto those feelings and they crashed into him all at once - overwhelming and staggering, the sensation of it all rooting him in place but chasing reason from his mind. The shorter man was watching the closed doors, as if he’d just knocked and was waiting to be let in. In silence he turned to IV, preemptively holding a finger in front of his mask where his mouth should be.

At the same moment, something crashed loudly inside the library behind the closed double doors and IV was instantly back to himself and his worry flew to the front of his mind. Worried, worried, worried… for what? No, no, no… for who. He’d been looking for someone, he needed to find them… 

III.

IV pressed his weight against the thick oak door, opening it to reveal the expansive room and his mouth dropped at what he saw inside. 

The library was a disaster; shelves demolished or torn from the wall, books in shreds and scattered, the floor and walls streaked with dark, ink-like stains that shone in the faint light. Something moved near a far corner of the space and IV’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of it, blind panic taking control of him to freeze him in place.

Whatever the… thing before him was, it was long and serpentine, black scales iridescent in the waning light. Its massive, thick body was coiled up on itself, constantly moving and writhing as if in pain, as if staying still would somehow hurt it. Along its body he caught sight of claws on long, hawk-like legs, the tips of the obsidian-dark talons digging into the wood floor, clawing deep gouges into the planks. A rattling growl shuddered through the beast’s form and IV traced his gaze along its body, finally finding the head of the monster, swaying in the same perpetual motion of its body. Despite being curled into itself, the thing was easily twice IV’s height, if the other two long, talon-tipped legs were any hint. From where he stood, he could see that the front-most set grappled at the floor, splintering wood and paper beneath them. Above those limbs, a ruff of feathers circled its cylindrical body; draped on its shoulders as if it was wearing a mantle made of shards of an oil slick. Above that, on a short neck hidden by the feathers, rested a skull. It was some sort of animal, too big to be anything real and short snouted and full of blunted teeth, with large fangs towards the front of its mouth. A larger set sprouted from the top jaw while a smaller but no less fearsome set jutted up from the bottom. The jaw of the thing opened and closed as if to imitate speech, and the clatter of bone against bone echoed in the otherwise silent room. Eerily, its skull wasn’t the usual stark white; instead it was a dull stone-black, giving it the appearance of being carved of rock rather than being composed of anything organic. Its eye sockets were empty, but the dark within them seemed alive in a way that IV could not and did not want to consider. 

The beast had pressed itself into the corner of the library, its entire body heaving with every panting breath it took; the dark hollows where its eyes ought to be fixed towards the doorway where IV and II stood, its true focus far beyond it. The shorter man gently grabbed his elbow as if to pull him back, but IV, just as gently, pulled his arm from his touch. 

Even in the low light cast from candles that hadn’t fallen victim to the beast’s evident rampage, he could now tell that the dark stains he’d spotted upon first opening the door was blood smeared all over the floor, and his heart thudded in his chest. Where was III, and who did the blood belong to? 

A low growl from the monster dragged his attention back to it and he watched as it seemed to coil tighter onto itself, the sound emanating from it rattling and needling: like a winter wind through dead trees, like a pebble skittering against other rocks. The monster made the sound again, a little louder this time and there was an anger at the foundation of the sound, an anger that was teetering into fear. 

Despite the ice-cold panic the sound roused from him, despite the terror the thing before him invoked in him, IV stepped into the room. No response from the monster. He took a tentative step towards it, unable and yet also unwilling ot take his eyes from it. There had been something... familiar under that last rattling growl. Something pleading in the warning it seemed to carry.

“I can hear you,” he said quietly to the beast and it shifted again. IV paused, thinking it might have moved to put itself in position to strike at him, to end him where he stood but somewhere deep in his mind the veil shifted.

It was moving as if trying to get further away from him, as if it was afraid of him. 

It growled again, this time the sound edged with a sadness that IV knew he’d heard before. Flashes of the first nights they’d all spent in the manor, when they’d laid their souls bare for one another. IV would never forget the way III had sounded as he’d told his story, the despair that tinged every word, the sadness that had been at the core of him, then. IV frowned a little and took another few steps towards the monster, it’s scales flashing red and gold and orange in the faint, flickering light. “This is…”

“IV, don’t-” II’s voice was tight, and IV turned to look at him. For a moment, the two men locked eyes and there was a clarity in II’s gaze that IV thought might have been missing lately, but the sinking horror of that realization ebbed in him like sand in the wind. In a thought that moved through him as if it were trapped in mud, IV wondered what the other man knew and wasn’t telling him, what he hadn’t told III.

IV could feel something like rage flare in him but it was gone in the same moment, II blinking placidly at him. IV turned back to face the thing, its rattling growl filling the room again. IV let his gaze wander over the entirety of the beast, taking all of it in, letting the pressure of its existence rest against his senses as he tried to fully comprehend it. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the monster’s blood-splattered jaw, from the way its entire body heaved irregularly; as if it were out of breath. A viscous, oily liquid welled over the edge of its eye sockets and IV couldn’t help but wonder if monsters could cry. 

IV’s thoughts began to fly, and he couldn’t find one to hold onto. He was struggling to understand what he was seeing, the connections his mind was beginning to make and how this creature could feasibly exist within the bounds of reality. This was impossible. Whatever hell they’d trapped themselves in, in this manor, whatever had happened to II when he’d been gone…this monster. All of it was impossible but here before him was finally something tangible: something that was breathing, writhing, crying and bleeding all over the library. He felt himself slip from his own mind for just a moment but a cold jolt dropped down his spine and dragged him back to reality. There was no way it could be true, but a sudden thought lodged itself in the front of his mind and he couldn’t shake it free. Was this…

“III?” The man said, voice barely a whisper. The beast’s breathing skipped a beat,  its unblinking, empty stare shifting to focus on him for the first time, as if finally willing to perceive him. IV held a hand out, as if to touch its stone-black face. When it didn’t pull away from him, finally didn’t move at all except for that crawling, eternal writhing of it’s body he pressed his palm to the side of its skull. It was large, so much larger than it should be and unexpectedly warm. For a long moment both of them stayed still, as if waiting for something to shift, for permission from something beyond them. And then, the monster spoke. 

“You found me,” it growled, the same rattling sound overlaying a distorted version of the voice belonging to the human it used to be. It came from within and without the beast, echoing in IV’s mind and he wondered if II could hear him as well. The sound was impossible and horrific and heartbreaking and when IV only nodded in response, the beast pressed his head into IV’s touch. The action was so much like III; it was something he’d done with IV dozens, hundreds of times before that IV couldn’t not see what - rather who - the monster before him was. 

“What…. what happened?” he murmured, stepping back to take all of him in again.

“The debt-“ A choked off sound of pain  that was neither human nor animal rumbled through III and he shook his head as if to clear it, then bowing it as if in atonement. A moment later he lifted his skull and a shiver pulsed through his body. The action unnerved IV and he took another step back. III spoke again.  

“I didn’t want you to see me like this, didn’t want anyone…” he rattled, the coiling length of his serpentine body still in subtle, perpetual movement. IV frowned, letting his hand move towards III’s body, towards a dark, shining patch of scales half hidden by the feathers. III flinched violently at his touch and IV quickly pulled his hand away, fingers coming away bloodied.

“Were you trying to…?”

“I don’t know how to change back. I thought…” III said plainly, voice trailing off. He sounded so much more human in that moment that it summoned a tightness in IV’s chest that stung him. He didn’t want to think the implication of the other man’s statement was the truth of it. IV could only tug III’s beast-skulled head closer to him, and without thinking he pressed a kiss to the point between the dark wells where his eyes should be. The skull was so warm… just like III had been warm. The pulse he could feel in that bone felt like the man’s heartbeat he’d spent so many nights listening to, its rhythm more familiar to IV than the cadence of his own breath. How could this… monster… be the man he’d come to love so dearly? How could this be real? How could this be happening? Again, IV fought to hold onto the terror he knew he should be feeling, desperate for that tenuous connection to reality.

“This is a dream, it’s a dream, III. We’ll wake up and we’ll get out of here, we can’t stay… I’ll fix this, I’ll find a way to help you and-“

“No need.” Vessel’s voice was smooth and somewhat bored as it interrupted IV’s increasingly hysterical words and the man turned, keeping himself between III and the masked man.

“What did you do to him?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit! Look at him!” IV stepped forward, ready to lay the taller man out. The wind and the veil were within him again and it felt like the veil had been ripped away from him entirely: rage and fear and desperation flooded him, coalescing into a panic that rendered him blind to anything but the figure in front of him, his void-black skin eating the light around them. It seemed as if a shadow loomed behind Vessel, tethered to him.

“I see nothing wrong with him.”

Vessel’s voice was like a pinprick of light in a pitch dark cave, and IV sprang for it, desperate for a lifeline out of his panic. He blinked and was back in himself; Vessel standing before him, II not far behind, gaze calm and fixed on a point behind IV’s back. IV turned and saw III behind him, just as he remembered him: whole and human and watching him with a placid, gentle gaze from behind a stone-black mask marked with gold. 

“Are you alright?” III asked, reaching for IV to trace along his jaw, his touch gentle and tender. Something in IV writhed and in the moment, he couldn’t tell if it was fear or if it was desire. Maybe they were the same. Maybe they were all the same, anymore. IV nodded and let III press his mask to his cheek in mimicry of a chaste kiss and that same co-mingling of desire and fear welled up in him. He wanted to ask what had happened, why they were all in the library, why Vessel was looking at him like that but the root of his questions was withering away faster than he could preserve it. Suddenly, none of it mattered. 

“You’ll understand, soon.” III said, dropping his hand from IV’s face and turning to follow II and Vessel from the room, leaving IV alone in the blood-stained, ransacked library. He felt words rise up in him, words that might calcify his unease into true horror of what he and the others had become trapped in, but when he opened his mouth to give them life, he couldn’t make his tongue move to free them from his mind. And for the briefest, sharpest moment, IV realized Sleep had finally named its price. 

[pilot-boi]

Add on to my theory of Jaune landing in the Ever after YEARS before RWBY.

What if the clocks and rabbit theme don't mean Jaune is the rabbit, but instead that he was the thing they were late for? What if Jaune searched for all that time for them... only to never find them? And assumed they had simply gone somewhere different to him?

And the knight is a much older Jaune who has spent years surviving in this place all alone? Would explain the rust and claw marks, maybe from fighting the jabberbeasts?

(Adding your previous thing for context)

WHY WOULD YOU INFLICT THIS UPON ME

Like it’s certainly not canon, cause it seems like Yang has been there the longest and she fell first

BUT GOD CAN YOU IMAGINE??!

Like I want to add stuff to this my mind is too stuck on vicarious sadness even thinking about this concept. I’ve been trying to respond to this all day but I’ve really got nothing

Okay I’m back and no I lied I DO have thoughts

Him waking up alone on the beach or in the jungle. His shattered sword at his side. He’s traumatized and guilty and in shock

And he hates himself because he’s also hopeful

He doesn’t have any right to be hopeful after what he did, but if he’s here then maybe the others are too. He doesn’t want to see Ruby because he’s sure she’ll be furious with him, but she deserves to know

And he doesn’t know if he can stand being alone, as selfish as that is

So he searches. And he searches. He meets talking mice, and a talking cat, and a talking raccoon. Vines that move with a life of their own, a queen the size of a child and her playing card soldiers. He fights a beast that speaks single words and shudders like a cartoon a few frames out of sync, and his armor gains new scratches.

But he doesn’t find his friends.

He wonders if they’re looking for him, like he’s looking for them. Maybe they just keep missing each other. He goes back over his tracks. It takes days, months, weeks. It’s hard to tell how much time is passing, the suns never seem to move.

Maybe he’s dead.

The Blacksmith offers to forge a new life for him, so he can let his pain behind. A steed, a charge, a new purpose. All he’d have to give up is his self.

It’s been years, it has to have been. It’s hard to tell because the suns don’t move and he hasn’t aged. He never found his friends, never even found Penny’s body. If he’s dead, then back in the real world the war must be over.

One way or another, he has nothing left.

Jaune accepts.

The next day, a golden haired woman wanders cautiously into the market, followed by a woman with hair as white as snow, a woman with a face of beauty and ears of a beast. Trailing after them is a woman in a red hood.

The Knight does not recognize their faces. He does not recognize their voices.

But they recognize him.

Even with his armor rusted and scratched. Even with his sword shattered at his side. They speak to him, beg him to remove his helmet, and they gasp when he does.

The Knight doesn't understand why they're upset.

He doesn't understand that he looks precisely the same as the last time they saw him. Hair still awkwardly cropped and sun yellow, shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep. Only the eyes themselves are different, their clear blue darkened by unseen years.

Another friend they were too late to save.