#to not alarm anyone and create panic

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

Hi Jam. Any news as to why we haven't had a night address the last two days? I'd like to believe that they're having a bit of family time around Halloween 🤞. But one worries.

No news, at least I haven't seen any.

Theoretically, we got a night address yesterday, just as a voice-over. But yeah, I know what you mean. 🤗

Two days ago I didn't think much of it because he was just returning from travelling and had several big events. In rare cases, we get no video when this happens. But yesterday, "just" the voice-over. Also, there are no office pics or any other sign (besides social media posts).

Well, let's try not to worry too much.

I faintly remember him mentioning that there is lots of work with international partners right now. They prepare the second Peace Summit. Add the incredible difficult and worrying situation at the front + the beginning winter and all the problems that come with it. The worries about the President election.

Maybe he's just super busy. Maybe things are happening he can't talk about (right now). Or, on a positive note: maybe he, indeed, had some family time. Maybe he's helping Olena right now with preparing her big conference / Summit. Or maybe he's sick, so he's just doing the absolute necessary things. Maybe box training with Maks didn't go well last time, and he has a black eye now, and they can't cover it up with makeup. 😅 Maybe he's doing frontline visits again, and in order to protect him, he became invisible until he's back in Kyiv.

[gladiatordonut]

just before anyone panics (i have health ocd, i know the drill), here's a a few paragraphs from the article itself:

"We cannot yet say that people should not be using tampons. So far what we know is that metals are present in all the samples we tested. However, we do not know yet if metals leach out of the tampon and whether they are absorbed by the body. We therefore cannot yet assess to what extent (if any) metals in tampons contribute to any health problems," Shearston told CBS MoneyWatch. "Our research emphasizes the need for more testing of toxic compounds in products we use daily and better labeling so users can make more informed decisions."

The Food and Drug Administration, which regulates tampons in the U.S., told CBS MoneyWatch that it is reviewing the findings, but noted that all studies have limitations. 

"While the chemical method used indicates these metals are present in the tampons tested in the laboratory, the study does not assess whether any metals are released from tampons when used in the body. It also does not address whether any metal, if released, can be absorbed into the vaginal lining or, subsequently into the bloodstream," a spokesperson for the agency stated. "We plan to evaluate the study closely and take any action warranted to safeguard the health of consumers who use these products."

so this means that the current professional opinion is that it is too early to say that people should not be using tampons at all.

i'm not here to tell anyone to use or not use tampons, just to say that tumblr users should not be escalating something into a five alarm panic when no medical consensus that it is one exists

my period is back again and id like to take this moment to remind everyone with a uterus to avoid using tampons at all costs, if you can. a recent study was conducted with 14 different popular brands of tampons, revealing that every single one of them contained toxic metals such as lead, arsenic, and more.

[embbarnes]

Fugitives.

summary: While you and Bucky flee from captivity in Berlin, Bucky shows his thanks to you for always being by his side.

warnings: SMUT | 18+ Minors DNI | CW!Bucky | Some violence | Bucky is triggered | Non-serious injuries | Light dirty talk | Cunnilingus | Slight nipple play | Swearing

a/n: Um...I did not mean for this to get so long, it just kept coming out. I had a dream about this scenario so I had to write it. Unedited, so ignore any mistakes please. wc: 6.0k

You felt panic surging through your body as you paced back and forth in the empty room they threw you in.

Things were nice. Things were...manageable.

Until Steve showed up and brought a barrage of government men with him, vowing to capture Bucky and you. Steve didn't seem to have ill intentions, but...you nor Bucky could afford to trust anyone. Especially since shortly after Steve broke into your apartment, there were dozens of men trying to take you out. You hadn't prepared for the chase that followed, the sheer panic in his eyes as you both made a break for it and ran off. You leaped from your apartment down to a lower building, suddenly a man in a black suit was now attacking Bucky with the intent to kill.

Everything happened so fast.

You were running, avoiding cars and guns, then you surrendered.

Now you were stuck in this tiny room, left to the unknown.

As you paced restlessly back and forth, the tumultuous thoughts swirling in your mind were abruptly interrupted by an unexpected plunge into darkness, the sound of electricity dying as the low frequency slowly quieted with the loss of power. The sudden absence of light startled you, leaving you momentarily disoriented. Before you gathered your bearings, a cacophony of alarms began to blare, their urgent wails piercing through the silence and hurting your head. Pulsating red lights started to flash intermittently, casting an eerie, crimson glow throughout the space of your confinement.

The combination of blaring alarms and flashing lights created a sense of urgency and you could hear the rapid footsteps of running agents outside the prison you were kept in, chaotic shouting and commands came from them as they continued towards something. The building had a complete shutdown of its electrical systems. The electronic lock securing your door, now devoid of power, had been rendered ineffective. The door that had kept you trapped was now...unlocked.

Immediately, you seized the opportunity to escape and locate Bucky. The door flew open with a resounding crash and you swiftly navigated the narrow hallway, stealthily trailing behind the surge of agents converging on a central location. Your presence didn't go completely unnoticed; a few agents spotted you on your way there. You swiftly incapacitated them with well-placed strikes, your past training came in handy, and with a few sneaky moves Bucky taught you when you were still living as peacefully as you could in Romania.

As you rounded the corner, you found yourself in a more spacious chamber. There, amidst the chaos, stood Bucky - tall and imposing. His movements were fluid and precise as he dodged the batons wielded by the attacking agents. He expertly dispatched his assailants, sending them sprawling across the floor. They weren't a match for him. You wasted no time in making your approach. "Bucky!" Your voice rang out, cutting through the din of the fight as you sprinted towards him, your heart pounding with a mixture of relief that he was okay.

He pivoted in your direction, his glacial blue eyes piercing through you with an unsettling emptiness that seemed to chill the very air around him. His countenance, a mask of stoic indifference, coupled with his rigid posture, caused you to halt abruptly several paces away. The atmosphere grew thick with tension as you observed him, searching for any hint of recognition in those familiar yet distant features.

"Bucky...?" The name escaped your lips in a hushed, tentative whisper, barely audible even in the deafening silence that enveloped you both. As the seconds ticked by without response, you found yourself repeating his name, this time with a noticeable tremor in your voice, uncertainty and a touch of fear coloring your tone. The man before you seemed both intimately familiar and alarmingly foreign, leaving you caught between the urge to approach and the instinct to retreat.

No response.

"...Soldat?"

There, his form straightened slightly, a flicker of recognition passing across his features. His eyes, once vacant, now held a glimmer of awareness. "я готов отвечать," he intoned, the Russian phrase rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. His voice, though devoid of any discernible emotion, carried a weight that seemed to hang in the air between you. He spoke in a low, measured tone, each word carefully enunciated as if reciting a long-memorized script. As he regarded you, his gaze remained steady and unwavering, his passive figure into an attentive, albeit still detached, presence.

Shit. They activated him. How?

Someone here knows more. This just became way more complicated, and dangerous.

"Soldat, we have to go, now," you spoke quickly to him, your gaze fixed upon the soldier's eyes. Despite their vacant expression, a flicker of comprehension seemed to pass through them. His programming, deeply ingrained and unyielding, compelled him to heed commands and execute them without question. You knew he would comply, for that was the very essence of his conditioning. You felt bad for this, making the soldier do the work for Bucky but right now you had no time to bother deactivating the soldier. Right now, he was needed for the sole purpose that he would get you both out of here.

With swift, decisive movements, the soldier's hand clamped around your arm, his grip firm yet not painful. He began to move, his powerful frame easily clearing a path through the agents that stood in your way. As you ascended flight after flight of stairs, you found yourself struggling to match his relentless pace, your feet tripping as he drug you along like a helpless doll at his side. The soldier's unwavering hold on your wrist proved to be your saving grace, effortlessly hauling you upright whenever your footing faltered. Your destination became clear as you continued your ascent, knowing a helicopter sat waiting.

Upon reaching the roof, he swiftly detached the tether from the helicopter and flung open the door with a sense of urgency. He tugged you around and forcefully pushed you inside the aircraft, your body stumbling against the cold metal interior. Seconds later, he adeptly climbed in after you, the confined space of the helicopter suddenly felt even smaller with him next to you, not to mention you’ve never actually been inside one.

"You can fly this thing, right?" you asked, your voice tinged with anxiety. Your eyes darted around the cockpit, frantically searching for any sign of a seatbelt or safety harness to secure yourself. The lack of familiar safety measures only made your growing sense of unease worse.

"Да," Bucky replied tersely, his voice carrying a harsh edge that left no room for further questions. It was clear that the soldier was still firmly in control, his demeanor radiating a cold efficiency. With practiced ease, his hands moved across the control panel, flipping a series of switches in rapid succession. The long rotor blades of the helicopter began to spin, their increasing speed creating a deafening whir that filled the air around you.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as the helicopter's rotors whirred to life. The chopper lifted off, you felt a mixture of relief and anxiety wash over you at the thought of finally getting away from captivity with him. Your eyes were drawn to the window, where Steve, determined and desperate, made a last-ditch attempt to stop your escape.

The soldier ran at you both, he tried to grab on, anything to keep Bucky here and prevent him from fleeing. His fingers grazed the helicopter's landing skid, missing it by mere inches. You watched, a lump forming in your throat as his face contorted with a mix of frustration and concern. He was shouting something, but you had no idea what he was saying. The image of Steve standing there, looking increasingly small as Bucky skillfully piloted the helicopter away from the base, was the last thing you saw as the base shrunk out of view of the trees.

Bucky piloted the helicopter and carefully monitoring the fuel gauge as it gradually depleted, the carrier wasn’t full when you took off, so you knew it would run out quick. As the last drops of fuel were consumed, he maneuvered the aircraft to a safe landing spot in the heart of the dense, verdant forest, finding just the right spot to sneak a landing to. The thick canopy of trees surrounded you on all sides, creating a sense of isolation and wilderness and covering you from open view if any of the agents had begun to follow.

You took a moment to survey your surroundings, drinking in the lush greenery and the earthy scent of the forest. The rhythmic whirring of the helicopter blades slowly came to a halt, the sudden silence amplifying the natural sounds of the woodland. Once the blades had completely stopped their rotation, Bucky reached over and unlatched the door with a metallic click.

You turned to him to speak, and without warning, he grasped your arm and began to pull you from the confines of the helicopter. "Wait, Bucky," you stuttered, caught off guard by his sudden action. Your protest went unheeded as you found yourself tumbling out of the aircraft, your legs tangling beneath you in a decidedly ungraceful manner.

Fortunately, Bucky's firm grip on your arm remained steady throughout your clumsy exit. His quick reflexes and strong hold prevented you from an embarrassing and potentially painful encounter with the forest floor. Instead of face-planting into the damp, spongy moss that carpeted the ground, you found yourself teetering on the edge of balance, saved only by Bucky's steadying presence. He looked down with a mostly blank, unamused expression.

Still the soldier.

"We need to move. They will follow." He grunted to you, his voice low and strained. His hand found your arm again, tugging you along forcefully after he spoke. The sudden movement caught you off guard, causing you to stumble. However, this time you managed to regain your balance quickly, adjusting your pace to match his long, determined strides from him doing this earlier.

"You don't have to pull so hard, I'm right behind you," you stammered with mild discomfort. You gently worked your arm from his tight grasp, your fingers lightly massaging the skin where his grip had been. Despite the firmness of his hold, you didn't sense any malice or anger from him. He didn't actively mean to hurt you, he never did.

You had lost track of time during your trek through the forest, your feel would occasionally get caught in a sunken hole in the moss and make you stagger a bit. The minutes blended together as you strolled side by side, Bucky somehow never faltering. The once vibrant sky, painted with hues of orange and pink, had gradually faded into darkness. Heavy clouds, like a thick blanket, now obscured the stars and slowly rising moon, you had no light to guide your way through the thicket. The air grew heavy with moisture, and soon, a light drizzle began to fall over you both.

As the gentle shower persisted, you found yourself shivering involuntarily, your body reacting to the sudden drop in temperature. the cold rain didn’t help, and your lack of a coat made your skin bubble with goosebumps. Bucky glanced down at you, taking notice of your discomfort almost immediately. He didn’t say anything, but he shed his red henley and draped the shirt over your shoulders, carefully guiding your arms through the sleeves. The garment engulfed you, its size emphasizing the difference in your builds. The fabric, still warm from his body heat, provided an immediate sense of comfort against the chill.

You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, your body still trembling from the cold despite the additional warmth provided by his shirt. The henley offered a much-needed shield against the relentless, chilly rain that continued to fall. Its fabric felt comforting between your skin and the rain, despite knowing it would probably get wetter within a few minutes. "Thank you..." You murmured softly, your voice barely audible above the patter of raindrops, lifting your gaze to steal a glance at him, noting his stoic expression as you walked side by side.

Bucky remained silent. Instead, he acknowledged your gratitude with a curt, almost impatient grunt. His hand suddenly reached out, grasping your arm firmly but not roughly and gave an insistent tug.

He urged you to quicken your pace, his voice low and insistent. "Train station up ahead," he grumbled, his eyes darting around warily. "I've got some money in my pocket. Should be enough for tickets." As you hurried along, the dense forest gradually thinned out, giving way to the first signs of civilization. Warm, golden light from street lamps pierced through the misty rain, and you could see the outline of buildings rather than the uneven, almost abstract silhouette of the trees.

The transition from the forest floor to urban terrain was abrupt and jarring. Your feet had been accustomed to the soft, springy moss of the woodland for the last few hours, now met the unyielding surface of wet concrete. The sudden change in texture caused you to stumble slightly, your posture jerking upright as you adjusted to the new environment.

The outline of a small train station materialized through the rain as you both walked across the empty lot. As you approached, a ticket booth came into view, a solitary worker visible behind the foggy plexiglass. Bucky took the lead, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a fistful of crumpled euro bills, sliding the money under the narrow opening in the plexiglass. He exchanged only the briefest of words with the booth attendant, making it short and quick.

You boarded the waiting train, your footsteps echoing softly on the metal floor as you made your way through the narrow corridor. Eventually, you reached the car designated for your stay, fumbling briefly with the key before successfully unlocking the door to your cabin. With a gentle push, the door swung open, revealing a compact yet cozy space. Though, with all the anxiety you both felt, there wasn’t much appreciation for it.

Bucky carefully maneuvered himself into the small cabin, he sat on the modest bed nestled against the wall, sinking down onto its surface with a barely audible sigh. You noticed the tension in his shoulders, the slight furrow of his brow. Bucky closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, repeating this process several times. It was a technique you'd seen him use before, every time he would try to regain himself after an episode.

Your gaze remained fixed on him, concern etched across your features. It was obvious that Bucky was still engaged in an internal struggle, fighting to get control over the soldier's mindset that threatened to remain the dominant consciousness. These moments of transition were always challenging for him, the process of the soldier's persona receding leaving him vulnerable and raw.

"You're doing good, Bucky," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper but filled with encouragement. Your words seemed to reach him, and you noticed a slight relaxation in his posture as he continued his measured breathing. "Just like that...he will fall asleep and let you keep control." You hummed warmly, sitting beside him and rubbing his back.

He exhaled one final, deep breath, his chest deflating as the tension slowly ebbed from his body. The train suddenly jerked to life, the ancient gears in the wheels groaning and creaking as they began to turn. With a lurch, the massive iron beast slowly inched forward, gathering momentum. "I'm okay," Bucky finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. His throat bobbed visibly as he swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure after the soldier finally relented control and faded into the back of his mind.

"Good," you rasped back, your own voice rough with fatigue and stress. You turned your gaze to the window, but the darkness outside revealed nothing of the world rushing by. Trails of rain ran down the window, the spotted droplets turning into streaks as the train moved. After a moment of contemplation, you shifted in your seat to face Bucky once more. "So... where exactly are we going?" you asked, curiosity and a hint of trepidation coloring your tone.

Bucky's eyes, which had been fixed on some indeterminate point in the distance, finally lifted to meet yours. "France," he replied, his voice low and steady. "Then back here. Then... somewhere else. We have to keep moving, keep them guessing." He paused, "They won't think to look around Germany once they believe we've left the country. We'll use their assumptions against them, stay one step ahead."

"Ah, smart..." You murmured, settling back onto the plush bed. The gentle sway of the train car and the rhythmic clacking of wheels on tracks created a soothing ambiance that prevented that dull ringing from pure silence. From what Bucky had told you, the ride would stretch on for hours, well into the night. You wouldn’t have to get off the train at the stop in France, so this was going to be a long trip.

You decided to make yourself as comfortable as possible for the long haul ahead and began to peel off your rain-soaked garments. The damp fabric clung stubbornly to your skin, requiring some effort to remove. As each piece of clothing came away, you felt instant relief from the clammy sensation that had been plaguing you since the downpour. You were left in nothing but your undergarments, your skin finally able to breathe freely.

Bucky, ever attentive, couldn't help but watch as you undressed. His eyes traced the gentle curves of your form, appreciating the soft planes of exposed flesh. There was a sudden need in his gaze, though he maintained a respectful distance. The sight of you, vulnerable and nearly bare, completely trusting in him, stirred something in his gut. Bucky followed suit, he saw little point in remaining in his waterlogged attire for the duration of the night so he shed his own rain-drenched clothes, revealing his gorgeous physique. His meaty arms and legs, his soft belly, he had been doing so well since HYDRA. He filled out, and he looked so much healthier, building much more mass.

He crawled next to you, his movements slow and deliberate as he positioned himself close by. The two of you lay side by side, your bodies gradually warming up in the confined space. The gentle hum of the train's heater filled the cabin, its warmth seeping into your damp clothes laying on the opposing cushions and caressing your exposed skin. You shifted, nestling against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. His larger frame instinctively curled around you, providing an additional layer of warmth and security. The exhaustion of the day began to settle in your bones, and you allowed your eyelids to flutter closed, savoring a few moments of respite.

He glanced at your arm, noticing with concern the light bruises forming from when he had been grabbing you earlier in his role as the soldier. Bucky tenderly pulled your arm closer to inspect it, a frown taking over his features as he observed the marks of where his hand grasped you many times. His usually bright blue eyes narrowed, now clouded with guilt and remorse for his earlier behavior. In a silent gesture of apology, he softly kissed the bruised area, offering comfort where he could without words as you lay against him. The room enveloped in what was mostly silence, save for the tapping of heavy rain and the rhythm of the tracks. You were so exhausted from the day's events and the emotional toll they had taken on you. Despite everything, you chose to stay by his side, no matter what happens in his life. You were always there with him. You were the one person he could count on more than anyone else.

As your consciousness began to drift away, it suddenly snapped back into focus as you felt Bucky's warm body pressing closer to yours. His calloused hand slowly descended, gently caressing your inner thigh with a tenderness that belied his strength. His thumb traced delicate circles on your skin, sending shivers up your spine. Bucky shifted slightly, propping himself up to gaze directly into your eyes, his own blues filled with a mixture of vulnerability and adoration.

"Doll, I..." he began, his voice husky with emotion, "You mean the world to me. You've been by my side...no matter what. Even with...the winter soldier still hidden in my head. You have stuck with me." As he spoke, his hand continued its gentle exploration, inching closer to your most sensitive area, his touch both comforting and electrifying.

"Bucky..." you breathed, your voice laden with affection and reassurance. "I love you. I'm not going anywhere - not now, not ever." Your hand instinctively reached up to cup his stubbly cheek, your fingers tenderly stroking the rough texture of his skin. Bucky leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored the intimacy of the gesture.

"You don't need to thank me for standing by you or for protecting you," you continued, your voice soft but filled with conviction. "It's not a burden or an obligation like you always seem to think…it's a choice I make every day because of how much you mean to me. I may not be able to move mountains or change the world, but I'll always do whatever is within my power to support and love you, Bucky. That's a promise."

His eyes glistened with a hint of moisture, your words resonating with him and making him feel much more emotional. Slowly, he leaned down, closing the distance between you as his lips met yours in a tender kiss. The softness of his slightly damp lips sent a shiver through your body as he moved them against your own eager ones. His body hovered over yours, creating a protective cocoon around you. His thick arms, strong yet aware and careful, formed a gentle cage, holding you close beneath him. The warmth of his presence enveloped you, the cold of the rain and soaked clothes now long gone as you pressed up into his lips in return.

When Bucky pulled back, his eyes met yours, filled with tenderness and longing. "M'gonna show you just how much I love you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "For stickin' by my side through everything... through all of those long nights, through hiding and running..."

His right hand gently cradled your arm, his touch feather-light as he examined the tender flesh he had inadvertently grabbed earlier while in his Winter Soldier mindset. Your skin was sensitive, sporting light bruises from where his hand had held on. Bucky's expression softened further, a hint of regret flickering across his features. “I’m fine, Buck Buck.” You whispered soothingly, not wanting him to feel bad.

He placed soft, reverent kisses along the discolored skin after you spoke, each press of his lips was like a silent apology. His warm breath fanned across your skin in gentle, soothing pants, you could see he was getting worked up.

His body shifted above you again, his fingers delicately hooking into the elastic of your underwear and slowly tugged them down your legs, savoring every inch of newly exposed skin. The fabric whispered against your thighs before he flicked them off onto the floor, not paying any attention to where they went. A shiver of anticipation ran through you as the cool air caressed your now-bare skin. Your breath caught in your throat, a mixture of excitement and vulnerability washing over you after being fully exposed to his gaze. It wasn’t the first time, of course, but that didn’t matter right now.

Bucky held your legs, his touch both firm and tender, wrapping his arms under your hips, lifting you up off the flimsy mattress slightly. The sudden contact made you gasp softly, your body tensing momentarily as the cold metal of his left arm pressed against your warm skin. The contrast was electrifying, sending a jolt of sensation through your body.

"Ah, Bucky..." You hitched, your voice a breathy whisper filled with desire and anticipation. Your fingers gripped the sheets beneath you, your body trembling slightly, feeling his hot breath against your lower abdomen.

His mouth placed open kisses on your belly, a line going across your abdomen as he kissed. His hair draped over his forehead as he dipped down, his stubble scratched your sensitive skin as he lowered farther to your core. You felt yourself quiver, his lips were right there...and the damn soldier was teasing you.

He gently spread you open, taking in everything you had to offer him. You were so beautiful, his hazy eyes glued to your folds and he finally lowered down to you. His tongue licked a slow stripe up from your entrance to your clit, teasingly flicking over it once and making you moan quietly. Your breath hitched as he did it again, his tongue was so warm and the pressure he applied was always perfect.

Bucky always knew what to do, his lips were wrapped around your pretty pearl within seconds and he gave you little nursing suckles. Your body stiffened instantly and your hips moved towards him on their own, chasing that addicting wave of pleasure that continuously shot through your limbs. He sucked so good, his tongue teasingly circling the bud in his mouth while he nursed on your clit. Those strong arms held your hips firm, preventing you from having more and less.

He released your clit, listening to you moan below him and he chuckled, his voice coming out in a teasing whisper. "Shh...we can't let anyone hear you..." You felt his hands trail up your body in a slow rub, squeezing your soft sides before he groped your breasts. He teased your nipples, pinching them and rolling them in his fingertips. The cool metal fingers of his left hand made you gasp, your back arching up off the flimsy mattress.

"Bucky...oh shit..." You huffed and held his wrists while he toyed with your sensitive buds. It was dark in the cabin, but he could tell they were a bit more red than usual, your body responding to him eagerly. "Please..." You lifted your hips to try to encourage him to lick you again, desperate for his lips and tongue on your wet cunt, lapping and sucking you to your climax. You were desperate, needy, you wanted more as he continued to give you enough to tease, but not enough to feel that ecstasy you desired.

"S'good baby...just let me play with you. I'll make you feel good, I promise...just sit still for me." He laid sloppy, open mouthed kisses to your inner thigh, his teeth gently nipping your skin as he lightly suckled with each kiss. His hot breath hit your pussy and you knew he was hovering his mouth there on purpose, just to watch you whine and mewl under his hold. That stupid smile on his face that made your belly tighten, his mischievous glint, he finally relented and let his tongue lap at you again.

He teased your entrance, his tongue pushing in a few times and swirling around, dragging your arousal up and over your throbbing clit. Bucky expertly drew elaborate designs on your little pearl, being urged on by your sweet, delicate sounds of need and pleasure. Your hips desperately chasing his light touches, encouraging him to do more to you. You let out a frustrated huff and your hand tangled in his hair. "Bucky, come on, please..."

Your plea went to his groin, the blood rushing down and making him twitch. "You're so good to me, doll..." he grunted against your folds, taking your clit into his mouth and giving a harsh suckle. You bit your lip hard to stifle your loud cry. "So damn good to me...always by my side. Always makin' sure m'alright..." He laid kisses along your slit, his tongue slithering inside you again, swiping all the way up through your folds. "You taste so good for me...like a drug. I love lickin' you baby...I love suckin' your pretty clit. Such pretty sounds for me, c'mon babydoll, make some noise f'me..."

Your clit was engulfed once more, his lips and tongue giving you intense suckling and swirling. He sucked on your precious bundle of nerves like he were drinking down sweet honey, his tongue cradling your bead as his arms and hands kept you perfectly still for him to work on you. His tongue swirled in gentle circles before he settled it underneath the bud, continuing to nurse on you.

"Bucky...I-I'm close, if you keep doing that..." You rasped and stuttered, your voice coming out with gentle whines emphasizing the pleasure you were feeling. You let out short pants as your orgasm rapidly approached, his tongue working your clit relentlessly, he could feel you were close. The way it twitched on his wet muscle, how you writhed beneath his arms, the erratic breaths coming out of your parted lips.

He kept just as he was, knowing that this is what was getting you there. He didn't change a thing, and you finally reached your peak, chasing it down and pouncing on it until it overwhelmed you. With the sweet arch of your back, he finally allowed you to grind and buck your hips into his mouth. He held your waist as you tugged on his hair and mewled out a little too loudly. His name leaving your mouth in a sweet symphony of beautiful moans, he about humped the mattress below him to satisfy the growing urge from his cock.

After your body relaxed from its rigid state, you laid back down on the mattress and gasped, his tongue continuously and lazily lapping up your mess. "Ah...Bucky..." You gave his hair a gentle tug, overstimulation making your legs shake vigorously. He lifted, his lips glossy and his chin wet from his little feast.

You didn't care, you pulled him close and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips and eagerly pulling him closer to your body. The aftershocks had run completely through you, so your shaking body was growing chilled in the tiny train cabin. His warmth was something your body instinctively sought in the dark room. The tracks were loud as was the rain, you hoped that was enough to muffle your embarrassing outcry of pleasure.

Your face reddened, a deep blush spreading over your cheeks as you thought back to the sounds of your own moans, which seemed to echo in your mind. Bucky, so attentive and extra charming in the moment, just chuckled softly in response, his eyes twinkling with affection. "You're beautiful, doll. So beautiful...did so well for me," he murmured in that endearing tone of his that never failed to make your heart flutter.

Bucky dipped his head down, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your chin and jawline, slowly moving down the side of your neck. He kept himself close to you, his arms creating a warm, secure cocoon around you…despite the usually cold metal arm that you often had wrapped up when you two slept together. He clearly tried shielding you from the chilly air that permeated the train cabin, his warmth a comforting barrier against the cold.

"And you're very handsome, with the prettiest pink lips," you whispered back, your voice soft and full of admiration for the man you loved. Even though you were still rather dazed from your orgasm, you felt a little better than you had moments ago. Your arms were still heavy with blissful exhaustion, but they lazily wrapped around his neck and shoulders. You played absentmindedly with the roots of his hair at the back of his head, twirling the strands gently between your fingers in the way that he liked.

"What happens when we get back to Germany? Where will we go once the train turns around?" You asked in a soft whisper as Bucky laid beside you, cradling you close and more comfortably. He sighed back to you, watching the faint lights out the tiny window of the roomette flicker and dance as the train sped through the night.

"We go somewhere else. Quickly. Maybe Russia," he replied, his voice a gentle murmur that matched the rhythmic clatter of the train's wheels on the tracks. "There are a lot of small, private towns we could go to, hidden away from the world. Places they won't think to look, places where we can blend in and live quietly, away from prying eyes and cameras. Places where we could be at peace. Or, try to be." He mumbled softly, his thumb gently caressing your shoulder as you laid close, feeling the warmth of his body and the reassuring steadiness of his presence.

You gave a soft hum in response to him, feeling the warmth and comfort as you snuggled even closer into his broad, welcoming chest, so warm like a heater. "Well...I guess I have to practice my Russian," you said with a playful chuckle, the sound light and soft. You placed a tender kiss on his sternum, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing before settling in for the night. The drop in hormones after fleeing from the government and Bucky so eagerly eating you out made you feel especially tired. Bucky glanced down at you with a gentle gaze, pulling you a little closer, his lips curving up into a small, affectionate smile.

"I'll teach you, help you refresh," he whispered with a reassuring tone, his voice a calm and soothing presence in the quiet room. "Let's worry about that later...for now, get some sleep. We've got at least eleven more hours," he added, his words a comforting reminder of the time you had together, promising a long, restful night ahead.

"You need sleep too," you insisted, your brow furrowing with concern. You had a strong feeling that he wouldn't allow himself a moment's rest while you were sleeping. "Promise you'll get some sleep," you repeated earnestly, "You can't stay up the entire time and be exhausted when we get back. It's important to take care of yourself too, besides, if you’re sleep deprived you won’t be alert."

"I promise I will," he replied, a gentle chuckle escaping his lips as he tried to reassure you. "I'm just gonna stay up for a little longer. I want to make sure everything is good... that no one is here lookin' for us. Once I know we're safe, I'll get some rest, I swear." His eyes softened as he spoke, trying to ease your worries.

"Hm..." You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious of his promise but he had never lied to you before so...you relented. "Fine. Since you promised." You settled down into his chest and let your heavy eyelids finally close, sleep had been clawing at your consciousness and you were finally allowing yourself to be taken. Bucky was happy you fell asleep, he wanted you to rest. For everything you've done for him, being with him throughout everything, your love and loyalty was something that constantly amazed him. But he couldn't ask for anyone better than you. You were his everything, and he'd continue to love and protect you with every fiber of his being.

Bucky's own eyes grew heavy after staying awake for a while, weighed down by the fatigue of the long journey and the emotional toll of the day’s events. You both gradually succumbed to the comforting embrace of sleep, wrapped together closely with limbs hooked around each other, fitting together snugly like customized puzzle pieces. The rhythmic and soothing sound of the train tracks clicking beneath you provided a steady lullaby, while the rain stormed down incessantly on the roof of the train, creating a calming yet persistent background symphony that replaced your need for white noise that you had always insisted on using.

As the train tirelessly carried you to newfound safety, away from the chaos that lay behind, the world outside blurred into a haze, granting you a temporary break from all the stress the world brought upon you both.

Thanks for reading - em🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Cover images from Pinterest.

[kingkatsuki]

— when it’s raining outside

Masterlist.

I know it’s been a while, but I’m falling back in love with this Bakugou specifically.

Warnings: none.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.1k.

Regardless of Pro-Hero Dynamight being one of the most successful fire quirk users in Japan, his agency isn’t exempt from Health and Safety. Some may argue that his team are far more strict compared to the likes of Shouto’s building which is only a few blocks away, and it’s definitely not because the Number Two Hero almost set fire to an entire floor when testing out new grenade designs.

But since that incident, there have been consistent fire drills weekly to ensure that the building and its staff are protected. Along with new fire safety robots that have been deployed to ensure that each individual makes it out safely.

“Another dumb fuckin’ tick box exercise.” Bakugou would always say, and he was probably right. The Pro-Hero alone could probably rescue each person trapped inside the building if something did happen, but it’s always good to be precautious right?

Or so you would say, until the fire alarms were blaring on a particularly bleary Monday while you were trying to unjam the photocopier. Groaning at the abrasive noise as you debated running back to your desk for your coat (and coffee) before being forced out of the warmth of the agency into the torrential downpour outside.

“Do not panic! We are here for your safety.” You scrunched your nose at the voice that was arguably worse than the alarm as you turned to face the fire Marshall robots which were now skimming the floor. The red flashing lights swirling angrily as the computerised smile on the machine that was surely there to calm you did the exact opposite.

“Stop. In case of emergency do not take the elevator.” The robot continued to blare. The designated fire drills always happened on a Friday afternoon (conveniently when Dynamight left for his evening patrol), so you wondered whether this may be a real incident as you made your way towards the stairs.

You had further to go compared to anyone else, working on the top floor alone with Dynamight so the lower you descended you began to see other employees— some lucky enough to be carrying coats and umbrellas as you followed them further. The noise from the alarm echoed in the hall as it mixed with the chatter, wondering what had happened and if they were safe. But at that moment you were more irritated that you’d be going outside in nothing but a thin cotton shirt and trousers.

The cold was bitter as you finally made it to the bottom floor of the sky scraper, thankful you wouldn’t have to ascend them after as you stepped into the heavy rain. Wrapping your arms around yourself to try and provide some comfort as you tried to look for any space under the shelter surrounding the building. The majority which was already taken by the employees that worked on the lower floors, huddled together and squeezed under umbrellas to shield themselves from the wet. Although, there were plenty like you who had not been fortunate enough to grab something on their way down and were just as exposed to the elements.

Resigning to defeat you huddled as close to a neighbouring building as you could, thankful it at least shielded you enough from the wild tunnel Dynamight’s Agency created to prevent being pelted with rain.

But it was still freezing.

Shimmying from toe to toe as you tried to keep yourself warm, watching as Backdraft turned up with the local fire service to scout the building.

“What’s goin’ on?” You heard a voice behind you as you turned to face your boss standing there, gym bag slung over his shoulder and a black hoodie pulled over his messy blond spikes.

“Shouldn’t you be saving us from the fire?” You laughed.

“Shut up, dumbass.” He scoffed, before his voice softened, “Where’s your coat?”

“In there.” You nodded towards his agency as he shook his head.

“Why didn’t you grab it?”

“Those stupid robots wouldn’t let me,” You pouted, now so wet you could no longer feel the rain dampening your skin.

Bakugou’s lip curled into the faintest hint of a smile at this, unbothered about the rain as he dumped his gym bag to the ground in favour of reaching back to tug his hoodie up and over his head. The movement pulled his black shirt up along with it, and you shamelessly ogled the exposed skin as you followed the wispy hairs of his happy trail disappear beneath black sweatpants. The hem of his boxers peeking out from under them as you felt a heat rise to your cheeks and flurry through you all the way down between your thighs.

Turning your head just in time as he pulled his shirt back down over his stomach before holding the hoodie out to you, pushing it into your side.

“What are you doing?” You looked down at the hoodie before glancing up at him.

“Put it on.” He replied bluntly.

“But you’ll get wet—”

“Put it on.” He ignored your objection, reaching up to ruffle his messy hair as the rain now began to dampen it.

“Thank you.” You murmured, instantly feeling the relief as you tugged it over your head.

The heat that radiated from Bakugou’s body now encapsulating you as you pulled your arms through the sleeves, burying your nose in the fabric as you inhaled the scent of him. A mixture of sweat and cologne as you almost forgot that you were standing outside in the pouring rain. No longer in a rush to get back inside the warm building as you let yourself be surrounded by him.

“Is it a drill?” You asked as he pulled his phone out of his pocket to begin calling a number.

“No idea.” He rasped while holding it up to his ear.

You tried to listen in on the conversation but the mixture of wind, chatter and the alarms in the distance made it difficult to decipher what was being said on the other line.

“It’s a false alarm.” Bakugou scoffed as he hung up, “Someone triggered the alarm in the canteen.”

“See what happens when you’re not around,” You smiled to yourself as Bakugou pushed his wet spikes back, exposing his forehead as he smirked back, “All hell breaks loose.”

“Yeah, can’t leave you alone for five fuckin’ minutes, can I?” He scoffed.

When you were finally let back inside the building, you offered to take Bakugou’s hoodie home to wash it before giving it back to him but he wouldn’t allow it. Telling you it was just an old hoodie and it didn’t matter— but the real reason he wanted to take it back like it was because after wearing it outside the scent of your perfume still lingered on the fabric.

[flowerandblood]

The Man in the Black Mask

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: angst, violence, assassination attempt, mention of the murder of multiple people, descriptions of murders ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his 'ghosts', a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard

Lady Walford Moodboard

Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Lips | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters:��Masterlist

_____

Her father, the King, only realised how many enemies he had after a man dared to attack her while she was strolling around the fair during one of her walks. He wanted to get closer to her and slipped a dagger out from behind his cloak − if it hadn't been for the woman selling fish and her shouting, she wouldn't have noticed him or the steel gleaming in his hand.

She did what any other person in her position would have done, which is to say, she screamed in terror, stepping back, bumping into a wooden makeshift table full of vegetables, which toppled over with her − the assassin gave up at the last moment, terrified by the sudden outbreak of panic, and disappeared among the crowd.

Some elderly man helped her up, the knights of her father's guard rode up on horseback, alarmed by these frightened noises. One of them, Ser Lucas, her father's friend from his youth and the great rebellion furrowed his brow as he saw her face.

"Princess?"

She wasn't sure if her father was more furious with her or with the man who had tried to attack her. He commented on her irresponsibility and disobedience, her recklessness, and expressed outrage that her guards had not even noticed how she had escaped them.

"I just wanted to see the fair, my King." She said in a trembling voice without looking at him; she stood before him with her hair loose, wearing a beautiful navy blue gown with sleeves that reached to the ground − her shoulders were bare, on her hips a delicate golden belt made up of tiny eyes in which sapphires were framed.

"That's enough." He said agitated and impatient, raising his hand in a gesture of frustration, his dark hair and beard adding to his seriousness, his brow furrowed in anger. "Until you learn prudence, one of my ghosts will not leave your side."

She looked at him, horrified, and then turned her gaze to the man standing beside him, a few steps behind his throne, his figure hidden completely in shadow. He was dressed all in black, a hood over his head and a black mask on which a single tear was outlined under his right eye.

It was said that it was molded so that the people they were killing would have the feeling that they had compassion for them, that they were just a tool used by someone else.

People called them ghosts because they weren't seen on a daily basis – or at least that's what it was believed. They were forbidden to take off their mask or speak to anyone but her father, and were his principal emissaries that found his enemies, invigilated them and killed them.

Since the days of the rebellion and the overthrow of the earlier king, her father was perpetually in fear of an attempt on his or his children's lives, so he found, she supposed, people desperate or fond of killing, those who owed him everything and had no reason to betray them.

She passed and saw them extremely rarely, only during sumptuous feasts in the company of guests or gatherings of magnates from all over the country.

They stood then by her father's side, as always in the shadows, though invisible, constantly reminding her of their presence with their very posture, menacing and stony, the people around them afraid to look at them.

She didn't know how many of them there were in total; they were almost identical and differed only in height, besides that they wore the same clothes, masks, hoods and black leather gloves, probably to avoid staining their skin with blood.

The thought that someone like that was to accompany and guard her sent shivers down her spine − she had feared that her father would now know of her every move, that she would never leave the fortress again.

She lowered her gaze, saying no more, listening to his orders to find the man who had attacked her, whom she had described in detail to the other ghosts.

She left, feeling that if she stayed there another moment she would vomit.

It seemed to her that these black hooded figures were sucking the life out of everyone around them, that they were a walking harbinger of death and misery.

That night she heard his voice for the first time.

Her guards were outraged when he dismissed them.

"You are not a King, by what right do you command us?" Asked one of them, a cold, deep, mocking voice answered them.

"Shall I inform the King that not only are you incapable of guarding his daughter, but you refuse to obey his orders?"

She heard someone's growl and an unclear voice full of impatience, the clack of steel and armour proving that they had walked away − she was left alone with the cold murderer outside her door.

She pressed her lips together, felt her eyes burning due to the gathering tears at the realization that she had never felt more alone and abandoned than she did now.

She wriggled in bed, as she did every day, unable to fall asleep. It was raining loudly outside and she looked towards the window, seeing nothing but darkness. She felt small and even though she was lying under several thick furs, she was cold.

She rose slowly, putting a soft cashmere shawl over her shoulders, lighting a candle that illuminated her chamber with a pleasant, warm glow.

There is a man behind that mask, she thought.

He was not a ghost.

If she made any kind of bond with him, she would stop being afraid of him.

She walked to her door and stood in front of it for a long moment, feeling her heart pounding hard and fast. She swallowed hard and opened it with a loud creak of old wood.

Her candle instantly illuminated his figure − he was standing exactly opposite her door, leaning against the wall with his hands clasped in front of him. She wondered if he was asleep in that position, but after a moment she noticed something behind the translucent black material in the area cut out for his eyes, a blue iris staring at her.

She looked at him for a moment, wondering if he would move, but he stood like a statue − it seemed to her as if he were made of stone.

Was he supposed to stand like that all the time?

Her father had told her that he would gift her his one ghost.

Would they be exchanging? After all, he had to sleep at some point.

"What's your name?" She asked uncertainly, softly, wanting to sound as open and honest as possible.

Silence.

A long one.

"How am I supposed to address you if I don't know what your name is?" She asked again, looking at him pleadingly, asking him to let her at least get a little closer to him, to be able to give him humanity.

Silence.

She pressed her lips together and thought something else would make him speak.

"Should I complain to the king about you not answering my questions?" She asked lowly, wrinkling her eyebrows, wondering where she had got the courage to speak to this man in this way. A shudder went through her when she heard him let out a breath, as if he had given up, resigned.

"Call me any name you see fit." He said in a low, deep, indifferent tone, as if the fact that he had to speak to her frustrated him incredibly and he didn't understand what she wanted from him.

She felt a tightening in her throat at the thought that there was no more human thing than being given a name − it was the first thing given to a child at birth, and he renounced it.

"Shall I name you?" She asked shaking her head, not understanding what he was implying − he turned his face to the side, despite the mask she could feel the growing impatience beating from him.

"Yes. My Princess." He added after a moment, his words razor-sharp, cool, angry, mocking. She had the impression that he treated her interest as something completely unnecessary − apparently it suited him to remain in the shadows and he had no intention of coming out of it.

She looked at him with pain mixed with disappointment and thought he reminded her of one of the horrific mythological beasts her mother had once read to her about before bed, a great mighty dragon that sowed death and destruction.

"Vhagar."

She heard the word she had spoken echoed, followed only by the sound of rain, and felt that there was something final in what she had done.

"I will always treat you with respect and I will never make you do anything to humiliate you or offend your good name." She choked out with difficulty, wanting him to understand that they were condemned to each other and that this in itself was a misfortune, however, it would be even more so if they both pretended that he didn't exist, that he was just her shadow that followed her everywhere.

He did not respond.

She closed herself back into her chamber only walking towards her bed feeling that her legs were trembling. She lay down on her bed covering herself with thick furs, frozen and terrified, closing her eyes, praying to the gods to show her mercy.

That they would not lock her away in this cold, stone fortress forever until her father claimed to have found a suitable candidate for her to marry.

As she did every day, she also prayed for someone else.

Someone who had lived in this chamber before her.

The next day she got up awake, a terrible headache accompanying her from the moment she opened her eyes. She sat down at the table, covering herself with her shawl − overnight the wood in her fireplace had burned out.

She lifted her gaze as she heard the door to her chamber open, her servants entering with golden trays on which they served her breakfast.

She saw Vhagar follow them inside, his hands entwined behind his back − it seemed to her that his footsteps made no sound, that he could sneak up on someone silently.

"You're supposed to taste everything first." He said to one of them dryly and emotionlessly − the girl looked at him apprehensively, clearly already knowing stories of men of his ilk and what they did.

"My Lord?" She choked out, clearly not understanding what he was asking her.

"Anything the Princess wants to eat or drink − you are to taste it first. This is how it will be from now on with everything you bring her. Do you understand?" He asked coolly and insistently, and she nodded, lowering her gaze, pale.

"Is this necessary, Vhagar?" She asked looking at him with a furrowed brow − he turned his face towards her but answered nothing. He looked back at her servant after a moment.

"Begin."

"I've lost my appetite. Take this away. You can eat it all, let it not go to waste." She said raising her hand, allowing them to leave turning her head to the side, looking blankly at her wardrobe standing on the other side of the chamber.

She saw out of the corner of her eye that he hadn't moved from his spot, that he was looking at her, his aura giving her shivers.

She knew he was about to say something.

"My Princess…" He started and she turned her face towards him. "…are you going to eat your meal, or do I have to shove it down your throat?"

She looked at him with huge eyes, feeling her heart pounding fast.

She thought with horror that he was mad.

"That is all, Vhagar. You may leave." She said in an unobjectionable voice, clasping her hands in her lap, trying to hide how much they were trembling.

He stared at her, his black tear-streaked mask seeming even more frightening and mocking to her, cold and lifeless.

"Mmm." He hummed, though it sounded more like a purr, bowed barely visibly and left her chamber.

She let out a loud breath, burying her face in her hands, feeling a desperate burbling in her stomach from hunger, thinking that she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him dominate her life, ordering her servants around, locking her in a cage.

She asked her servants to help her dress − she put on this time a light-coloured gown with a fine gold belt around her hips made up of tiny chains, some of her hair pinned back in a bun, some falling down her bare back, her sleeves reaching all the way to the ground.

She walked out of her chamber without looking at him, without telling him where she was going, hearing that he immediately moved to follow her.

Her shadow.

She saw the ladies of the court looking at her, terrified of who was accompanying her, as if she were being followed by death itself − people turned their faces away and froze in silence, not knowing what to do, how to react to this unwanted sight.

She headed for the main castle library hearing him enter behind her − he stopped at the door when it slammed behind them, standing in front of it with his hands folded behind his back.

She was starving and decided to distract her mind with some reading. She picked up a few books on the history of her kingdom, sitting down at one of the large oak tables right by the window to get more light. She opened one of the books in front of her, looking for the chapter that interested her.

"You may sit down, Vhagar." She said dispassionately, not wanting him to think she expected him to stand there like some stone pillar, but he didn't move from his place.

An hour passed before he spoke to her, snapping her out of her reverie.

"You need to eat." He communicated a little more softly than before − she felt him looking at her, but she did not lift her gaze to him, uninterested.

"My servants will not taste my food. You yourself watch the cooks and what they put on my platters." She replied with reserve, answered by a long silence.

"Very well."

She looked up at him, sighing quietly, his face turned towards her − she knew what was the reason for his impatience, what he was afraid of.

What would the King think if it turned out that under his watch she had begun to refuse food and starve herself? How would that reflect on him as her protector?

She rose from her seat, putting her books slowly back on the shelf, returning to her chamber without changing another word with him.

As she sat down to supper with her father, her younger brother, and his closest associates, the King immediately asked her what she thought of her new sworn protector, who stood behind her chair right next to the wall, as usual, hidden completely in the shadows.

She swallowed loudly a piece of the roast she had just had in her mouth, noticing with a kind of discomfort that her father spoke of him as if he had given her a thing, not a man.

"Thank you, Father, I do indeed feel safer in his presence." She lied, clutching the wine cup in her hand and taking a loud sip from it, wanting to end the subject quickly.

The King nodded, looking impatiently to his confidant secretary, a companion to all the major battles won during the rebellion.

"Has Prince Aemond's body been found at last? It's been eight years, for goodness sake." He said sternly, impatient; as far as she understood, only his body of the entire Targaryen family had not been found after the great massacre that had taken place in the fortress where they were now feasting.

Lord Ronan grunted loudly, shifting in his seat, blinking rapidly as if thinking of what to answer.

"We are getting closer, my King. We're searching the city's underground, likely to find his corpse soon. The cut of the sword fell right on his face, he couldn't have survived that." He said with a certainty that was filled with the need to sound as convincing as possible, which did not escape her or her father attention.

She lowered her gaze, setting down her cup with a loud clang of steel on the wooden tabletop, looking down at her plate, losing her appetite completely.

The entire royal family slaughtered in their beds after her father at the head of the army stormed into the fortress, elected by the people to rule after the inept reign of King Viserys.

"With apologies, I will retire to my chamber. My King. My Prince. My Lords." She said bowing in turn and moved ahead, not waiting for her father's permission − she heard rustling behind her, she knew her ghost had not left her side.

They walked in silence through the dark corridors of the fortress illuminated only by the warm light of torches − she knew the way to her chamber by heart. Her mind, however, was elsewhere, wondering what would happen if Prince Aemond lived.

If he came in with his army and slit their throats as her father had done to his family.

She stood in front of the door to her chamber, glancing up at his tall black figure towering over her like a cold shadow.

"Thank you for your devotion, Vhagar. Rest now." She said turning her head and opened the door, but stood in half step, surprised to hear his voice behind her.

"How does it feel to sleep where she slept?" He asked with a kind of excitement, as if the thought of it gave him satisfaction.

She felt her heart start pounding like mad, a cold sweat on her back at the thought of Princess Helaena bleeding to death in the bed she was now sleeping in.

She looked up at him − in the light of the torch she could see through the black fabric his blue irises, his pupil looking at her in such a way that she had the impression that he was a predator who was looking at his prey, whose entrails he was about to tear apart.

She was silent for a long moment.

"Horrible." She said dispassionately lowering her gaze.

"I imagine her lying in my place and all I can think about is that the same thing will happen to me one day." She muttered, feeling his heavy gaze on her − there was some kind of tension between them, though she didn't know why. "I pray every day for her forgiveness."

"Ghosts do not forgive." He said coldly, as if stating some foreboding, indisputable fact − she looked at him with a pained expression, furrowing her brow.

"What else can I do?" She asked in a trembling voice, but got no answer, his black mask with a tear running down his cheek looked at her indifferently.

"Sleep well, Princess."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[garbageday]

By now you have, no doubt, heard all about the dangerous new TikTok trend sweeping the nation. China’s great and powerful cyber weapon has convinced the innocent teenagers of America that Osama bin Laden was actually a pretty cool guy and now they’re all sharing his 2002 “Letter To America”. Well, first, just to get it out of the way, Osama bin Laden was actually bad. Also, a nepo baby.

After spending most of yesterday digging into this, I’m pretty convinced that this was never a real thing on TikTok. Even though it has since snowballed into a full on moral panic that is beginning to feel dangerously unstable. The Biden administration released a statement about the supposed trend and alarmed big-name creators and actors also reportedly met with TikTok this week to discuss the rise of antisemitism on the app.

Baseless generational in-fighting, aging millennials who refuse to accept the new status quo of the internet, easily monetizable rage bait, lazy TikTok trend reporting, and bad faith political actors swirled together to create a perfect storm this week.

The story has morphed from what should have been a weird curiosity — and perhaps even a moment to reflect on America’s post-9/11 legacy — into a full-blown national scandal with dumb-dumb headlines getting written about it, like CNN’s “Some young Americans on TikTok say they sympathize with Osama bin Laden”. I mean, I haven’t even had time in this piece to point out that a lot of the people I saw sharing the letter were millennials! But, yeah, teens fucking love Bin Laden. They’re saying 9/11 just hits different now no cap fr. Gen Z wants Baby Gronk to lead Al-Qaeda in a victorious jihad against the western imperialist hegemony gyatt!!

We have invented a version of TikTok that simply does not exist and now many people in power are ready to tear apart the foundation of internet to prove it does. And what’s worse here is that there are very real issues with how TikTok works. It is a major source of misinfo and disinfo. It still has a terrible bullying problem. And, ironically enough, it’s also one of the most oppressively censorious social platforms that has ever existed. To the point users had to create a puritanical version of leet speak to communicate on it. But we can’t even begin to address those issues unless we start to look clear-eyed at what is actually happening on the app. And it is most certainly not the digital hub of a large-scale Gen Z Bin Laden fandom. Be fucking serious.

The internet is an extremely chaotic living ecosystem and it’s constantly reacting to itself and all you accomplish by amplifying something like this is give more ammo to those who want to who want to take that away. You turn bizarre discourse into something bigger than it was ever meant to be. You pointlessly villainize normal people who aren’t public figures and don’t deserve this kind of scrutiny. And you help conservative political movements continue their culture war. You also just look like clueless boomer to anyone even slightly younger than you.

[Read more over on Garbage Day]

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Void kitty having their own baby who is a smaller void kitten both chilling in the chair together in Valhalla

Now everyone is scared cuz Void is a mamma kitty

Loki, Posidon, Zeus, and Odin

Seeing this tinny black kitten looking at them while their mama is freaking out as they not on the chair as they left to get more food

-When you arrived at Valhalla for an important meeting, everyone was stunned that you didn’t come alone- it wasn’t your dorky looking husband, it was a kitten, pure black, just like you, it was your baby!!

-Jaws were on the floor, eyes were bugged, everyone completely stunned, seeing that you had a child, your baby following after you and you picked him up when you leapt up to your provided cushioned chair and he curled beside you.

-You saw everyone staring and you cracked a small grin, “What?” your nonchalant attitude about showing up with a baby immediately sent everyone into a panic, everyone shouting, which made your smile grow more.

-You weren’t like other mothers, you could create children whenever you wanted, as they were just pieces of you, pieces of the void, but with your husband, you took to your child as any mother would, with plenty of love and your husband always made you smile when he could cuddle and coo at his child, despite not doing anything with it’s creation, but that was beside the point!

-Your baby was definitely like you, with an intense love for whipped cream, something Loki had tested out and he couldn’t help but grin, seeing how happy the kitten was to lick up the whipped cream, meowing happily, as he couldn’t talk just yet.

-Your baby’s favorite person, however, was one you weren’t expecting, Poseidon, as he liked the way the lord of the seas smelled, like fish, and Poseidon could do nothing but sit there as the kitten made himself comfortable on his lap, purring contently.

-You told your baby to wait there, after the meeting had ended, to which he meowed back at, as you needed to go and see Shiva, wanting to go Love Sac shopping with him again!

-When you arrived back about twenty minutes later, you instantly froze as you walked in, seeing your baby nowhere in sight!

-You shifted to your human form, running in, looking everywhere, “Baby? Baby!!” your shouts drew attention, and many gods ran back in as your anger was beginning to take over, your powerful and intimidating aura surrounding you, your eyes turning pitch black as they all quickly realized that you baby was missing!!

-The alarms quickly had been sounded by Odin and Zeus, both of them commanding anyone in sight to look for your baby, ordering them to find him ASAP!

-You remained, tearing the meeting room apart as you heard all of Valhalla in an uproar, leaving no stone unturned, looking for your child.

-Loki was running around, a can of whipped cream in each hand, “I’ve got whipped cream! Who wants some?!” while Poseidon was running around, trying to lure him out.

-With each passing minute, your aura grew in strength, growing stifling as the ground seemed to split and crumble around you, shaking as if a non-stop earthquake was happening.

-Only about five minutes had passed before Zeus ran in, holding your child who was holding a can of whipped cream, “I found him Y/N!!”

-Instantly your aura was gone, the shaking stopped, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

-You took your baby back from him, cuddling him close as he meowed happily, squirting whipped cream into his mouth, not caring if it spilled out the sides.

-Zeus told you that he had run after Loki, wanting more whipped cream, viewing Loki as the one who provided that, and was clinging to his cape, but due to the panic, Loki didn’t feel him until he ran by Odin who shouted for him to stop.

-Zeus took your baby from Odin and sprinted all the way back to you.

-You thanked them, all of them, for finding your child as you smiled down at your baby, “At least you all know how to find him if he ever goes missing again.”

-More panic was quick to fill all them, not wanting to deal with this situation again- as you were downright terrifying!

[kiwisa]

starry night ✩ cl16

Charles Leclerc x Fem! Girlfriend! Reader

angst & fluff • 1,000 words

IN WHICH... the nightmares plague your thoughts again, but fortunately, charles is here to chase them away.

For some, it was enough to hear three notes of music for their clenched shoulders to relax; for others, a film, a novel, or poetry would do the trick. For you, it was the stars.

There was something peaceful about looking at them through your window. Since childhood, these little spots painted in the vastness of the sky had been friends, confidants; a real source of calmness in which you would found refuge every other night.

These stars had this ability—this gift, rather—to weigh down your eyelids so quickly that you never had time to admire their beauty thoroughly.

If children knee-high to a grasshopper could not sleep without a nightlight, it had been impossible for you to separate yourself from those little white dots on a dark canvas. Your parents understood this very quickly and didn’t ask questions, trusting the astral bodies and their soothing natural light to watch over you.

Since that night, the one when, for the first time, the aura of the stars protected you from nightmares, you could not sleep with curtains. Those damned tissues would never stop bothering you. They darkened the room, forbidding you to distinguish the furniture and various objects placed on them. When black reigned supreme, your overflowing imagination created paintings whose dark colours and menacing figures would send you in a fit of panic.

A hand clenched on your beating heart, your wide but tired eyes looked at the window with alarm for the celestial spots, hoping that this nightmare would stop.

The curtains were not closed. However, the clouds rumbling with thunder had enveloped Monte-Carlo in their thick mantle of black for several hours already. Your room was plunged into darkness, leaving you alone to face your fears, your heartbeat ringing loudly in your ears.

Silence oppressed you, made fun of you.

“You’re an adult, you shouldn’t be afraid of the dark anymore,” the voices said. And they were probably right. Oh, what you’d give to not experience that feeling of paralysis every time black covered the colour palette that was your life.

Your irises swept the room, hoping to see something. Nothing.

You listened, hoping to hear something. Nothing.

Feeling the panic creeping a little deeper into your mind, your veins, your heart, your fingers came to feel the sheet, hoping to find what you were sorely lacking at that very moment. Your hand grazed the cold fabric of the duvet. A shiver ran your spine.

The pulp of your fingers met nothing but fabric. Exhaling the trembling air stuck in your throat—constricted by the lump in it—, your first instinct was to fold your knees against your chest, to make yourself disappear. You gradually felt the black paint spread through your thoughts, enveloping them in this cursed colour, erasing every trace of joy from your memories.

“Charles?”

Your voice had many times been described as authoritative, strong, capable of catching the attention of anyone at the first word spoken. From that voice, at that very moment, there was nothing left. Instead, a barely recognizable whisper crossed the barrier of your dry lips.

The silence answered you, then a crumpled sound; that of the sheets.

“What is it, baby?”

“Can you…” your exhausted gaze set itself on the form you could barely distinguish in the dark. Immediately, your heart began to beat less quickly. “Can you hug me?”

He said nothing for a few moments, the sleep clouding his mind or perhaps he had deemed this silence necessary to try to calm his racing heart. The latter, at the formulation of your request, had panicked, causing his face and ears to be coloured in a reddish hue.

It was moments like this that confirmed the love and trust you had for each other. The place he held in your heart was large enough for you to reveal yourself to him, in your most vulnerable moments, those when the paintings of your thoughts represented nothing but dark expanses.

“Come here.”

With all the delicacy of the world, his hand came to rest in the palm of yours. Your fingers intertwined, nesting perfectly, like two broken pieces of porcelain. With this simple gesture, already, a sense of security invaded you. The latter intensified when his fingers, which were longer than yours, squeezed them briefly. A small gesture, so delicate you thought you had imagined it.

You knew it was real, however; you knew what it meant.

You weren’t alone.

Your hands never detached themselves from each other, not even when he wrapped his other arm around your trembling body to press you against him.

You weren’t alone.

Kisses as light as the caresses of a feather were placed tenderly on your face. Charles began with your forehead, wanting to drive out all the evil thoughts which he knew had lodged themselves in every piece of your mind. Then, he smothered the tender skin of your cheeks with his lips, filling with love the furrows left by your tears. Finally, your lips, cold, were covered by his, warm. Through this kiss were said all the words left unsaid. The “everything will be fine”, “I’m here for you”, “I love you.”

All those letters pierced the dark place you had trapped yourself in, building a bubble around you both.

A bubble in which time stopped, as did worries.

A bubble in which you could stay for hours. Skin to skin. Heart to heart.

Sleep, which had eluded you for so long, enveloped you in its cloud of dreams when your gaze crossed Charles’s loving gaze. 

When you had first seen each other years ago, when your souls had pervaded one another, you had been charmed by his eyes. In them, which you could draw by memory—having spent so many hours immersed in their beauty—, the whole universe had been imprisoned. This brown river contained the most ethereal constellations, shooting stars, and nebulae.

Who needed the twinkle of a star when Charles Leclerc was by your side?

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[thesquid06]

Think of all the small rebellions tied within the war between Black Swan and Neverseen.

A normal elf might view the situation as Sophie’s fault, the abnormal girl wrecking their calm society. A few years later, they might start viewing her as a savior. The child who stepped up against the Neverseen.

Either way, they figured the chaos that followed Sophie’s unusual adaptation to the eleven world would end. Eventually she would grow out of the rebellious phase and the Neverseen would be defeated.

Until they send their kids off to the Elite Levels, terrified about their first few years away from home. They come back talking about the first pyrokinetic has been welcomed into the school. They talk about how the most dangerous aspects about her are the rumors she shares while twisting a braid between her fingers. She has a fire to her anger, yelling at anyone who questions if she belongs at the school. The fire spreads, lighting the embers of change in the hearts of so many other students. She won’t be the last pyrokinetic to attend the Elite Levels.

The average elf might be alarmed that pyrokinetics aren’t the only change coming to elven education. They can watch as Foxfire is remodeled to contain a new hoard of students. Exillium students. Apparently, a girl with silver tipped bangs teaches students to use their skills along side their abilities. She talks about how things must have balance, fire and water, how favoring one aspect of yourself can destroy you.

Her twin, a boy with silver bangs, has a large office on the ground floor. Students come to him when they feel stressed. He talks them through panic attacks and depression. He saves them from abusive home situations, making Foxfire a safe haven for people of all kinds.

They brought a friends too, a boy who talks so fast the students can barely keep up. He protests on behalf of children talentless like himself. It takes a few years but soon talentless individuals can attend Elite Levels and hold jobs in the nobility.

They all believe that there is never a situation where children should be discriminated against. It doesn’t matter their families, mental health, siblings, or abilities.

Of course, that’s not all. For a while, there were rumors that the youngest Vacker child was a bad match. Everyone figured it would fade in a few years, until she married the boy and changed her last name. People were shocked and the resulting scandal was alarming but that didn’t stop her. Her and her boyfriend, no husband, spent time diligently rewriting the matchmaking process. Even had the finished plan before the wedding but wanted everyone to know how their love was unaffected by elven laws.

“For Jolie,” she says, “for my in-laws, and for my fiends.”

Soon all relationships are approved. No matter the gender or abilities of everyone involved.

Then her brother gets put on the council, youngest member yet. Nobody is surprised, he will never not be the ‘golden child.’ The surprise comes when he starts taking away the power the council holds. He could model the world into anything that amuses him, instead he builds one for the people. Creating more checks and balances that the council must adhere to.

A while later, after a much deserved rest, the Moonlark herself comes forward. Maybe to stop the madness, average elves might wonder. No. She’s planning an outreach program to the humans, the most destructive species known. But, after everything that happened during the war, how can they judge?

The average elf wouldn’t notice that the war was about more than bloodshed. They wouldn’t notice that Black Swan members hold similar core beliefs to those in the Neverseen, that the elven world needs to change and become more accepting. The Neverseen just went about it in all the wrong ways. The children of the Black Swan know better.

And, fortunately for them, Sophie’s greatest power has never been her abilities. She is best and befriending people and giving them a voice. She found the people that will truly change the world.

[fleet-of-fiction]

Jake Kiszka // Female Narrator

Part Six

After a blinding light eradicates mankind, you're left in a desolate and empty world. A year of solitude eliminates all belief that anyone else was left behind. Until a chance encounter on the side of the road. Jake is injured and fighting for his life, but his presence brings a renewed sense of hope. Touch starved and lonely, you need him. And undoubtedly, he needs you too.

A/N: This particular chapter includes themes of extremely dark thoughts. Including thoughts of ending life. This is integral for the storyline. Does not reflect the writers personal thoughts or feelings towards triggering potential readers as it is not their intention to do so. So please, proceed with caution, as always. And if you don't wish to read such themes please do not read this chapter.

"It would be the last man on earth that would end up being mine..."

Explicit sexual content Sex (penetrative & oral) /Foreplay /Blood / Injury / Hunting. / Intense emotions / Death.

Day 470 ~ Jake

She looked so peaceful. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes were rolling around behind closed lids. And even though I wondered what she was dreaming about, I didn't dare wake her. There was just something unsettling about trying to sleep in other people's houses and I had never slept well a single night until I found her.

I saw no reason to wake her just to tell her I was going back to the music room. I figured she would hear me as soon as dawn broke and come looking for me. Now that I'd picked up a guitar again, it was like I was being called to arms. The need to play was a welcome and not a melancholy reminder anymore.

In the early hours of morning it still felt as if the world was asleep. That everyone was still tucked up in their beds, just a few hours away from alarm clocks going off and coffee pots being switched on. It was easy to forget at this time, easy to pretend that we were the only ones left. I sometimes liked to wake up early just to catch that feeling.

It was still dark outside as I set myself up on one of the amps. I turned the volume right down and closed the door. Strumming a few notes but not playing anything in particular. I couldn't set myself to something I'd already played, and was still figuring out how to create something now on my own. It still felt strange not having Josh stood there telling me it needed to be a little faster or slower. Or Sam picking which one of us he was going to agree with that day, my heart sinking if he'd chosen Josh. Our mediator sitting behind his drums diligently tapping away if the conversation got a little too heated. I hadn't really given much thought to how much I missed Danny. But now that I was staring at the old drum kit by the window, I realised that I did miss him.

I wasn't really paying attention to the window behind. Or the pair of eyes watching me. My mind was stepping back in time, trying to think of old riffs that I'd abandoned. It wasn't until they moved that I almost dropped the guitar straight onto my foot. Something I'd never done before.

"Holy shit!!!" I cursed, reeling back as the eyes reflected in the light from inside the house.

I couldn't see much, other than a pair of roving circles peering in. I could feel my breath catch in my chest, panic begin to rise. I knew it wasn't human by the way it moved, only a foot or so off the ground and far too prowl- like to belong to any man or woman.

"What the fuck are you?" I wondered aloud, slowly inching towards the glass as if it could somehow reach me through it.

My heart was pumping blood so quickly around my body that I dizzied as I stood. Terrified that whatever it was could somehow get inside and get to Amelia before I could. As I drew closer I could hear the sound of a pitiful whine over the roar of the breeze. And although it was dark, and the reflection of the room was all I could see, the sound reminded me of something I'd heard before.

"Are you hurt?" I asked, switching off the lamp so that I could better see through the dark, the eyes which watched me immediately fading into the morning pitch black.

How many times had I been foolish in my life? When I thought about it, I could raise a nostalgic smile at the boy who had gone into dive bars before he was old enough to drink in them and played guitar while fights broke out around him. And I could consider all the times I'd cliff jumped into abandoned quarries and somehow crawled back out with my life intact. All the times I'd made myself look stupid in front of girls I liked. Done something or said something to make them think I was an idiot. Or not said something at all, the most foolish thing I could do.

Perhaps none of it was quite as thoughtless as what I did that morning. I checked on Amelia before I grabbed my jacket and went outside. She was still right where I left her, unmoved. I had thought that I might take a walk around the perimeter of the house. See if the creature was still out there.

I didn't think what would happen, could happen. Of all the risks I'd taken in my life, I never envisioned that I'd end up where I did. It was still a little cold as I buttoned up. I could see my breath as the light began to creep in from behind clouds. The wind was enough to move my hair, but moved only gently through the tree's above. A soft white noise soundtracked my steps as I traversed around the heavy woodland surrounding the house.

Until I found myself at the back yard. Staring at the window to the room where I'd just been playing guitar. Not a soul in sight.

"I'll be damned." I whispered to myself, certain that I'd find something.

I knew that what I'd seen I couldn't have imagined. I'd tripped so many times before, I knew the difference between what was real and imagined. I started moving towards the glass, watching my own reflection approach until I could clearly see the guitar right where I had almost dropped it onto my foot.

Dumbfounded. A little spooked, even. I could feel the hairs on my forearms prickle.

"I know there's something out here." I told myself.

Almost as if I was inviting it, I could feel something at my back. I slowly turned. Fear and foolishness gripping me by the throat. I backed up against the window pane. Not one set of eyes, but several stepped out from behind the trees. And I knew I was cornered.

"Clever." I remarked under my breath. "You weren't hurt at all, were you?"

I wondered if they smelled my fear. If they could hear the rush of blood through my veins as my heart pumped faster. There was nowhere for me to run. I scanned across every possible route and all of them were guarded closely by snarling teeth and renegade desires to feed.

If this was how I met my end all I could think of was Amelia. Sleeping soundly, lost in dreams only to wake to find that I was no longer there. I could feel the raging heart in my chest break as I imagined her finding them gnawing away at my corpse. Terrified that I wouldn't be enough to fill their bellies, and that they'd lure her out to die too.

Once they'd been loyal pets. Wearing collars and leashes. They would come when their masters called and chase balls when they were thrown. Settle in front of warm fireplaces and have their bellies rubbed if they rolled over. I could see it in their eyes. The pack mentality that had been suppressed for generations, the wolves in their blood howling to return to their most basic of natures. They were evolving. Growing tactful in their hunt. Luring out their prey under false pretences.

"Easy, now." I said, holding flat palms in front of me, wondering if they would respond to hearing commands they might have forgotten. "Good dogs. Sit...Stay..."

The dog that had appeared to me first cocked his head to the side a little. He was a big, imposing Shepherd breed. With a long nose and a set of sharp teeth on display. His hair was all matted underneath, an old wound still healing on his front leg. None of the dogs sat at my command. I had no control.

"No!" I warned bluntly, "There's a good boy now, Sit!"

It was as if they knew the words but couldn't recall what they meant. Standing in a semi-circle against me. I could see the smaller dogs behind, a counter-pack of terriers and spaniels. It was as if they knew the bigger dogs would have the most impact and had chosen their place in the flanks. To my left was a jet black Dobermann, clipped ears pinned back as it waited for instruction. To my right was a blue eyed Husky with the fairest white mane. Beautiful, if it weren't threatening to tear me limb from limb. And directly in front was my adversary. The Shepherd.

"I know you're hungry." I reasoned, some irrational part of my brain convinced somehow that they would understand. "I can help you, we can find food together. Just don't hurt me."

I wondered why they hesitated. If their hunger was so absolute why didn't they attack on sight? What were they waiting for? They knew I couldn't run. Were they enjoying this? Taking delight in their hunt? What could have possibly made them approach like this, without taking me down in one mass attack?

"Oh my god."

I felt my stomach turn as the penny dropped. I had been lured out there. I was just a pawn in their attempts to lure more food out. There wasn't enough meat on my bones to feed them all. And they knew that.

"You can't have her." I promised, "So, you're just going to have to feast on me."

I'd barely considered what had happened to the dogs that were left behind. I'd crossed paths with a few of them during my time on the road. Some of them would regard me, but rarely approach. Lost in their own wondering of where their beloved people had gone. Some would approach me cautiously, in the endless pursuit of food. But not like this. This was calculated. Organised.

"Jake?!"

Her voice called out from the distance. I could see their ears turn. Saliva dripping from their jowls.

"Please, Jake!!!" She screamed, tortured by my unexplained absence.

Every instinct in me had to fight not to call back. Her begging cries called out to me like a beacon alighted on the mountainside. It was my duty to respond, to let her know that I was still here.

"You keep your eyes on me, you hear?"

I'd never wanted anything more than to see her turn that corner and know that I would never willingly choose to leave her. But if she did, she courted death. Did I want her to live in a world without me? Better to have thought I had vanished than died.

Somehow I found the courage to run. And to my utter horror and relief, they followed.

Day 473 ~ Amelia

I could hear the bird song in the morning light. Another day to exist in a place where once he had. It didn't feel like it had the first time, when everyone else had disappeared. This was more crucifying than anything I could have ever endured before. This wasn't just figuring out how to live on my own, this was figuring out how to do it knowing that I had loved someone else so deeply I wanted only to die.

I walked back to the cabin without him. The acoustic guitar he had played Broken Bells on for me tucked beneath my arm as I made the journey alone. What had begun as such a wholesome idea, ended with me losing him. And I regretted the choice to take him up to that forsaken house. Never had I regretted anything more.

I looked at the spaces where once he'd dwelled. Felt his presence like a ghost that haunted me. Echoes of his voice calling out on the wind, keeping me from sleep in the night and my mind elsewhere during the day. I was keeping the animals fed, but barely functioning. And on the third day without him, I began to consider that I did not want this life.

Day 475 ~ Amelia

The rot had set in. The chickens clucked in their coop. The horses whined in their stables. And I laid in the same sheets that still carried his scent as I stared out of the window. Watching clouds pass over the canopy of trees. Wishing that I could just float away. There was no meaning to any of it anymore. I longed for that same end which had come to everyone, save me.

With Jake, it had been easy to forget that I'd been forsaken. Forgotten. Left behind, or spared. Whichever was the truth, none of it mattered whilst I had him by my side. It was him and it was me, this was ours. A solitary place for us to live out our days until we were old and had forgotten that once we'd live in a world where other people had.

I couldn't do this without him. And so I kept myself wrapped in bed sheets where he'd made love to me before and the fabric still carried the memory of his body. If only me and this bed sheet remembered him it meant that once he'd been real. And I could die knowing that wherever he was, perhaps I'd reach him in death.

Day 477 ~ Amelia

I kicked the corpse of the chicken I had starved to death. Moving it's lifeless body with the edge of my foot as I threw down some feed for the ones who had made it through my grief. I had long since brushed my hair or my teeth. The heavy weight of losing Jake mirrored in the depth of the dark circles beneath my eyes, my pallor was grey. I had not eaten in days and the thought of plucking the dead chicken for meat turned my stomach, so I threw it out into the woods and hoped some creature would find it a tasty meal.

I wasn't living. And the concept of no longer being here began to feel like a gift that I would be giving myself. I didn't want any of this anymore without Jake. Where once there'd been hope that I could do this alone, in it's place was just memories of him that hurt so badly I could scarcely go a day without clutching my belly and falling to my knees. Wailing into the ether where none could hear me.

This wasn't life. It was purgatory. Just a gateway between life and death. My heart was still inexplicably beating. But without purpose. And I was tired of it. For seven days I had tried and failed to carry on without him and for seven days I had carried a strength I could no longer bear. If I was weak, then I'd walk into that weakness willingly and with the knowledge that I had tried. And the only hope that I had left was that which told me that Jake waited for me on the other side.

The version of him that I had imagined was all that I had left. I had loved him so much that I had known that losing him would completely eradicate all my desire to live. There was no amount of time that I could have had with him that would have ever been enough. And the moments which we had shared now felt like only one or two stitches on what could have been a rich tapestry. If I didn't live, there would be nobody left to remember him. But if I lived, I would remember him. And that in itself was the most cruel of fates.

Day 478 ~ Amelia

Today. I had considered it enough. Today was going to be my final day on earth. And although the manner within which I would unravel from my mortal coil had not been determined, I knew that by the time the sun began to set that I'd be set within my death.

I woke early. There were signs of spring in the air as I showered and dressed. The air a little warmer. The sun rising a little earlier. And I finally brushed my hair and teeth. Making sure that I went to my end with a little dignity. I tended to the animals and although I wasn't quite sure why, knowing their end would be as bitter as mine, it felt good to be doing something useful again.

I ate a small breakfast of scrambled eggs and drank a cup of hot coffee. I took a blanket out onto the porch swing and read a few chapters of a book that I'd neglected. All things which I would have done on any other uneventful day. And as I looked up from my pages, I tried to imagine Jake chopping wood on the block opposite the porch.

His wide swing circling back, the axe in both hands. His hair blowing in the breeze, and a look of absolute satisfaction on his lips as the axe blew the wood apart. The back of his hand rested against his forehead as he began to sweat, even though the temperatures outside were far too cool.

I stared into the brush, the green and the brown and the bark of the tree's all lining up to create the forest floor beyond. Listening to the soft bird call and wind through the leaves. I put my book down and decided to just sit there a while and take it all in while I could.

Everything was perfectly still. As if it had paused itself in the wake of my decision to leave it all behind. I almost felt as if I couldn't have picked a more perfect day. I was calm, perhaps too calm.

"I really wish you were here." I said, my eyes roving around the beauty of the forest for one last time.

That was when I saw it. Emerging from beyond what my eye could see. I squinted into it. Not certain at first, convinced that I was imagining it. I slid off the porch swing and advanced down the steps. Something moved between the tree's. Something that wasn't swaying in the breeze or part of the natural order of things. It was dark at first, just a spectre that I couldn't clearly define.

"Jake?!" I said his name before I even knew that it was him.

His name on the breeze called to him. He moved more swiftly, moving aside the shrubbery with his bare hands as he began to run. And I, too, began to run on bare feet into the woods.

"Jake!!!" I screamed it, aching to reach him before I would be torn from this sweetest of dreams.

I purged myself of the love I had for him. Roaring in sobs that came to me unbound as I reached him in a small clearing just beyond the cabin boundary. Over those biting sobs, there was no sound. I buried my face into the curve of his hollow neck. Whatever had been locked inside me, spilling out against his flesh. I cried without thought or regard. I had no control over it, the days of struggle all seemed to converge until I cried hopelessly and fiercely into him.

He clutched me tightly. Refusing to let him see my face, I forced myself to stay against his chest. This dream I would not wake from. If I looked into his eyes I would know it wasn't real and I was not ready to give it up. I would let him hold me for as long as I could hold on to him. And I would cherish the sweetness of such a vivid untruth. It was all but a dream, just a dream...

"Amelia..." He uttered.

"No..." I hushed. "Don't speak, don't wake me."

Birds stirred in the distance. Somewhere the breeze picked up, and I could hear the slither of it through leaves that had fallen onto the ground. Picking them up in a vain attempt to return them to the air.

"Amelia, my love...open your eyes." He urged, that familiar touch of his hand coming to rest on my cheek.

I had cried enough. There were no tears left. But when I opened my eyes, they continued regardless. Not sobs of grief, but quiet droplets of something which I had no name for.

"Jake." I repeated in whisper, although he wasn't the Jake of my memory.

He was changed. The hair which used to flow down over his beautiful face had been chopped just above his shoulders. Rough stubble pebbled his upper lip and chin. But the eyes which bore down into me were the same. I would have known those eyes even if he had changed beyond all recognition. His arms felt the same, too. A mixture of desire and urgency and restraint. And for one still moment I took in the sight of him, before venomous anger took over.

I struck him once. Cold and hard across his jawline. He turned his face away but did not buckle with the blow. I had probably not struck him hard enough, or perhaps he had been expecting it. He didn't release me, and I was glad. And when he turned back, his face had not changed. As if he'd felt nothing. Or perhaps, he'd felt worse and this was nothing in comparison.

"I deserved that." He breathed, the sound of his voice filling me such relief I almost died right there just as I had planned to.

If I had known in that moment what it was within his mind, perhaps I would have prepared myself better. As much as anyone can be prepared for a kiss that they never thought they would have again.

He clasped me harder, his hands crushing my arms as he pulled me into him. He turned his head slightly, too swiftly for me to consider it. As if he had never been in any doubt that this would be how we would reunite. He brushed his lips against mine. Softly at first, those eyes probing me for the briefest moment for permission of sorts. And then he kissed me harder, deeper and with fierce conviction. Whatever small part I had in this kiss, I knew it was my place to submit to it. He pushed his body against mine, his mouth opening and showing me that nothing else mattered.

I fought against his tongue. Wanting it so badly, but too full of wondering to let him have too much of it. I let him have a moment of it. And not a second more.

"Jake, please..." I pulled back, holding his face between my palms as I studied the sunken cheekbones beneath his dark eyes. "You've been gone for eight days."

"I know." He replied, "And for eight days I've been trying to get back to you."

I didn't understand, couldn't fathom what he had been through. Somehow it was etched there in his emaciated face. A struggle I would never be able to share the depth of with him. And he, in return, would never be able to follow me into mine.

"I don't understand." I muttered, turning his face this way and that to try and see a hint of what it had cost him to return to me. "I thought you had....vanished."

"You think that I would choose to leave you?" He simpered, taking another kiss as we began to rise. "That's not a choice I ever thought I'd have to make. But I did. And I would do it again a thousand times to keep you safe."

There would be time enough for explanations. He was weary. Dishevelled and somehow traumatised. And so I silently led him back to the cabin, my arm around his waist. The outline of his ribs against my hand. And any thought of my own death somehow completely gone from me.

Day 479 ~ Jake

She was a sight for sore eyes. Resting her little head on my chest. Hair fanned out across my arm, the scent of it like pine and moss. I was showered and she'd made food for me. Silently eating it as she sat beside me at the kitchen table, stroking my hair and looking at me as if she'd never seen anything more precious to her.

No sooner had I pushed my empty plate aside, she'd taken my hand and told me to get in bed. And I'd insisted that she crawl in beside me. Folding herself up into my side like she'd always belonged there. And for the first time in eight days I felt rested.

"You haven't asked me what happened out there." I mentioned, resting my cheek against her crown.

"You'll tell me when you're ready." She replied, sighing deeply as she swept her fingertips across my stomach.

I could see a madness in her that hadn't been there before. I tried to imagine what it had been like for her, but my thoughts always fell short. She was quiet. I kept catching her gazing at me as if she couldn't quite believe that I was there. She'd even sat with me as I showered, handing me the soap and watching the dirt slide off my back.

"You wouldn't believe me, even if I did tell you." I surmised, running my hand down her spine, feeling her body shift as she turned to look at me.

"Try me." She answered, calm and collected, as if we were talking about a T.V show we'd watched. "I've considered everything. Driven myself mad with it."

"I know." I replied softly, "You didn't deserve that. But what's happening out there... it's unlike anything that we could have been prepared for."

Her interest piqued, she raised herself up onto an elbow and furrowed her brow.

"What do you mean? Out there?" She said, "How far did you go?"

I didn't have a distance that I could tell her in numbers. Only that I'd gone beyond where my scent could be traced back. Days and nights of running, being hunted. The pack were smart. Even when I'd climbed tree's to avoid their eye line, they'd lingered on the forest floor picking up the scent of me and waiting for me to make my next move.

I knew that if I went back to the cabin they'd follow me there. I had to get them far enough away and lose them so that I could circle back without bringing them with me. On the fourth day I lost them, their senses distracted, and it had taken another four days to get back.

"We need to secure the perimeters of the cabin. Make sure the livestock is safe. That nothing can get in." I told her, my voice unintentionally rising to panic.

"Why?!" She asked, "What happened, Jake? You're scaring me."

There would be time enough to tell her. That the creatures we'd once held so dear had gone back to their most basic bloodlines. That the wild animals were welcoming their domestic kin back into the fold. That the wolves had descended, but not as we remembered them. They were just regular dogs. Like the one my brother had loved and kept. Her name was Rose and she had slept on my bunk in the tour bus, sniffling in my guitar cases for treats. The softest, most loving creature I had ever known. And I just couldn't picture her a snarling, starving mess with dripping fangs and a taste for blood.

But somehow I knew she was out there, trying to survive if she hadn't already died.

"I'll tell you, baby." I promised, pulling her back onto my chest, not certain I could look her in the eye as I spoke.

All I wanted to do was hold her. Remind myself why I'd risked everything. She listened to me and hummed in agreeance to everything I said. Gasping in disbelief at my tale of pursuit. She would circle her fingers over my navel as she listened, drawing little intakes of breath from me as I tried to paint her a vivid picture until I had to give in to her.

No more talking. No more desperately trying to cling on to the fact that I'd made it back home to her. What was any of it for if not for the sweetness of her body? Her kiss? I wanted to reunite with her in the only way that I could. Pushing her onto her back, striking my thumb across her cheek as I swept her hair away from her face.

"Why'd you chop your beautiful hair off, Jake?" She asked, picking up a tendril of what used to sit on my collar bone.

"That's how I managed to fool them." I replied, nodding into a smiling kiss. "I cut my hair and scattered it for them to confuse my scent. Once they were distracted, I managed to put a few miles between us."

The way she looked at me made my heart rush. Every empty space without her filled with a warmth that felt like home. She looked at me as if I held the world in my hands for her. I was the one who made it turn.

"Don't you ever disappear on me like that again, Jacob."

She meant it. Stoic and steadfast, she didn't miss a beat.

"No Ma'am." I replied, sinking into a kiss that made my cock start to awaken to the possibility of that proper reunion.

She wasted no time. Climbing on top of me, letting her hair fall. Her perfect breasts pushed up against my chest as she kissed me. Blood pumped harder in my veins. My body somehow awakening the strength to wrap my arms around her and spin her onto her back. She squealed with joy. Her laughter filling my senses like music I'd never heard before.

And I forgot everything that had happened before that sweet moment.

Day 479 ~ Amelia

My man. My quick thinking silent protector. He was mine. And as he laid me down beneath him I'd never felt more safe. The scent of his freshly washed body, the lines of bones that now protruded signalled his struggle and I held them close to me as he parted my legs.

The nightmares we'd had could wait. I welcomed him between my thighs and let him push his hard cock into my desperately wet pussy that had pined for him just as much as my heart had. Soon he was writhing above me, panting for breath and sealing his lips to my nipples as he thrusted against me. And I forgot that I'd wanted to die. The invisible thread which kept me tethered to this life had returned to me. And I could never tell him what I'd intended to do.

"Fuck, I missed you...I missed this." He breathed the words against my chest, sliding his tongue across the valley of my breasts.

There was nothing more erotic than the sweet reunion of lovers who had never known that they would ever meet again. In the world we'd once lived in, a call or a text would have eased our worried minds. But without so much as a letter to be delivered, I'd lived in a state of unknowing. It felt almost unreal to have him bared to me, making love to me in a bed he'd been wholly absent from.

I couldn’t get enough of him. I was tired and sore but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted the ache. I wanted him in me, all the time. His weight on top of me. I wanted to squeeze him in further and further. I wanted to watch his face. I wanted his sweat to drop onto me. I wanted to drop mine on him. To feel the bitterness that had kept us apart dissipate in the feral moans that rang out from that bedroom of ours.

"Never again Jake..." I made him swear. "Don't you ever leave me again... Don't leave me alone in this world."

He was breathless and covered in sweat. His and mine. Pussy juice and the cum which had leaked from his tip smeared across our bodies. The gentle rhythm of our love making turning into fierce sex that would bring us to completion.

The depth of his despair was in the way he looked at me then. He took my hair in his fist, holding me still. My legs spread wide for him, his hips grinding into me as if he couldn't bear it.

"I'll die before I ever leave you alone, my love." He whispered solemnly, pressing his mouth against my ear.

"Now hush." He ordered, "And take what I have to give you..."

I could only submit to the violent way he fucked me. Screaming his name into the night. And somewhere in the distance, under the light of the full moon, a wolf howled into the wind...

To be Continued...

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@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon y @char289 @dancingcarbon @gvfpal @violetstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire

[maria-of-the-waves]

Erjon of the Wind Island

Ok, I'm writing this at midnight and it's probably coming from my sleep-deprived mind, but here's an idea what I need to write down before I forget it ヽ(￣～￣　)ノ:

Well we all know that the Wind Island test was just an illusion unlike the SGT on Earth 2 and this is because the Sound of the Wind would not have enough power to create an entire alternate dimension based on anyone's worst fears of the challenger who is going to do it σ(￣、￣〃).

We also know that due to the curse Cale never tried to form bonds with Min Ah, So Hoon or the rest of Team 1 but they still cared about him and were just as loyal as any member of Cale's family ( ‾́ ◡ ‾́ ).

Well, what if that were the case for the butler boy we see in the Wind Island test (ᓀ ᓀ)?

Let's say that he became very worried about his master after seeing him act in such a strange way and he decided to follow him because of that same concern ~(>_<~).

This only grew after seeing the way he spoke (or rather questioned) everyone he crossed, it got even worse after seeing him pick up a book that he already hated too much to even approach (｡•́︿•̀｡).

Well, he follows him from afar, not close enough to hear him but close enough to see him.

He watches everything that happens in Super Rock Villa and after he enters the top floor he gets very worried because he can't see it without giving himself away.

He hears the sound of a book hitting the floor and, alarmed, runs in only to see him "commit suicide" (ﾒ﹏ﾒ)

He panics and while trying to stop him he accidentally falls out of the window with him, causing him to somehow reach the real world (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ.

Can you imagine his panic when he discovered that the world where he lived his entire life was nothing more than an illusion? That the monster that appeared in every horror story was real and was at its maximum power?

And that's not even counting the shock of trying to stop the suicide of a loved one and knowing that you're about to die only to wake up in a cave full of dead mana with a younger version of your lord ( : ౦ ‸ ౦ : ).

What's more, let's say that he cannot remember anything from before the moment the test began, there is not a single memory, only information full of holes that he knows is true until he no longer is, worse yet? He didn't even have a name! ლ(¯ロ¯"ლ)

Finding out all of that would give him an incredibly big identity crisis, the chaos of the destruction of Wind Island would definitely be worse with a preteen suffering from an identity crisis.

It's more thanks to him that everyone discovers that for an entire week Cale was trapped in an illusion of his worst fear and had to commit suicide to get out of it to get the flask and the whip (╥_╥)(they don't know that the flask could be obtained easily and Bud never tried to get him off the island so everyone thinks the test was to get the jar out and improve the Sound of the Wind ╮(￣_￣)╭)

Eruhaben will feel incredibly guilty and will probably drink the entire flask, not wanting Cale's sacrifice to be in vain.

Bud will be worse than in canon thinking it was all his fault.

The children of "x" years of age on average will be very overprotective.

Ron and Beacrox will be more lenient than usual with Cale and at the bottom will be our butler boy.

Still in crisis, he decides to follow our young master, not knowing any life apart from him, despite questioning whether his affection for him was just another part of the illusion (ಡ‸ಡ).

Cale upon finding out this tells him to do what he wants and that if he is going to accompany them he will need a name or alias ( ̅́ ◡ ̅́ )

And he (Cale) ends up choosing Erjon as his name, which is of Albanian origin and means "our wind" (of course, the latter only after at least two hours of discussion about whether Cale will give him his name or Erjon should choose it, It turns out that even in a more than traumatized state of mind they are both incredibly stubborn)

[comicaurora]

hii hello 👋 just wanted to start by saying that the comic is still so cool interesting and I love how things are progressing so far, at first I wasn't sure if i was going to enjoy the current arc as much but its honestly really enganging with the bits of Falst backstory being revealed, seeing Dainix in action and put in situations, and also more interactions of the party members without Kendal really being present there (i love him sm but its interesting to see how the group dynamic is starting to really shape up, even though falst and dainix have only known each other for like a day(?), putting them in a perilous situation is a really good choice we can see open guy and closed off guy interacting and its so !! its cool) also the lighting for the cave with the fire and the ancient tech is great!

(this is already such a long ask im so sorry)

but ... speaking of ancient tech, i wanted to know how much of it has survived? we know that Erin's bag of holding is also Ancient made (iirc), and so is the storm pedestal, but is there still some other known Ancient tech used in the world? are there also significant populations/communities of people with Ancient ancestry that have gathered and do they have most of the access to that tech? If they do exist, are they more of a closed-off community or are they kind of subsumed into the local population (of ppl with no Ancient ancestry and stuff) ?

tl;dr really digging the current arc i love zombie dungeon funtime adventure. more info abt ancient tech / ppl descended from ancients pls?

anyway thank you very much and have a good day ^_^ love your work Red and it's honestly amazing how far the comic has progressed and the community's grown over the past 3-4 years ! (damn i cant believe 2019 was 4 years ago)

glad you're having fun! dropping dorks down a hole for Character Development is always a fun idea

Most Ancient stuff is in ruins, but the automatons are quite sturdy, especially the stuff created in the final days of the civil war. Ancient war machines will sometimes reactivate and un-bury themselves, wreaking havoc based on long-belayed and half-remembered orders. Dainix's desert home deals with these on occasion, which is why he's familiar with the basics of how they work.

Most Ancient tech works in ways that nobody has quite figured out how to replicate, but it can sometimes be repurposed if it's well-preserved enough - although the fact that most Ancient tech reacts with alarms at the presence of humans and elves makes it pretty hard for most people to make them do anything particularly useful. Things like Erin's bag are rare but not unbelievably so - there seem to have been a lot of them, and they're hard to break.

Ancient ancestry has been almost entirely subsumed into the overall population, and it almost never presents in any visible way - just about its only telltale signs are unusual height, and the combo of earthtone-skin and light-earthtone-hair with pale jeweltone-eyes, which is not naturally found in uninfluenced humans or elves and is rarely found even in elementally adapted populations of either (elves can have jeweltone eyes but always have skytone skin, typically patterned; influenced humans like crystal-caste will have jeweltone eyes and hair; etc)

Ancient tech responding positively to anyone is quite rare, and typically occurs in people who seem to have a significant number of Ancient ancestors on both sides of their family and consequently visibly resemble the phenotype to an unusual degree. It's very difficult to measure this sort of thing, but the general rule of thumb seems to be that a person needs to be at least 10% of Ancient descent before the tech doesn't panic on sight, and at least 20% in order for it to actually respond to them in any meaningful way. So the equivalent of one Ancient great-grandparent would work as a bare minimum, which doesn't sound too bad - unless you start doing the math of how many generations have actually passed since there were a surplus of Ancients around.

After the Ancient civil war ended and the "cave-folk" left the Singing Caves, there were barely a thousand Ancients left alive and scattered across the northern continents, in contrast to hundreds of thousands of humans and elves. And since this was over 4000 years ago, with generations happening at a rough average of three per century, there have been over 120 generations since the Emergence. One way to look at this is that every person of the Elder Races currently alive is a descendant of some set of those people alive at the Emergence, 120 generations back - they had kids 119 generations back, those kids had kids 118 generations back, etc etc, eventually leading to a person alive today whose great-great-great-(115-more-greats) grandparents were all around at the Emergence. However, this numbers game gets complicated when we do the basic math of asking "how many (118-greats)-grandparents would anyone have)" and find the answer is 2^120, or a little over 1 undecillion, which is a one with 36 zeroes after it, which is a billion billion billion billions. This many people have never been alive anywhere, because the uncomfortable truth is that after a certain number of generations back everyone's family trees stop forking and start looping, though if it happens far enough back it's not a genetic liability like it is in certain colonizing nations' royal families. So this math is already falling apart, but it is giving us some idea of how catastrophically unlikely it is for someone's Emergence-era ancestry to beat the odds and have enough Ancient make it to the modern day to be detectable.

To dramatically simplify the math and pretend generations are cleanly delineated at 3/century (and that genetics actually works like clean 50%s every time, or even that genetics as we understand it applies to this fictional fantasy world), at the time of the Emergence, the world population was around 0.1% Ancient, and in order for a modern person to make the tech work for them, their first-generation ancestry - the sum of all those Emergence people whose descendants eventually produced this kid, weighted to account for the people who are technically the 118-great-grandparents multiple times over thanks to family tree loops - needed to be at least 10-20% Ancient. It's not impossible, and there were parts of the world where the Ancient population at the Emergence was easily that high, but they're likely to be vastly outnumbered in the rest of the pile of 118-greats-grandparents as the family tree approximately doubles in size every generation.

So it happens, but it's rare and getting rarer. Most people in this field are instead trying to crack how to reprogram or build automaton control units from scratch, rather than dealing with them freaking out all the time.

[drpeppertummy]

i havent gone into the provolone family tree on this blog but does anyone remember my bestie lemon. his sister pimientos present-day descentant penne is like. a Cartoon Movie Scientist who dabbles in made up bullshit

[unintentional belly expansion, tummyache, hint of burst teasing]

Penne looked down at the new batch of her latest project, exhaustedly rubbing her face. Scattered across the tray before her were dozens of bright orange pills. They were small and simple, indistinguishable from any other pill in the medicine cabinet. These, however, were unlike anything Penne had stashed away above the bathroom sink. They weren't a remedy for pain or sniffles or allergies. No, these little orange capsules were created to solve an entirely different problem: hunger.

The project had begun a few months ago after another long, hyperfocused night at the lab. It wasn't any different from any other night at the lab; Penne was notorious for going entire busy nights without eating. She was simply too busy and too absorbed in her work to step away. That night, however, the idea had crossed her mind that it would be so much easier if she could simply pull a meal out of her pocket and toss it back without interrupting her work. She'd thought about that, and then she'd thought about how many people such a creation might potentially benefit, and then she'd set off to work. Without a snack break, of course.

After several trial runs with increasing success, Penne thought she might finally have something close to a finished product. She felt confident that they were safe to test on herself; she'd worked out any alarming kinks a handful of attempts ago, and the most recent batches had been perfectly harmless, albeit not particularly filling. Now, as she looked down at the tray of little orange pills, her exhausted, work-fried brain began a debate with itself.

It's a new batch, her brain said. We should just start with one.

The formula is barely any different from the last, it argued.

But it could be different enough.

It shouldn't be. We barely altered the density of it.

It would be dangerous and idiotic to start with two. What if it's too much?

But if one isn't enough--and I doubt it will be--we'll have to wait even longer to try it with two.

Patience is a virtue. Whatever happened to lab safety?

Fuck it. We're trying two.

Penne picked up two of the little orange capsules, hesitated for a moment, and then, with a quick swig of water, she swallowed them. She sat still for a moment, holding her breath as she waited for something to happen. For a few moments, nothing did. Then, slowly, she felt her empty stomach begin to fill up as the capsules released their expanding mass of nutrients. Gradually, her hunger faded, and it wasn't long before she felt full. And then very full. And then stuffed. Her heart fluttered nervously in her chest as her normally concave belly began to puff out round and firm. Shit, she thought.

The growth didn't seem to be slowing. Her stomach continued to distend, pushing out hard as the mass inside it expanded. She was well beyond stuffed now, and her belly felt painfully tight as it bloated up even more, pressing out against her baggy shirt. Her belt, snug around her normally narrow waist, creaked as the pressure beneath it grew. Frantically, she reached down and undid it. Moments later, her expanding belly forced the button of her pants open.

An ungraceful cry of panicked discomfort escaped Penne as her stomach stretched rapidly, and her back arched as her belly pushed out further and further. She felt the air that had been trapped in her stomach begin to bubble up toward her throat, and she forced up a burp in a desperate attempt to release some of the pressure building inside her. It didn't help. She clutched her stomach, gasping with panic. It was rock hard, packed tightly with the ever-expanding nutritional mass.

As her stomach began to reach its absolute limit, Penne shut her eyes, bracing herself for the worst. By some miracle, though, the expansion slowed, and, mercifully, it finally stopped. She remained frozen for a moment, holding her breath, and then, when she was sure it was over, she let herself relax. She couldn't relax too much, though; her belly was so tightly distended she could barely move. It ached terribly. She let out a pained moan, cautiously rubbing her taut, top-heavy belly.

She was almost afraid to look down at herself, but she did. Her belly jutted out shockingly beneath her ribs. Her shirt, which had been loose and wrinkled only five minutes earlier, was now pulled smoothly over the painful bulge of her bloated stomach. With barely a pinch of spare fat to speak of on her lanky frame, her belly had absolutely no give left to it.

Carefully, she tried to stand, but her overstuffed stomach cramped sharply, and she quickly dropped back down into her chair with a pitiful moan. Her stomach, hugging the enormous mass of not-quite-food for dear life, let out a strained gurgle. She sat there, belly sticking out absurdly, hoping nobody came along and saw her. I told you so, her brain scolded. Groaning, she let her head fall back and closed her eyes, resigning herself to a long night of digestion.

[bestworstcase]

thing abt the theory that (raven / summer / the last spring maiden) asked the lamp’s first question is it’s like—i don’t understand how you can propose with any seriousness that someone other than ozpin used that question without interrogating how that person learned jinn’s name. it’s a mandatory presupposition, and yet…?

in V6 ozpin PANICS when the girls start to question him. he tries to forcibly suppress oscar to protect this secret; oscar has to fight past him to force the words out. the man lunges at ruby in desperation to stop jinn from answering her. in V7 ironwood remarks that ozpin told them all that there were no questions left. half of V8 is salem trying to drag the “password” out of ozpin or oscar because the lamp is useless without knowledge of how to use it. you think ozpin would just… let slip jinn’s name to summer or raven or the maiden capable of opening the lamp’s vault? that’s absurd.

this is not a narratively inconsequential detail. jinn’s name and the knowledge of how to summon her is a huge deal in V6 and literally the cornerstone of salem’s part in V8. and it’s made crystal clear that ozpin does not share it with anyone.

which doesn’t make it impossible for raven or summer or the spring maiden to have found it out somehow—but, like, “somehow” matters actually. i think the most plausible somehow is if the lamp itself has a way to provide instructions if approached in the right way. notably no character has ever tried asking the lamp how it works or how to use it, and well. 6.2 “why does it matter who carries it?”/“he’s trying to stop you.” right? there’s room here to interpret ozpin’s intense anxiety as rooted in a real possibility that ruby might either release jinn or unlock the lamp’s user manual if she keeps asking questions while holding it.

but then in V8 we also have salem talking to the lamp (“i have questions for you”), and she understands how the staff works (“you say they used the staff; i assume you rid the world of their creation. what did you create in its stead?”)—so like, there’s a nonzero chance salem knows there are beings inside the relics and even if she doesn’t she, um, talks to the lamp conversationally hello. we’ve also seen that salem Thinks Aloud when she’s trying to figure out something she doesn’t understand (V4, “what are you planning?”).

out of all the characters in this story, salem most seems the type to, like, pick up the magical lamp and go “how do you work?”—but does it make sense for jinn’s name to be so important narratively if it’s on the magical equivalent of a post-it note somewhere?

and then too like—

this is a matter of taste maybe. but there’s, i think, this tendency to look at the lost fable and its emotional aftermath and try to retrofit that to whatever happened with summer and raven; there’s an unspoken presupposition that the world has not changed very much in the last twelve or fourteen years. but they didn’t. even before V9 that was clear—in V1-3 ozpin et al are very much not doing business-as-usual, they’re rattled by what happened to amber—and that glimpse we got in V9 is like, summer gets called away on an urgent secret mission in the dead of night and tai is like “pfft can’t wait for it to turn out another false alarm” about it. ozpin’s irrational paranoia was an inside joke to them.

there’s a crucial piece missing here—why did summer rose do the things she did?—and the lamp feels… like a cop-out. she reflects tai’s casual attitude. the face she shows raven is curtly confident. neither is real; before she puts on the smile and turns around she looks distraught. the last thing she says to her girls is “i love you just the way you are.” she is the reflection in ruby’s mirror. she was “the best of us.” and “you were born to hypnotize them all.” mirrored eyes, you know?

ruby believed in ozpin. she believed in the fairytales she tried so hard to live up to.

did summer?

the thing about the lost fable is it’s a clean break, right. yang twitches the curtain with the revelation that ozpin gave the branwens magic and qrow smooths it over and ozpin promises to be honest with them. a few weeks later, they catch him in another lie of omission and argue and jinn lays out his entire fucking life story in technicolor for them. it’s a sudden, shattering shock.

raven says she needed answers, and that the longer she looked for them and the more she learned, the more horrifying the world became. she tells yang to question everything. she says she “tried to leave”—tried. does that sound like raven asked one question (out of three) and decided to fuck off forever?

tai says raven’s flaws are what tore the team apart. twelve years later qrow is still trying to get her to come back. summer planned her rogue mission with raven behind their backs. every new kernel we get about these people suggests an interminable, convoluted mess.

ruby sounds just like her mother. summer doesn’t sound very much like ruby. “we,” ruby says, and “i,” says summer. summer rose never lies, but she plans a rogue mission with raven behind tai’s and qrow’s back and nobody suspects a thing, and when ruby asks qrow tells her summer’s last mission was a summer secret in the same tone ruby said ozpin secret. cut to the heart of this thing and it’s obvious that nobody really knew summer, only the things summer let them see. and i think—ultimately—summer left, and never came back, not because of something she learned but because she had to break the mirror.

[successblueprints]

So, I woke up late again. My 50 alarms went off, but instead of jumping out of bed, I hit snooze too many times. Now, the day feels ruined before it even starts. I have so much to do, but the more I think about it, the less motivated I feel. My focus is gone, and instead of being productive, I’m scrolling through social media or just zoning out. It’s like waking up late sets the tone for the whole day. And it turns out, it actually does—there’s science behind it.

Why Does This Happen?

According to research, when you wake up late, your body’s internal clock, or circadian rhythm, gets out of sync. This is called delayed sleep-wake phase disorder, and it affects everything from your focus to your mood. Waking up later than planned disrupts your routine, messes with your discipline, and makes it harder to concentrate, leading to less productive days overall.

How Can You Fix It?

If you want to stop waking up late and regain control over your day, here are a few tips:

1. Set a Consistent Sleep Routine: Going to bed and waking up at the same time every day, even on weekends, helps stabilize your internal clock.

2. Limit Screen Time Before Bed: Blue light from your phone or computer can mess with melatonin production, which is the hormone that helps you fall asleep

3. Use Morning Light Exposure: Getting sunlight in the morning helps reset your internal clock and makes it easier to wake up on time.

4. Make Snoozing Harder: Place your phone or tablet across the room, preferably with the loudest, most cringe-worthy alarm you can find. I like closing my tablet case and putting it away, so when it goes off, I’m embarrassed enough to get up and turn it off.

But What If You Still Wake Up Late?

Even if you sleep in, the day isn’t completely ruined. Here’s how you can still turn things around:

1. Set a 5-Minute Timer: Start by committing to just 5 minutes of work on any task. You’ll see that once you get started, it’s not as bad as you thought. Afterward, take a short breather and give yourself some positive talk—then do another 5 minutes.

2. Prioritize Your Tasks: Focus on one or two important things for the day. This way, even if you’re behind, you’re still making progress on what matters most.

3. Forgive Yourself: Don’t dwell on the fact that you woke up late. Instead, accept it and shift your focus to what you can still do with the rest of the day.

4. Time Block: Organize your tasks into chunks of time. For example, dedicate 30 minutes to one task and then take a short break. This gives structure to the rest of your day, even if it started late.

What If You Still Can’t Get Yourself to Do It?

When you wake up late, it's like your inner child is throwing a tantrum, refusing to focus. But you’ve got to turn that tantrum off, remind yourself that the day isn’t over, and get to work. You don’t have time to argue with distractions—you’ve got things to achieve.

Breaking Tasks Down Even Smaller: Instead of thinking about the entire task, just focus on the very first step.

Starting with Something Easy: Sometimes tackling the easiest thing first can create momentum.

Doing Something Active: Go for a walk or stretch to reset your mind before trying again.

Note from me: It’s a bit of a bittersweet moment today. Maybe I barely studied and it freaked me out, but instead of getting stuck in that panic, it pushed me to dig deeper, do the research, and come up with solutions to help not just myself, but other people dealing with the same struggles. So, even if today didn’t go as planned, it inspired something bigger—a better plan for the future, and hopefully, a little help for anyone else going through the same thing. ^-^

[pillowspace]

Hi! Hey! Hello! I just finished chapter 7 of Celestial Sundown and oh my! It was fenomenal!

I love that CSDy/n is getting more and more comfy in relationship with sun! They are getting bolder and trust each other more! Sun getting into their room is showing the big progress and trust on both parts! I don't know how CSDy/n but for me to tolerate someone in my room is a big thing. I see it was caused by his anxiety but still its the barrier they crossed one way or the other. It was so lovely and well written, what CSDy/n went through was traumatic and painful but while reading I couldn't stop think about the horrors Sun went through this entire time. If everything is okay with him the prayer should get to him and, correct me if I'm wrong, from what I understood the exact words won't come through It but the feelings and some basic meaning will be send to the God.

Therefore he could easily understood something went terribly wrong, not only that but the prayer suddenly stopped, He is far away, and from what I get without his crown he cannot teleport or manifest in different places. What happened? Are they scared? Hurt? Or maybe it was false alarm! They got scared prayed for him, and then they realised there is no danger so they stopped! But then the other call was sent and I bet If the first didn't, this one send him running. Not only that, the time has passed so he wasn't sure what state they are in, if all this time they were in danger,  but the urgency of the prayer expanded. Did something happened in the house? Was it the woman he showed himself to? Why he can't go any faster? I'm sure at this time he would curse himself out... For needing to see this mural. For not waiting for the morning so they can go with him. For being so weak. If he had his crown he could do something, and now he was useless, couldn't even get to this damn forest as fast as he wanted. He is so slow. Are they hurt? Are they dead? Did the thing that attacked him came back to finish the job and found them instead? He knew them, they wouldn't panic like that over something small. They wouldn't call  him for something small. The terrified calls of their heart  would be fuel for him to keep going. And what would he find getting back? The empty house, with the doors left wide open. He knew something bad happened but for them to leave their beloved belongings exposed like that it was worse then he hoped. And if your shredded blanket covered with human blood, nearby was telling anything it wasn't getting better. They helped him so much, they still are trying to get him home. And he wasn't there. He should have been there. He just had to be emotional again hadn't he? What to do now? Where to go? Their prayers stopped. Is he alone again? He can't locate them. Are they alive? Mortals are fragile, and there is blood nearby but no human, no. The blood of one of his kind, a big puddle. He had to do something, he searched this forest for so long with them, he had to manage! Had to find his friend. And the trail of blood left on trees and ground was the perfect start.

Ajshshs, I'm sorry I just love it so much! Can't wait to see what happens next. The emotions your fic gives me are not from this world, you are so talented and inspiring! I can't get enough of your content. And also you created my hyperfixation of sea slugs! I didn't even know something so pretty existed and in so many forms! Keep up the good work and being amazing! Get yourself a blanket and hot tea you deserved it after blessing us with such a brilliant chapter and so soon!

Sun comfortably being able to enter Y/N's room was something I thought about, but didn't really expect anyone to notice, so I love that you did

I. I. OH MY GODDDDDDD, I JUST READ THE REST OF THE ASK. STARING AT YOU WITH THE WIDEST OF EYES RN. I DRINK YOUR ASK LIKE SOUP !? WOW

Yayyyyy sea slug liker!! YEAH, there is something so wondrous in learning what sea slugs look like. It's like learning magic's real, for me anyway

THANK YOU SO MUCHHHH