#grain engulfment | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fixomnia-scribble · 1 month

Text

WOW.

Scientists found an amazingly well-preserved village from 3,000 years ago

Text below, in case article access dries up:

LONDON — A half-eaten bowl of porridge complete with wooden spoon, communal rubbish bins, and a decorative necklace made with amber and glass beads are just a handful of the extraordinarily well-preserved remnants of a late Bronze Age hamlet unearthed in eastern England that’s been dubbed “Britain’s Pompeii” and a “time capsule” into village life almost 3,000 years ago.

The findings from the site, excavated in 2015 to 2016, are now the subject of two reports, complete with previously unseen photos, published this week by University of Cambridge archaeologists, who said they cast light onto the “cosy domesticity” of ancient settlement life.

“It might be the best prehistoric settlement that we’ve found in Britain,” Mark Knight, the excavation director and a co-author of the reports, said in an interviewThursday. “We took the roofs off and inside was pretty much the contents,” he said. “It’s so comprehensive and so coherent.”

The reason for the rare preservation: disaster.

The settlement, thought to have originally consisted of several large roundhouses made of wood and constructed on stilts above a slow-moving river, was engulfed by a fire less than a year after being built.

During the blaze, the buildings and much of their contents collapsed into a muddy river below that “cushioned the scorched remains where they fell,” the university said of the findings. This combination of charring from the fire and waterlogging led to “exceptional preservation,” the researchers found.

“Because of the nature of the settlement, that it was burned down and its abandonment unplanned, everything was captured,” Knight added.

“As we excavated it, there was that feeling that we were picking over someone else’s tragedy,” he said of the eerie site in the swampy fenland of East Anglia. “I don’t think we could smell the fire but the amount of ash around us — it felt close.”

Researchers said they eventually unearthed four large wooden roundhouses and an entranceway structure, but the original settlement was probably “twice as big.”

The site at Must Farm dates to about 850 B.C., eight centuries before Romans came to Britain. Archaeologists have been shocked at “just how clear the picture is” of late Bronze Age life based on the level of detail uncovered, Knight said.

The findings also showed that the communities lived “a way of life that was more sophisticated than we could have imagined,” Duncan Wilson, head of Historic England, the public body responsible for preserving England’s historic environment, said in a statement.

The findings unearthed include a stack of spears, possibly for hunting or defense; a decorative necklace “with beads from as far away as Denmark and Iran”; clothes of fine flax linen; and a female adult skull rendered smooth, “perhaps a memento of a lost loved one,” the research found.

The inhabitants’ diet was also rich and varied, including boar, pike and bream, along with wheat and barley.

A pottery bowl with the finger marks of its maker in the clay was also unearthed, researchers said, still containing its final meal — “a wheat-grain porridge mixed with animal fats” — with a wooden spatula resting inside the bowl.

“It appears the occupants saved their meat juices to use as toppings for porridge,” project archaeologist Chris Wakefield said in the university’s news release. “Chemical analyses of the bowls and jars showed traces of honey along with ruminant meats such as deer, suggesting these ingredients were combined to create a form of prehistoric honey-glazed venison,” he added.

Skulls of dogs — probably kept as pets and to help with hunting — were also uncovered, and the dogs’ fossilized feces showed they fed on scraps from their owners’ meals, the research found.

The buildings, some connected by walkways, may have had up to 60 people living there all together, Knight said, along with animals.

Although no intact sets of human remains were found at the site, indicating that the inhabitants probably fled the fire safely, several sheep bones were found burned indoors. “Skeletal remains showed the lambs were three to six months old, suggesting the settlement was destroyed sometime in late summer or early autumn,” according to the university’s news release.

Ceramic and wooden vessels including tiny cups, bowls and large storage jars were also found. Some pots were even designed to nest, stacked inside one another, Knight said — evidence of an interest in aesthetics as well as practicality.

A lot of similar items were found replicated in each home, Knight added, painting the picture of completely independent homesteads for each family unit rather than distinct buildings for shared tasks — much like we live today.

Household inventories often included metal tools, loom weights, sickles for crop harvesting, axes and even handheld razors for cutting hair.

The roundhouses — one of which had almost 50 square meters (nearly 540 square feet) of floor space — had hearths and insulated straw and clay roofs. Some featured activity zones for cooking, sleeping and working akin to modern-day rooms.

The Must Farm settlement has produced the largest collection of everyday Bronze Age artifacts ever discovered in the United Kingdom, according to Historic England, which partly funded the 1.1 million pound ($1.4 million) excavation project.

The public body labeled the site a “time capsule,” including almost 200 wooden artifacts, over 150 fiber and textile items, 128 pottery vessels and more than 90 pieces of metalwork. Some items will go on display at the nearby Peterborough Museum next month.

Archaeologists never found a “smoking gun” cause for the fire, Knight said. Instead, they suspect it was either an attack from “outside forces,” which may explain why the inhabitants never returned to collect their possessions from the debris, or an accidental blaze that spread rapidly across the tightly nestled homes.

“Probably all that was left was the people and what they were wearing; everything else was left behind,” Knight said of the fire.

But the preservation has left a window for people to look back through in the future. “You could almost see and smell their world,” he said.

“The only thing that was missing was the inhabitants,” Knight added. “And yet … I think they were there — you certainly got glimpses.”

#archaeology #bronze age #UK archaeology #excavations

2K notes · View notes

astrolovecosmos · 8 months

Text

❤️‍🔥Venus & Mars❤️‍🔥

Written from the perspective of Venus representing femininity and Mars masculinity. Please take this with a grain of salt.

Aries Venus: Warrior Queen, hellfire eyes, won't take no for an answer, upfront, hungry for action, red petals and lips, all eyes on her, can leave a burn or scar.

Aries Mars: Ardent eyes and lips, fiery protector, a good competitor, rescuer, conquering libido, always at 100, hot days and unforgettable nights.

Taurus Venus: Irresistible charm or look, low-key seductive, enduring and magnetic, slow burn, dream weddings or dates, romantic touch, comforting and content, careful with hearts.

Taurus Mars: Caring hands, hedonistic attitudes, down-to-earth until they're not, things are always on their time, level-headed or stable assertiveness, smells good, shares with those they love their soft spot.

Gemini Venus: Shapeshifting enchantress, leading you astray or into ecstasy or both, bright feathers and dazzling wings, sharp talons and a sharper tongue, curious creature, get lost in her eyes, movements, or storms.

Gemini Mars: Lightning-fast energy but airy to be around, wins you over with humor, takes pride in his intellect, upbeat and always around a crowd or working one, bewitches with ease and passion.

Cancer Venus: Mysterious and soft glows, gentle and kind, a protective force of nature, messy and engulfing feelings, hard to fall but when they do they fall hard, can be others safety, gets her way.

Cancer Mars: Silent and strong type or insightful and tenderhearted, deep and sensitive, trustworthy vibes, that moody artist or introverted mystery, a wall or door people are tempted to investigate, a powerful guardian, never gives up.

Leo Venus: Strength and beauty of a goddess, instant connections and passion, object of adoration or desire, demands your attention, worship and heart, romance in their veins, she is the sun - center of your universe.

Leo Mars: Draws you in with his performance, wins, or adventures, brave in the bedroom, will risk it all, life of the party, maybe vain or selfish but always on top, a king, lust and power, feverish and flirty, are you his muse, trophy, or queen?

Virgo Venus: The answer to all your prayers or questions, devoted blood, sensuous and erotic, always has it together, earthy vibes and quiet affection, thoughtful, but may bite, will you grow with her or will she outgrow you?

Virgo Mars: Innocent eyes with a mischievous or know-it-all smirk, reliable arms, secret vitality but not-so secret intellect and wit, observational, appreciative, discerning in preferences and partners, will work hard for you but what will you do for them?

Libra Venus: You can't miss her when she walks into a room, candlelight and wine, charm, beauty, and brains, falls easily, likely has a line of admirers, elegance and grace, now you know why lust and love are seen as ✨magic✨.

Libra Mars: Knows how to make you happy or calm, secretly a hunting hound, hard to resist, if you're with him you're BEAUTIFUL, affectionate and chivalrous, charismatic one minute and introverted the next, can you figure him out?

Scorpio Venus: THE seductress, passionate and dramatic temptation and lust, says forever and means it, rapacious lover, deep and hypnotic, a heart-stopping and mystic medusa, jealous and unforgiving but will give you everything.

Scorpio Mars: Eyes that look into your soul, the dark and edgy type, sex-appeal is their weapon along with mystery or secrecy, an intense enigma, sensitive yet powerfully assertive, an unstoppable force, may be obsessive or easily misunderstood but knows you more intimately than anyone else.

Sagittarius Venus: For true adventurers only, free spirit and a rebellious heart, more independent than you, the most fun you've ever had, a huntress, lucky in love, desire + lust + companionship, can you handle her honesty?

Sagittarius Mars: Always taking their shot, will explore and challenge you, a wild ride, infectious and attractive optimism, humor, or even clumsiness or awkwardness, chronically adaptable and energetic - can you keep up?

Capricorn Venus: Ice you want to melt, respect or admiration are the only options, reliable and grounded, always in control, you know when she's approaching, true faithfulness, hard to satisfy, she's the authority.

Capricorn Mars: Relentless and calculated pursuit, private and cool-headed, #relationshipgoals, provider vibes, an underrated smooth talker, powerful influence and drive, all about longevity...

Aquarius Venus: Magnetic sorceress, intellectual babe, sparkling and different, always keeping you on your toes, can do it all on her own but likes your company, unconventional relationships, falling in slow motion or fast-forwarding into love at high speed.

Aquarius Mars: Visionary wizard with enticing charisma, pushing boundaries, special aurora and bedroom moves, erratic and strong-willed, sees the best in you, channeling passion into each other's minds and bodies.

Pisces Venus: Sensational siren, dreamy and karmic, elusive moments, drowning in feeling, flip a coin for love or lust - throw it in the fountain for both, making your dreams and/or nightmares come true.

Pisces Mars: That hopeless romantic, sweet and sensitive, imaginative moves and touch, will give you their heart and soul, captivating and addicting, your fantasy lover.

#venus #mars #venus sign #mars sign #astrology #zodiac #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces

3K notes · View notes

0bticeo · 26 days

Text

lurk | feyd rautha

part two of five. (part one.) (part three.) (part four.)

summary:

the edge of the blade is sharp. a pinprick of pain blossoms above your carotid. but…

“it’s not sharp enough.”

he blinks. slowly, his lips curl in a smile. your gaze flits to them. to the plush lower lip, to the arch of his cupid’s bow. to their predatory edge. you’ll cut yourself if you get too close. maybe you need to take a step forward.

“what will you have me do?”

“pardon?”

“to sharpen it. should i fetch the incapable wretch who forged them?” his grin sharpens. you feel his blade cut through skin. “or should i use you?”

wc. 3k

tw. blood, death, manipulation, knife kink, blood kind (both heavily hinted at), possessive feyd, political machinations, little canon divergent because the atreides actually attend feyd's bday fight (canon dune part 1 one starts a little after that), please read part one first it will all make sense i promise. shoutout to @kpopnstarwars my most beloved you're going to enjoy this. same goes for you @jaiuneamesolitaiire . also please ask questions about reader/the plot i beg of u i need to get this out of my system

you’re falling.

you see white sands engulf you in their sickly warmth, greedy little grains sinking you in.

you’re falling, and there’s a distant roar ringing in your ears. you’re falling, lifeblood escaping you.

you’ve fallen.

black.

you peel your eyelids open. they feel like sandpaper against your eyes, coarse and rough in all ways wrong.

you dream. again.

the past shifts and twists in front of you, ever changing, desert sand falling through your fingers. the more you cling to it, the less you grasp it.

you let yourself fall in the abyss of memory.

you blink.

you stand by your father’s side, gait proud and regal in a dark dress - a convoluted affair of veils and silver. on your breast, the crest of your family - crimson falcon spreading, spreading. you think of blood blooming on your chest and shift, ever so slightly. the cool press of your blade against your forearm soothes you.

you are in troubled waters, after all.

geidi prime, home to your house’s sworn enemy, the harkonnen. geidi prime, its black sun sucking life out of its inhabitants, monochrome nightmare.

the flight from caladan was costly enough - you can almost hear hawat’s teeth grinding in discontent. a fortune, wasted on harkonen festivities held in honor of the na-baron’s birthday. yet, you must attend. you, betrothed-to-be to a harkonnen.

you’ve heard whispers. hushed conversations between your mother and father, an assessing gaze from the reverend mother herself. it won’t be the baron himself - too old, too sick to produce the desired offspring.

just any other member of that wretched house won’t do either - you are a duke’s daughter, your bloodline mingling with that of the emperor himself.

in the end, it all comes down to the baron’s nephews.

rabban - brutal. all furious brawns, minimal intellectual capacity, proficient for slaughter if used well.

na-baron feyd-rautha. utterly psychotic. deadly. precise. cunning. watching.

from his position at the baron’s right flank, he assesses you. you, back impossibly straight, hands folded before you, feet spread wide enough to spring to action should the situation go awry.

you, bowing before them, liquid smooth, a hair short of being disgracious.

you’ve only bowed low enough to respect the intricate harkonnen protocol, not to show deference. not to them.

the baron raises his head from his seat, barely.

“welcome to geidi prime, duke.”

you suppress a twitch. how utterly informal.

“thank you, baron.”

a shift in the baron’s entourage.

outrage, barely concealed. rabban looks ready to slit your father’s throat. how dare the atreides scum fail to recognize the honor paid to him and his suite?

they’re being left alive, have the privilege of witnessing their beloved na-baron’s coming of age, and still fail to show the due respect?

you let out a slow, drawn out breath. the ceremony will be held in two days. more than enough time for you and your father to be disposed of.

your lips quirk up. you speak.

“it is always an honor to be invited to festivities in which the emperor partakes.”

feyd-rautha’s eyes are on you. under geidi prime’s soulless sun, they’re white, depthless. a milky way of depraved harkonnen savagery. he bares his teeth with unbrided hunger. you know it to be a threat - you’ve heard of his harpies.

you think he’ll consume you whole, with the way his gaze scorches your very soul.

how delightful.

a pulse. the suspensors. slowly, the baron rises from his seat, gargantuan mass towering above you, shadow stretching and stretching until it encompasses all of you.

“the flight to geidi prime must have been quite draining.”

a tenth of your wealth. he who controls the spice controls the universe. the harkonnen have had arrakis in an iron hold for eight decades. your jaw ticks. bastard.

“escort them to the guest wing.”

servants surge forward.

feyd-rautha’s gaze burns, sinks in the exposed skin of your back.

your dream shifts. twists, turns, has you seated at a banquet table.

a feast.

one day left until feyd-rautha’s coming of age.

the guards don’t know how to hold their tongue. they expect a fight - the grandest thing under the sun.

the emperor’s here, sitting at your table. from the corner of the eye, you observe. he’s been put at the head of the table, the baron at his right, your father at his left. an attempt at appeasing eons old enemy. a failure. yet...

there’s an air of satisfaction to the emperor. haden’t you be trained in the bene gesserit way, you would have missed it, the way his eyes glimmer like arrakean spice.

finality sinks in as he takes the first bite, knife slicing open the tender flesh of an unknown poultry.

it looks like a falcon.

you take a bite of your own meat. medium rare, the proper way to consume meat. especially venison. princess irulan watches you, gaze assessing. she, too, has been trained in the way.

you smile at her, finger tracing the rim of your glass, spider-pleasantries networking endlessly. you ask her if she enjoyed your gift - a vocal recorder of the highest quality.

her smile is sincere. in the brutal white lighting of the banquet hall, you find yourself wishing things were different.

“how is your brother?”

you grin. you’re being watched.

“he’s grown. still has his back facing the door.”

she scoffs, amused.

“he’ll learn.”

under the artificial light, your wine looks like freshly spilled blood.

you take a sip and hum. the alcohol burns, sweet little fire settling low in your chest.

“is the wine to your liking, my lady?"

to your credit, you don’t startle. your shoulders tense, your hand freezes in its motion to lower the glass.

na-baron feyd-rautha is at your side, close enough for his breath to tickle your ear.

“it is, my lord na-baron.”

mine. mine. glacier eyes have you riveted in your seat, needle-like against your throat. mine, mine.

his lady. his to claim, his to wed, his to breed.

you watch lithe fingers curl around his knife and wish you could see him in action. watch the deadly precision he’s so praised for.

soon.

twist and shift, until you’re lost in a maze of hallways.

the ceremony is about to start - you can feel the low thrum of thousands of harkonnen roaring their na-baron’s name. shadows pass over you.

it’s cold, this architecture. metal wings stretching, stretching. should you crane your neck, maybe, you’ll watch them disappear in the ceiling. maybe. darkness is a looming cloud - these very walls soak up the light.

you, yourself, are a shadow. puppet dancing to the whims of whoever holds your strings. bene gesserit. baron vladimir harkonnen. the emperor.

you feel a storm coming.

you stop. light. an open door. a lone silhouette, porcelain white etched against black.

feyd-rautha.

he raises his head. sees you. tilts it to the side, lips stretched in a slow grin.

“are you lost, my lady?”

“so it would appear, na-baron.”

a twitch. flicker of annoyance in his eyelid, in the clenching of his jaw, sculpted edge caressed by shadows.

his blade is at your throat before you can make a move.

time holds its breath. it will snap and bleed raw at your feet, thick rivulets of it.

you will bleed, too.

your lips part, a muted gasp. the edge is sharp. a pinprick of pain blossoms above your carotid. but…

“it’s not sharp enough.”

“what will you have me do?”

“pardon?”

“to sharpen it. should i fetch the incapable wretch who forged them?” his grin sharpens. you feel his blade cut through skin. “or should i use you?”

your heart skips a beat. a droplet of blood trails down your neck, down to your collarbone, down to your breasts. his gaze follows. hungry.

“you’d make quite a mess, na-baron.”

he steps closer. circles you, free hand grazing your hip bone, left bare by your dress. you feel the heat of him. suddenly, you’re acutely aware of his bare chest pressed against you. you suppress a shiver.

“address me properly, my lady.”

he shifts his blade. it presses against your jaw.

“very well, my lord na-baron.”

a pleased hum, like a purr. you tilt your head to the side.

“what will you do, feyd-rautha?”

he turns by a fraction. his lips graze your cheek, a breath away from your mouth. your throat feels dry. they graze there, too, over your carotid, trailing up and up until he’s pressing his cheek to yours, guiding you, helping you see-

carnage.

servants, dressed in white, lying limp on the ground, throat slit with deadly perfection. blood pools on the ground. stretches. oozes from gaping wounds, until it reaches the hem of your dress.

concubines, three of them - sisters of fate, harpies with broken limbs, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. they’re smiling, teeth like fangs in the dim lighting of the room.

“help me,” he mutters, voice like a plea. “i will guide you.”

“and if i refuse?"

a low chuckle. deep, raspy. you melt a little inside.

“you’re brave, my little atreides.”

“you wouldn’t be the first to try to kill me and fail, miserably.”

his arm wraps around your middle, pressing you to him. oh, mother, why did you have to wear a backless dress? you feel each ridge of him, the perfection of a trained warrior, muscles taut from countless hours of training - he’d make sculptors weep with the lethal perfection of him.

“ah, the fabled tale. show me, little atreides.”

“say please.”

his fingers dig in your hip, thumb tracing small circles under the silver threads holding the fabric together.

“please.”

slowly, you raise your arm. the fabric of your dress, a convoluted affair of veils and velvet, slides down your skin. inch by inch, until the treacherous, ragged scar stretches along your forearm. he tenses, feyd-rautha.

“who did this to you?”

“a fool who underestimated me.”

an assassin.

sent to kill you and your brother as you were running around on the beaches of caladan. who took you first, had you pressed against him, blade at your throat - until you sweetly asked him to

unhand you.

he did. your mastery of the voice wasn’t perfect. you faltered. he struck. you bled.

killed.

words are the weapons of the weak.

that, you aren’t.

“how may i help you, feyd-rautha?”

twist, turn, until you’re facing him, holding a bowl of paint. thick, petrol black, it clings to your fingers like a lifeline. feyd-rautha’s hand covers yours. guiding you, dipping your fingers in the paint, raising your hand to his torso.

you flush a little.

he’s warm. so very warm under your touch. the paint is cool on his skin - you watch him shiver, abdominals contracting, and you trail down, down his pectorals, stopping just short of his navel, lingering over the fabric of his tunic. at his side, his fingers twitch, eager.

“more.”

“where?”

his hand reaches for yours. presses it on his chest. you can feel his heart, steady, strong - fluttering, hummingbird flailing in a cage made of ribs.

you want him, you realize. you want to consume him whole, sink your teeth in him until you can finally taste.

“where?”

you have to crane your neck to get a look at his face. something like amusement glimmers in his eyes.

he brings your fingers to his lips.

you blink.

spread the paint, thumb pressing down the plush of his lips. his lips part, suck you in and bite.

feyd-rautha watches you, tongue darting out to gather the sweet blood trailing down your hand. he presses a kiss to your palm, lips lingering against the callouses of your skin.

you let out something like a whine. the bowl falls. you never hear it reach the ground.

“you’re making quite a mess.”

bastard.

“you’ll make a bigger one if you’re late, my na-baron.”

twist and turn, again, and again, and again. dreams have meanings, and you won’t let this one escape your grasp.

you’re standing above the ground, in the gaping mouth of a harkonnen arena. on and on it stretches, cold metal sparring against the sky, gnawing at its decimated horizon. ink blots the sky. you think of blood pooling in the water. fireworks.

you step inside the lodge. the guards recognise you - duncan idaho flashes a smile, a sharp quirk of his lips. you nod. they part ways. let you join your father, sit by his side and watch.

the fight hasn’t begun yet.

“you look thoughtful, daughter.”

you look away from the immaculate sand and the thousands of harkonnen roaring their na-baron’s name. feyd-rautha.

your father is watching you, gaze austere. you will not conceal, not from him.

“an alliance with the harkonnen would be beneficial, father.”

silence. you watch the subtle twitch of his eyelid, the flexing of his hand. the guards do not hear. you’ve willed it so on your way in. to them, this is only pleasant chatter between father and daughter. harkonnen slander.

“you will not speak of such matters again.”

“the emperor-”

“enough!”

you keep your mouth shut. your father is a stubborn man, blinded by hatred passed down from generation to generation of atreides. as you should be.

horns blow. doors part, slide up. in comes feyd-rautha harkonnen, prowling on the wretched grounds of his playing ground. your binoculars zoom in on him. on the ease with which he carries himself, on the perfect arch of his neck as he kneels before the baron.

on harkonnen prisoners making their way towards him. undrugged.

you straighten in your seat.

the guards murmur. they too, have noticed the prisoners walking straight, carrying themselves with entirely too much ease.

“a bold move. what is the baron planning?”

your father. he’s watching too. all of you are, thousands of gazes riveted on the focal point that is the lone silhouette of feyd-rautha harkonnen.

you rip your gaze away from him and focus on the baron, a few meters above.

his lips part.

show me who you are, my dear nephew.

he’s fast. too fast for them. you relish in it, the fluidity of his movements, the way his hands tenses with each strike of his blades, bare forearms rippling with tension. one body falls. two. it’s barely been a minute since the fight started.

you cross your legs and watch, enthralled.

by god, does he fight well.

a reptile, slithering around his opponent, assessing him with the cruel knowledge of his supremacy. shadows loom over them, horned beasts ready to pry his opponent away from him should he prove to be in danger.

you feel more than you hear his outraged snarl.

“back off!”

that poor soul is his to kill. his gaze flickers upwards. up to the guest lodge, up to you. he bares his teeth in a smile, a flash of black against pure white, and strikes. blood splatters on the ground. a gash opens in the side of the prisoner. he stumbles but doesn’t fall.

no, he’s a fighter that one. lunches forward to pin the na-baron to the ground, wrestling with him, clawing at his arms, hitting every nerve until the baron drops his blades. he’s laughing. he’s getting the life choked out of him and he’s laughing, shifting until his feet find enough leverage to pull him up.

there’s a blade at his throat. the prisoner pushes and pushes, unstoppable force against immovable object. on he laughs, feyd. your eyes drops to his lips, where you see droplets of drool drip down his chin. you bite your lip.

feyd seizes the blade with his bare hand and twists. you hear the prisoner’s wrist break before you hear him choke on his own scream, coughing out blood. the dagger’s deep in his throat. it’s the only thing keeping him together - one fluid motion and feyd rautha wrenches it out of torn flesh and raises it above.

his gaze finds yours.

the dream shifts.

a veil unfolds, parts, until you’re walking the burning sands of arrakis. paul atreides, blood of your blood, flesh of your flesh, stands before you.

his eyes are blue.

you freeze.

a litany rises. lisan al gaib. your mother’s handicraft and eons of propaganda from the missionaria protectiva did its job well. here stands the one, scalding wind screaming around the looming silhouette of him.

bodies. bodies, laying on the ground, thousands and thousands of bodies, hands clutching at scorched earth, parched mouths opened in damnation. hunger. they’re dying in paul’s wake. fate will set the galaxy ablaze. fate will make monsters out of you.

“you know what must be done, sister.”

you do. there’s something a little broken in the way you smile at him, palm cradling his face.

“do you, little mouse?”

he’s tired, paul atreides, usul, muad’ib, lisan al gaib. sanctity doesn’t suit him well. he sees, but his eyes are sunken, his cheeks have hollowed out. there’s an edge to him, too. the bene gesserit were right to fear him.

“don’t lose yourself more than you already have, brother.”

it’s too late.

a jolt.

your eyes wrench open.

“welcome back, atreides.”

the baron.

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x y/n #feyd rautha x you #dune x reader #dune x you #dune x y/n #obticeo writes #bald freak supremacy

383 notes · View notes

rosequarzo · 3 months

Text

only you

૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა • ! zayne+ fem! reader canon divergence tooth-rotting fluff implied friends to lovers ☆ warning not proofread . . . !? & 644 — catalogue

notes. as promised, here is the zayne drabble hehe.

Zayne drops whatever was in his hands whenever you came to visit him. It has become a habit of his; he realised after nearly dropping his pair of glasses that he was busy wiping. He didn’t want to go through the painful and troublesome procedure of purchasing a new one, despite how his salary was able to cover it easily.

The doctor could physically feel his office brightening up whenever you entered, greeting him with your signature smile as you revealed the takeout bag, concealed from his view.

“Zayne, you haven’t eaten, have you? I brought us Chinese food so we could eat together,” you grinned, waving the bag slightly like an excited puppy. The sight was enough for a smile to slip from his usual composed demeanour.

“Sure, we can eat together,” he agrees, resisting the urge to break out into a smile when his ears pick up your cheering noise.

He got up, walking around his table to help you remove the plastic containers from the takeout bag, placing them on the coffee table instead. Both of you sat on the same couch, your clothed knees brushing against one another due to the close proximity. You wasted no time in removing the lids, feeling your mouth drooling at the fragrance instantly engulfing the room.

“Did you buy fried rice?” He questioned, quirking an eyebrow as he stared at the food displayed before him.

“Yup, I was craving for it and I passed by a restaurant that was selling fried rice,” you answered, eagerly handing your dear friend his utensils.

Zayne watches as you scoop a mouthful of steaming and fragrant fried rice with your spoon. It was a miracle that you didn’t split the food, considering how it was about to fall. His eyes remained fixated on your face, observing as you slowly chewed and your eyes widening, only for happiness and satisfaction to flicker past. He finds your reaction amusing and adorable, not that he dares to say it out loud. Not when he was in his office, that is.

“You silly girl, you have something on your face,” he chuckles at the sight of two stray rice grains sticking near the corners of your mouth.

It was humiliating with how your throat went dry and how your heart skipped a beat at the romantic gesture your partner just did. As far as you knew during your long-term friendship, Zayne was someone who prefers to keep to himself.

He doesn’t dare to show his affection for you in public, not when everyone’s eyes were on him and not when he was practically well-known for his talent as a doctor. He may come off as a cold and aloof person, only for him to discard the demeanour aside once he was alone with you.

“What’s wrong?” He furrowed his eyebrows at the lack of response, snapping you out of your thoughts. You blinked your eyes twice and cleared your throat.

“Huh? Oh, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it. We should continue eating before your break ends,” you didn’t know why you were acting shy out of a sudden.

Perhaps it has something to do with how Zayne was staring at you with such an intense gaze. Perhaps it has something to do with how he looked at you like you were his whole world. You risked a sneak peek at him, only to quickly look away when you accidentally made eye contact. Your flustered reaction and action elicited an amused chuckle from him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you huffed, cheeks dusted in a light shade of red.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the only one here.”

Zayne paused, only for a genuine smile to stretch across his face from ear to ear. “Oh, but you are. Even if there are people here, I will only look at you and only you.”

#୨୧ magazine articles #love and deepspace #love and deep space #love and deepspace zayne #zayne x reader #zayne imagines #zayne x you #zayne x y/n #zayne fluff

412 notes · View notes

submariini · 7 months

Text

When Finland’s Käärijä took the stage at this year’s Eurovision, a star was instantly, explosively born. With an outrageous energy, infectious presence and that oh-so-catchy hook, the Vantaa-based rapper may not have won the contest but he certainly snatched the hearts of those in his home country and beyond. We ask Käärijä the million dollar question: what next?

[full article under the cut]

Last May, a peculiar frenzy engulfed Finland. Virtually all green foods – cucumbers, especially – were sold out from stores. Buildings across the land were bathed in vivid green lights. Social media brimmed with green-themed parties, while data obtained by Swedish fintech company Klarna showed a 570 per cent increase in the online sales of neon green shirts.

This phenomenon was all thanks to Käärijä, the rapper who represented Finland in the 2023 Eurovision Song Contest. His now-infamous, blazing green puff sleeve bolero – dreamt up by Finnish broadcasting company Yle’s costume design team and which he dons when performing the smash hit track ‘Cha Cha Cha’ – had taken on a life of its own, the lush hue uniting the entire nation amid the competition. “It was incredible to see it happen and so cool being part of it,” Käärijä says. “It wasn’t planned at all – it was the people who created the commotion. I’ll definitely never forget it.”

When we speak over Zoom, Käärijä, whose real name is Jere Pöyhönen, is lounging in his minimal apartment in Vantaa, a city just outside Helsinki. He appears on my screen shirtless, a chunky gold chain dangling on his neck. On his head sits a pastel turquoise cap adorned with little cat ears. As he gestures with his hands, I spot flashes of poison green nail varnish. Pöyhönen’s chosen attire, or lack thereof, is extremely fitting – he typically performs bare-chested (“It gets so hot during my gigs”) and his Instagram handle is @paidatonriehuja, or ‘shirtless rascal’.

Hot off a performance in western Finland, the 29-year-old is enjoying his first days off in a while. It’s been a sweltering summer of non-stop touring, with fans flocking to festivals and concerts nationwide to see his explosive live show. Things are not winding down either, with Käärijä heading off on his first-ever European tour this month. Some of these shows sold out in mere minutes, an indication of his immense international following. “It’s so exciting; I’m definitely jumping into a new territory with that tour,” Pöyhönen says. “But I don’t have any expectations – I’m just going to let everything happen organically rather than stressing about it.”

Although he created one of this year’s buzziest songs, the guy on my screen is humble and, save for his look, almost un assuming. I remark on the stark contrast to his fiery and flamboyant stage presence. “Through Käärijä, I get to channel all the craziness, quirkiness and hyperactivity I’ve had since I was a child,” Pöyhönen says, describing himself offstage as “just this ordinary dude”. Without delving into further details, he tells me that the name Käärijä (translating roughly to moneymaker) stems from a history with gambling. Despite the darkness of its origin, he notes that the moniker is to be taken with a grain of salt.

While it might seem like Käärijä exploded into the public consciousness from obscurity, Pöyhönen has a long journey in music behind him. Born in Helsinki but having spent most of his youth in Vantaa, he started dabbling in the medium at just three years old. Coming from a musical family (“My dad and big brother both play the guitar”), jamming sessions were commonplace in the Pöyhönen household, his instrument of choice being the drums. “I was playing with pots and spoons before I got a set of those plastic kids’ drums,” he says. “When we moved to a bigger house, we built a band room downstairs where me and my brother spent a lot of time practising.”

At that time, rap music hadn’t yet entered Pöyhönen’s life; he was strictly a self-described “metal guy”. His older brother had instilled in him a love for the genre, particularly metal icons Rammstein. Upon starting high school, his musical taste broadened and he began listening to Eminem and popular Finnish rap groups Fintelligens and JVG. “Me and my friends were filming our own music videos to old rap songs, learning the words by heart,” Pöyhönen says. “It [making rap music] pretty much started as this humour thing I did with my mates.”

Encouraged by his loved ones, Pöyhönen began writing his own songs, still playing it for laughs. Turned out he had a knack for it. “Since I was little, I’ve been an avid storyteller – my imagination ran a little wilder than the rest of the kids’ at my school,” he says. “So when I started making music, I didn’t even need inspiration; I was able to whip up the lyrics from my head.”

But then, at 15, an unexpected turning point came by way of a severe sudden illness. Rushed to the hospital with ulcerative colitis, a chronic inflammatory bowel disease, Pöyhönen underwent emergency surgery to remove his colon. Had he not been treated immediately, the complications could have been fatal. “I was writing songs in the hospital – music became a source of strength for me,” he says. “I decided that if I make it through this, I’m going to give my all to music and be serious about it.”

After over a decade of hard work and countless hours in the studio, Käärijä released his first album, Fantastista (Fantastic), in 2020, but it would take three years for him to become a household name in Finland. After snapping up the top prize in Uuden Musiikin Kilpailu (the Finnish contest for new music) with his party anthem ‘Cha Cha Cha’, a song dedicated to a hedonistic night out fusing rap, electronic music and metal, he secured the coveted spot as his country’s entrant for the 2023 Eurovision, held in Liverpool. One of Pöyhönen’s craziest dreams had come true.

For Pöyhönen, Eurovision was “an amazing but immensely tough experience”. The event’s intense schedule and the little time carved out for practising surprised the artist. There was no room for errors or retakes once it was time for rehearsals. “They didn’t give much mercy,” he says. On the bright side, the long days filled with “lots of press conferences and waiting around” gave Pöyhönen a chance to get to know the other artists. “The group we had there was wonderful – there wasn’t a competitive atmosphere at all,” he says. One of the contestants he became especially close with was Sweden’s Loreen, with whom he exchanged numbers and promised to “meet up and talk about everything else but music”.

By the time the grand finale came, Käärijä’s explosive performance and infectious song had made him one of the favourites to win. Ultimately he came second, while Loreen nabbed first place. How did Pöyhönen handle the letdown? “It was a huge disappointment, but in the end, the feeling didn’t last long,” he says. “When I thought about how far I’d gotten, the incredible journey it was and all the new friends I made, I realised that these things are far more meaningful than winning.” Plus, he still achieved something major: ‘Cha Cha Cha’ made history as the first ever Finnish song to reach Spotify’s global most-listened charts. The track’s reach proved to Pöyhönen that language doesn’t matter; it’s all about creating a singular, infectious sound: “The mouth is just as much of an instrument as the piano or the guitar is,” he says.

Having made history, I ask Pöyhönen if he felt any pressure after the Eurovision bubble had burst. “Of course there are the thoughts of ‘what now?’ and ‘is this going to be it, will anyone be interested anymore next year?’ – I’m aware that the hype won’t last forever,” he says. “But I’m onto creating the next thing, trying not to feel any pressure for future releases. I haven’t done that before, so why would I do that now?”

Pöyhönen hints at a new album dropping sometime next year, but in the meantime, he’s enjoying the attention – including his Vogue Scandinavia debut. Shot at the extraordinary home of the late interior architect Antti Nurmesniemi and his wife, textile artist Vuokko Nurmesniemi, we find the space where Pöyhönen and Käärijä meet, the quiet confidence mingling with that more-is-more persona.

And while Käärijä might develop as a character (“I want to show that he’s more than just a bolero chap”), he’s adamant that he will stay true to his music and keep singing in Finnish, despite the sudden international attention. “In the end, I’m doing this for myself,” he says. “Also, why change something that works?”

Photographer: Karoliina Bärlund Stylist: Sanna Silander Talent: Käärijä Hair Stylist and Makeup Artist: Neea Kuurne Photographer Assistant: Milja Laakso Stylist Assistant: Nelli Korhonen

#käärijä #jere pöyhönen #eurovision #the article in full

553 notes · View notes

philistiniphagottini · 1 month

Note

feel free to take my request with a grain of salt <3

i’d love love love to read something with gallagher and fem reader maybe, with any prompts from; 15, 16, 20, 40...

or 29, 40, 50, 77... i hope that’s okay, ml ♡

Thanks for waiting Anon. I finished 2.1 yesterday and I felt ready to tackle this. I'm really liking Gallagher at the moment, he's very interesting (and I'm a whore for a beefy man). Thanks for the request, hope you enjoy :)

Smut Prompts

Prompts: 29 + 40 + 50 + 77

cw. smut, penetrative sex, collar & leash (for gallagher), size difference, rough sex, creampie, fem! reader

"Enjoying the view, darl?" Gallagher drawled.

He stared up at you from his position on the floor, messy strands of his brunette hair falling into his half-lidded eyes as a lazy smile crawled over his bruised lips. You hummed softly in response to his question, pulling the leash that connected to his collar tighter. The leather weaved between your fingers as you tugged, the collar briefly constricting his throat as he was coaxed forward. A groan stirred deep in his chest as he crawled closer to you on his hands and knees, only stopping once he reached the foot of the bed. You sat perched above him, a coy smile tilting your lips as you idly twisted the leash around the palm of your hand.

"You look good down there, Pup."

Your teasing words only made the old bartender scoff. Him? Young? How flattering. But he bit his tongue even when the quip still itched at the back of his head. Instead, he kept quiet, allowing you to have your fun, to push and pull him to your every whim or fancy. He liked it when you bossed him around a little. You placed your feet on his strong legs, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch as you slowly slide your feet along the tops of his bare thighs. His cock twitched between his legs when you cooed his name so sweetly, the tip of his drooling dick flushed a deep shade of red as it struggled to keep still. Gallagher’s gaze lingered on your sumptuous body perched above him, never once wavering as you cupped his face in your warm hand, fingers gently gripping his jaw as you tilted his chin up. There wasn’t a single ounce of resistance as you tipped his head, viewing his face from a different angle as a thoughtful noise bubbled up the back of your throat.

You leaned back as your feet slipped from his legs, your hand leaving his face as you placed it in your lap. You softly pat your leg, the gentle taps of your fingers hitting supple skin making Gallagher’s ears twitch forward at the enticing sound.

"Come to me, I’m sure you know what comes next" you said, a hint of amusement tinting the edges of your voice.

Gallagher grunted softly in response as you scooted further back on the bed, tugging on his leash and silently commanding him to follow. The cool, silk sheets beneath your body were a blessing against your heated skin, your blood simmering hotly in your veins as Gallagher joined you on the bed. The mattress creaked loudly in protest from his sudden weight, your heart beat pounding in your ears as he drew closer to you. Your eyes roved over his bare, muscular body as he stalked closer to you on his hands and knees, eyes tracing over every alluring dip and haggard scar littered over his torso. Your breathing wavered as you were completely engulfed in his shadow, a pleasant tingle racing down your spine and pooling in the pit of your stomach as you were reminded by the sheer difference in size between you.

He placed his big, strong hands on your thighs, the calloused tips of his fingers tickling along your plump skin as he smoothed his hands along the expanse of your bare legs. You tutted softly under your breath as you yanked his collar, the leather once again briefly constricting his breathing as his head shot forward and almost slammed into the headboard behind you. You gently swatted at his wandering hands and he immediately pulled them away.

"No touching" you reminded.

A warm chuckle stirred in Gallagher’s chest as he was reprimanded, words you spoke to him earlier in the evening ringing in his head like a chime from a shimmering bell. His hands landed by your sides, fingers dipping into the mattress as you were caged between his beefy arms.

"Sorry doll, gotta remind this old dog sometimes" Gallagher chuckled with a husky purr of your name.

You smiled warmly as you cupped his cheek and leaned up, the smell of alcohol lingering on his breath as his warm puffs hit your heated skin. You placed a chaste kiss to his jaw, the rough stubble of his beard scratching at your skin as you pulled back.

"It’s okay I know you’re a good boy deep down" you chimed as you gently pat his cheek.

You lay on your back once more, head hitting a fluffy pillow as you spread your legs wider to accommodate for Gallagher’s larger frame. Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest as your legs fell open, exposing your wet sex to your lover’s hungry gaze as it opened like a delicate flower in bloom. A noise of approval rumbled deep in his chest at the sight of your drooling pussy, pearls of your arousal dripping down your quaking thighs and staining your skin with the sweet nectar. What he wouldn’t give to dive straight between your supple thighs and lap up the alluring beads. But like the good lap dog that he was he waited patiently, only moving when he was given permission to do so. He remained still as you reached between his thighs, hand wrapping around hardened warmth. A shaky breath fell from his parted lips; dazed eyes swimming in a deep sea of lust as your fingers curled around his arousal and started to lazily pump him.

"I’m sure you know what comes next?" you queried with a teasing lilt at the edge of your voice.

A short chortle escaped his dry mouth, tongue darting over his lips as his hips twitched forward into the languid strokes of your hand.

"Shit, I know I joked I was old but I ain’t that senile" Gallagher replied.

"Then please me~"

You gently guided his cock between your legs, every hair on the nape of your neck standing up in anticipation as your long eyelashes brushed against your burning cheeks. You rubbed the fat head of his dripping cock against the pretty pearl of your clit, feeling a violent shiver ripple down your back as the mere touch felt like a shock from a live wire. Gallagher’s jaw tensed as he hissed through clenched teeth, his cock sloppily coating the petals of your creamy folds as he drooled with hunger. His spine went rigid when you pushed the tip against your sopping entrance, the tight ring of muscles catching on the sensitive head and causing a broken moan to crawl out of his throat. Your lungs pinched in your chest as he pressed forward, helping to guide more of his cock in you now that he was properly aligned. The tips of your fingers started to tingle as you let go of his throbbing erection, allowing Gallagher to push the rest of the way in. His hips shuddered as his thick cock split apart your silky lips, sinking deeper and deeper into slick warmth as your pussy gripped him so tight he thought you were going to strangle him. You continued to tug on his leash, urging him to stuff more in you as you writhed beneath him, the aching burn of being stretched slowly being completely drowned out from the pleasure of the experience.

Tears clung to the edges of your lashes as Gallagher’s cock crowded your pussy, your insides feeling like they were turning to mush around the shape of him as he sheathed himself fully inside of you. You struggled to catch your breath; mind dizzy as you stared at the spot where you were joined in fervid rapture with dazed eyes. Gallagher’s hands tensed beside you, fingers digging into the sheets and threatening to tear them asunder with a simple tug of his hands. He stay still for a long, tense moment, waiting for you to adjust and give him further orders. The soft clink of a chain ring loud over your shared, ragged breaths, catching his attention as he gazed down at you with a curious tilt of his head. You gently tugged on his leash, foot pressing against the back of his thigh as your heel dug into his skin.

"Move."

He obeyed your order without a moment’s hesitation, pulling back only for his hips to snap forward and sink back into you. The hot coil in your belly twisted tighter as he dragged his cock through your sensitive walls, making you feel every throbbing vein on his steadily pulsing cock as he languidly thrust into you. Your pussy spasmed around him, desperate to swallow more of him as beads of slick steadily dripped down the sides of Gallagher’s cock. Your nails bit into the leather of the leash, scratching uselessly at the material as the pound of Gallagher’s dizzying girth slowly emptied your head of every single thought. Your head fell back into the comforting confines of your pillow, sweat dotting your brow as the heat inside you continued to writhe and twist, the pressure in your stomach fanning into fiercer flames with each languid movement of Gallagher’s hips.

His heavy panting filled your ears, hot puffs of his unsteady breaths tickling your skin as the mattress creaked along to his movements. You could feel yourself start to tremble along with the bedframe, the muscles in your legs tensing when you felt the tip of his cock slip deeper into you. You whined and moaned his name beneath him, soft tits bouncing along with his movements as the pleasure ate away at your insides like a starving beast. You fought to peel your tongue off the roof of your mouth, swallowing thickly as your lips parted around a salacious moan.

"Gallagher…harder…"

Gallagher grunted above you, eagerly following your command as the pace of his hips started to increase. You moaned sweetly beneath him, legs coming to wrap around his broad waist and allowing him to slip deeper. Another wavering breath crawled out of your parched throat as you felt the heavy head of his cock brush against the soft, gummy patch inside you that made stars waver in your vision. You could taste the desire lingering in the back of your throat with your next shuddering breath, your fingers going numb as you tugged on his leash again.

"Harder" you moaned.

Gallagher let out a shaky breath, sharp teeth gnashing together as the collar cut off his oxygen for a few, precious seconds and made a vein in his head throb until he was allowed to breathe once more. Drool dripped from the corners of his lips, staining his chin and pooling between the scorching valley of your tits as his eyes flickered up to your face. Tears were ready to spill at the pace of his hips as you tried to hold onto the fraying edges of your nerves, your soused walls squeezing around his cock like you were silently frightened he was going to leave. A smirk tugged at his lips.

"Are you sure you can handle it, doll?"

You hissed sharply, lips becoming wedged between your teeth as you chewed on the swollen skin. You nodded your head vigorously, digging your feet into the dip of Gallagher’s back as you urged him to go faster.

"Yes" you breathed.

Well shit. An order was an order. With a deep growl he obeyed your command, choosing a pace that he knew would please you. You threw your head back with an indecent noise, lips abruptly prying apart as you screamed shamelessly into the moonlit night. You would be surprised if anyone could hear it over the violent trembles of the headboard smashing into the wall, the wooden frame just barely holding it together. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin made the tips of your ears burn red hot as his heavy balls slapped against the sensitive globes of your ass, sending violent shudders to dance along your arching spine. Your toes curled hard into the soles of your feet as the bubbling heat inside of you became unbearable, your clit shrieking in delight every time Gallagher’s pelvis hit the sensitive nerve and you could feel the rough drag of his pubic hair on the skin. It was hard for Gallagher to tear his gaze away from the sight of his cock disappearing between your silky folds but his gaze managed to linger on your face when you finally ripped apart at the seams.

The hot coil inside of you abruptly shattered into a million tiny pieces, liquid ecstasy flooding your veins with white hot relief. Your muscles tensed, heart jumping into your throat as you cried out and almost choked on the very air you so desperately tried to breathe. Gallagher swore something foul under his breath as your fluttering walls suddenly gripped his cock tightly, smothering him with blistering, sweltering heat as your sweet juices oozed around his cock. A snarl itched at the back of his throat as his hands dug into the mattress, his brutal pace refusing to taper off as you rode out the intense waves of your pleasure high. The sight of you writhing so exquisitely beneath him almost broke him but he was able to fight off his thrashing instincts before they consumed him.

"Shit-shit, gonna cum" Gallagher grunted, voice hoarse as his throat stung. "You gonna let me cum in you, baby girl? Fuck, please let me cum in you."

Your voice cracked when you tried to speak and all you could manage was a weak nod as you felt light headed with rapture. Once Gallagher registered that he had obtained you permission, he buried himself in you as far as he could, the head of his cock smothered against your cervix as every single nerve in his body overloaded.

The pressure snapped as he buried himself to the hilt inside you with a loud grunt, balls tight and cock kicking with each heavy spurt of his cum. Ropes of his hot, viscous seed coated your walls, the heat his body provided occupying your hazy mind as you were filled to the brim. He pumped every last drop into your greedy pussy, your snug walls milking him dry as the warmth overflowed and dribbled down your quaking things in thick rivulets. The pace of his hips finally ceased as he held himself above you on unsteady hands, arms straining to keep him aloft and prevent him from crushing you under his sturdy weight. Leather bit into his skin as you tugged his leash, forcing him to come closer. Your shaking legs untangled from his hips and finally dropped back on the mattress, your cramping muscles singing with relief. Gallagher brushed strands of damp hair off your face as he leaned forward, his forehead bumping against yours as your noses touched. Your heavy breaths mingled as you purred in content beneath him, not even complaining when he removed himself from you with a loud and wet pop.

"Doing alright sweetie?" Gallagher drawled.

You nodded as you swallowed thickly. "Yeah, I’ll be right."

You idly pat his hair, threading your fingers through the soft, brunette curls as you fondly rubbed your hand through the messy strands. "Good boy."

Gallagher leaned into your touch, happy to accept your praise. Your legs fell open once more as you tugged his leash, drawing his attention to the apex of your thighs. You ran your other shaky hand between your legs, fingers becoming sticky with the mixture of your combined spend. You shot Gallagher a sly look. It may have looked seducing if you weren’t feeling so boneless. He thought it looked cute, the shy look in your eyes and the soft smile on your face.

"Clean up your mess" you mumbled softly.

Gallagher rolled his shoulder until the stiff muscle shifted back into place with a satisfying pop. He shot you a lazy grin. "Yes ma’am."

#my writing #honaki star rail #honkai star rail smut #hsr smut #hsr x reader #hsr gallagher #hsr gallagher x reader #gallagher x reader #gallagher smut #x reader #fem!reader

313 notes · View notes

slugcatmusings · 5 months

Text

What is the Rot? Why is the Rot?

Spoiler Warning and Holy Wall of Text Batman Warning. I got WAY too into questioning the turbo-cancer here, hopefully my rambling makes sense.

So, the Rot is… weird, from a biological standpoint. Really weird, if you stop to think about it. It’s most frequently described as some variation of cancer, and it certainly fits the criteria for it. Caused by damage to DNA? Check. Multiplies uncontrollably? Check. Comes in both benign and malignant forms, one stationary and the other mobile? Big fat check. Heck, even the Rot cysts eating other creatures kind of fits, according to some research I’ve done – there are apparently cancer cells that will eat other cells, which makes sense in hindsight since cancer cells are cells that have lost important genetic restrictions, which may include whatever lets cells identify other cells as “do not eat.”

(I ain’t a biology whiz and I’m doing research on the fly while getting my thoughts out here, so take whatever I say about biology with a grain of salt)

So, Rot is clearly cancer of some kind, right? Case closed. Except when me and a friend of mine were talking Rain World theories on Discord, she brought up some interesting points that got me thinking.

First point: Rot cells obviously mutate in a way that affects FAR more than just cell replication and termination. Some of the cysts can HEAR. As far as I know, cells in the body do not hear sounds. They communicate via chemical signals and maybe, MAYBE react to temperature. Hearing involves complicated, specialized sensory apparatus to pick up on vibrations in the air. Even if you simplify it and say that it’s only vibrations, that’s STILL a multicellular thing, not a single-cell thing. It’s something that took millions of years to evolve on Earth, if not billions.

And while Rain World’s timeline goes on for long enough that it those kinds of mutations might happen eventually, Rot cysts have the ability to hear pretty much right from the start – because even the Proto-Long-Legs react to your presence like the Daddy Long Legs do, and the Rot in Spearmaster’s campaign, where Pebbles has recently contracted it, reacts the same way as it does in later campaigns. It’s already able to hear.

As far as I know, cancer just means the same cell duplicating over and over again. Are more mutations possible with each division, as errors are made in the DNA during splitting? Probably. But not to THAT extent. There’s no way a lump of cancer somehow mutated the exact complicated genetic blueprint needed to grow organs, at least not without outside interference.

Second point: Cases of Rot are way too consistent across the board. Now, we don’t have a huge sample size to work from, but from what we see from both Pebbles’ Rot, and Hunter Long Legs, they’re… pretty similar. Hunter Long Legs is basically a mobile Rot cyst. They move the same way, seem to grow the same way (starts as a growth inside/on the body before eventually freeing itself from whatever wall/flesh it grew from in some capacity and moving elsewhere), they have the same senses, and they even eat the same way, via something like phagocytosis (how white blood cells “eat” invading organisms via engulfing them and breaking them down in a sac in their main “body.”)

Now, this doesn’t tell us much, because cancer, when it does emerge, is pretty consistent in symptoms/what the mutated cells do once they start replicating. It’s pretty much the same regardless of whatever organism the cancer is happening in. But what ISN’T consistent is what causes the DNA error in the cancer cell in the first place. IRL, cancer can be caused by all kinds of things – smoking, radiation poisoning, being out in the sun too long, drinking deadly chemicals and whatnot, anything that damages DNA. But in RW, the only time we ever hear Rot talked about, or see it present, is in the context of an iterator having f*cked up while mucking around with DNA. Pebbles was trying to create an organism that could change his own genome, and No Significant Harassment created Hunter as a messenger and probably mucked something up in the process in his haste to get them to Moon.

This doesn’t mean that there aren’t other causes of it, of course, we’re working with a sample size of two in an apocalyptic world with who knows how much potentially DNA-damaging stuff around, but… that’s still awfully consistent.

So, combining these points and everything we know to be canon, Rot is:

an organism that lives inside another organism

Until a certain condition is met, it cannot harm said host organism.

Once said condition is met, it goes out of control, wreaking havoc on the organism’s systems and mutating, giving it sensory capabilities and an appetite

Said condition is apparently someone messing up when re-arranging genomes, in yourself or others

It is widespread across multiple different species, at least iterators and slugcats but potentially other species as well.

Once you have a bad case of it, it is apparently NOT CURABLE. Pebbles tried everything he could think of but apparently exhausted all of his options by the time of the Survivor/Monk campaigns.

So, with all the context FINALLY laid out, here’s my wild theory: Rot isn’t a cancer. It’s a symbiote turned parasite. Specifically, I believe it’s a symbiotic microbe that lives inside the cells that make up every other creature in Rain World, and is held in check by a specific gene that all species share, and altering or getting rid of that gene causes it to go berserk, taking over and eventually mutating the host cells.

Yeah, I did watch Parasite Eve let’s plays as a kid, why do you ask? Anyway, hear me out here.

There is precedence for single-celled organisms living inside of other single-celled organisms. They’re referred to as intracellular endosymbiots (hopefully I got the spelling right there), and the most well-known one is probably the mitochondria. The powerhouse of the cell is thought to be descended from some bacteria way, WAY back that was engulfed by a larger cell and not only survived it, but BENEFITED from it. Since then those ancient proto-mitochondria and eukaryotic cells have mutually evolved to be dependent on each other. So it’s entirely possible for something similar to have happened in Rain World.

However, I don’t think it happened NATURALLY, here. Because something that’s able to take over a cell entirely and begin wildly mutating it is NOT something your average cell wants inside of it. There’s a VERY high chance of extinction if you do that. Which means that of course those funky bio-tech loving Ancients either took a look at a wildly dangerous cellular parasite and went “hmmm we can use this” or made one themselves.

Why did they do this? Who knows! Currently, I’m tied between “they needed a better powerhouse for the cell to power the various weird adaptations they’re building into various creatures,” “there was some sort of disease that this parasite gave immunity against and they wanted to make use of it,” and “it gave their creations massively powerful regeneration factors that made them much easier to maintain.” Possibly it was all three. Whatever the reason, the Ancients either found or created this parasite, and put it into their creations’ cells, hoping to reap the benefits.

Well, they got the benefits, but they also got a microbe that hijacked the cells and harnessed their pre-existing DNA blueprints to build organisms disguised as great big blobs of cancer. Which is not exactly ideal, but hey, they just had to figure out a way of keeping the cell hijacking from happening! And the way they ended up going about it was to alter the thing so that so long as there was a specific DNA sequence in the cell, it laid mostly dormant. All the benefits, none of the risks – so long as that specific string of genes remained intact.

And then BECAUSE it was so beneficial, they spread their artificial symbiote and it’s genetic reins throughout ALL of their creations, from the smallest pipe-cleaning slugs to the iterators. Which meant that as their purposed organisms replaced most of the original ecosystem, they spread the symbiote as well. Thus making it possible for pretty much ANY creature on the planet to come down with a bad case of the Rot. And with the iterators, I wouldn’t be surprised if this symbiote is tied to their self-destruction taboos. Try to cross yourself out? Well, it’s gonna maybe happen now, but it’ll be a slow painful death as you’re eaten alive from the inside and all your own parts turn against you, so was it really worth it?

And they never told their creations this perhaps even actively hid it, because why tell them the cause of the main deterrent to them mucking with their taboos? They might find a way around it. The iterators were left ignorant of how Rot works, and because of this they never figured out that Rot HAD a cure after all: rebuilding that genome that reins in the symbiote. Because why in the name of the Void would they repeat the same mistakes that gave them Rot in the first place, and potentially make it worse?

#rain world #rain world worldbuilding #serious musings #rain world headcanons #rw rot #the rot #rain world rot #rain world turbo cancer #which is not actually cancer #yes i Parasite Eved the shit out of the Rot #yes that is a verb now I take no criticisms #anywho the Rot is a byproduct of the ancients Fucking Shit Up on Purpose #and it DOES have a cure damn it #I'm not giving the robots not-actually-cancer and NOT giving them at least a chance to cure it #not mentioned above is the fact that depending on the genes altered along with the restraining gene #you might get rot with fun mutations like being able to jump from organism to organism #or Rot that outright assimilates cells from other organisms #amongst other things #plenty of FUN stories to play with there >:D

277 notes · View notes

neteyamslovrr · 1 year

Text

I See You

summary: after a fight with his father about not keeping an eye on lo’ak after the situation outside the reef, Y/N finds him alone on the sand and decides to comfort him.

0.7k words

──── ⑅*❀*⑅ ────

Neteyam walked off in a hurry after his father told him to go. He wasn’t a babysitter so why was he treated like one? Must he keep an eye on Lo’ak 24/7 or can he go and enjoy being himself for just a moment. His pent up anger and frustration bubbled in his chest, making his breathing fast and his eyes prickle with tears. His feet hit the sand with fury as he stormed down the shoreline, his braid beads clicking together in an irregular pattern.

Finding an isolated piece of beach, he let his body flop onto the sand looking up at the evening sky. His breath trembled as he ran his hands over his face and let his eyes close as the small sand grains etched into his skin every time he inhaled.

You spotted him laying down on the sand. His limbs sprawled out against the ground as his braids laid around his head like sunbeams. You walked towards him noticing his fast breathing and trembling chin. Crouching beside him your hands slightly brushed against Neteyams thigh making him jolt in surprise. “Y/N do not frighten me like that.” Neteyam said with a sigh looking down at your hand so close to him.

“I apologise for my brother’s behaviour Neteyam, he was childish.” You knew Ao’nung was a bit of a nuisance, but you never thought he’d think of doing something so dangerous. Neteyam looked up at you with a pitiful smile as he put his hand on your thigh.

“It’s my fault I should’ve been there to stop Lo’ak. It’s my responsibility to look over my siblings. I am the eldest.” Neteyam’s voice was sorrow, he usually had a happy smile across it face but today it had vanished.

“No Neteyam, it is not your fault.” You looked into his eyes lovingly as you put your hand over the one on your thigh. “You are not his parent, you are his brother Neteyam.” Neteyam was shocked to hear this. Never in his life was he told against his responsibilities, yet it still felt like the burden was on his shoulders. What if Lo’ak was hurt or killed, he’d have never forgiven himself.

“I still should’ve been there Y/N, it is my duty. What if he was injured? I’d be to blame!” His voice was slightly raised but it was just the frustration being pent up in his chest banging on his ribs. “I just want to be able to relax Y/N, I feel as if I can’t. I’m watching them constantly.” He hung his head as he laid on your shoulder his forehead slightly sticky from the heat of the island sun. “I just want to be seen, I can’t keep being the one to see.” Neteyam mumbled quietly as his hand slightly squeezed your thigh.

You moved your hand off his and directed it to his cheek. Tilting his face upwards to look into his glossy eyes. He’d tried so hard to keep his tears at bay, but they were spilling down his cheeks. “Neteyam, I see you.” You said nervously looking at his widening eyes.

“Y/N... I see you.” He said looking back at you lovingly. You wiped the tears off his face with you thumb delicately. You smiled back at him moving towards his so your foreheads touched. His hand moved from your thigh to caress your cheek as he closed his eyes.

“Neteyam I can’t promise to take these responsibilities away, but I promise to help you with every single one of them. You are not alone as long as I breathe.” Your words make Neteyam’s chin tremble as he let out a soft sob. “Do not cry, I am here.” You continue to wipe his tears as he cried softly. You engulfed him into a warm embrace rocking him side to side as his arms wrapped around you tightly. He let his sobs die down while you embraced him. His breathing becoming regular and the banging in his chest was relieved as you slowly traced patterns on his back.

Looking up to you his eyes puffy, his hand rested on your cheek. “Thank you, Y/N, Thank you.”

──── ⑅*❀*⑅ ────

authors note: tysm for sm love on my last fic, i'm forever grateful <3. i might take requests soon but i'm still figuring out tumblr :)

#neteyam #neteyam oneshot #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader #avatar2oneshot #avatar #avatar2 #avatar the way of water #neteyam fluff #neteyam angst #neteyamcomfort #neteyam imagine #neteyam headcanons #neteyam sully #jake sully #lo'ak #avatar imagine #avatar oneshot

1K notes · View notes

purplekissinger · 4 months

Text

The tower, the princess, the snake

She suffocates me with her coiling rings, She chokes me tenderly, engulfed me whole. And this unliving thing, this darkest thing, This terrifying thing — it is my soul. Zinaida Gippius, ‘She’

Soulmates AU. tw: mentions of death, a bit dark, canon Tom

At the orphanage, Tom never told anyone about these dreams, but even if he did, no one would have been able to explain anything to him. Dreams about a soulmate usually come along with the awakening of a magical gift. Sometimes later, never before.

Y/N was born, as they say, with a silver spoon in her mouth, into a rich family of purebred wizards. She grew up on the coast near Edinburgh in a cozy mansion, securely hidden from prying eyes. Y/N lived like a wildflower, but a flower that was dearly loved and protected.

Tom cherished these dreams. At first they were elusive and not very intelligible. All he could remember was something light and pure, like a cloud, like a sunbeam, something fresh and sweet like ice cream. Tom had never eaten ice cream, but after these dreams something honeyed melted on his tongue all day and he could breathe easily, as if after a thunderstorm.

Y/N was afraid of her dreams. She, too, could not tell what exactly she saw, but at night she was haunted by the vision of long gray benches, a tall, toothy fence and an acute, suffocating feeling of defenselessness, sadness, disorder, loneliness, cold, hunger. Sometimes it became so hollow that she would wake up in the middle of the night almost in a fever and run to her mother.

One day Tom dreamed that his mother was leaning towards him and hugging him tightly.

One day Y/N dreamed that she killed a rabbit.

Time passed, and dreams began to come less often, but more clear and meaningful. They were no longer a vague feeling of happiness that lit up the day, there was a person. A face. A little face? A girl?

A boy?

She lived like a princess in a castle, in some very large house in the middle of green meadows, almost never leaving it, and both parents loved her to death, and yet it did not harm her and she remained light, cheerful and friendly. Sunshine-like. Tom would want her to look in the mirror more often, otherwise her face was almost impossible to see. He wished she were here, with him, in reality.

He lived in some terrible place that was just impossible to imagine. Y/N had never heard of such a thing even in the scariest fairy tales. He called no one his friend. He considered himself above this, above everything that existed, and he pushed away with disdain what little warmth he received. Once he lured a boy and a girl into a cave, and they lost their minds. He never told anyone what he did to them, but Y/N saw everything.

By the end of the first year, Tom already knew what those dreams meant, and by the end of the second he realized that if this girl was studying, she was not at Hogwarts. For a long time he did not want to believe it, and when he finally did, he felt a cold rage slowly boiling inside. Are they hiding away something that was destined for him?

Y/N, like everyone else in her family, studied at home. Her parents had enough money to hire the best tutors, and her mother could not even imagine that her little girl would live in some castle on the island for six months, away from home. Y/N and her mother had no secrets from each other, except one. Her dreams.

Tom cherished every dream like a jewel, repeated it to himself, tried to remember every moment, every feature of her face. Every grain of this lightness was his only, and it was unthinkable to share those dreams. He guarded this secret almost more so than the secret of the Horcruxes.

He killed people, now she knew for sure.

They are now admiring something that is mine, Tom sometimes thought in melancholy. The sunny girl who illuminated his whole life belonged to him as much as his wand, as Marvolo's ring, as his rightful inheritance, and yet she was unforgivably far away.

He would never find her if she was careful enough.

He will definitely find her, and then he will find out who thought of hiding her, and then he will simply bury them.

***

There’s one extra year to prepare for the exams for those who study at home, and therefore Y/N had to take her OWLs on her sixteenth birthday. Always confident in her knowledge, she was now a little anxious: what if something went wrong and she would return home disgraced? For the first time in her life she rode on the Hogwarts Express, but hardly ever looked out the window. She kept repeating her notes on the history of magic.

In the evening it became chilly. Dressed in a terribly expensive robe of impeccably modest style, she got off at Hogsmeade station and placed her suitcase at her feet. As if spellbound, she looked at the silhouette of the castle imprinted on the sunset sky, and, probably, at that moment she regretted a bit that she had not spent all her life here.

The inside of the castle amazed Y/N even more. Together with two girls who also came here to take the exam, she stepped under the arches of the Great Hall and forgot to breathe, looking at the enchanted ceiling. Floating candles all around, as far as the eye could see, and above: constellations, constellations, the shining circle of the moon, constellations again...

“Yes, this ceiling is definitely a sight to see,” someone’s voice sounded over her ear. Y/N winced and turned around.

“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tom Riddle, Slytherin perfect,” said Tom. ‘You are probably taking an exam tomorrow? Professor Slughorn told me that homeschool students were due to arrive this evening’.

Y/N looked at him as if... well, yes, like a rabbit looking at a boa constrictor. Trembling, speechless. Tom smiled slightly, and there was nothing good in that smile. He recognized Y/N instantly, long before she saw him.

‘How was your trip? It's starting to get cold early now’.

“This is a dream,” Y/N thought in shock. “This is a dream, I’ll wake up now.” But for the first time in many years she saw this boy not in a dream, but in reality.

‘Shall I show you to the guest rooms?’ Tom offered kindly, extending his hand.

#harry potter #tom riddle #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x reader #voldemort x reader #soulmates #is this yandere themed or not?#im confused #tw dark themes

149 notes · View notes

funkylilomen · 20 days

Text

i have somewhat of a different interpretation about The Mind Electric

> It's less of a diss track and more of using Heart's tactics against him to get him to listen [while also still definitely being a diss track]

somewhat disorganized rant below the cut [also lots of my own interpretations of the album that may very well be inaccurate, so take everything with a grain of salt] :]

The Mind Electric has a bit of a different topic when it comes to Mind's songs/lyrics, to say the least. while Mind does jab at Heart a lot, he does often try to reason with the other in between insults. The Mind Electric has much less of trying to convince Heart to work with [or behind] him and instead focuses on.. insulting the shit out of them

this is extremely funny, but it seems somewhat abrupt and out of the blue for Mind [see what i did there?]. however, i have a.. semi-theory as to why he suddenly just goes off on Heart. he's playing into the other's tactics

and i don't mean that Heart is constantly baraging Mind with insults. in fact, compared to Mind, Heart very rarely verbally attacks the other head on. instead, Heart builds up this fantasy around themself that paints themself as completely innocent, whereas Mind is this irredeemable villain that wants nothing more than Heart's head on a platter. and while, yes Mind definitely isn't fond of Heart, from what we've seen and heard, he is at least somewhat willing to work with Heart—although his idea of "working" with them seems more for Heart to sit in the backseat and shut up while Mind is the one actually in control, but I digress. this fantasy that Heart builds is most clearly seen from both sides in The Heart Acoustic and Be Born

Throughout Mind's songs [Be Born especially], he is trying to reason with Heart and get them to understand his point of view. he tries to explain that he only wants the best for the person that they make up. but Heart either argues with or outright ignores Mind, holding fast to the facade that they built up—that Mind is the bad guy trying to hurt them, and Heart is the good guy trying to save them. they don't want to hear anything that goes against that. so all that Mind says just ends up hitting a brick wall. this might also be a reason as to why Mind sees Heart as childish [their stubborn nature and them "playing make believe" to a much more serious degree]

at the end of Storm and a Spring, Mind and Heart sing over each other, almost sounding like an argument. this is Mind's breaking point. here, he throws his hands up and pretty much goes, "Fine. You want to see me as the villain? I'll play the villain." cue The Mind Electric. this song serves two roles, in my view. One, the one I've been building up to: Mind is leaning into this role that Heart has forced him into in a last ditch effort to break through and actually get him to listen for once. that's why the song eases up at the end. the last few lines of the song are literally, "Though I seem harsh in all my assessments / We each seek a life lived in the light / Yet there lies our Heart, engulfed in resentment / Stubborn, pale akaryocyte." aka, "Although you see everything I do as cruel and unforgiving, I'm not trying to hurt us. I'm only trying to make things better, and yet YOU refuse to see that, no matter how much I try to tell you this. You're being stubborn and resentful with practically no reason other than to perpetuate your own lies."

The second reason is that Mind is beyond frustrated at this point. he has tried and failed so many times to talk to Heart and get them to see the truth. he's tired. he's fed up. he needs an outlet, so he takes this opportunity to air his grievances [this is what i meant by it still definitely being a diss track, lol]. not only is it a method [albeit a poorly thought out one] to get through to Heart, it's also an excuse to let out his frustrations

that's all from me. i have no clue how to end these so. yeah. please don't execute me :]

#i have favoritism so i'm 100% positive my view might be skewed by that #so again. i have no trust that this is entirely accurate #but it's a take that i haven't seen much on and would like to throw out to the masses #also. this was totally just an excuse to rant about the album #so do with this what you will #funky lil thoughts #chonny jash #cccc #chonnys charming chaos compendium #chonny's charming chaos compendium #the mind electric #note: i used he/him pronouns for Mind and they/them pronouns for Heart to hopefully make the distinction a little less confusing?

99 notes · View notes

diaryofrey · 17 days

Text

my favorite troupe is when the person who thinks that they would always remain the observer and never the obsession, the ones who think that they were destined to forever be the poet and never the poem is found by a person who loves them so loudly that they turn into a poem, the muse to the musician. in a world filled with temporary and unemotional transactions in the name of love, my favorite troupe is someone rejecting the fates if time doesn't offer them their beloved's hand to hold. it's doodles on the sand of love being engulfed by the ocean of their being, hugging and clinging onto every last grain of sand. it's making someone who feels as though they are incredibly difficult to love and need to dilute themselves to be adored that they are the only chemical reaction that their partner's mind adores.

#dark academia #light academia #literature #love #poetry #quotes #words #writing #poets on tumblr #writer #romantic poetry #romanticism #romantic academia #romantic #prose poetry

86 notes · View notes

biteofcherry · 8 months

Text

Sweet and stained

soft dark Nick Fowler x female reader

a Hades/Persephone inspired AU set in modern times, with an implied mafia background

summary: You live in the sun and blooms, under your mother's protective wing (or is it cage?). When Nick Fowler strolls into your life, he brings a wave of thrilling fresh with the darkness that follows him.

warnings: soft!dark Nick Fowler; sort of dub-con; kidnapping; manipulation; light corruption kink; mentioned breeding kink; a bit of smutty scenes included;

Author's Note: This is a trope that won the poll for my birthday celebration story. Honestly, the way I imagined this fic at first is completely different from how it turned out. Less sharp than my usual style and more of a gloomy, start-of-the-autumn poetics. Still, I hope you'll enjoy!

You never knew black could shimmer so brilliantly, even though you saw its various shades in petals of unique flowers. The night sky’s ink was dotted with sparkling dust, too, after all. Yet it was only now that you noticed the luminosity of dark, as your head tilted back on the softest pillows and your gaze roamed the supple garlands of the black canopy.

Dark interior, which scared you the first time you took a step inside, now engulfed you in heady warmth. Like a sip of spicy hot chocolate, so rich and thick it coats your tongue and fills your belly with a bitter bite to its general sweetness.

There’s more spice than sweetness to your captor, but you began realizing he remained the only one to treat you with softness. As if he truly cared.

Perhaps he did?

Maybe the charm and patience he showed you at the beginning were as true as the ruthless possessiveness with which he bound you to him.

You had years to find that out. Decades at his side, to unravel the scary mystery that was Nick Fowler.

Your husband.

His face above you, as he sat beside your sweaty, spent body, shone a serene glow. His eyes a shade of clear lake, with monsters luring in the depths.

You still feared him, but Nick gave you enough proof that he wouldn’t hurt you.

Even if his plan for you was weaved out of nefarious intentions.

He set aside the glass of water which he brought to your lips a moment ago, soothing your throat that dried out from how much you screamed for him.

It’s for the best that you couldn’t speak at the moment, your breath still ragged; since you didn’t know what you’d say to him after all the debauched things he did to you. Post sex pillow talk was never your forte, but it was even more awkward after willingly spreading your legs for a man who ripped you from your life as one plucked a flower from the ground.

Silently, you watched Nick once again pick a crystal bowl from the nightstand, a shiny barrow of pomegranate seeds peeking above the rim.

He devoured some moments before he indulged in your dripping pussy.

Seeds glistened ruby richness on Nick’s fingers as he brought them to your lips; his own mouth stained with the juice. He left traces of the red sweetness on your thighs and mound, mixing pomegranate flavor with your combined spend.

Your lips wrapped around his digits as he spilled fruity grains on your tongue. One of your hands rested on your belly, just below your navel.

Nick has repeatedly filled you with seeds that night, not only those of a pomegranate.

It made you tremble. His intent was clear; not only shown in relentless, deep thrusts, but dark and dirty words whispered into your ear.

Your body shouldn’t react so eagerly to his plans, arching and spasming in whorish acceptance as he ordered you to take it; as he fucked you through one climax into another, telling you of his heir swelling in your womb.

Disgust should have filled you, instead of arousal. Because as much as you believed Nick was going to dote on you, his owning of your body in every sense was driven by revenge.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

With the wide rim of the sunhat on your head limiting your view and your focus on the pots dancing away from you (the wind that day was wickedly playful, knocking over the smaller pots every time you righted them), you weren’t paying much attention to your surroundings.

People walked past, some gleefully talking about plants, others arguing on what was or wasn’t needed in their garden. On a sunny day like that, Demeter Gardens had as many customers as a fun fair on weekends.

The staff was really busy on days like this, doubling their efforts, because it was usually when your mother chose to grace the place with her radiant presence - radiant to the customers, an absolute harpy to her workers.

There were many traits you admired about your mother. The most inspiring was the fact she was a barely out of teens single mother who managed to raise you and start a business that flourished into a state known brand.

She had her faults, too. Like the high expectations and harsh tongue when someone didn’t meet her standards.

It went both for her employees and her daughter.

Working with plants soothed you, so at least your future as the heiress to the empire your mother wanted you to take over didn’t look as grim. Even if some evenings you cried into a pillow, because it wasn’t what you dreamt of at all.

Growing under her wing, you didn’t get much of a chance to explore what exactly you could dream of, what called out to you, but you simply knew that running a gardening business wasn’t it.

You never dared to tell your mother that. Enough times have you suffered her cruel words, snide remarks regarding anything that strayed even a step away from her grand plans. Demeter had ambition rivaling many moguls and she poured it onto you as well. The only praise you got was when you won any sort of competition, or mentioned business plans.

Your mother may have only spiteful words to say about your absent father, but she possessed the same self-centered core as him. Rotten and unkind.

How plants flourished under her hands, you had no idea.

Though she didn’t spend much time with them anymore, leaving it to people who really liked working with plants. You liked the peace and quiet it offered, which is why you spent almost every day at the gardening center.

“Excuse me?” A smooth male voice startled you.

Not only with how sudden and close it was, but also because it was so unusual in a place mostly filled with cheery, loudly speaking families or couples.

You turned your head, pulling the rim of your sunhat up with your dirty fingers, so you could see the person better.

Your gaze met a pair of blue eyes, with a silvery gray swirl in them, that chilled you like an autumn rain pattering on your skin. A shadow of stubble along a chiseled jaw, which would feel under your fingertips like frosty needles of the first hoarse coating November leaves. Subtle, pink lips curved in a smile, but its charm didn’t fully cover the sharp threat of teeth that could sink in ‘till blood spilled like in spooky nightmares of autumnal season.

This man looked like the stillness of dying nature, engulfed in fog and chilling to the bones. A dark spirit amongst the lush greenery and blooming life that stretched all around.

And yet he was more beautiful than any man you ever laid eyes on.

“Yes?” You swallowed nervously, mostly to wet your suddenly dry throat. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sure you can,” he said softly, his voice a brush of cool silk.

“See, I usually hire garden designers to take care of any greenery around my business buildings, but the one at my actual home? I wanted to work on it myself.”

“Understandable.” You smiled at him. “Having your own garden is a personal thing. Working on it helps you connect with the place that will be your oasis.”

“The problem is, I quickly realized I have zero idea what I’m doing. But I’m a stubborn bastard, who’s still adamant on chasing what he set his eyes on.” He sighed dramatically, making you laugh.

“Anyway-” he shook his head- “I’m Nick. Please, help me out?”

You gave him your name, taking his hand when he outstretched it. His fingers were calloused, though it’s the cool brush of metal of his rings that sent tiny spikes of sensation through you.

“What exactly do you need my help with, Nick?” You took off your sunhat and squinted slightly as the sunlight soaked your vision.

“My tastes are… unique.” You knew he spoke about aesthetic preferences, but couldn’t help hearing the double meaning behind it. Especially with the sensual flick of his tongue over his bottom lip.

“I’m mostly out the whole day,” Nick continued explaining, “coming home only in the evening. Which is when I wish to spend most time in the garden. To relax and enjoy its secret beauty.”

“You want night bloomers.” You guessed, grinning ear to ear.

Flowers blooming in the evening and through the night were one of your favorites. There was something about them that called out to you. Perhaps the fact they were overlooked under the radiant sun, hiding their secret beauty to flourish in shadows, when no one could judge them.

There was also the aura of mystery about them, pairing so well with your fondness for gloomy and gothic stories.

“See? I knew I was asking the right person for help.” Nick mirrored your smile; his made you a little weak in the knees.

“You have to get the Moonflower, of course.” You moved and gestured for Nick to follow you, as you led him to the far end of the center.

“I have to?” Nick chuckled, matching your step to walk beside you rather than behind you.

Shoulder to shoulder with him, you suddenly realized he was taller than at first sight. Much warmer than what his dark aura suggested, too. And his scent was a toe-curling reminder of spicy mulled wine sipped by the fireplace.

“Yes!” You nodded, brushing your fingertips along the plants you passed on your way. “Moonflower is my favorite. It’s similar to the morning glory. You won’t see its full beauty now, but I assure you it never disappoints.”

When you finally reached the corner with potted plants - from smallest to those quite grown already - Nick bent over to examine it closely. He gently trailed the heart-shaped leaves, then plucked the yellow card attached to one of the thin stems.

“Moonflower, or moon vine,” he read aloud, “is a night-blooming morning glory that opens in the evening and stays full until morning.”

Nick straightened and turned to you, gaze slowly dragging up your body. When his eyes met yours, there was a glint of something cold and dangerous in them. As if for a split of a second you saw a flash of instrumental triumph.

“Opens in the evening and stays full until morning,” he repeated the words, his voice dropping an octave and filling your belly with unexpected heat. “I like it already.”

“Uh, well-” you squeezed the rim of the sunhat in your grasp- “Yes, see, I told you. You’ll like it even more when it blooms in your garden.”

“I know I will.” Nick affirmed solemnly.

Something about his gaze, or perhaps it was the set of his jaw, quickened your pulse with a warning that his intent was more than just a harmless flirting. There was this tinge of danger about him, fizzing on the tip of your tongue with a spicy aftertaste.

If you licked his skin, the cold darkness may swallow you, but everything inside you would set aflame.

Apprehension tingled inside your chest, like wind chimes’ pearly tune that lured with their woeful longing. Reason whispered to take a step back, but feet moved forward on their own, drawn to the inner flame that may as well be straight from hell.

It was hard to break eye contact with Nick, but you feared if you didn’t look away he’d mesmerize you into selling your soul. And your body. Body which awoke with yearning to have his fingertips trail along your skin the same way he touched the plants.

Somehow you managed to turn away. The sun’s warmth returned to your cheeks, caressing your face with soothing lightness the second you stepped away from Nick’s gloomy aura.

“You should also get night blooming Jasmine. It smells so sweet.” You rambled about plants, clutching onto the topic like it was a lifebuoy keeping you afloat from sinking into fascinating, but scary depths that were Nick’s eyes.

“And Angel’s Trumpets!” With your presentation, excitement returned.

You were helping create something personal, something so very unique. However Nick chose to use your advice, you had a blissful sense of creating something yourself. A garden that may as well be yours, since it catered to your aesthetic and needs as well.

Nick ordered so many of the plants you listed that not only did you run out of stock, but had to set up a delivery from another center. You weren’t sure how big Nick’s garden was, but considering the amount of plants it had to be a king-sized land.

The thought of roaming it in the late evening, with dusk hiding hues of purple and gold in a shroud of ink black, and moonlit petals opening up for the life of creatures of the night; it made your heart yearn.

You’d love to wander through that garden.

For someone who ran a gardening empire, your mother kept you both locked in a metal and glass skyscraper, in a two-floor penthouse with (amazing, but contained) view of the city.

It was a cage.

As you watched Nick walk away after he paid in advance for the order, though he took with him some chilling sense of danger, you envied his freedom to simply walk away from the sun and the blooms.

Many would be jealous of you, you were aware of that. Living among lush greenery and constant sun seemed wonderful. It was to an extent. But this pristine, spring and summer only land, didn’t allow difference. There was no real room for unusual, dark undertones of wicked hearts that would love to have wild mushrooms spread over their lawn instead of snobby hydrangeas.

When a cooling cloud shielded you from the scorching sun, coming along with Nick as he returned the next week, you felt like breathing freely for the first time since he walked away.

This time he asked for fruit trees which he wanted to scatter among other types. The idea immediately struck you as unique, making your heart jump.

Most of the time people divided their gardens - strict lines and areas for vegetables, separating them from decorative flowers. Mixing them up seemed chaotic, but so wonderful. What a surprise to walk through gemstone garlands of wisteria to find juicy peaches at arm’s reach. Or to tread through ferns and moonflowers to discover gooseberry bushes hidden amongst them.

When Nick came on a third week, your excitement at his presence and news of his garden overpowered any sense of reason that kept you at a certain distance with him.

And when he mentioned that keeping a routine and being at the center on the same day, same hour every week could be dangerous.

“Someone could watch you, learn your schedule and plan how to steal you, Moonflower.”

Having Nick call you Moonflower - the word rolling out on his tongue in a hum of wind, chilling to the bone, but igniting that deep-soul yearning - stirred feelings that overpowered the warning.

Or maybe you started living for that rush of thrill Nick’s shadow elicited. The only spot of darkness allowed in your life. Enriching it thus.

Still, fear resurfaced with tentacles of cold wrapping around you and plucking you from the sunny spot in broad daylight as you trotted to work the week after. On the same day as usual, with a bounce to your step as thirst for Nick’s brand of addictive flavor parched your throat.

The car was black; a polished, obsidian arrowhead spearing the sheet of morning light. The engine’s sound more the growl of a prowling beast than the roar of an unhinged monster.

Despite the speed, it stopped gracefully at the curb, cutting off your route. Nick’s silhouette stunned you as he exited the car; the blue-green depth of his eyes darker than when he walked along with you through blooming alleys.

A smile didn’t have a chance to spread on your lips when his hand covered your mouth, the other arm wrapping around you.

You screamed when he dragged you inside the car, but calloused fingers stifled the sound effectively. Wet tinkle of your cries reverberated against the metal of the rings adorning Nick’s fingers.

Pleading eyes, so full of unanswered questions and fear, didn’t cut through the veil of composure. One had no chance begging their life out of death’s grip and Nick’s hold on you was a finality set in stone, as if the grim reaper came to harvest your soul to lead it to undying gardens for the rest of eternity.

“No need for tears, Moonflower.” Nick took his hand from your mouth as the car sped away.

His touch traveled down your shaking arm, harsh fingers delivering surprisingly comforting caress. He took your hand in his and brough your palm to his mouth, kissing softly each knuckle.

“I’ll make you a queen and treat you as such. No harm will ever be done to you.”

“You kidnapped me,” you pointed out, voice quiet and quivering, though you bravely held his gaze. “That’s quite harmful.”

“It’s only a means to avoid meddling of forces that would otherwise keep you away from me.” Nick rested his head back against the seat. “From what I found out about you, they’ve quashed you enough.”

“You know nothing about me, or my life!” You huffed, squirming back into the corner, your back against the side door.

You were never a physical fighter and Nick made no move to grip or hurt you other than pulling you into the car, so you didn’t attack him. You also doubted you had much of a chance of earning anything beside exhaustion and bruises.

It was pitiful to admit, but you never fought anything or anyone beside the dragons in your head. The rebellion and storm were caged within your chest, mind full of words you wanted to scream at your mother, your father, the whole world. But you never did it. Never felt secure enough in your strength to cut those ties.

“I know you’re dedicated and smart, finished on top of your class, gaining a degree that you never wanted to have in the first place.” Nick replied calmly.

His unperturbed composure was as much soothing as resonating with your usual behavior. Though you sensed that his limits weren’t pushable. If it came to it, his retaliation to being crossed would be severe. Lethal even.

You envied that power.

You wanted that power.

“You have passion for creativity and you are a fucking brilliant survivor.” Those words were spoken with admiration; a brilliant foam lighting up the sea storm of Nick’s irises.

“You don’t love gardening as a business. I doubt you’re even interested in actual gardening work. But you see and love plants, their uniqueness, the details of them. You like their beauty, even the unusual ones. You’re an artist, Moonflower.”

Your heart burst with an intermixture of colorful emotion - a hail of fireworks against the black depth that is your caged life.

“Artists should never be shackled into expectations.”

“Yet you took me, because you expect something from it,” you retorted bitterly.

“I expect nothing beyond you being by my side.” Nick’s fingers circled one of your wrists, thumb pressing against your pulse. “And strengthening the power of my empire.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” There was nothing of value that you could give him. Did he hope for a dowry and connections from your father?

“Just by being with me.” He shifted, crowding you against your little safety corner. “Coming home to you would sweeten every hard day, knowing that I ripped something most precious from the one who took everything from my family.”

Comforting spices of his scent conflicted with the shadows he shrouded you in, painting a picture of a fairy tale that’s twisted enough that it shouldn’t be enjoyable. Yet struggling against the thorny veins of Nick’s plan seemed to have the opposite effect, pushing you further into forests of unknown thrills.

“So I’m a vengeance plan?” You’d prefer it if your voice didn’t betray the disappointment, but it was too late to take back that undertone now.

“Vengeance doesn’t mean burning the world down. That’s too simple and holds no ongoing effect.” Nick’s mouth curved in a scythe of dangerously alluring smirk, his eyes darkening. “Phoenixes rise from the ashes of burnt kingdoms. I rose from it.”

“My type of vengeance is to flourish on the fertile fields of my enemy’s broken ambitions.”

You believed Nick’s every word - that he had the resilience and endurance to build himself from whatever ruin his opponents left him with. It honed him, like hell fire does an indestructible blade.

Many would use that lethal edge to cut the throats of all enemies. But Nick’s revenge wasn’t to bring short term pain and wipe out the others, he wanted them to drown in their suffering, to stretch it out plucking petal after petal of their lush empires.

“You, Moonflower-” he skimmed his fingers along your arm and up the column of your throat- “are my prosperity. My core to thrive.”

“Binding you to me and allowing you to bloom into a woman you always wished to be, whatever form that may take,” Nick loosely curled his fingers around your neck, “will make me happy for I know you’re a brilliant gem. But I won’t hide that it will also crush the rotten heart of my enemy.”

“Seeing you at my side, growing along me and with me-” something about that particular choice of words unfurled heat in your core, like the time he mentioned flowers staying full-

“-will keep the flame of anger and pain consuming her daily.”

“Her?” you suddenly blinked, moving your legs slightly to alleviate the pressure that uncomfortably grazed your folds.

“My mother?” You stared at Nick in bewilderment. “She’s your enemy?”

Nick chuckled, though you weren’t sure if it was at your astonishment or the squirmy movement of your body which he noticed. He leaned closer still, knees brushing against yours. Where the fabric of your summer dress rolled up on your thighs, the fine fabric of his suit pants grazed your skin.

“Your mother may present herself as the survivor against all odds and she is very determined, I’ll give her that. She also became heartless in her need to improve her life and show the world she doesn’t need help, ripping the fortune of others to build herself.”

“She stole from you?” There wasn’t much shock in your response. After all, you knew the backstage face of the gardening queen; the truth behind the sunny smile of the nature-loving new age goddess.

“From my family.” Nick gritted his teeth at the mention. “They took her pregnant under their roof, taught her family secrets of maintaining lush flowers. I was barely four when you were growing in her belly, but I remember her always slapping my hand away when I wanted to touch it, to feel a tiny baby miracle kicking.”

He didn’t say it, but you began to understand the part of possessiveness. The touch he didn’t withdraw an inch once he was able to reach for you freely. Something he was denied, now he ripped it away for himself.

“First she stole the knowledge, then farms and fields.” Nick continued, his voice heavy with ice cold anger. “Came with fancy lawyers and bulldozers, chasing my family away from the scrap of land and the mounds of soil that my grandparents brought from Romania.”

You remembered one time your mother mentioned something about the secret being in the soil, a harpy reflection to her smile when she did.

“My mother’s heart couldn’t take it. My father fled to Romania, finding the only solace in a small square of land where he grew a new hybrid of flowers. Named it after my mother.”

Nick paused for a moment, his eyes boring into yours. A few breaths and the rage surpassed, leaving the lull of oceanic waves in his eyes. They rocked you as you held his gaze; your body attuning to the pulse of crackling fireplace on a dead cold autumn night that was Nick’s aura.

“I’m not a gardener myself,” Nick shrugged, easing his free hand up your leg. “But I know how to plow through hard and high grounds. I’ve made myself a different kind of empire, though I always remained respectful of nature and plants, as my parents did.”

You didn’t even feel him grip you any harder, yet somehow Nick managed to switch your positions in a blink of an eye - pulling you onto his lap.

One of his hands remained at your throat, thumb gently stroking up and down along your pulsing vein.

“You’ll be my queen. You’ll give me heirs.” It wasn’t a proposition, but a declaration of decision set in stone. “I’ll give you the freedom and power you so desperately crave.”

“What do you know of my cravings?” You hoped to challenge his confidence, to fight against the tendrils of magnetic pull that weaved around your limbs.

“I know you turned my way like a plant does seeking the sun,” Nick’s hand slid beneath your dress. “Keeping so close, coming even closer each time, like an addict hopes to lick a single fleck of whatever gets him high.”

Cool rings pressed into your skin, spiking your heart rate into a paradoxical pasodoble between desire and trepidation. Just like the nights you used your own fingers to the image of Nick fucking you in the night garden.

“I know each time you thought I was coming to visit, you wore a shorter dress.” His fingers on your thigh inched further up. “This one today? If I met you inside the gardening center and you’d bend over to show me moss arrangements, I’d get a peek of your ass.”

He did get that peek.

When he bent you over his bed that night. After having you sign your name on all the legally (illegally too, undoubtedly) binding documents as a paid, stoic-faced registrar officiated your wedding. The ink was deep red, as blood that one spills for the devil.

Red was also the wine Nick brought to your lips in a crystal glass. The rich, thick taste of it was a bland mist compared to the burning magma of Nick’s lips against yours, molting away the taste of your previous life as he sealed your contract.

One hand on the nape of your neck, holding you in place as he fed you his sinful tongue, the other buried beneath your sundress. Firm, relentless fingers eliciting tangy, warm rain from between your thighs; watering the soil of the garden filled with plants that you picked. That you loved and Nick provided for you.

He made you mark the land as yours, as he marked you as his. Your voice an enchanted cry of spell that was Nick’s name.

Then he took you to the bedroom - the heart of the underworld kingdom.

Though the dark interior sent a ripple of unease down your spine at first; it was like stepping into a cold, mountain stream after days of hiking in blinding sun. Then the jewel undertones of onyx and cuprite engulfed you. Shimmering black curtains of the canopy parted its wings for you, as Nick led you to the bed.

You never strayed from dirt, but it only stained your hands and clothes as you worked with soil. The dirt spilling from Nick’s mouth as he took you seemed to twist your body into inhuman arches of pleasure, reshaping your mind so it became greedy for the sizzling impulses his filthy words elicited.

Tightest cunt.

Delicious hole.

Breedable pussy.

Mine.

Tears trickled down your cheeks - a salty passage from a girly life of obedient silence into empowered if dark womanhood. Briny dew altered into shy sweetness as your moans stretched, tears turning into those of overwhelming pleasure.

Nick showered you with it. With his tongue and fingers; with his cock that filled you with girth and the precious spent he cursed to take root in your womb.

He led you like a queen, just like he promised, once you were able to stand on your trembling legs after hours of being both worshiped and owned. A silk robe in a color of a red so dark it might as well be woven from arterial blood floated around your frame as Nick took you into the garden.

His fingers intertwined with yours. His pace adjusted to yours, not once rushing or slowing you down.

Focused on admiring the beauty of silvery moonflowers and creamy bells of Angel’s Trumpets, you didn’t notice Nick’s eyes were only on you.

#biteofcherry's birthday banquet #nick fowler x reader #nick fowler x female reader #nick fowler x you #nick fowler imagine #nick fowler fic #hades x persephone AU #my writing #sweet and stained

381 notes · View notes