#but its the only thing that feels right in the world still

[ghoulphile]

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 3.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --” ➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠 there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself mostly un-beta'd atm a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!

feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.

Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.

It’d be easier if they were.

Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.

Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.

Then came the separation.

Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.

And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.

See, war’s something he understands.

But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?

How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?

When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?

He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.

Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.

The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.

Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.

Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.

But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.

See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”

While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.

It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.

A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.

At first, he kept his distance.

Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.

Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.

Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.

Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.

Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.

So what if he takes himself in hand after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?

Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?

Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.

“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”

Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.

“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”

Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”

Shit.

“M’sorry, baby. He’s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”

Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.

“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”

“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”

“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”

Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.

You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.

“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”

“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”

Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.

“... Then pancakes it is.”

As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”

“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”

“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”

“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”

She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears. 

Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.

“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.

“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”

The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.

The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.

Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.

When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.

You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.

Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.

Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”

Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”

Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood. 

“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”

He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”

Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.

“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.

Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.

Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.

The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.

“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”

“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”

Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”

“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.

Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.

Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.

Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.

When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”

“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”

Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”

The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.

He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.

However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog. 

Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not what I --”

He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”

“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”

Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.

Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?

Hell, you even cook and clean!

Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.

Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.

How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.

If he wasn’t so captivating…

“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”

“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.

When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.

Waiting to see what you'll do.

Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.

Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.

Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.

“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”

The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.

“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”

The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.

The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.

“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”

He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.

Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”

Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.

“C’mon, be honest.”

With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.

“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”

“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”

“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”

“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.

He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.

Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.

“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”

Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.

Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.

You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.

He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."

Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”

"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."

part 2 dropping soon

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard smut #cooper howard #the ghoul #the ghoul smut

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Hello! I’d love to read your vision of the LoD boys x MC in high school. (High school to adults, just high school, childhood. Anything!) Alllll the cliches appreciated, haha.

Coming-of-Age HC's with the LADS Guys

pairing: fem!reader x Zayne, fem!reader x Xavier, fem!reader x Rafayel

content: fluff, alternate universe (kinda)

Childhood with Zayne is filled with increasingly hot summers and snowy winters. It’s memories of an extroverted young girl dragging along her much more introverted best friend (well, Caleb’s friend first) to make popsicles under the blaze of the June sun and snowmen in the cold of January. In the same way snow melts with the coming of spring, you chip his shell away, making a friendship that’s stronger than any of your lifetimes.

Those years with Zayne are like a pleasant dream, soft and gentle, like his hand when he wipes away the tears from your cheeks whenever you fall or when he places a band-aid on one of the many injuries prone to an adventurous spirit.

Middle School with Zayne is when you first feel fragility in your friendship. You’re realizing you might be growing in different directions.

Zayne is intelligent, often getting attention for his grades and participating in scholars tournaments while you’re busy with your own hobbies and friends that come with them.

There’s hope your friendship will persevere each time you walk home together, each time he lets you share his umbrella on heavy rainy days, and each day he saves to spend with you.

High school with Zayne is confusing. Growing into adulthood is an exciting and nervous situation for anyone but even more-so when everyone but you seem to realize that you have feelings for your childhood friend.

Your grandma is constantly reminding you how smart and handsome Zayne has become. He’s going to study to be a doctor, you know! Maybe you should ask him to prom?

Caleb complains about how Zayne usually takes your side in arguments and does what you want all the time. He frequently teases you every time you sigh over the older boy. Isn’t getting a crush on your older brother’s friend too obvious?

They’re right though, and it’s awkward. What’s more awkward is the stolen kiss with Zayne in the new car his parents got him when he first got his license. You don’t talk about it even after he goes to college.

Meeting Zayne as an adult is nostalgic yet new as you learn about each other again. The trust you had in each other never truly left.

With each trinket, you realize he’s still the same Zayne, quiet and stern on the outside but with a patient and gentle center. However, his smart mouth still rears its head as frequently as it did back in high school.

You watch out for him more as an adult, because you see that he isn’t actually good at caring for himself despite all his intelligence. You make it so he can rely on you to get through the past days and future ones.

You try new things together. You adapt to how your views of the world differ so you can mold those differences together, creating one shared experience in the life you build with one another.

Childhood with Xavier is innocent. Being born on Philos is like being born in a fantasy book. Your world is sword training and ceremony rehearsals, your feet always chasing after the decorated knights and lightseekers before they board their spaceships. In your mind, the world is as limitless as the starry sky promised just beyond its surface.

Xavier is the same way. He says he likes sword training because it’s the only thing he’s good at. Truthfully, he loves that sword, carries it around with him everywhere like a third arm, and you love training with your new fellow student.

As you get older, things start to change for reasons you don’t really understand. The loss of innocence is slow, dragging out like the death of a star. It starts when silly days sword practicing becomes military drills. Then, Xavier’s ceremony rehearsals become real with each trial he has to overcome. It culminates when you find out that he will probably be betrothed one day against his will, which manifests into doubt that you would ever be on the list for a prince to marry.

Military Academy with Xavier offers a surprising amount of freedom as you discover yourself away from the watchful eyes of the royal family. It’s reintroducing him to your favorite snacks and music and sneaking out of the barracks to watch the stars and anything else he couldn’t do under the iron grip of his family.

There’s also many nights helping him study and focus so he can become the best version of himself because he still has rebellious tendencies after all these years.

These tendencies lead you to covering for him and also him talking you into one too many bad ideas. Ideas that leave you carrying one another home on stumbling legs after too many rounds with random wanderers or rounds with liquor way stronger than you know how to deal with.

It’s okay. You have each other to keep the other safe, so attached at the hip that Jeremiah always wonders where the other one is whenever he catches the two of you apart.

His light shines only for you. If you asked, he would give anything to make sure you’re happy: his time, his freedom, his life.

The jealousy and longing to be with you grates against the cage his title keeps around him whenever he sees someone else who has seen your light and fallen in love with you too. It’s written love letters, never signed, but left in your locker, the ones that smell like forget-me-nots and written in a prose that Xavier hopes you won’t recognize as his when he sees you fawning over the little notes.

Your looming graduation reignites the worries about your relationship. You have to come to terms with your respective role as a knight and Xavier as King. Xavier feels the same way.

Yet this part of your life quickly becomes filled with sweet nothings – promises to run away together, carried on his wishes to be with you for the rest of immortality, all wrapped in the little star charm carried on his sword. It makes you realize your feelings were requited all along.

Adulthood with Xavier fills like achieved dreams and nights you never want to end. It’s basking in the company of one another, adorned with kisses and released longing that couldn’t be given years prior.

It’s becoming more than just his guiding starlight but his entire galaxy, and he shows it with each kiss he gives you.

Childhood with Rafayel feels like you’re dreaming. Mermaids aren’t supposed to exist but there’s one right in front of you.

You learn so many things from him. He loves talking about almost anything from his culture to your culture. He loves art, the sunset, and music.

You bring him lots of things from land that you think he would like, spending long days at the beach trading items with him and showing him human toys. It becomes normal to strike out early every weekend to meet the Lemurian boy again and again.

He braids Lemurian ribbons and clips seashell accessories into your hair. He teaches you Lemurian lullabies and sayings. He often gets in trouble for accidentally gifting you family heirlooms without realizing the weight of said items. He just thought it was pretty. Even if he got in trouble, it was worth it to see you smile.

Your time together eventually develops into trying to think of ideas to explore further from the beach. You train to hold your breath a little longer with hopes of making it further into the sea than last time.

Your first kiss is because of the legend that Lemurian kisses can let one breathe underwater. It wasn’t really a big deal back then. However, the memory of it makes your face hot many years later when you think back on it.

The end of summer marks the slowdown of your free time together. It always ends with a pinky promise to spend your next free day with him.

Your 8th grade year with Rafayel is a collage of photos and videos filled with cawing seagulls, the serenade of his harmonica, and the first time your feet were able to touch the surface of the water. Rafayel always seems to want to show off his new powers as the next God of the Sea.

He’s still a child though, which means he is still insistent to sneak to school with you to see what human classes are like. He still talks too smartly to the other students, and you still have to talk him out of a fight with one of the other boys.

It’s an exhausting day but he seemed to have fun running around town with you, saving the day in the strip of pictures printed out from the photo booth and the memory of his first surface world sunset.

Your later teenage years offer even less time together but each time you visit him feels more meaningful than the last even though you can’t go further than the crackle of a bonfire at the edge of the beach. You’re happy with these late nights though because you love the boy from another world.

No matter how many years pass, he’ll always be the boy who gets shy and makes excuse after excuse to avoid singing for you despite being born a siren. He’s the boy who constantly complains about his classmates being idiots for saying you’re going to steal his blood and make him into oil and how they tease him for being friends with a human. He refuses to tell you that it’s more because of his crush on a human. Despite all that, he has no issue dropping hint after hint about how Lemurians can bond with others by giving one of their scales.

Years later, it still makes a lovely necklace to wear when he finally makes his choice to be on land, with you, his beloved bride.

#love and deepspace x reader #zayne x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #lads x reader #xavier fluff #zayne fluff #rafayel fluff

[ilovetopgunsstuff]

HI. I’m not sure if you take Joe Burrow requests for one shots? But if you do, can you write one that focuses on his hands? And bonus points for thigh riding too :)

quality time

prompt- it’s been a while, and joe has to give you some sort of apology for making you wait this long

joe burrow x reader

warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI

sorry for the wait i’ve been so busy with school

It had definitely been a while. Between games and practices, Joe was stretched thinly every week. This didn’t mean you didn’t get quality time, but you didn’t get that type of quality time. The both of you were usually too tired and busy to do anything, so you’d just fall asleep wrapped up in each other.

It wasn’t the end of the world, of course. You still got to see him and hang out with him, but you were tense still. Very tense. You didn’t know how to tell him this. Hey we haven’t had sex in a while and it’s pissing me off. Like you would ever have the courage to say that. On the outside, you were shy, but on the inside, you were overwhelmed with need. He was usually the one initiating things, so you never really knew how to let him know. You were always satisfied with its frequency and his timing… until this week. He was so busy, so you couldn’t put more stress on him. You’d feel so guilty if you put him under even more stress just because you wanted to have sex. So you’d stay quiet and waiting, as composed as you could be until he got more time.

Right now, you were sitting on your couch, scrolling on your phone, nothing interesting catching your eye. You tossed it beside you with a huff. Maybe you’d try the TV. After looking through shows and movies on every platform, nothing piqued your interest. A frustrated sigh broke out of your lips, and you wanted to throw an adult tantrum. Thankfully, a text notification snapped you out of your misery.

Joe: practice is getting out early. dinner? meet me at jeff ruby’s in an hour.

You ignored the fact that he only gave you an hours notice to get ready, and the fact that he didn’t even wait for dinner confirmation. You smiled at your phone, hearted the message, and jumped up to go get ready.

You did what you could with the time you had. It was a pretty nice restaurant, so you couldn’t dress casual. You decided on an ivory dress. It was tight and ended at your upper thigh. You ran a straightener through your hair as quick as you could, and rushed through your makeup. You looked at yourself in yne mirror. Not too bad. You glanced at the time.

“Shit.” You were running late.

You hopped out the door, putting your nude heel on with one hand and unlocking you car with the other.

You pulled into the parking lot right on time, walking into the restaurant while smoothing out your hair and dress. You hoped you looked okay. It had been a while since the two of you had gotten o do something like this. When you got to the host stand, she recognized you, already moving to lead you to your table, to Joe.

“Mrs. Burrow, you look so nice this evening,” she told you, smiling. You knew she probably had to say things like that, but you were thankful nonetheless.

“Oh, thank you,” you smiled at her. She led you to the back of the restaurant, stopping at one of the private booths. Hm, fancy. She said something, wishing you a nice dinner or something like that, and strode away. You had kind of

tuned her out as you stood in front of the curtained booth. Why were you nervous? You were married to him for Christ’s sake.

Slowly, you pulled back the curtain. There he was. He had been doing something on his phone, eyes darting upward with the sound of the opening curtain. His attentive eyes softened as he noticed it was you. He stood up, smiling. His full height caused you to look up at him. He wore a white collared shirt with blue pants and crisp white air forces. You knew he kept extra clothes in his locker at work, but he had cleaned up really nice. He grabbed you gently by your hands, kissing one as he pulled you to him. His arms wrapped around your waist and he nuzzled into your neck.

“You look pretty,” he mumbled. “Mm, and you smell good.”

“Joe,” you giggled. “We’re in public.” This beginning introduction did nothing but make things harder for you, a throb beginning in between your legs. You hadn’t felt it for a week, and it overwhelmed you. You breathlessly sighed into his shirt.

“Let’s not be in public then,” he said, and he pulled you into the private booth. You sat across from him, fiddling with the hem of your dress as you crossed your legs. You watched him silently, admiring his every move and soaking up the image of him before he went back to work. You were happy to freely stare while he was distracted. He smoothed his shirt, his expensive watch glinting on his wrist. His hands were so big, and you watched as he grabbed his phone, silencing it with the side button and flipping it over to put it down on the table, the veins on them catching the dim light.

Fuck.

It’s like you were out of control. You needed him, desperately.

“Y/n?” his voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You looked up, and he smirked at you, tilting his head slyly.

“Hm?” your cheeks were for sure pink.

“I asked how your day was,” he smiled, a teasing look in his eyes.

It was dreadful, boring, and touch-starved. “My day was okay,” you replied softly, your gaze struggling to stay off his hands, absentmindedly tracing the table.

“Really?” he asked, sliding his arms forward on the table to grab your small hands in his larger ones. A sigh escaped you as you looked down at them. You crossed your legs tighter.

“Mhm. H- How was work?”

“Oh, you know. It’s work.”

The conversation flowed better when the food started coming out. You had something to distract you from him. It’s a wonder you didn’t drool while looking at him. A steak was just what you needed, with plenty of sides to occupy you. You realized you hadn’t eaten all day due to your frustration.

You started getting full, and finished up eating. Joe watched you, as he ate a massive steak plus sides at a super speed.

“I’m ready to pay,” he said to himself, then looked at you with a smirk. In a lower voice, he said, “I haven’t gotten to take your clothes off in…what-“

“Two weeks,” you said, looking blankly at him.

“Huh.” He pursed his lips and looked at you, half sorry and half amused. “You sure it’s been two weeks? I would say a week and a half,” he joked. He’s just a funny guy tonight.

You were not amused. You wanted to go home, needed to go home, with him. You said nothing, just rolled your eyes and leaned back against the booth. Finally, you looked back at him to find he was already looking at you.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed to you. You ran your tongue around the inside of your mouth, unable to keep from smiling even though you were trying not to.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, amusement present on his face.

“Yes!”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you wanted me to… I mean you know I can’t refuse that,” he chuckles.

“How am I supposed to tell you that? You’re always the one that starts it.” You huffed and pouted at him. “You stopped for two weeks, how am I supposed to know why?”

He pursed his lips together, obviously trying not to laugh.

“This is not funny! I’m miserable!”

“Okay, wait. I’m sorry. Seriously.” He tilted his head, eyes softening as he grabbed your knee under the table. As if that would help your current condition.“C’mere.”

He grabbed your hand, leading you around the table to sit next to him. He checked carefully to male sure the curtain still hid the both of you. He grabbed you by the hips and dragged you to sit on one of his legs. Your dress had ridden up to your upper thighs and he gripped your hips tightly.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, sighing into his shoulder. You sucked in a gasp when he rolled your hips along his thigh, painfully slow.

“Joe!” you breathed out.

“Hm, this is what you wanted I thought, he smiled into your neck, amused at how flustered you were.

“Please just take me home,” you begged, and you sounded so needy.

He chuckled and pecked the crook of your neck. “I know, I know,” he pouted at you.

It didn’t take long to pay, though the waitress furrowed her eyebrows when she saw you sitting on the opposite side of the table as she last saw you. Normally, you would care, but not now.

Luckily, Joe rode with another player to work this morning, and ubered to meet you at Jeff Ruby’s. This meant he could drive you home. You don’t think the speedometer dipped below 70 the whole way home. He had one hand on the wheel, the other gripping your thigh tightly, leaving red splotches for each finger after he let go. You could tell he was anxious to get home, to get to have you. You were also anxious to get home. You don’t know how long you could wait; his manspread in the drivers seat was so tempting. Luckily, you pulled into the garage soon after the thought.

He was grabbing at you before you could even get in the door. When you finally did, he roughly pushed you against it, hungrily kissing your neck. Every nip and kiss caused a yelp from you. It had been so long. You felt him touching at the back of your thigh, so you instinctively picked up your leg. He picked you up, carrying you into the closest room, which happened to be the kitchen.

He plopped you on the counter, you gasping as your bare thighs made contact with the marble countertops. He grabbed around both knees with one hand each, pulling you to the edge of the counter so you were easier to reach. He used his large hands to bunch up your tight dress at the waist.

“Such a pretty dress,” he murmured. “What a shame it’s in my way.”

He picked each leg up, one by one, resting them on his shoulders to gently take of your heels, kissing the inside of your thighs in the process.

You watched as his hands gently danced across your skin as he did this, and he noticed.

“Aw, look. This is what you were so focused on the whole dinner? Couldn’t even think straight huh?” Joe cooed between kisses. He put each leg back down on the counter, making sure they were spread.

His hand traced down up your thigh from the knee, finally touching down where you needed him. He gently brushed you over the fabric of your panties, which were nearly soaked. You cried out in satisfaction. Finally. You had been waiting for this for weeks, and he knew that now, too.

“I’m so sorry for making you wait like this,” he whispered in your ear, sincerely this time.

You couldn’t respond coherently, since at that point, he pushed your underwear to the side and plunged his fingers into you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, crying out and gasping for air.

He curled his fingers ever so slightly, and your legs jerked. He moved forward, holding one leg open with his free hand and the other with his leg.

He looked you in your eyes as he thrusted his fingers in and out of you, and your eyes rolled back in your head. He used his thumb to rub your clit, and you felt the sweet tension building in your stomach.

“I’m gonna come soon,” you breathed out.

You were right on the brink, right about to go over the edge. Then it stopped. He took his hand away, coming in between your legs to kiss you as you sighed in desperation. You were so close.

“Please,” you whimpered, as his hand affectionately rubbed your thigh.

He sucked the wetness off his fingers, looking you in your eyes.

“I know,” he cooed. “Give me just a second.”

Then he unbuttoned his white shirt, and his pants and belt dropped to the floor. His shoes were kicked off, and he stood there in just his boxers and socks. He slid your panties down your legs, then un zipped your dress.

You were left on the counter in nothing. You looked up at him, pleading with your eyes.

He harshly grabbed you by each thigh, jerking you to the edge of the counter harshly.

He pulled down his boxers, his dick springing up out of them. You were sure drool was pooling in your mouth. He positioned himself perfectly against you. Pushing ever so slightly, then stopping the pressure. He was teasing you.

A desperate cry sat in your throat. “Please, Joe, please.”

He suddenly pushed in to his hilt, and time slowed down. You don’t know if you were silent or if you just could t hear yourself over the pleasure. You sucked in a breath, wanting to snap your legs together and spread them even wider at the same time. The feeling was so overwhelming, but it was exactly what you needed.

He was fully buried inside of you, and he hadn’t moved yet. He just relished you, breathing against your neck and holding onto your hips. You would have small little pinpoint bruises tomorrow from the pressure of his fingertips on your soft skin.

Then there was movement, perfect aching movement and friction. His thrust were slow, but thorough. He pressed against every crevice, for just for him. He whimpered into your ear. You wrapped your legs around his middle. Now the two of you were fully touching. His stomach on yours, chest against yours, skin against skin. The two of you spoke only to each other, only for each other.

“I’ll never make you wait like this again, y/n. I cant believe I neglected you like this. I hope you don’t stay mad at me,” he said to you, slowly stroking in and out of you.

“I could never stay mad at you,” you whispered in his ear. He smiled against your skin and picked up his pace, causing you to barb your nails into his back.

Your cries echoed throughout the kitchen with each thrust. “I’m gonna come,” you told him.

“Wait for me, baby,” he groaned. “Just a little longer.”

His thrusts picked up and you struggled to keep yourself from unraveling. You dug your nails into him even harder.

He then sputtered, “Come, y/n, Come with me.”

You arched into him, letting yourself get sweet release. You closed your eyes and time stopped. It was heavenly. You don’t know how long it lasted. He held onto you as he came, seemingly as strong as you. A year rolled down your cheek. You cling to him, legs shaking and trembling around him. It died down, and you were suddenly drowsy. Euphorically, incredibly drowsy.

You leaned against his chest with half lidded eyes, wanting to just pass out right then and there against him.

“You took it so well,” he whispered to you, rubbing your back softly. He grabbed your face gently with both hands, looking down at you. Your lidded eyes stared back at him in ecstasy. He wiped away your tear with his thumb and kissed you. You don’t know how many times you told him you loved him after that, but you do know you passed out shortly after.

Maybe that two weeks wasn’t so bad after all.

#fanfic #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow smut #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #cincinnati bengals

[zoropookie]

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter twenty-six — br(ok)en (💋)

You stared at your phone light up for the twelfth time within five minutes with a dull expression.

Admittedly, you felt angrier knowing that Scaramouche still had the audacity to even text you after everything. After tormenting you for years and years, what kind of shame should someone feel after that, you wonder. The relentless pursuit of making your life miserable—to which he failed at, but it did make you wonder.

Did you do something to deserve it? Each notification felt like another jab that he took to the heart, reopening your wounds from each time he said something messed up to you. As you laid there motionless, with no light ruminating in the room except your phone, you began to feel tears well up in your eyes for the thirteenth time today.

Pursing your lips, you swiped up to read the messages and only felt reminded even further of every harsh word he said. Every cruel taunt, every moment of humiliation...and yet...

He was still right, despite being the biggest hypocrite known to man. And it pissed you off.

Why were you even laying here? Ignoring the world, rotting here like you're a vegetable. You knew that you were something to people, you knew that you were valued.

There wasn’t anything that was particularly motivating for you to get up, however. You ignored every need that you could have possibly wanted, subjecting yourself to sparseness. No matter how much you wanted to, the thoughts always came back and you didn’t know how to deal with them.

A small knock echoed from the front door. It was loud enough to hear, and you still shoved your head in the pillow and hoped it went away.

The longer time you went without answering it, the knocks became more frequent. It wasn’t Thoma, that’s who you could observe without getting up.

You finally managed to drag yourself out of bed, lazing about sounded so much nicer now that you were dreading who’s at the door. With a frustrated sigh, and irritation already to its peak of your heart, you opened the door to a familiar-ish face.

Little girl?

“Did you forget that you exist?” She said with a smile. “Welcome back to Earth! I didn’t know how long you’d be cooped up in here so I brought treats.”

You stared a bit longer than you meant to at the Tupperware of Asafiri in her hands, momentarily taken aback. “Heh?”

“Yanfei sent me here. Looks like you’re having a little bit of trouble getting back on your feet. I take it you know her?” She inquired.

“Yeah.” You blinked slowly, before holding the door a little wider. “Uh…come in, I guess. Thanks for the…treats.” You cringed. “Wow, I get why Heizou keeps being called a creep now, this can look so wrong.”

“The difference is that he does it to himself.”

The warm water on your body was oddly refreshing.

Getting out of the shower was harder knowing that you'd come back to the gust of wind in your living room, but knowing you had fresher pajamas on was also a plus. Things didn't look too great on your mental, especially since you were accustomed to showering a lot in your fresher mind.

You put on the Lightning McQueen slippers you quite often wear, and moved to the kitchen after hearing soft chops of a knife. You wondered what Nahida was up to, staring at her cut apples and bananas before putting them into a huge bowl she found in your cupboard.

"This is a very odd fruit salad you're making." You drew attention to yourself before her eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know whether or not to tell you to be careful with knives."

"I'm smarter than you think I am." Nahida cooed. "I'm used to people being condescending."

"Oh...I'm sorry— You're killing me here, kid. Lady? Are you a child or not?" You asked desperately.

Nahida turned to you, her saturated green eyes stared at you with obviously deliberate thoughts roaming her head before she took a sharp breath. She pointed the knife at you. "Do you feel better?"

"Not...really? I mean, it happened. All of this at once." You tried to process it quicker, but your head failed you. It's like how you actually felt in the moment was blocked. "I feel like I'm in limbo, I don't want to see the sun these days."

"Your thoughts are your biggest enemy right now. Easy to overthink. It's a lot to deal with on your own, good thing you aren't, right?" Nahida lowered the knife, her expression softening. "I cut you up some fresh fruit. It's better than the Asafiri for now, you don't need that much sugar after not eating for a while, or you'll crash hard. And get a headache."

Looking at the bowl loaded with bananas and slices of apples, you couldn't help but wonder why you were even granted this much care anyway. You were in mild disbelief, sitting down at the island counter in front of Nahida. "Why are you actually here?" You said in defeat.

Nahida stopped cutting the fruit, gaze shifting from it to you. She couldn't find what she could say to answer you, but she did press her lips together. "Do you want me to be honest?"

"A little." Your voice lowered.

"Yanfei and Heizou," Nahida paused, trying to find her words, "They wanted to see if I could convince you to start streaming again."

You frowned immediately. "Oh. Thanks for being honest."

"You made progress today, but I don't expect you to be up to it. It's a really big step." She asked you, but you couldn't even decipher the intentions behind her eyes. It was impossible to detect what anybody was thinking nowadays. "They just told me to come over so they can hope their investigation moves."

You sighed, leaning back in your chair once you felt the bitterness course your body again. Hearing that made your mood possibly worse than what it would've been if you were in bed. "Not happening. Thanks for checking on me though, you can leave if you want."

"I knew you'd say that. I guess it's fair, people are...going crazy right now figuring out whether you're okay or not." Nahida smiled once you looked back up at her. "Both Scaramouche and your fans are trying to get anything they can on your wellbeing. It's better to wait it out."

Your hopeful face turned into a sullen one, shoulders slumped at the mention of his name. "I don't know if I can even go back at all."

"I'm not sure how hard this is for you, but with what happened, you've obviously been through enough. While it's your choice to go back, Yanfei is under the impression that you can get revenge." The shorter girl explained. "In my eyes, though...I think you're able to decide that for yourself."

You felt the weight of the memories heavily, your head daunting enough for you to let out a shaky breath. "You think so?"

Nahida nodded, humming, "You don't have to stream, but don't give him the satisfaction if you're upset. You shouldn't let him know that you're suffering because of what he did. The worst thing that you can do is prove him right."

Funnily enough, as soon as she said that, you felt tears well up in your eyes again. It struck a cord, and you knew she was right. It was just knowing that anybody would say it verbatim. "That's the same thing he told me too." You blinked back your tears, more resilient than you were a few minutes ago, but also to the brim of misery.

"He?"

You shook your head, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. "Thanks," You muttered, choking on your words. You couldn't manage to say anything else, otherwise you'd betray your steely posture. "I'll think about it. Just...stay here a little more with me, please. Maybe I'll...find the resolve or something."

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @kunisnaomi

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari @suniika @melpomenelurks @liuaneee

@franaby @tiddieshakeshownu (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

#zoropookie #hhab #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin #genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin x yn #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x you

[wtftarot]

PAC: What are the truths you need to face

Another thanks to @lifeofaie for suggesting this pac. If you've got a pac idea feel free to send it to my inbox!

This one can be a little bit of a call-out, but I mean, it is a reading on what truths you need to face.

as always this reading is for entertainment purposes ONLY and is not a substitute for professional advice in any capacity. Remember use common sense and don't be a dumbass.

Pick either the Sword, the Cat or the Stars and head on to your reading

The Sword

This group is kinda heavy, please be gentle on yourself.

The High Priestess, Four/Cups, The Tower, and the Seven/Wands on the bottom of the deck.

So, y'all kinda already know what truths you need to face. The problem is you're fighting them off. Y'all may be asking spirit or your guides a lot of questions that you already know the answers to. I'm hearing 'where there's smoke there's fire". With the Tower here, there's one truth in particular that you know that if you let yourself look at it head-on, things will have to change. It could even be painful to look at it head-on, (if it is please have some support when you choose to face it) It's like, all the signs are there but you're still iffy on it. This could be a person who you've started to notice the red flags or a situation that you know is bad but you won't let yourself really focus on just how bad. A few of you I'm getting, keep reading romance/ what are they thinking PACs for a person that you know isn't treating you right and maybe ignoring when the readings tell you that. I'm not trying to be harsh or call anyone out. I don't think any of the truths this group is facing are easy, little ones. I'm actually hearing the word "catastrophic". I know how scary it is to face something that you know will hurt. Cause part of it is admitting that it hurt and actually letting yourself feel that hurt instead of pretending it's not there. You are so brave and so so fucking strong and you will get through this. The advice for you is this be gentle on yourself and fucking tough on the situation. This will be hard and you want to give yourself time and space to rest and rebuild your strength. Then kick its fucking ASS. Bad shitty work/living situation? Setting boundaries with a shitty fucking person? Digging yourself out of a mental health pit? All of these are fucking tough as hell but you survived, ya know what that makes you right? Tougher than hell, that's what. Be fuckin cut-throat when it comes to getting things to a better place and then REST, alright? Eat, drink a lot of water, and do things that make you happy. Cause this is fucking hard and you need to take care of yourself. You are smart and capable and you deserve fucking better. Another thing that your guides keep pushing is support, you fuckin need it. I dunno if y'all have been trying to deal with all of this alone or if you haven't told anyone you're struggling but you need to. I'm fuckin serious. Talk out loud to spirit if you have to, just saying things out loud or writing them down can really help you process what's going on in your head. I believe in y'all.

random ass vibes: 10:10, Blue, camping, birds, 90s, cat cartoons,

The Cat

The Emperor Rx, the Star, The World Rx, and the Eight/Cups on the back of the deck

Listen, I don't really do relationship advice but some of y'all need to be told that you can't change him. You can't and no, he won't change for you. And you shouldn't go into a relationship expecting a person to change. That's not for everyone, take it as it resonates. You need to take action towards what you want. Y'all are dreamers and that's awesome. It seems though, they're just staying dreams. I'm a Pisces moon, I'm not judging y'all at all when I say this but y'all really kinda live in a fantasy. Y'all seem to have this tendency to ignore what's in front of you for what it could be. The way it's coming through is that y'all are leaving so fucking much on the table that could EASILY be yours but the fantasy obviously is more than reality could ever be so that's where your mind wants to stay. Thing is, y'all know we don't live in a fantasy and you want to do better in reality. BUT you see the fantasy you have as how things "could" be and when you do act on your dreams and they don't match up to the fantasy, you feel inadequate. Like you're not reaching your potential. So, you get down on yourself and never want to pursue your dreams. I know it's hard to accept that reality can never meet the fantasy we build up in our heads. Reality is messy and in our fantasy we never have to shit or floss or maintain what we have, we just have it. The truth is having to accept that life will never be perfect. There is no perfect relationship, perfect job, or perfect life. No routine is going to magically fix your life. The people you love will always have traits that annoy you a little bit, just like you have traits that annoy them a little bit, but you love each other and know you're both worth mild annoyance. It's time to ground your ideas into reality and let them be imperfect. Let them breathe. Y'all are limiting yourself to the idea of perfection. Your life IS going to be a little fucked up and messy no matter what. Some of y'all ain't even perfectionists, you just don't believe in yourselves and use things not meeting your fantasies as evidence that you can't do it. I'm not getting much in the way of advice for y'all other than to act? If this is your group then I'm betting you've had an idea of what this has all been referring to for you and know what action comes with that. Good luck!

random ass vibes: Gilmore girls? starting tarot reading (hell yeah!) a good nights sleep, 122,

The Stars

Judgment Rx, Four/Pentacles, The Hermit Rx, Two/Swords Rx and the High Priestess on the back of the deck.

So, first thing is: that you can't manifest yourself past the time some things need to take. Some things just take time. Y'all seem to be holding on to this idea that you're not the active force in your own life making things happen? It feels like there's a person or a group of people, or maybe you believe in fate but there's something that y'all are endowing with more power in your life than you. It's like to you it doesn't matter what you want, what decisions you make because it'll work out how this other thing deems it should. Your judgment doesn't matter. Some of y'all even feel like you don't have a say in who YOU are. Y'all may have had or do have really controlling parental figures. But FUCK. That's devastating, y'all. I can't imagine feeling like you're not the driving force in your own life. Listen, I don't believe in fate, destiny, soul-mates, or "meant to bes" and I am not judging y'all if you do but fate isn't engineering every single little thing in your life. It's not all that serious, I promise. You can just do things. It's not all make-or-break-life-altering-weight-of-cosmic-destiny-on-your-sholders. Your life shouldn't be focused on figuring out what your fated path is and sticking to that rigidly. Why? Cause that's not life, babe. That's following a script. The truth for y'all is that you are the driving force in your life and you need to start trying to see yourself that way. And this reading is looking to be short cause it's kinda existential, but you have free will and can choose and act and change things. If there is a "path" it's a vague one and you're making the rest up as you go. You can just step off of it. Anytime. Head in any direction you want. You don't have to be with that person if you don't want to just cause someone said y'all were soul mates. You don't have to choose that career just cause it seems "fated", if you hate it, hate it and leave. YOU make the decisions.

random ass vibes: Russian Doll (tv show), 144, reds and yellows, thumb bone part that looks like a chicken leg lol? Disorientation by Katie Mack

#tarot reading #tarot #divination #tarot community #tarot cards #pick a card #pac reading #pick a pile #tarot readings #pick a card reading #pick a picture #wtftarot #tarotblr #pick a photo #intuitive

[kunasthiast]

My God (1)

In the world of the Yakuzas, women are always on the sidelines and that's what you ought to change. But when your father chose Sukuna instead of you, that's when you know that you need to carve your own path.

But with Sukuna leading the family, how are you gonna get away? And, fuck the pterodactyls in your stomach!

I've always wanted to write a Yakuza!Au with Sukuna and I'm doing it now OTL I plan on making this as a series. This is different from 'Fortnight'. I will be updating this with a link to the masterpost of this au which will include its chapters, spin-offs, and drabbles in the future!

Updates will be once a week and since I'm excited about this, I might upload updates twice a week <333

Hope you'll enjoy this one ~

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + angst, Yakuza AU, Enemies to Lovers Word Count: 1,525 All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

The pouring rain outside has been the source of calmness for you. You’ve always loved the rain, the thundering clap of thunders, and the violent winds. It’s calming for you. As the rain cascaded down your bedroom window, you’re getting ready for the urgent meeting your father has arranged for tonight. 

He’s never arranged a meeting this late, you somberly thought. Knocks were heard from your door. 

“Come out now, darling. Everyone’s waiting.” It’s your father. 

“Coming!” You glanced one final look at your vanity mirror and stood up to shake off your dress. Walking towards the door, you sighed and couldn’t help but feel a pang of apprehension. This is nerve-wracking. 

You opened the door to find your father waiting for you. He never fails to give off his presence which commands respect, authority, and intimidation. 

Even in the privacy of your own home. His eyes softened by the slightest hint of weariness when he looked at you. His tall and imposing figure still left no room for doubt of power. He’s wearing his most expensive tailored suit, impeccably pressed despite the late hour. He has to, being the family boss of the clan. And you know this suit, you had it made for him as a gift for his 70th birthday. This made you smile a bit while looking down. 

“Let’s go.” He called with his voice carrying a note of urgency. Definitely matches the severity of the storm outside.

You nodded in response, steeling yourself for the impending meeting just beyond the corridor. Despite the facade of the intimidating and powerful aura he projected, there was the weight of responsibility that burdened him. You know it all too well. 

The unspoken sacrifices he made for the sake of his family and clan. Yet, you never felt who is his family. With the way things are and have been, all he did shaped your upbringing and eventually molded you into the formidable woman you had become.

With a deep breath, you followed him down the dimly lit corridor. Tumultuous thoughts swirled in your mind but everything’s getting rained down thanks to the comforting sound outside. 

—

Walking into the room, you saw everyone important in the clan. From your father to his assistant and lieutenants, with you as the only woman in the room. This meeting must be of utmost importance if all key figures of the clan are here. 

As your father walked towards his seat at the head of the table, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and nervousness. The tables are laid out with expensive tea cups and teapots for everyone. As your father sat down, your heartbeat quickened with the room growing quiet around you. You find yourself seated next to him at a reasonable distance, being just the one and only daughter of the boss.

Your father’s presence commanded respect, with his assistant and lieutenants expressing a mix of deference and readiness to hear whatever he had to say.

Scanning the room, you caught the eye of your father’s most trusted person, Sukuna. His right-hand man. The one who always does his bidding, from the legal side to the dirty side of everything. 

Sukuna always looks imposing with his piercing gaze and confident, intimidating demeanor. He’s scarier than father. His face tattoos compliment his tousled pink hair, which by the way makes him look sexier than ever. He’s wearing a white button-up with rolled-up sleeves, accentuating his muscles and some of his tattoos peeking through. 

You’ve always had a secret attraction towards him. The secret glances every time he’s in a room with you. The fucking pterodactyls with their intense fluttering in your stomach. Feeling your gaze upon him, he looked towards you with a smirk which made you shift your eyes toward your father as he began to talk.

“I’ve called you all for an important matter that needs urgent attention.” Hearing this made your heart pound with a tingling sensation to fidget your fingers, below the eyes of everyone but you. 

“It’s time for a new era.” Your father declared. “And I have chosen Sukuna to lead us into it.”

As your father’s words hung heavy in the air, a wave of shock rippled through the room, followed by the hushed silence and just the sound of rain. Suddenly, the rain doesn’t feel as calm anymore. It feels suffocating and unsettling. This is not the calm you’ve always loved.

What's more, you can’t believe everything your father just said. He’s chosen Sukuna to lead the clan into a new era. He passed over you, his own daughter, for the family succession.

A swarm of emotions swirled in your mind — disbelief, doubt, confusion, shock, anger, and a bitter sense of betrayal. How could your father overlook you, his direct heir, in favor of Sukuna? You furrow your eyebrows as you continue to process this news.

Across the room, Sukuna stood up from his seat with a calm demeanor and a tattooed smirk on his face that spoke volumes. He looked at everyone with intensity and his eyes gleamed with triumph, ending up meeting your gaze that sent a shiver down your spine. 

As everyone processed this new change, all key figures gave their respect and support to Sukuna. Amid the collective acknowledgment, you felt a profound sense of betrayal by your own father. Your dreams, the cornerstone of your existence crumbled like fragile glass under the weight of this revelation. 

From the fluttering pterodactyls in your stomach, a tide of anger surged through your veins, drowning out any semblance of affection towards Sukuna. And your deepest regards to your father, once a sturdy pillar of respect and trust, crumbled like ancient ruins replaced by a bitter taste of betrayal, doubt, and hurt.

Sukuna walked towards your father, who welcomed him with a tight hug. And as the storm raged outside, so did the storm within your heart.

Your father continued to speak, outlining his reasons why he chose Sukuna. You can’t hear anything anymore. The thundering claps and violent rain drown out everything. The room seemed to spin around you, the expensive tea cups and teapots on the table, all the lieutenants, your father, and Sukuna blurred into a haze as you grappled with what was happening.

This couldn’t be real.

—

As you retreated to the solace of your room, the events of this night continued to replay in your mind like a broken record. The fake smiles, the hollow congratulations, the sense of betrayal that hung heavy in the air – it was all too much to bear.

With trembling hands, you reached for the bottle of champagne you grabbed from the pantry earlier, the cool glass offering a welcome respite from the storm raging both outside and within. You walked towards your bathroom with the bottle.

Standing before the mirror, your reflection seemed to mock the turmoil raging within you. As you stared into your own eyes, the facade of composure you had worn for so long began to crumble, revealing the raw emotions simmering beneath the surface.

At that moment, you made a choice — to reject the false comforts of that alcohol or face the harsh reality of your situation head-on. With a determined flick of your wrist, you poured the champagne down the drain, soullessly watching the golden liquid disappear.

The weight of expectation had always rested heavily on your shoulders, a burden you bore with a mixture of pride and determination. As the family boss's only daughter, you had been groomed from a young age to inherit the mantle of leadership, carry on the legacy of your forefathers, and guide the family into a new era.

Your father had promised you that one day you would lead the family, that you would shatter the traditions that had long relegated women to the sidelines of power and influence. It was a dream he had instilled in you from the moment you were old enough to understand, a promise that had fueled your ambition and shaped your identity.

You had immersed yourself in every aspect of the family business, from the legal intricacies of corporate dealings to the ruthless strategies of the underworld. You had learned to navigate the murky waters of power and politics, to command respect and fear in equal measure.

But now, as you stood on the precipice of your destiny, that dream lay shattered at your feet. Your father's decision to pass over you in favor of Sukuna had blindsided you.

You couldn't understand how he could break his promise, how he could deny you the opportunity to fulfill your rightful destiny. The traditions that had long bound women to the sidelines of power seemed more entrenched than ever, casting a shadow over your hopes and aspirations.

“This is fucking bullshit! I won’t be cast aside like this,” you declare, facing the mirror with a steely resolve. You threw the empty bottle at the room with all the strength you could muster, the release of pent-up anger, frustration, all the emotions you felt tonight washing over you like a tidal wave.

Fuck it. Fuck Sukuna. Fuck father. Fuck everything.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x you #yakuza au #yakuza!au sukuna #my god #jjk sukuna

[animentality]

Do you think Gortash would still love Durge even after their bad ending (you know when they betray Bhaal and choose to surrender themselves to prison at the end) and they’ve gone mad?

For example, let’s say in an alternate scenario where Gortash survives at the end of the game. All the other companions have abandoned Durge, do you think Gortash would step in and try to help them? Do anything?

I've wracked my brain at night thinking about it.

On the one hand, the part of me that looks exclusively at in game Gortash says that Gortash wouldn't love them without power and without reason.

Because the more canon aligned Gortash is more pragmatic than emotional and although I do think his feelings verged into the impractical, he still fundamentally needs balance.

He's a domineering kind of guy, he gets along with Durge because they refused to be cowed in any way by him, and he dared not pity them or treat them with anything less than the utmost respect.

He can't sweep them under his tidal wave of personality, he crashes upon their shore, and they chip away at each other, grain by grain, in a tumultuous but steady balance.

they had a tango, you know. two partners working together. sex and love stemmed from something other than practicality, but it was practicality that brought them together initially.

He loves the Dark Urge for their power and reason, and without those two things... maybe he wouldn't seek them out.

especially not after they betrayed him.

and I don't know. the more assholish Gortash would see their alliance as having reached its inevitable conclusion. the more... emotional but distant Gortash would say, goodbye, old friend.

I wish you could've escaped your master, as I escaped mine.

and he wouldn't see them again.

but canon aligned Gortash is underwritten anyway.

so I'll do Larian's job for them and say...

well.

it could go either way.

I can see Gortash abandoning them because he is literally unable to look upon his former love, completely without freewill, and not feel soul crushing, life ending despair.

I could see it being too painful to see them when he knows he can't help them and they can't be helped by anyone, and they're gone, and he has to accept that.

again.

but I can also see...

a determined Gortash.

who has nothing now, except perhaps a desire for revenge against Durge. but as they are, mad and alone and insatiable, why even bother, right?

Bhaal has tortured them more than Gortash ever could.

maybe he keeps them locked in a basement somewhere, and at first it's just to lord it over them. mock their failure, their inability to prevent themselves from becoming like this.

in the beginning, he's still bitter about his plan failing and he blames them. to him, maybe it's a cosmic justice...

he says you could've ruled the world with me at your side and Bhaal and Bane at our backs.

but you chose this instead.

but as time goes on, his heart softens and he starts wondering if they're in there somewhere.

the only person who could understand him.

whom he could understand truly.

and maybe they're down there somewhere, trying to be understood again.

so he shows them things he hopes they remember about the life they shared together for a brief but important time. maybe books they talked about. blueprints he showed them of his future inventions. their notebooks, left behind. their old clothing, left over after long nights spend fucking and arguing.

maybe he tries to find a cure. he has some medical expertise, right? from dissecting people. maybe he tries to find a solution, some way to bring them back. maybe he pours himself into studies of bhaalspawn and deeper magic, trying to find some way to bring back a person whose mind has been ravaged into nothing.

but worst case scenario ...

he has to give up on all that... and give them the death he knows they would've asked for, had they been conscious.

so.

yeah.

anon. I've thought of it.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #enver gortash #dark urge #durgetash

[fitzrove]

Ethan Freeman, Hass and the original production of Elisabeth

Recently, @behindthemirrorofmusic shared an interview clip from her radio show with me (thank you so much!). In it, Ethan Freeman (original Lucheni) talks about, among other things, Hass and the criticism the number has gotten over the years.

Dannii: Several Jewish fans of the show have said it's a rather triggering song and makes them feel uncomfortable - making them feel that Lucheni is turning against them. Did you think about that or does this raise any feelings in you? Ethan: Ah, no. Lucheni is a cynic, but he certainly did not ally himself with the fascistic transition that happens in the course of that number, as it begins to look into the future and towards the growing demonization of Jews in the Elisabethan world moving towards the period of the Nazis. Again, as Che is with the Peronistic fascism [in Evita], Lucheni looks at it with bitter cynicism. I can see people being uncomfortable, but the scene and the number were designed to make everybody uncomfortable [laughs]. And the Austrian audience, who at the time had to - and perhaps to a bigger extent even now still has to - deal with its fascist and antisemitic past... That number was always met with a kind of deathly, breathless silence. Sometimes applause at the end, but first it was always this reaction of "[gasp] This was us!". And that's what the number was there for. Obviously, Harry Kupfer, the director, was a tremendous antifascist, and so he directed the number to hit very hard. I remember we performed the show [one night] and Jörg Haider, the leader of the ultra-right party in Austria at the time was in the audience of the show - and he walked out after the number! I knew I had done my job when I heard he had walked out. Because the number points a finger at exactly the kind of ideology he seemed to purvey. So... As a Jewish person myself, I want to show the world its ugly reflection. If it made me uncomfortable in any sense, watching the Jewish character getting beaten up in that scene, it's because it's supposed to make people feel - "oh, this is not good". I think good theatre is for people with strong stomachs, and if people are extremely sensitive to that sort of thing, then they have to figure out how to deal with it. I don't think for any reason that that [scene] should not be in the show. Because it was a reflection of the history of that time - but not only that time, obviously.

(Interview by Dannii Cohen, September 10, 2023. Emphasis mine. Transcribed from the first episode of the new series of Behind the Mirror of Music. Source)

#elisabeth das musical #musicals #theatre #ethan freeman #luigi lucheni #he later goes on to say that 'considering people's emotions and sensitivities should be a part of writing a show - but it shouldn't be the #main consideration - if you're trying to reach some truth about humanity you will find horrible things' #actors

[writingroom21]

Husband?

Pairing: bf Rafe x fem reader

Summary: Seeing a new TikTok trend you try it out on you boyfriend Rafe

Warnings: None, fluff, established relationship

Wc: 660

Scrolling on TikTok you lay in the hammock in your backyard. It was a nice day out, not being too hot, enough to keep you comfortable as you lay still. Rafe is supposed to be coming over, his text stating the two of you need to go on a date. It was sweet how he tries to make time with you.

He was never good with relationships, usually just sticking to hooking up or having a short lived romance. There was no need to for him to have a girlfriend when he had plenty girls throwing themselves at him. That all changed once you came into the picture, kicking his world off its axis.

Once he saw you yelling at a boy that was hitting on you at his party he was hooked. He wanted to get to know you, needing to get a taste of the fire behind your eyes. You didn't make things easy for him, stringing him along for weeks before giving him the time of day. What was supposed to be a fun hookup for him turned into something deeper. He was obsessed never wanting to let you go, good thing you felt the same.

As you keep scrolling a TikTok of a couple catches your attention. They are sitting on a couch, the boyfriend watching tv as the girlfriend records them. "So I was just out with my husband and" "YOUR HUSBAND?" his outburst making you laugh as he blushes before kissing the girl. It was a cute video, it made you curious on how Rafe would react to you calling him your husband.

A text pings on your phone, covering the top of the video. Baby boy: I'm here pretty girl. The nickname heats your cheeks, still having the same effect on you as if it was the first time hearing it. You shoot back a text telling him you were coming.

Rafe's standing by the passenger door waiting for you, smiling once he sees you come around the corner, closing the backyard gate. You jog over to him, jumping into his arms as you wrap yours around his neck, placing a sweet his to his lips. "Well hello to you too gorgeous."

"Hi." you giggle, getting into the open door he held, buckling up as he closes it. He rounds the corner getting in, his hand finding its rightful place on your thigh. Your sundress giving his access to the exposed flesh, giving it a squeeze before pulling out the driveway.

"Where are we going." You ask looking out the window to feel the breeze on your face. "Thought we could go to that field we found and have a picnic." His head tilting to the back to show the basket and blanket in the backseat. "Sounds perfect." Conversation stalling as you both enjoy just being in the same space. Only breaking the silence to talk about your days.

Reaching the field you both exist the truck, grabbing the materials and finding a spot to set up. The food spread out along the blanket, wine being poured into the glassed he brought along. This was the perfect time to execute your plan.

You take your phone and open up TikTok, cuing the video, please the phone in front of you two. You start the video grabbing the glass Rafe is handing over to you. "Alright guys my husband decided to take me on this cute picnic date. Look at all of the things he brought." You look over at Rafe seeing the smile gracing his face

"Fuck yeah I am. About time you noticed." He responded, taking his family ring off, grabbing you hand to slide it on your thumb. It's the only finger that it will fit on. "Now everyone will know” lifting your hand he places a kiss on your ring finger. A promise that one day there'll be a ring there.

Yeah you would say that the trend was a success.

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron blurb

[sixteen-juniper]

killing your darlings and all of that

I saw a post on here about what the writing advice 'kill your darlings' means. it made me really think about the book I'm working on currently and how that phrase relates to this project. (the reason my fic/all my fics are on hiatus) And also kind of like how I think about revising a manuscript in general and all the things I've learned since I started writing books. (and yes this is why my fic is on hiatus, gotta grind!)

I've always been a novelist first, I guess, like I came up through traditional publishing and creating my own works/worlds. Which, this all taught me a lot about writing and rejection and how to just keep going. I am still a novelist, obviously, writing fanfic was something I came to much later (with Rose and Rot) and I know even after I'm with fanfic I'll always be a novelist. I don't think I can stop the itch for writing books, making my own worlds and characters from the ground up even if I tried. I love the way a book is like a puzzle and painting at the same time.

Back to the point at hand, which is the idea of kill your darlings, and how sometimes in order for you to make a book be what it's supposed to you have to literally kill so many things. I'm working on this massive overhaul of my current manuscript right now and by massive I mean I have literally rewritten 98% of this book. And it's not only rewriting all of the scenes to adjust language or fix character motivation, it's a full scale pulling everything out and putting it back together, in a way I haven't done since maybe my first queried book. And even that book didn't go far enough, I should have changed more.

I had already thought I'd removed enough from this book. Earlier feedback had the first act feeling overstuffed and the world underbuilt. I killed two characters and two plotlines. And I thought I built out the world, but it was being made in the wrong direction. And even that didn't go far enough.

So here I am at draft 6. And if this is a house, I've removed the walls and plumbing, because just rearranging the furniture hasn't done enough.

With this one draft it's been really fascinating to me because the SHAPE of the book has remained the same. The story I want to tell about my main character remains that story, and her internal journey remains the same, but a lot of how I get there has completely changed. I don't want to get into details, but it's like I've taken my camera and decided to focus its lens on parts of the story that were only mentioned in passing, blow them up, make them bigger parts of the whole, while removing almost everything that had been in earlier drafts.

I didn't do this on my own, to be clear. I sent this book to a trusted person in publishing, believing that it was literally done and ready to go out. Their feedback was 'this feels like a first draft' even though it was literally my fifth draft. And the feedback I got and what resonated with them was really surprising. What I learned about this book was that it is literally impossible to have both a cozy cottagecore fantasy AND a dark and creepy story where your main character eventually learns to accept her necromancy. It doesn't work, and if it does I am the wrong writer to make it work. I was told to play into my strengths, and those strengths are dark and sad.

Which is why I had to remove so much and change so much. I can't even lie some of those changes HURT. I lost a character (her little fox familiar) that I loved because he didn't add to the story at all. And including him just made the pacing lag. The character added nothing and worse detracted from what I was trying to do. A key scene at the end, I swear my favorite scene in this entire project, had to go because it simply didn't fit. The pacing, the world, the events leading up to this scene no longer supported it being included. And yeah, it sucks. I haven't even gotten to the ending which will also need to be streamlined, but the book is stronger for all of these changes. I really believe it. I love this project and everything it's become even more on the 6th draft than I did on the 5th or the 2nd or the 1st.

Gonna wrap this up! Because it's already too long! I was never this wordy until I started writing on here. Moral of the story! Sometimes you really need to be brave and commit to just letting go of what you thought your story was in order to make it what it needs to be. Which for me is legit terrifying, because I'm such a hoarder, but it's the right thing to do!

#writing #i guess #process #my process #revising things #not fanfic related but not not fanfic related #i love writing books 🤪 #actually I really do love my books #the god of my own little world

[archivalofsins]

I really enjoy how Yamanaka can encapsulate the guilt of being alive in his characters. That guilt from living and being human people all intrinsically have due to our shared history. Along with the ways we as individuals try to admonish ourselves for it.

The ways we begin to police ourselves and form ideologies to prop up the moral and right center we believe we should have. In what's a clear attempt to differentiate or sometimes make ourselves feel superior to others. It really highlights that at the end of the day, it's not just ones ideologies that hurt people but how they communicate and practice those things.

There are beliefs that people have crafted over decades for the sole purpose of hurting and devaluing others. Beliefs that one would be hard pressed to not find a person that on some level believes them regardless of where in the world they are. It'd be even more difficult not to run into someone who sympathizes with those who believe in something that is clearly harmful. Not because they think the thing is good but because they recognize this is a mistake they either could've made, almost made, or have wanted to make themselves.

Milgram is a good series because it serves to show, through its audiences response and participation, how many things left unsaid can become the foundation of biases. Biases that then go on to impact and inform how we treat others around us. It's easy to say religion is bad when it's not your beliefs being questioned.

It's harder for an individual to ask what beliefs that I hold dear are causing pain to those around me. Furthermore, how can I practice and keep to my beliefs in a way that causes no harm to others. Do I really believe this, or do I just like the impression of me it gives people if I say I believe this. What sort of person am I? Am I the lines I draw or the many ways I hold others to these lines but skirt around them myself? Is there a way to truly objectively be moral and in the right?

Or is the very act of conveniencing ourselves we can be just another form of human error?

What's the worst that could happen by interrogating the idea that I may be wrong? Does the possible blow to my ego matter more than the possibility for growth that could give? If I'm wrong about this, there's no telling what else I could be wrong about. What if I've been wrong about everything all my life, then what?

It's different when it's something we believe in ourselves. It's different when it's a cause one has convinced themselves to fight for. It's different when we have to cross our own lines. A lot of people equate changing with dying instead of growing. I believe this is because a lot of people feel shame and guilt over their past. So they say things like that was the old me, I'm not that person anymore.

Something that isn't always indicative of growth and come off as just plain denial.

Yes, I'm not the person I was yesterday. I won't be the person I am now, tomorrow or an hour from now. Yet, I'll still be me regardless of what I learn. Regardless of when I face what I have yet to know and it becomes what I now know. Regardless of if something from my past comes back to question me now. My feelings, views, and circumstances will keep changing because the fact that I'm alive today gives me the privilege to experience change.

When did people become ashamed of saying "I'm still me." When did it become more important to discrad oneself in the name of changing than to grow into yourself. When did change become denial? Plus, what exactly will it hurt to give ourselves space to fuck up and be wrong? What would people lose out on by not beating themselves down?

Instead of going the that was the old me going,

"During that time I was biased, stubborn, uniformed, and only centering my own views. I'm trying to be better now. I want to hear your opinion and be present in this moment with you. That can't happen if I'm always playing defense."

When we admit we're capable of doing wrong, it can feel bad. That sort of thing can really fucking sting. Yet if we never do, we ultimately deprive ourselves of the ability to be right. We ultimately trap ourselves in one spot. We put ourselves up on the same pedestal we place these characters on and try to do no wrong.

It's easy to say this sort of thing hurts the person doing it the most. Easy to see how this mindset can impact us because we're the one's experiencing it. It can feel like someone is the only person experiencing these things at times. That others just don't understand, and they may not be asking them to anyway.

That's their weight, their duty. Their's to carry nobody else's. Then, one day, they'll look up wondering why this thing they were meant to carry on their own has crushed everyone around. If it was their choice, why didn't it just impact them? That's the fair thing after all.

Yet, that's just not how living works. Our choices, beliefs, and views impact more than just ourselves because we're people. We live in a shared experience with the others around us. It's a miraculous and amazing thing. If the Milgram characters couldn't impact and interact with each other... If they couldn't form or deny community within the prison.

Would it still be Milgram? If we didn't have that choice ourselves, would we still be living? Those sort of things. Displaying those types of characters and creating that sort of atmosphere. It's difficult but endlessly entertaining.

#gunsli rambles #milgram

[savagewildnerness]

Let’s talk about the Theatre Des Vampires & its potential impact!?!

First Lestat: pretty sure Lestat is a vampire here: he has the eyes, the nails & Armand is watching him. (Why would Armand watch mortal-Lestat? Unless watching Magnus and I’m sure we won’t see Magnus this season.) And that back bend has all the vibes of Lestat describing how as a vampire he can do impossibly graceful dance movements if he so chooses! (To delight and beguile, or so inhuman as to disturb!)

BUT book-Lestat does not theatre once he is a vampire. There’s only that one time that goes horribly wrong. To me, this does not look like it’s going horribly wrong!?! It looks like Lestat is still being “the greatest actor to have ever graced the stage”…??

Book-Lestat is horrified by vampire theatre. Including himself on the stage! He used to love how theatre conveyed something human & true & real. He felt it was a truly *good* think he could do. Being unable to read, human Lestat did a lot of improvised theatre (& Nicki taught him lines for some plays later on) - I’d argue improvisation being the most spontaneous & human theatre can get… so he finds it even moreso repellent how false it is as a vampire.

Compelled to go out on stage, Lestat looks out & sees a grinning skull behind every face. He feels he cannot find the natural, human meaning in words that was so instinctive to him when mortal. In the theatre, Lestat’s love as a mortal, Lestat truly feels what he has lost & will now never be. He could beguile & trick, but instead he intentionally horrifies the audience & himself - I think he does it `s he is so personally horrified and yet as theatre always was, still it must remain a place of truth for him? In the moment, there on stage, he realises his inhumanity and sees himself almost from outside himself as a horrific (though perfectly natural) monster “the mortal world seemed some desperate dream of rationality that in this lush and fetid jungle had not the slightest chance.” He sees himself like a cat or a rat or the evil vampire he is - he is a creature, but he is not human.

Until this point, other than when killing, Lestat has passed himself off easily amongst mortals as one of them. Yet, here on the stage he feels the Monster he is & cannot bear the artifice and the difference to what he once was, what he had the potential to be and what he was on the cusp of becoming. The theatre is like a reminder to him that his human life is over. This is a quality he will later be unable to bear in Nicki’s virtuoso violin skill once he becomes a vampire too. Nicki leans right in to the parody & evil manipulation of skill as opposed to mortal expression of humanity & performing with the devil’s instrument. Nicki finds a purity and truth in that & it’s the antithesis of what Lestat adored from & felt in Nicki’s mortal violin playing. Just as mad-Vampire-Nicki is the antithesis of all Lestat loved & they immediately despise each other (albeit Lestat will never truly not love too.)

Anyway, back to just-turned Lestat: at the same time, it’s Lestat’s *need* to return to the theatre that is really Nicolas’ downfall. Nicki was always fragile, and moreso when Lestat was stolen away. And of course when Armand kidnaps Nicki he is completely mad & unsaveable by then. But he had a small chance at some life... until this visitation to the theatre by Lestat, where Nicolas truly sees for his own eyes that something awful has befallen Lestat & he doesn’t understand it & nobody but him will believe it as they just want to believe Lestat the wondrous benefactor who has gifted them so much money and the theatre and charms everyone still.

This is in my opinion the point of no return for Nicki. He is a mad thing who I don’t think has any way back to sanity and life from here on. Gabrielle recognises it already even where Lestat cannot admit it to himself when she asks Lestat if he'll turn Nicki. At that time Lestat says he is appalled by the idea... but obviously he would have thought on it. Once Lestat showed his vampire self to Nicki, Nicki’s mortal life was done for. He begins drinking to extreme excess & cannot cope with life at... and this is before Armand snatches him.

Now, if the show have Lestat at the theatre for longer & actually using his skills to trick audiences for a while, will the impact this has on (presumably still mortal) Nicki be even deeper? It surely would be given the scenario…? And so will Lestat feel even more guilt o we Nicki’s eventual downfall? I can almost see it in my mind playing out now. Lestat using his vampiric skill to beguile audiences for a time, Nicki grieving increasingly mad & all the other people at the theatre merely adoring Lestat & not wishing to see anything wrong. And maybe even Nicki wanting to believe in moments that all is well? But really, Nicki growing increasingly fragile until, as in the books Armand steals him away. I just feel like something like this might be in the TV show and I feel that it could be an interesting deepening of the emotion (although it would alter Lestat in the theatre a little and the impact of the theatre to Lestat's self… but then, that was Lestat’s thoughts and horror as a new vampire. He feels very differently by the time he becomes a rock star… so…?!)

And this ties in: the recent clips suggest Claudia loves the theatre & Louis hates it. Louis always hated the callousness of the theatre, but Claudia loved it mainly as a clever way to ensnare victims. In the theatre in the book she is immediately in danger. Will this be different feelings here. This older Claudia may initially love the idea of joining the theatre! It may appeal to her nature! But oh, what awaits her…

Anyway: just some train-of-thought ponderings….

Anyone have thoughts on this?

#interview with the vampire #anne rice #lestat de lioncourt #the vampire lestat #iwtv lestat #amc interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #iwtv amc #nicolas de lenfent #lestat x nicolas #nicki de lenfent #lestat x nicki #louis de pointe du lac #claudia de pointe du lac #claudia de lioncourt #iwtv louis #IWTV nicolas

[nesaluvstherecoms]

𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱.

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴄᴏʟᴏɴᴇʟ ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ Qᴜᴀʀɪᴛᴄʜ x ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ꜰᴇᴍ. ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Extreme mental strain, mentions of male masturbation.

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ʟɪɴᴋ

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒: 𝐒𝐒𝐃𝐃

The sound of light solid taps is the only thing that can be heard through the dark office. Y/N’s breathing is soft, steady, calm, as it accompanies the sounds of the electronic pen writing on the screen of her touchpad. The lights of her spacious office are off, letting only the dim light from outside penetrate through the large glass-panel windows behind her and illuminate her surroundings. It’s almost eclipse.

Y/N’s sharp eyes follow the tip of her pen as she writes, summarizing her team’s new report for General Ardmore. The tip of her tail sways softly at her side, draped over the right arm of her expensive, cushioned desk chair. It’s the end of the week and she has been in her office all day, reviewing reports. It has been a good week overall. Her team have been able to eliminate multiple Na’vi groups and take over their territories, allowing the troops to start treating the land to set new grounds for the RDA. Captain Keller, Lieutenant Álvarez and Lieutenant Jones have led multiple units to success, almost flawlessly even in this new environment, Sergeant Davis has adapted his ability to plan attacks in said environment perfectly, and the rest of her team have been outstanding as well. Ardmore is happy, the contractors are happy, and most importantly, her team seems to be happy. She should be proud of them, she really should, and she is. But since day one, she can’t help but feel a weird weight in the bottom of her gut. She tells herself it’s just because she isn’t used to this, and she agrees. It will take some time to adapt, but she’ll get there.

With a final tap, she finishes the report and quickly puts her elegant signature at the bottom. Putting the electronic pen aside, she lets its magnetic side stick to the right side of her touchpad. Y/N pushes her desk chair slightly back and reaches upwards, stretching her elegant body and cracking her spine and tail. With a sigh of relief, she turns her chair around and leans back, resting her body comfortably on the thick cushioned lining. Her eyes immediately fall on the landscape outside, well not much of a landscape but it’s still better than looking at reports for hours. The dull colors outside don’t do much for the eye but Y/N doesn’t mind. Her eyes move to the sky, watching aimlessly as her mind continues its train of thought again. One report however, had not been to her liking. Three high-value prisoners free, a high-value target on the run and five Recombinants dead.

Y/N clenches her jaw. It’s been only two months and already five Recoms have been KIAd. A shiver runs down her spine. Recoms. Just like her. Just like her squad. How? How could this have happened? She watches as the eclipse happens in the sky, blocking the rest of the light rays, plunging the world outside into darkness. Bridgehead turns on its night lights, illuminating the city as some vehicles stop moving, the workers wrapping up their workdays as others come out to start their night shifts.

A knock on her office door brings her out of her thoughts. She turns around to press a button from the control panel on her desk and the door slides open. The comforting figure of her Captain steps into her office, stopping a few steps away from her desk and saluting her.

“General.” John acknowledges softly but firmly. Y/N nods, smiling softly.

“John.” She greets. “At ease.”

Captain Keller lowers his arm, giving her a friendly smile as he shuffles once on his feet.

“I apologize if I am disturbing ma’am, but General Ardmore requests your presence in the Neurolab.”

Y/N raises her brows. The Neurolab? That’s a bit of an odd location for Ardmore to be in.

“I see. Is there a problem?” She asks, as she stands up from her desk. John looks at her, as she makes her way around her desk to stand in front of him, looking up at him from her side. He purses his lips slightly before responding in his deep and raspy tone.

“Turns out Colonel Quaritch did not lose all of his captives after all.”

Y/N has gotten used to the eyes following her everywhere she walks by now. Her high rank, her demeanor and her intimidating size attract attention everywhere she goes. But this kind of attention has been following her her whole life, even before waking up as a Recom, with people staring at her; some in admiration, some in judgement, some in curiosity and some in just lust. By now, it doesn’t bother her, and if it wasn’t for the way she has been conditioned to pay attention to everything around her, she wouldn’t even notice. So now, as she walks through the corridors of the Ops center, with John following behind her and towering over the humans walking around, she ignores the multiple pairs of eyes that follow their moving figures. They turn a corner to a corridor with less people and Y/N turns her head towards her team Captain.

“So, about this prisoner. Tell me more.” She says as they keep on walking together towards the designated place. John takes a sip of carbon dioxide, letting his lungs fill up nicely, before responding to his General.

“It’s a human boy. Raised mostly in the wild by the resistance and the natives. Deceased Colonel Quaritch’s son.” He replies, watching as Y/N raises a brow disapprovingly.

“Son? He had a child?” She asks, her cropped ears folding back slightly. John nods.

“Yes ma’am. He got one of his scorpion pilots pregnant when he was still alive, resulting in the boy. The mother died in the war and the kid was left with the resistance.” He informs her. Y/N scoffs in amusement, shaking her head, and her tail swings a couple of times behind her.

“So not only did he give leverage to the traitor for months, but he was fraternizing with his own pilots too? Talk about populating Pandora.” She comments and John chuckles, shaking his head. Y/N brings the mask of her Recom Breather up to her face and takes a filling sip of carbon dioxide, before lowering it and talking to John again.

“How come the boy was not sent back to Earth, like everyone else?”

John takes a sip from his mask as well before speaking.

“He was too young. Babies cannot be put in cryo sleep.”

Y/N hums, turning her line of vision away for a moment before looking back at him.

“And he is important to us how exactly?”

“He’s been with Sully’s family for years, grown up with the kids. He knows every single Na’vi operation, the location of their main base, everything. If the science department manage to force this information out of him then we have hit the jackpot.” John replies. Y/N nods slowly, grabbing her mask again and moving it up to her face. New thoughts start roaming her mind, processing the new information.

“I see.”

。。。

Miles’ head is in multiple places at once. Firstly, his team’s encounter in the forest still has him and his troopers shaken. Five of their own are dead, gone in a matter of seconds. He believes his team will get over their deaths soon, they are soldiers after all, they have lost people before. But what bothers him the most is the human boy he never thought he would see again. Young Miles. Quaritch’s steps are firm as he walks through the corridors of the Ops center, with Wainfleet following close behind. Miles’ tail moves slowly behind him, as him and his Lieutenant move towards the Neurolab, both Recoms silent. Lyle’s eyes remain on the back of Miles’ head, trying to figure out the current mood of his Colonel. After all, they have just found his predecessor’s son. That must be shocking even to Miles himself. But up until now, the Colonel has shown no emotions towards the situation. As soon as they returned to base, he handed the boy in Ardmore’s troops’ hands like he was as valuable as any other prisoner. But a few moments ago, as soon as he had heard that the boy would be strapped to the DPF’s NeuroSect E7.2T scanner, he was immediately on his feet and out the door, with Lyle following behind. So Wainfleet cannot make out exactly what the Colonel is feeling. He tries to read his body language, watching his tail and his ears but they do not show any sign of his emotions either. With his eyes still on his Colonel, Lyle brings the Recom Breather mask up to his face and takes a sip of carbon dioxide. Well, he’s about to figure out what Miles is thinking, as they are now heading straight for the Neurolab down the corridor.

。。。

As Y/N and John turn the corner to finally be in front of the Neurolab, he is suddenly pulled back and pressed against the wall, put out of sight from the entrance. His first instinct is to fight and then react but the one who has pulled him back is Y/N.

“General?” He questions as Y/N presses herself against the wall as well. She shushes him, her eyes carefully inspecting the front of the Neurolab. John follows her line of vision and a few moments later, two pairs of heavy combat boots echo through the corridor. What he can only assume is Colonel Quaritch and his Lieutenant, as far as John remembers from the holograms shown to him and Y/N in the Holofloor the first day they arrived, pass through and wait for the door of the Neurolab to open. The metal doors slide open and Wainfleet is the first to move a step inside, but Quaritch doesn’t move. Instead his head is raised slightly up and he’s looking around, his tail now swinging faster behind him. His brows furrow in concentration as he seems to be searching around for something. Wainfleet, who has now stepped a foot in the lab, turns to his commander with a raised eyebrow.

���Colonel?”

Quaritch looks around for a bit more, amber eyes searching for whatever has suddenly caught his attention, but when he doesn’t find it, he shakes his head with a displeased expression on his face and heads inside the Neurolab. The doors slide closed after him and Wainfleet walk in, and Y/N removes herself from the wall. John turns his head towards her, giving her a questioning look.

“What was that for?” He asks. Y/N doesn’t answer, instead she looks thoughtfully at a blank spot on the floor for a moment, before she raises her head again and turns to him.

“We best not make our presence known. I want to see how this unfolds.”

“Where is Jake Sully?”

“I don’t know!” Screams the boy in fear, his voice cracking from the strain he puts on his exhausted throat. The DPF’s NeuroSect E7.2T scanner where he is strapped on, spins in flashing green lights, with a whirring sound that fills the Neurolab.

“We know that you know.” Ardmore presses.

Quaritch watches intently, leaning with one arm on the glass panel of the Neurolab’s brain imaging booth.

“I don’t know!” The boy screams again.

“Just form a picture in your mind.” Ardmore says nonchalantly, lowering her head briefly to check the screen of the scanner. “Is it one of the floating mountains?”

“Let me out of here!” He replies back.

Inside the brain imaging booth, Wainfleet bends down to check the holo display of the boy’s brain, watching as different colors highlight the different brain states that he is going through, with the scanner feeding it visual memories in real time. The corporate man next to Quaritch turns around towards one of the scientists analyzing the hologram.

“Hey, he’s fighting this.” He states as Quaritch turns around as well, grabbing the mask of his Recom Breather and bringing it up to his face.

“Give us a minute.” The scientist replies, walking closer to the woman scientist analyzing the brain with him. Meanwhile, the boy continues to scream in the background.

“I don’t know!”

Ardmore purses her lips, slowly starting to get annoyed as she stares him down.

“Just form a thought.” She says while shaking her head, her voice starting to get laced in irritation. “And we will see it.”

“I don’t know!”

Quaritch slowly moves behind the holo display of the boy’s brain. His cropped ears raise up as he stares at it in curiosity. He shifts in place, brows slowly furrowing the more he looks at it.

“Look, I don’t like this any more than you do!” Ardmore says, finally raising her voice and showing her frustration. It’s been forty minutes, she has shit to do, but instead she’s stuck here interrogating this filthy kid who somehow isn’t budging. And where is L/N, she asked for her fifty minutes ago! The boy screams in pain as a sharp throb stabs down the center of his brain.

“Which clans would be harboring him?” Ardmore presses.

“I don’t know!” He screams yet again in pain, this time faster. “You’re gonna have to kill me!”

At that last sentence Miles’ eyes narrow down dangerously. His ears fold back and he glares at the hologram, before a displeased expression plasters on his face, his upper lip twitching upwards once. He bends down just like Wainfleet did, to get a closer look at the pulsing electric waves that run through the neurons of the hologram brain in a neon orange color. The boy’s screams continue in the background.

“Watch this, you’re peaking all over the prefrontal.” The male scientist who spoke earlier tells the female scientist as she scrambles with a datapad that analyzes the boy’s brain further.

“It’s not gonna stop until you give us something. Where is he?!” Ardmore continues, this time irritation showing fully through the tone of her voice. The boy screams more, his body now starting to shake against the scanner.

“I don’t know you assholes, okay?! I don’t know!” He screams harder, his voice cracking again through the sentence. Quaritch has had enough.

With fast, heavy steps he moves swiftly to the control panel outside of the brain imaging booth, pressing his palm down on the red shut off button. The whirring sound of the scanner slowls down and the spinning panels slow down with it until they stop moving completely and the sound that has been filling the Neurolab for almost fifty minutes stops, plunging the room in silence. Ardmore turns around, snapping her head back to get a look of the person who just shut off the scanner. Miles removes his massive hand from the control panel and straightens his posture, looking back at the General with the tip of his tail slightly raised while Wainfleet walks out of the booth and stands a few feet away from his Colonel. The boy pants heavily, eyes now half lidded and blood leaking out of his left nostril. With slow and soft strides, trying to approach the situation carefully, Quaritch gets closer to the General. His vision falls on the boy for a bit before he turns his back to him and moves his head closer to Ardmore. Maintaining reassuring eye contact with her, he speaks.

“General, let me… try the personal angle.” He says with a nod and ears folded back, voice raspy and firm. Ardmore stares intensively into his eyes, disbelief plastered on her face. She snaps her head towards the boy before turning to look at Quaritch with her mouth slightly agape in irritation.

“He’s not your son.” She tells him, glaring into his eyes warningly. Quaritch knows that there’s a hint of threat in her tone, and he doesn’t say anything but maintain the eye contact. Ardmore purses her lips and gives him one last stare before turning her head forward and walking down the steps of the scanner. Quaritch’s eyes follow her, turning his head towards her form until she steps on the floor of the Neurolab. Without any more words she strides off. Wainfleet steps out of her way and gives her a respectful head nod as she leaves and Quaritch turns his head towards the boy still strapped on the scanner. He reaches in and unstraps him, yanking the leads off of him. Two strong, muscled arms reach towards the boy’s figure and pull him out of the scanner. With exhausted and half lidded eyes he stares up at the Recombinant that is now carrying his weak body in his arms. Quaritch chuckles.

“Tough guy, huh? How’s that workin’ out for you?” He says softly to the kid before wiping his bloody nose with his thumb. He turns around and with heavy strides, starts making his way towards the door. Wainfleet watches him before following behind, as scientists and personnel watch them with wide eyes. Right as the two Recoms are about to exit, yet again Quaritch stops. With a curious stare he turns around, eyes frantically searching again for something that has caught his attention. Wainfleet raises a brow again, trying to figure out what is up with his Colonel today, but before he can start thinking too much of it, Quaritch has turned back towards the exit and has now stepped out. Wainfleet follows, the two pairs of combat boots thudding heavily on the metal floors, before the doors slide closed behind them.

。。。

Miles clenches his jaw as they walk through the hallway. That scent. That mind numbing scent. That scent that he smelled again. Just like the one that was lingering around the entrance of the Neurolab when he arrived. Similar to the one he fisted his cock to in the ISV Vindicator. She’s around here somewhere. He knows it.

。。。

In the second story of the Neurolab, Y/N and Captain Keller slowly get closer to the rail that lets them look down upon the brain imaging booth and the scanner. Y/N brings her Recom Breather mask up to her face and takes a deep sip, filling her lungs with the much needed carbon dioxide. John chuckles in disbelief, his amber eyes staring at the now empty scanner, before he turns his head towards her.

“Did you see that, General?” He asks, his raspy voice clearly displaying disapproval. Y/N’s stare onto the scanner is hard and filled with distaste. She removes the mask from her face and her cropped ears fold back slightly before speaking in a serious tone.

“Damn right I saw.”

After attending some important matters, Ardmore heads towards her office to review a few reports and then finish work for the day. After all, eclipse has fallen long ago and everyone has already wrapped up their shifts. But being the RDA’s Expeditionary Force Commander, she cannot rest so easily like the rest of the people on base, as the future of humanity is ultimately upon her shoulders. These thoughts roam her mind as she walks through the now dead and quiet corridors, her footsteps echoing through the hallways. After a few seconds, she arrives in front of her office door, pressing her keycard to the scanner on the right side. The door slides open and she takes a step inside before her senses heighten alarmingly as her eyes fall on the large blue figure in her office. Instinctively, her hand flies to her handgun but a further look at the Na’vi and she sighs, releasing her grip on the firearm.

“For fucks sake, L/N.”

Y/N gives her a grin, sat on one of the couches in Ardmore’s office with her legs one over the other on top of the coffee table in front of the piece of furniture.

“Apologies for my unannounced presence, General.” She replies, fidgeting with a combat knife as she continues sitting comfortably on the couch. Ardmore frowns at her once before stepping into the office, the door sliding closed behind her. She walks to her desk and takes off the holster along with the gun, placing it on top of the surface before turning away.

“Not only did you not attend to my side when I asked you to today, but you also made yourself comfortable in my office without my permission, after the work day nonetheless. Care to explain yourself?” She asks coldly, walking to the coffee machine in the corner of her office and turning it on.

“Ah, apologies, I plead guilty for the second charge. Not for the first one though.” Y/N says with a chuckle, running her elegant blue fingers over the black blade. “Coffee at night, General? I thought you were the healthy type.”

Ardmore huffs once in amusement, grabbing a standard-issue RDA coffee mug from a cupboard nearby and putting it under the coffee dispenser.

“When the fate of humanity is on your shoulders, you’ve thrown health out the window a long time ago.” She replies, turning around to lean against the table that the coffee machine and a few other assortments are on, and facing Y/N. Ardmore crosses her arms over her chest as the machine starts buzzing.

“So, why are you here?” She presses. Y/N’s eyes fall on her before she lowers her feet from the coffee table and sits up on the couch. She tucks the knife into its sheath on her gear and places her elbows on top of her knees, leaning forward.

“I was there today. In the Neurolab. Captain Keller informed me as you requested and I complied. However, as I was about to enter the lab, Colonel Quaritch and his Lieutenant approached the lab as well. I did not want to make my presence known so I stayed out of sight. But I was there. I attempted to catch up to you after but your assistant informed me that you were occupied with some important matters. So I came over here and waited.”

Ardmore raises a brow, looking back at Y/N, expecting something more. Y/N catches on to her expression and sighs, reaching into one of the pockets of her tactical pants to pull out a small metal card with a magnetic strip. She puts it on top of the coffee table like she’s making a peace offering and places her elbow on top of her knee again.

“Yes, I did steal the keycard that unlocks the door to your office from your assistant. But to my defense, I did not know when you’d be returning. Besides, I don’t think he has noticed yet.” Y/N says, giving Ardmore a mischievous smile. Ardmore sighs heavily, turning around to press a button on the coffee machine and with a whirring buzz, it starts dispensing the hot drink into the mug below.

“Get to the point.” She says shortly, the tiredness from the day’s events catching up to her as she reaches for a packet of sugar on the table. Y/N nods slowly and looks away briefly. Her eyes fall on Ardmore’s pistol on top of the desk and she runs her vision over it for a while.

“What do you think of Quaritch’s actions today?” She asks after a brief moment of silence. Ardmore stops her movements for a few seconds, before pouring the contents of the packet into the coffee and grabbing a small spoon from a container next to the sugar packets.

“Are you trying to hint at something?” She responds, not replying to Y/N’s question. Y/N’s ears fold back and she shifts briefly in place.

“Come on, General. I saw your suspicion and disapproval as he shut off the scanner and asked to interrogate the boy himself. You can’t tell me you don’t think that he’s onto something.” Y/N finally presses, watching the back of Ardmore’s head carefully. Ardmore stirs her coffee slowly, grabbing the mug by the handle and turning towards Y/N again. She continues stirring her drink as she looks over at the Recom whose eyes are now flashing in a dangerous glint.

“I know what you’re trying to say. Yes, his actions seemed questionable to me because of the link the boy holds to the original Miles Quaritch. However, I don’t think anything is going on. If the scanner can’t get the information out of the prisoner then the personal approach that Quaritch will be attempting tomorrow might lead us to something.” She replies. Y/N clenches her jaw, swallowing down the saliva in her mouth before trying again.

“With all due respect, ma’am, I think you’re overlooking something that can turn into a problem later on. He’s clearly fond of the kid. He did not turn the scanner off to try and suggest interrogating the boy, he did it to save his life. I know desperation when I see it. A few more minutes in the scanner and the kid’s brain would have been leaking out of his ears. No commanding officer saves a prisoner of war like that just for the purpose of an interrogation. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to risk having an officer in my ranks who has a soft spot for a prisoner who serves our enemy.” Y/N says, looking carefully at Ardmore who has now stopped stirring and is looking back at her with a thoughtful expression. She then inhales deeply and looks away for a brief moment, before raising the mug up to her lips and taking a sip.

“I appreciate your concern, L/N. But for now, I think you’re being a bit too paranoid. However, I will be watching Quaritch more carefully, if that puts your mind at ease. For now, focus on your own team and your missions, and let me do my job and deal with my own personnel.”

Y/N clenches her jaw again, clearly disappointed at the reply she received. She thinks about it but she does not argue. Instead, with a deep sigh, she leans back onto the couch, defeated.

“As you wish, ma’am.” She replies with a bored tone, turning her vision to the handgun on the desk again.

Ardmore walks to her desk and sits down, putting the coffee mug on top of the wood surface. Y/N slowly reaches forward for the pistol, her size allowing her to do so and she takes the firearm into her hands. With a pleased expression, she starts inspecting it while Ardmore turns on her personal datapad to take a look at some reports.

“A .40 caliber United Ballistics Zarkov-33, huh. Not bad, some of my troopers use the Recom version of this too. Powerful firearm. I see why it’s our standard. Though, I’d expect you to have something more personalized, General.” Y/N comments, inspecting the tactical light-laser and rangefinder on top of the muzzle of the gun.

“Yeah? Like this?” Ardmore replies nonchalantly, her eyes still on the datapad as she reaches down and pulls out her high magazine MIL-SPEC 502. Y/N’s eyes sparkle like a kid as she sees the sidearm being put on top of the desk and she puts the Z-33 Pistol next to the keycard on top of the coffee table and immediately reaches for the new gun. She inspects it carefully from the harness system to the grip and the 16 round magazine, muttering a little “damn” under her breath as she admires the weapon with her tail swinging side to side behind her. Ardmore slowly takes another sip of her coffee, before putting the mug down and speaking to her with her eyes still on the report.

“Now please get out of my office.”

Y/N’s ears fold back as she realizes that she’s been playing with a gun like a cat with a yarn ball while occupying her commander’s office.

“Right.” She replies, putting the second gun down on the coffee table as well and standing up.

“Good night, General.” She says in a firm tone, saluting Ardmore respectfully before turning around and heading out. As the door slides closed behind her, Ardmore sighs and takes another sip of her coffee. This is going to be a long night.

“Can you believe this? They’re helpless. Absolutely fuckin’ helpless.” Riley huffs out, raspy voice laced with irritation as he moves with his usual heavy steps and hands clasped behind his back. Y/N stands between him and Scott, the three of them walking through the training fields as soldiers run around under the sun, doing their daily drills. A bit further away, aircrafts take off and land, trains and vehicles move relentlessly, creating a noisy and busy atmosphere around them as Bridgehead city buzzes in activity as always.

“I’ve seen fuckin’ pigs more coordinated than this.”

Scott hums, raising a brow at Riley’s last comment.

“Oh com’ on LT. They jus’ stepped foot hier. Give ‘em a break, will ya?” He replies, looking at Riley who in return turns to stare at him.

“A fuckin’ break?! What do you think we’re doing here, playing nanny? We’re at war for fuck’s sake. Pull your head out of your arse.”

Y/N sighs, as Scott and Riley start going at it once again. Riley has recently been put in charge of training new recruits into enforcing the protection of Bridgehead city, seeing that Y/N and ALPHA have now taken over a good amount of Na’vi land territories, putting Bridgehead into the center of the natives’ attention. And as you might imagine, the man is not happy with his new troops’ level of skills. Not in the slightest bit. He’s been training them relentlessly, to the point that multiple recruits have passed out or thrown their guts up on the training field, for which in both cases they have gotten harsh punishment. Scott has disagreed to this for weeks now, arguing that these are the only soldiers they have available at the moment and if Riley continues like this he’ll kill them in no time, besides, the recruits that arrive on Bridgehead are already trained and what Riley is doing is unnecessary. He persistently repeats that they cannot afford to loose troops, skilled or not, because human capital is sacred on Pandora.

Y/N raises a gloved hand, stopping their argument on the spot, as they both give each other one last glare and fall quiet, turning to look at their commander.

“Riley is correct. We cannot have recruits this undertrained, especially during a time of uprising tensions. I’ll have a chat with General Ardmore about this. It seems that we need to establish new requirements for who can board on Pandora as a trooper.”

And with that both men nod and the argument is wrapped up.

“Hahaha she still pacifies you both. Better start calling her mommy.”

The three of them turn towards Lieutenant Álvarez and Captain Keller who are walking towards them, with John chuckling at Fernando’s comment. Riley scowls and Scott grins as the two higher ranking officers approach with lazy, heavy strides, hands clasped behind their carrier plates.

“I’m not listening to the comments of a man who got shot on his ass by the cartel.” Riley replies which makes Scott burst in laughter.

“Oh I forgot ‘bout tha’.” He says in between laughs as Fernando and John are now standing with them on the training ground. “Ye literally ran around the battlefield with a bullet up yer ass.”

Y/N hides a smile at Scott’s last comment as Riley and John laugh, with Fernando cracking a smile as well. After they all finish laughing he turns his head towards the recruits training some meters away from them. His tail flicks behind him in curiosity and he speaks to Riley without moving his eyes from the soldiers.

“I see you’re still not going easy on them.” He says as he watches the exhausted men and women try to not break down in the middle of the exercises.

“Yeah, it’s fuckin’ embarrassing. These are the people we’re supposed to colonize with. Pathetic.” Riley replies as all five of them are now watching the recruits. A few seconds later one of the men stops running, absolutely exhausted to the point that his body cannot move anymore and he remains behind while the group that is running laps continues. This only feeds into Riley’s irritation and with a booming voice, he yells.

“AY PRIVATE! WHAT THE FUCK?! SO WE JUST STANDING AROUND PLAYING WITH COCKS NOW?!”

His voice booms throughout the training field and multiple recruits flinch at the sound, staring up at the Recom in horror for a brief second before continuing their exercises. The poor recruit, a young man, flinches at the yelling, and stares at Riley in shock and fear.

“MOVE YER FUCKIN’ ARSE! STOP STARING AT ME LIKE YER WAITING FOR ME TO BLOW A DAMN LOAD ON YOUR FACE!” The Recombinant yells again. The terrified recruit gathers all of the strength he has left and scrams away, trying to hide in the line of the group running laps. Riley sighs in frustration, bringing his gloved hand up to rub the flat bridge of his nose as the rest of the Recoms chuckle.

“This looks like fun. I might be the one training them one of these days.” Y/N comments, crossing her arms as she watches the recruits in amusement and Riley scoffs in reply.

“Be my guest, General.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

The Recoms turn around to see Sergeant Herrera approaching them, walking with her usual swaying hips and cocky demeanor, tail moving slowly behind her. The rest give her a friendly nod as they see her walk closer and she smiles.

“General. Captain. Lieutenants. Sergeant.” She greets them all accordingly before turning to Y/N.

“General, Sergeant Davis has made another strategic plan for taking over the west forest area above the border, and he wants you to go over it. He’s currently with the science department, in the main labs, consulting them on a few details. When you have the time, your presence would be appreciated.”

Y/N hums, uncrossing her arms and turning to her.

“Thank you, Maria. Well, I’ll see you later then gentlemen. I hope the training goes well, Lieutenant Jones. I’ll speak to Ardmore tomorrow about the whole thing.”

“Yes ma’am.” They reply in unison.

The men nod, saluting her respectfully and without further ado, Y/N turns and walks away, leaving them and Maria alone on the training field. As she moves away, they all turn towards watching the recruits again, with Riley’s irritation back in check.

“NOW DROP DOWN AND GIVE ME FIFTY, MOTHERFUCKERS!”

Y/N doesn’t particularly hate the science department. But she doesn’t like them either. They’re just there, existing in the same space as her and her troops, and she pays them no mind. The only person from her team that interacts with them on a regular is Henry Davis. Being the Master Gunnery Sergeant, he is the one responsible for coming up with new strategies, tactics and plans. That includes constantly consulting the science department on Pandora’s flora and fauna, so every possibility in a mission can be accounted for. And up until now, he has done amazing. Not only have his strategies never failed once, but he has managed to learn a vast amount of information about Pandora in an incredibly short time. To say that Y/N is very proud would be an understatement.

This is what she’s thinking as she walks through the corridors to get to the science department building. Her steps are lazy as she is in no rush, taking her time and looking around here and there. She takes a turn to a larger corridor that connects the main labs to the headquarters of the department, a spacious tunnel that also connects other parts of the building to each other. As she sets her eyes on the doors of the labs, something pounces at the corner of her vision. In a flash, Y/N has already drawn out her most powerful handgun, pointing the muzzle at the thing that now looks up at her with its yellow eyes. A viperwolf. Y/N’s senses are now fully alarmed and locked in on the creature that has stopped moving and lowered its body closer to the floor in caution, with its six limbs bent. Creatures like this have attacked her forces before. They are extremely hostile and lethal to humans. So how the fuck did an animal like this get in here? Breathing getting faster, she keeps the gun pointed at it and sensing the danger, the viperwolf clenches its snake like jaw and bares its obsidian teeth at her, growling warningly at the Recom. Y/N pulls back the slide of her gun, ready to shoot the thing dead if it tries anything. The animal growls harder, moving one clawed hand forward, and just as Y/N is about to pull the trigger-

“DON’T SHOOT HIM!”

At the sound of the feminine voice, the viperwolf runs away towards it. Y/N scowls, snapping back towards the voice to try and get a peak of the person who has let this thing loose. Her breath catches right in her throat.

Standing a few feet away from her, is the most beautiful woman that Y/N has ever laid eyes on. Flowing long locks of black hair with a few interlocked braids fall on her shoulders, bringing forth her gorgeous, beautiful face with big amber eyes that look at Y/N carefully. She is dressed in a dark blue and black uniform that Y/N has never seen before, but it has the RDA’s logo. It’s tight fitting to her thin, elegant Na’vi body, the top cropped right above her cleavage, showing a pair of firm collarbones. Her tail moves slowly behind her, still cautious at the possibility that Y/N might shoot the animal which is now hiding behind her long, elegant legs. Are all Na’vi women so breathtaking beautiful? Realizing that she’s ogling, Y/N clears her throat and relaxes her posture, putting the handgun back in its holster.

“Care to explain why you have a wild animal, nevertheless a viperwolf, running around base?” She speaks, regaining her commander voice as her ears fold back and she pins the woman with a stare. The girl’s eyes take in Y/N from head to toe, before they fall on her tail which is moving side to side behind her, betraying her hardened soldier composure. A playful smile falls on her lips and she turns her doe eyes to Y/N’s face.

“He is not a wild animal, ma’am. He is my friend. I raised him since he was a tiny cub. You’re the one who drew her weapon at an unprovoked animal.” She replies, crossing her toned arms over her chest. The woman’s soothing voice prickles goosebumps on Y/N’s skin, soft and tranquil to the ear. But Y/N is a master at hiding emotions. She scowls at the girl, raising a brow disapprovingly as she stares her judgmentally up and down.

“I’m sorry, did you say “friend”? I knew you science department chicks had a few screws loose but I didn’t think it was this bad.” She replies with a condescending tone. But instead of getting offended, the girl chuckles. That catches Y/N off guard briefly, and she looks at her with a questioning expression. The woman turns her eyes to Y/N’s, looking into them through her long lashes with an amused smile and she starts walking towards the General. Y/N can’t help but stare as even her walk is attention catching, so elegant yet humble, her long tail swinging playfully side to side. The viperwolf follows behind her, staying close to her long and toned legs and rubbing its body on her calves. She stops in front of Y/N, careful to not get into her personal space, and brings her right hand forward for a handshake.

“Name’s Toddy. I’ve heard quite a lot about you, General. You have a feared reputation ‘round ‘ere. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” She says with a smile, waiting for Y/N to engage in the handshake. Y/N can’t help but notice a faint southern drawl in her way of speaking, and she looks down at her hand, admiring the elegant veins on it for a second, before clasping it with her own. Five fingers. Thankfully not a native.

“Recombinant?” Y/N asks as they shake hands, noticing how her palm is pleasantly warm. Toddy shakes her head.

“Avatar.” She replies as they end the handshake. “Though I wish I could maintain a Na’vi body permanently.”

Y/N chuckles, crossing her arms.

“It’s not a blessing. Trust me. Try sleeping with a tail and a neural whip. Nine times out of ten you’ll crush them with your body or an elbow and you’ll wake up hissing in pain.” She replies and Toddy giggles, her tail moving behind her in delight.

“If I could have this body forever, I’d take my chances. So, what brings you to these parts of base, General? Here for Sergeant Davis I assume?”

Y/N nods once as she lightly shifts in place, with her cropped ears slightly folding back in approval. Toddy notices them and her eyes narrow for a split second, before she gives Y/N a smile.

“Well then, follow me.”

。。。

Toddy brings Y/N to one of the main labs, probably the biggest one. The viperwolf follows behind them, staying close to Toddy and occasionally looking around. The lab is noisy and filled with personnel, people running around with datapads, samples and lab equipment, some of them in white coats some others in corporate attire. Everyone seems to be deep in work, not lifting their heads from what they’re doing and deep in conversations with each other. Y/N turns to Toddy as they both walk amongst them.

“It’s quite busy in here. The scientists who we see in our parts of base aren’t usually this erratic in work. Is everyday like this?” She asks, looking at the woman next to her. Toddy shakes her head.

“Not usually. It’s often quite chill in here, people mind their own research in their labs. But since that prisoner that Colonel Quaritch brought in resisted the DPF’s NeuroSect E7.2T scanner yesterday, everyone has been scrambling to figure out a way for it to not happen again. No one has been able to understand what went wrong until now, and that’s a big problem.” She explains, looking back at Y/N. “The scanner is an extremely important tool not only for the department, but for the entire mission. It is the primary way of how we figure out different things about Pandora from the memories of the native’s, avatar’s and our own people, without having to go outside and risk our lives to gain information. If a human boy can fight it then it raises a huge uncertainty if we can use it again in the future.”

Y/N looks away in thought, watching the people around them as they make way for the two larger women and the animal to pass through the human sized facility. She then turns back to Toddy.

“So, what’s your specialization? Some fancy zoology shit?” She asks as she gives the viperwolf a glance at that last sentence and Toddy chuckles, shaking her head.

“Oh? Is the General interested in me?” She says, tilting her head teasingly with a smile and Y/N scoffs, furrowing her brows like a nine year old who has been told that her playground buddy has a crush on her. That makes Toddy chuckle.

“I’m not a scientist. I’m a scout.” She then replies, turning her head to look forward as to not bump into any humans.

“A scout? What’s that? Like the rangers we have in our department?” Y/N asks with a raised brow, moving away a female scientist that nearly walks into her.

“No, not really. Your rangers are responsible for surprise raids on the Na’vi in the forest. My job on the other hand is to go into the wild to gather the samples that the scientists and the medics require for their research or other uses.” Toddy replies, turning her hips slightly to show Y/N the sample storing bag secured on her belt. “I wouldn’t be considered a scientist since I don’t do research, but I am very well informed about the ecosystems of Pandora, as well as all of its species. At least the ones humanity has been able to discover and research up until now.”

Y/N nods once, looking slightly intrigued.

“So I’m assuming you know your way around the forest then.” She says, tilting her head slightly. Toddy grins.

“Like the back of my hand.”

They have now arrived to a spacious lab room where a bunch of specialists in white coats are talking to the large male Recom amongst them, wearing ALPHA’s casual uniform. Y/N watches momentarily as Henry continues to converse with them, before turning to the beautiful woman next to her who has been eyeing Y/N’s pretty face for a few seconds now.

“This is where we part then.”

Toddy smiles, watching Y/N through her lashes with her doe eyes before reaching for a final handshake.

“Maybe I could show you ‘round the forest sometime, General. Without the uniform and the high caliber destructive weapons.” She replies, her long ears slightly raising up as she says the last sentence to Y/N. The General grasps her hand, giving it a firm shake before letting go.

“I’ll think about it, Toddy.”

“Well alright then.”

And with that, Toddy gives Y/N one final beautiful smile before turning around and walking away. Her steps are calm and her posture is relaxed as she walks, taking her time to move her hips to her own rhythm and leisure while her tail moves side to side behind her. The viperwolf follows behind, with the paddled end of its tail wagging behind it. Y/N now notices the collar on its neck, dark blue and black that match its owner’s uniform, the dark colors almost making it blend completely to the black skin of its neck. She shakes her head and turns towards the room where Henry has now noticed his General, before walking inside.

Title explanation:

SSDD - Same Shit, Different Day.

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ

#avatar #avatar the way of water #atwow #atwow fanfiction #miles quaritch #avatar fanfiction #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch smut #atwow recoms #atwow oc recoms #avatar recoms #recombinant #recom lyle wainfleet #recom miles quaritch x reader #recom miles quaritch #recom oc #avatar rda #colonel quaritch #colonel miles quaritch #miles quaritch x y/n #miles quaritch fanfic #miles quaritch fanfiction

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕾𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖑 𝕰𝖒𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖊

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: I really wanted to create a Headless Horseman in the style of a Space Marine. I blame this post from @kit-williams. Not exactly like the book says, but… men. Also, I have found what those other alternatives look like “Blemmyes”

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

“How I Got Home” by SYML (thought it fit him.)

TW // Body Horror.

Anthelm feels for the area in front him, sensing the presence of this… this light. Something he hasn’t felt since the day he… arrived in this new world. It wasn’t the Emperor’s light, not a Primarch’s either, it was far too soft, too gentle for his master and his sons to achieve. Too weak and little for it to be them.

Too… laudatory.

Perhaps, it was a Psyker’s? No, he shot that thought down quick. There was no such thing in this world. No matter how far he has traveled this “Ancient Terra,” there was only the Adeptus Astartes Librarians. Psyker warriors created by their Primarchs gene-seed, grandchildren of the Emperor. He has yet or never met an a human on this world with the sorcery devoted into their souls. Such a thing seems to not exist in this world.

So, why does this lulling light have a pull at him? Why does this light call to him? Was this some type of trickery?

He attempts to try and ignore the strange light the first few weeks. Only for the feeling, the temptation to get stronger the moment he try’s to leave the area. Fighting, clawing, bitting at his thoughts like some rodent nawing at his brain matter. Fighting against his belief, his faith, his creed.

He was meant to seize this allurement. To overthrow it, kill it, banish it, just like he was tested with the daemons of the Chaos gods that lay beneath the Golden Throne. To test his incorruptible will, to be blessed the golden armor at the Golden Throne with the Emperors gold ridden eyes watching his newly appointed rank to serve underneath his hand and nothing more.

Anthelm done his duty underneath the Emperor of Mankind everyday then, never wanting to disappoint his Master, his Father. Abiding by every command voxed to him. Every unreasonable task until the days after the Horus Heresy.

Anthelm hasn’t expected to ever see the Emperor to look so dull, so… ungodly after the Heresy. The loss of too many limbs and mortal systemic damage far too great for the Emperors body to handle. Yet, the Emperor of Mankind still lives. His soul ridden remains never moving from his throne, rotting on it. Still commanding his rightful orders.

However, just because the Emperor lived on did not mean Anthelm could. He had died a few days prior to the Emperors fall. Perished, right on the battled soil of his god, his Emperors world. His thoughts not having enough time to call out to his master, his patriarch for his blessing of death for it had been rewarded quickly, gruesomely, dishonorably. His head being nothing but a pile of brain matter and crushed bone underneath the bloody hammer of a traitor, a Son of Horus.

He could feel his consciousness slip away through the voidness waves of the Warp when he died. His body feeling like he was just seamlessly resting above the ripples of the Warp, but he never moves, only the Warp did. Going around him, through him like slow moving wind. Never paining him.

Anthelm blankly wonders if his Emperor was giving him a second gift of life, to serve underneath his hand once more. Not wanting to lose another golden warrior of his to continue his battles. To not drown in the invisible waves of the Warp, to his death.

Though, the Warp seemed to be persistent, washing over at him, pressing effortlessly up against every pressure point it desired. Squeezing at him, crushing him, water boarding him like he was in the depths of water he shouldn’t be in. It felt like the Warp was… water torturing him. Burning his chest, his mind. Trying to get rid him, but he could still breathe and struggle within its unseeable and untouchable hold that drags at him, drowns him.

He longly waits for his conscience to leave him fully with silent, stuttering breaths. Unable to actually get a real sense of air into his lungs with the Warp winding up against him at every angle. Unable to hear what the Warp was doing to him.

Yet, he was beginning to see. To see a fraction of the Warp.

His “sight” started off as little white dots before it gradually grew like fire. Burning away at the solid thing in front of him before outlining it with white fire. The object in front of him pulsing with the flame like some infinite echolocation.

He reaches his hand forward, the strange white fire outlining his gauntlet as well as he touches the object. His fingers trailing over its rough texture. Feeling it out with his hands as this “sight” doesn’t provide him colors or details of the… dimension around him. It’s was like he was infinitely looking at a black and white eclipse. The pulsing edges of the white fire never making a flicker of noise.

Bark, he suddenly recognizes. He was touching the dry bark of a tree. He wasn’t in the warp anymore. He was on a different world.

How had he not noticed it? Has he been reborn? Resurrected? How come he wasn’t seeing any colors if he was? How come he couldn’t hear anything?

“H-HEADLESS HORSEMAN!” He hears a man stumble and scream, his head snapping in the direction of the shaking man. White flames engulfing the outline of the man, but it never burns the man as he crosses out his question on his ability to hear.

Although, headless horseman? What was that? Who was that? Was it something he should be wary of in this world?

He watches as the man smaller than him struggles with this… stick in his hand. Whimpering and shaking as his outlined head looks up and down between the stick and him before he points the stick at him? Was he telling him something—

A bullet ricochet’s off his armor, a ringing sound going off before a tiny thump where the bullet would land seemed loud between him and the whimpering man. It was then Anthelm registered that he was this “Headless Horseman.” His gauntlet coming come up to at paw at where his head would have been, but his “sight” was still there, where his eyes would be. How is such sorcery possible? …Did the warp do this to him?

The man shoots at him again. The bullet ricocheting off, scratching his armor as he quickly grows irritated by this man’s insolence. A inhumane growl leaving him despite him having no head to produce such noises.

He swipes down at the man. Giving him no time to react as he snatches the man from his neck and wastes no time to use his other to pull his neck back and away from him, exposing his neck to him. His muscles and bones popping in his neck before they tear themselves, spewing blood onto his armor before he rips his head off completely. Spine half intact in the foolish man’s body as he tosses both body parts off to the side. The stench of the man’s blood invading his senses.

Anthem shakes his “head.” The little light lulls at him again. Pulling his mind away from his first arrival on this paradise world. Tempting him once more, again and again. The white flames of his sight unable to get an outlining on this soft light in the distance. It felt like he should treasure this strange light, cherish it with his duty. Keep its light burning forever like a star. To protect it more than he would to his own master, his Emperor.

Throne, his mind drowns and burns every time he try’s to aknowledge the Emperor of Mankind. The Warp not wanting him to think such things since he found this light and at first, it made him want to extinguish this light.

How dare this simple light bring harm against his mind? How dare this light tempt him and promise him companionship, try and sway him from his duty’s?

Oh, but there wasn’t anything to abide to now, wasn’t there? There was no battles to be won. There was no important Emissaries to serve, and there was no Emperor on this planet to command him of his duty’s. It was only him, the Warp and this… suffocating light.

Throne, the little light.

He wants to touch it. To caress the edges of the light. To provide it what he was once known for. To harness its warmth it whispers, claims to have. He wanted to treasure this light. To admire every glowing perfection the light emitted.

He wants to be worthy of such a light, even if it was small. A fraction compared to the Emperor and Primarch’s. It was something he could protect and provide for once more.

‘Oh, he shall shield this little light, bestow it with anything it desires to pursue its ignited light and follow its enticing decree.’ He vows a part to himself. His “eyes” following the little light returning back into its domicile.

Anthem will not fail this little light of his.

#space marine husbandry sentience #warhammer 40k #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #space marine #space marine x reader #adeptus custodes x reader #elderich #dullahan #adeptus custodes #oc: anthelm #tw: body horror #he a lil lost golden boi

[maddascanbe-blog]

Down the rabbit hole again-

Real quick design stuff since I already talked about (young) Alix's personality. I like her hair a lot, it's slightly longer on her right side and that carries over to her adult self. (Adult) Alix is wearing a Viperion themed jacket because she and him both have time miraculous. I think I need to tweek the ears in later designs to make them thinner and the base, but what's done is done. Timebreaker is nearly the same, just a few more lines to add Pizzazz *jazz hands*

Okay so I stand by the idea that the rabbit and snake miraculous are too overpowered. They feel too strong, so they need a significant drawback. I didn't mention the snakes until now as to keep this secret.

First change and the most minor. The burrow can only take you through time, not space. You will step out exactly where you stepped in, just not when. Once Burrow has been activated (young) Alix can only go through one time jump before fluff needs to recharge. (Adult) Bunnix does need to reactivate the power each time which cuts off her connection to wear she entered the burrow. They can't just hop around willy-nilly.

Big Change! The rabbit miraculous is only capable of viewing the timestream/timelines. If (Adult) Bunnix tries to change things herself, it will cause the timeline to collapse. The most she can do is bring other miraculous holders into help. But if they have too much foreknowledge something similar will happen. This is why she can't bring (Adult) Mari and Adrien to help their younger selves. As a result, timetagger will be very different.

The rabbit holder only ages outside the burrow, so (Adult) Bunnix is much older than she appears. She does meet (young) Alix because she remembers it happening and know it won't destroy the timeline. But she imparts to both Ladybug and (Young) Alix to not give her the miraculous until everything is over and she's sure she's ready.

Whes Alix first got the rabbit she didn't listen to Fluff's warning and wiped out an entire timeline by tying to stop Hawkmoth early. She also confirms that this is what the wish does, and it's BAD. When one timeline gets broken it can sometimes damage the others around it.

Adult Alix has seen timelines die, and watched hundreds more suffer because she couldn't intervene to save them. Needless to say she's not doing well. And she desperately wants her younger self not to make her mistakes. But as the destined Rabbit holder, she knows its inevitably going to happen again. The rabbit miraculous is not incontrol of time, it's more trapped by it than anything else.

There is only one Rabbit Miraculous holder across the multiverse. Most of the older ones did not belong to this world, hence why little to nothing is known about them.

SImilarly the Snake miraculous has a nerf. The holder is able to go back 5 minutes. But it's just that, it's that holder. So their body still ages as normal. As a result, after Adrien spent 3 months as Aspik- he came out 3 months older. This is also why Marinette and Adrien are so apprehensive to hand out the snake miraculous.

Luka can usually do it in only a few tries but they're still terrified of those numbers adding up. Which is why Viperion only come out when they really can't risk NOT bringing him.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous redesign #miraculous fanart #miraculous re write #alix kubdel #alix kubdel redesign #bunnix #bunnix redesign #rabbit miraculous #snake miraculous #power changes

[sissificationblogpost1]

SISSY TRAINING PROGRAM FOR NEWBIES AND EXPERIENCED SISSY

WHO are struggling with their Gurly side and fantasy

Sissy Training: A Complete Beginner’s Guide

Unlock confidence and self-expression with our comprehensive beginner’s guide to sissy training.

Introduction

What’s sissy training, you ask? Well, if you’re here, you might have some ideas about it. But let’s clear up any confusion anyhow.

Sissy training is a transformative process that involves highlighting an ultra-feminine, drastically submissive persona.

For sissies, it’s a channel to locate, accept, and show off their authentic selves.

It’s not easy to find mediums for sissy training though.

Not when society is still, shall we say, narrow-minded. But just imagine it— just how liberating will it be to express your sissified self?

Many folks out there mistakenly think that sissy training is just about humiliation.

Absolutely not! It’s about finding power in being able to act without any inhibitions. Read on to learn more!

Understanding The Term “Sissy”

Some people might flinch at the term “sissy,” — a reaction we get thanks to society’s tendency to paint it in the wrong light.

But here’s the thing: we’re not society. We’re the redefiners, and so we must call out this misconception.

Today, “sissy” isn’t a smear or an insult. It’s a badge of honor, a sign of courage and self-acceptance.

“Sissy,” in its purest form, refers to a man who drowns himself immense femininity. Why would a man want this?

Think of it like a man’s breather in a world that expects him to do manly things. Such include being strong in every situation possible.

And pretending to be strong is very draining and exhausting.

It’s a man’s way to just let go. To be more intuned with his feminine persona and to heal.

To discover aspects of himself without shame and fear. A sissy can even adopt alter egos to explore more.

Does it involve submission? Sure, it can. But it’s not a one-size-fits-all label. It’s varied and rare for every practitioner.

The Basics of Sissy Training

Right off the bat, let’s address the elephant in the room: starting isn’t easy.

Heck, even I, with all my years of experience, look back on those initial, nerve-wracking steps. But guess what?

Nothing worth achieving comes easy.

Sissy training involves every feminine thing you can imagine. Femme behaviors?

Check. Femme clothes? Check. Femme thinking? Check!

The essence of sissy training lies in understanding that femininity isn’t a monolith— it’s a spectrum.

When you choose to be a sissy, you welcome the vulnerability and softness that comes with it.

But do not ever get this wrong— this “mellowness” also develops distinct strengths.

Such involves resilience and courage. They always go hand in hand, a part of the package.

Here’s a rundown of the absolute basics you must master first before progressing your sissy training:

Immerse yourself completely in your new sissy identity to commemorate your progress!

I’m talking head-to-toe transformation. And so, here are some practical advice I’ve picked up from my very own sissy education:

Dress the Part

What’s the best and easiest way to welcome your femme side?

A closet filled with your favorite women’s clothes, of course! But don’t just get everything!

Get those that fit you perfectly. Only give space in your wardrobe for those that complement your body type.

Your garb should also reflect your femme personality.

To help you get started, I suggest starting with the basics: a nice pair of stockings, a classy little black dress, and, of course, a pair of shoes that make you feel like a queen.

If you don’t have money to splurge, invest time rummaging through thrift stores, online sales, and hand-me-downs! Adopt Feminine Mannerisms

Do you want to look like a sailor dared by his unfunny friends to wear a dress for laughs?

Of course not! Your clothes make up about 50% of your presentation, but your gestures and poise, oh— they will take that up to 100%!

How can you “adopt” these mannerisms? Simple! By observing and engaging with the women around you!

Research indicates that you subconsciously mimic those you interact with, so take full advantage of this science!

Take note of how your graceful lady friend speaks, moves, and expresses their thoughts and feelings.

Who is involved in sissy training? It includes you— a male-to-female crossdresser (aka sissy).

You’ll go through various practices to make you an ultra-fem, subservient to another party in sissy training, your dom.

Other participants are your support system. It can include your fellow sissies, mentors, and allies.

How do I start my journey with sissy training?

Acceptance is first. Then, identify your motivations and objectives. Doing so will make your journey smoother since you have a map you follow. FOR QUESTIONS AND MORE INFORMATION ON HOW TO SIGN UP FOR THE TRAINING PROGRAM EMAIL : [email protected]

Telegram @mistressforsubmissive1

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