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mangowafflesss · 8 months

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Bomb Protection | Soap x GuardianAngel!Reader

Summary: Being assigned someone to protect is simple enough, keep them out of danger - but what about someone who keeps putting themselves in danger on a day to day basis.

Word Count: 2K+

Mythic Month HQ

★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★

You hummed softly as you ran your fingers over the spines of old and sacred tomes. Your days were filled with wandering around these same four walls, your mind filled with boredom as you awaited for your skills to be put to use.

You had just reached the age where you could finally be a part of the ‘Protection Programme’ you were given a choice and deciding to follow in your parents footsteps you would become a guardian Angel. When growing up around your elders you loved to sit in front of the fire listening to the stories they told you about their first human - it either went terribly or it went as perfect as could be, you had hoped yours would be the latter.

You look up at the high ceilings and look around the room before spreading your wings and grabbing a book off the highest shelf. You're not allowed to use your wings in the library due to an incident which involved an Angel crashing into the wooden shelving and toppling them over, many books were damaged and were in desperate need of repair…

Smiling you hold the book in your hand but then hear a cough and drop it out of your hand, quickly flying down you catch it before it hits the ground and then turn to the person who just entered.

“You know you're not supposed to be doing that, but I'll turn a blind eye as you caught it before it touched the ground”

“I’m sorry father…” you whisper as you lowered your head, the book was still in your grip and you slowly placed it onto a table next to you.

“Don’t worry my dear child, come, I have something exciting to show you” he holds out an arm and you go to him with curiosity. His arm rests around your shoulders as he walks you through the halls you could probably recite and draw with your eyes closed.

He opened the door and inside stood one of the head Angels, you felt nervous as you approached them but the feeling quickly disappeared as you saw them smile at you.

‘Okay i'm not in trouble… that's a good start’

Swallowing your fears you stood before him and bowed in respect, just how you normally would. Everything's fine, you're in no trouble, you remind yourself over and over as you wait for them to speak, everything is really making you want to run and fly to the nearest waterfall.

“After your results I think it's finally ready for you to begin your destiny” he begins and you feel a spark of electricity lick up your spine, you were finally going to get to protect someone. “This man, Johnny MacTavish is who you'll protect to the best of your abilities. I assure you that if you fail to keep him safe and out of harm's way you will be severely punished. Any questions?”

You stared at the paper pushed in your direction and quickly signed the bottom to seal your protection for the man. “We wish you all the best on your journey ” he nods with a hand over his chest. You bow in their direction and exit the room, carefully trying to not show how excited you were to finally be able to protect someone.

Rushing back to your room you sat on your chair and closed your eyes. You were bound to him now and wanted nothing more than to see who he was.

Seeing him in your mind made a smile break out on your face, your very first human! How exciting!

Looking down on him you watch as he talks with a few other men and women. They had bottles in their hands as they stood around a pool table watching a current game, you’ve never played but they seemed to be enjoying their time together.

Listening in you heard a loud laugh and wince at the volume of it. “You’re one lucky fucker MacTavish, you could’ve blown off half your arm” a man laughs but Johnny shrugs while bringing his drink up to his lips. “Someone must be looking out for me” he points to the ceiling and you gasp out loud, they are never supposed to know about the angels protecting them, that could result in something disastrous.

“You believe in that crap?” you make a face of disgust at the man's words and immediately put him on your list of people you don't like - there isn't anyone else on this list but he will be at the top written in gold. “If it saves me from becoming a pincushion for shrapnel then yes I believe in that crap” you don’t like their choosing of words but if he truly believes in you then you’ll let it slide - for now.

Over the next few days you’ve had fun watching Johnny or Soap is what you’ve found out to be his name. You were confused but didn’t dwell on it too much and learnt as much as you could about this man. You’d visited him one time while he was sleeping and you were planning on doing so tonight, you weren’t supposed to but what if something happens while he’s asleep?

Appearing into his room was always easy due to your powers but sometimes you wondered if someone would ever just catch you. You knew no one would but there’s always a risk.

Creeping closer to the man on the small cot your eyes roam over his body for any injuries - you knew there aren’t any due to you watching him all day but still wanted to make sure.

His soft snores filled your ears as you got closer. He looked so peaceful as if all of his worries had disappeared, you knew his job was quite stressful but sometimes he doesn’t look that stressed.

He shifts in his sleep and hits himself in the face with his hand, you stifle a laugh and furrow your brows at him. The only thing you need to protect him from is his unconscious self. Reaching out your hand you grab onto his wrist and move the arm away from his face, you didn’t know exactly what he could do to himself in his sleep so it’s better you don’t find out.

As soon as you put his hand onto his chest he jolts awake and you let out a small noise before hiding in the shadow of his room. He grumbled as he rubbed his eyes and looked over in your direction, you stayed still as possible and when he grumbled again he flopped back down and dozed off. Johnny was an interesting person to watch every day, sometimes he did questionable things that didn’t make sense but you shrugged them off and ignored them.

Your wings fluttered due to you being on earth for far too long without a reason. You would just have to watch him from the comfort of your home in the clouds.

You don’t know how many times you’ve sent him messages to his mind about moving away from something dangerous but it was more than what you could count on one hand. These messages you send are what humans say are their sixth sense or gut feeling, you do this so you can manage him from afar instead of actually going down to earth and helping him out. He listens eight percent of the time which is good enough for you as he has never become hurt due to your decisions.

A month later you felt an uncomfortable twitch in your back, you hadn't checked in with your little human yet as he shouldn't be awake. But this was something urgent.

Closing your eyes you see him in your mind and gasp out loud. If it was possible for you to have a heart attack you probably would have had about five right now, all at once.

Johnny stood in the middle of a room looking down at a device which has a timer strapped to it, from your knowledge you know its a bomb anyone could clearly see but the thing that grabs your attention is the digits counting down from five. You know he could probably achieve diffusion in those five seconds but you weren't going to take any chances.

He wasn't moving which annoyed you. You had sent him messages to his mind to tell him to get out of there but he wasn't listening. “I'm sending him a feeling and he's choosing to ignore it?! Why are humans so difficult” you mumble to yourself as you quickly find his location and get there.

You grab onto the back of his vest and cover his head as you pull him to the ground, your body and wings shield him from the blast of the bomb but you're far enough away that it didn’t damage him.

Looking down at the man in your arms you assess any damage done to him - which is luckily none - and swiftly make an exit, you don't particularly need him seeing you and asking questions. But as your back was turned you didn’t see that your human was in fact looking in your direction admiring your fluffy white wings.

Later that night you checked in on him and saw he was wide awake staring at the ceiling. You saw his phone lying next to him unlocked, reading what he just did, you looked from the phone and back to his face.

‘How to talk to your Guardian Angel’ was what it said and you had a mild moment of panic, you knew you shouldn’t have saved him like that and he must've seen you leave.

“Stupid stupid, this is bad… but would it be so bad?” you paced the library while chewing on your lip deep in thought. Walking over to a bookshelf you pick up a book of rules and flick through them until you find the one you need. Once you read through the page your frown is replaced with a smile.

‘If a human chooses to communicate with the Angels, the Angel who protects them may come forth and show themselves but ONLY if the Angel feels the pull towards said human’

Once you close the book and place it back where it came from you feel a different sensation come from your wings, as if you’re being pulled or dragged? You smile and realise what's happening, your human is trying to call for you.

Straightening out your clothes you concentrate on where he is and vision yourself being in there, when you open your eyes you see him still laying on the bed staring at the ceiling.

“Hello!” you greet and he visibly jumps in the air and off the edge of his bed, you hurry to his side and help him up off the floor with a gentle tug of his arm.

His eyes connect with yours and you could see he was shocked to see you. “Hi…” he says before standing up straight and looking you up and down.

“Your… actually here, heh oh my. I'm sorry I'm a little speechless, I'm Johnny MacTavish” he holds out a hand and you take his rough one in your soft palm. “I know who you are” you state and he looks at you with curiosity in his eyes.

Guiding him over to his bed you softly take a seat with him next to you. “This may sound strange but perhaps not as strange as you think it may be. I am your Guardian Angel” your voice sounded so angelic and he couldn’t take his eyes off you, they weren’t kidding when they said angels were supposed to be pretty creatures.

“Are you the one who saved me?” nodding your head to confirm he lets out a laugh and shakes his head. “Why me?”

Taking his hand in yours you give it a squeeze before turning it over palm side up. “Some are given one at birth, some are given them at random points in their life, some ask for one which is what you did” your eyes move away from his palm and to his face, he looked embarrassed almost.

“I didn't think anyone would listen… I was nearly dead when I did it, it probably came out as a mumble but obviously it didn't”

“You were heard loud and clear, your job is very dangerous may I add. I've been watching you and gosh would you please stop with the explosives” you scold him in a serious voice, but he just laughs.

“I can’t but perhaps I'll think before I decide to try and defuse one that's on the verge of blowing up” you look at him in an intimidating way and he holds his hands in the air “promise! You don’t have to worry about that, but the thought of you being there makes me feel better about going about my job”

“Well i have to protect you for as long as you shall live so we’re stuck until that day comes” you smile and he gives you an equally big one back. You stand up from the edge of his bed and flutter your wings a little bit, you need to get back.

“Will I see you again?”

“If you ask for me, I'll come. I'm always watching too so make sure you remember that” he blushes and scratched his neck awkwardly before nodding.

“I must go now, don't get into too much trouble or else I'll have to punish you myself”

“Are all Angels bossy or is it just you” you let out a small giggle before shaking your head “Stay out of trouble, goodbye Johnny”

“Until next time” he whispers and once he blinks you’re gone…

#Mangos Mythic Month🦇˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:#john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish #soap call of duty #soap cod #john soap mactavish

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bekkachaos · 23 days

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Fuck it Friday 🔥

starting this because it's Friday here and I wanna know if y'all would read this because I'm a SICKO and started writing some post-apocalyptic Buddie (because I can't stop thinking about the book All That's Left In The World)

tagging these wonderful people if they wanna share x

@monsterrae1 @the-likesofus @eddiebabygirldiaz @bi-buckrights @shortsighted-owl @elvensorceress @loveyourownsmiilee @doublecheekedkinard @loserdiaz @spotsandsocks @wildlife4life @jackluvsdaniel @belovedbuddie @bidisasterevankinard @wh0rebehavi0r @thewolvesof1998 @bucksbisexualawakening @weewootruck @daffi-990 @spagheddiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @loveyouanyway

He pushed through the pain and got himself back up. It was starting to get dark and he needed to find a sheltered place to rest for the night, if he could call it that. He had barely slept in the three days since he injured himself, even before that it's not what he would have called it. Fitful bouts of sleep and nightmares and evenings in the dark listening to the wilderness come alive and looking up at the stars imagining he was anywhere else.

As he hobbled through the woods he caught a glimpse of something between the trees and felt his heart begin to pound, he was either in so much pain and hallucinating, or by some miracle he had managed to find a cabin for shelter.

He struggled towards it, he couldn't focus on anything other than making it to the door, his hand gripping tight to the wooden porch railing, the other to his makeshift crutch, and then he heard the sound of a gun cocking behind him.

"Not another step."

Eddie was frozen in place. How long had it been since he heard another person speak? Weeks? Months? He wasn't even sure anymore.

"Turn around."

Slowly he shuffled his crutch around, wincing in pain again and still using the rail to support his weight as he let himself look back and past the barrel of the shotgun now pointed steadfastly at his chest.

It may have been odd, given his predicament, but for some reason his first thought was 'so I'm not the last one left'. He knew he wasn't of course, but it was easy to forget that fact.

The man who held the gun stood only slightly taller than he did, shoulders hunched up so his arms looked bigger as he adjusted his hold around the barrel with his finger on the trigger. His jaw was set, nostrils flaring as his unnaturally bright blue eyes stared out at Eddie's unwaveringly. He was intimidating, sure, at least he would have been if Eddie wasn't close enough to see the fear in his eyes. The gun was certainly helping though.

"Not here to rob you," Eddie said, and had he been in better shape he might have put his hands up.

"What do you want?" the stranger asked, inching the gun closer.

"I'm hurt, it's getting dark, just looking for a place to rest," he said.

"Well you can keep walking," he said roughly, and it made Eddie grind his teeth together.

"That's not working so well for me," he growled, and for a fleeting moment the man's eyes flitted down to his leg, the latter half of his jeans torn and drenched in a mix of fresh and dried blood.

"I know," he said, eyes back up to Eddie's. "I watched you walk up here."

"And you're still going to send me away?" Eddie scoffed.

It didn't surprise him, people didn't trust each other anymore. If you saw someone, you stayed away from them unless you absolutely had to. A desperate and hungry person would do just about anything to survive. Lie, steal, kill. Eddie had had plenty of uncomfortable encounters since he left the base, and each one gave him even more reasons to steer clear of people. If you were out on your own, you had to do what you needed to if you wanted to survive. The minute you let your guard down around someone, they'd betray you. He didn't say anything, just kept his hard stare on Eddie as if waiting for him to give in, but Eddie was in too much pain, too tired, too hungry, and too sick and tired of the woods to go back out there. "Listen man, all I need is some shelter, I'll sit under that porch while you barricade that door if that's what it comes too," he said. "But I'm not leaving." "Do you not see that I'm holding a gun to your chest?" he said, raising an eyebrow and making Eddie look him over for a moment. "You're not going to shoot me," he said, and maybe it was not the right time to be calling someone's bluff, but there was something in the stranger's eyes that made Eddie take the risk on it. "And why not?" he asked, an irk of irritation spreading across his face. "Because you don't want to shoot me," Eddie said. "You think I won't?" Eddie nodded towards the side of the gun. "Not with the safety on."

#fuck it friday #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 #911 fic #post apocalyptic au

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deiaiko · 2 months

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#20.1 Sulk

Her footsteps echoed through the hallway, stopping in front of one particular room where her god resided in. She knocked on the door to make her presence known, not expecting her god to answer. Not today, at least.

Hwaryun opened the door and saw her god curled up on the sofa. He peeked at her and quickly looked disinterested at her presence. She considered it better than getting herself kicked out before she could talk some sense into him.

She invited herself in and went straight to the pantry. "Grace couldn't come today, so he asked me to look after you. Would you like some tea?"

Her god didn't answer, but he did perk up at the name. She brewed him a cup of tea anyway, adding a little more sugar than she would have liked for herself since her god had a sweet tooth. She set his cup on the coffee table and took a seat on an unoccupied sofa next to him.

Viole sat more upright, still hugging the sofa pillow. He gave her a once over before he went back to staring into the far off distance. "Why can't Hyung come?"

Hwaryun took a sip of her tea before answering, "He said he needs time for himself."

"Is it because of me?" Viole mumbled into the pillow, eyes shadowed by his long bangs.

"No. He's grieving for his late friends."

"Oh." Viole loosened the grip on the pillow, although only momentarily. "Can I see him?"

'I want to be there for him' was what his gaze seemed to say. Her god was such a compassionate person; it was endearing. Still, she had to shake her head. "You won't be of any help to him with your plate full."

"Why? What does that mean?"

"You have a lot on your mind. It's better to sort them out first before helping someone else." Hwaryun traced the edge of her cup, "Do you want me to guess or would you like to tell them yourself? Putting words into your thoughts will help you to untangle it."

Viole blinked. "I don't know. I feel bad."

Hwaryun hummed. "Do you know the cause of it?

"...Rachel." Viole turned his head away. "My chest aches whenever she comes to mind."

"She betrayed your trust, didn't she? It's expected that you feel that way."

"I've been…I just wanted to help her. Yet…" Viole trailed off. "I know I have forgiven her for making me live like this. But…"

When Viole couldn't find any words to continue, she decided to help him fill in the blanks. "You feel sad and angry because it feels like you're wasting your time thinking about how to get her back, only for her to walk away from you."

Viole buried his face on the pillow, staying quiet.

Hwaryun decided to help herself to the cookie jar on the coffee table and pulled out a book from her pocket. Opening the bookmarked page, she began reading where she left off while she waited for her god to gather his thoughts.

Moments later Viole shifted on his seat and mumbled, "Miss Hwaryun, why should I keep going?"

"To climb the tower?" Hwaryun didn't look up, even though her book was quite boring. "Or to be FUG's slayer?"

Viole stiffened at the latter question. Unlike the book, her god was easier and more interesting to read.

Hwaryun took another sip from her half empty cup. "Well, if you refuse to be a slayer, then what would you be?"

Viole didn't reply. It wasn't like they gave him enough time to think about it before.

"Being FUG's slayer isn't that bad, you know? You have backup here, and we will support you with whatever we have. Connections, money, information. I'm sure Jinsung, Grace or Agni had told you how important those are to help you climb the tower."

Viole bit his lip, "I know that. But that's–"

But nothing they could offer would satisfy him, Hwaryun knew. Because her god didn’t care about money or fame. What he wanted was companionship, his cherished friends, and FUG had cruelly taken that away from him. However, "Believe me, it could be a lot worse than what you have now."

"How much worse could it be?" Viole's voice cracked a little. "I just…want to be with my friends, is it too much to ask?"

"Is it?" Hwaryun clapped the book close, eyeing the untouched tea on the table before looking to its owner in his eyes. "Considering everything I've seen in my lifetime, you're quite lucky your friends are still around."

Viole blinked, staring back at her with a look that could kill. She realized she had worded it like a threat.

"Don't take me wrong, I'm just saying that in general. The tower is just a cruel place, and people who climb it know that they must put their lives on the line to get what they seek. People kill and die for a lot of reasons, and we are no exceptions." Hwaryun placed her finger on her eyepatch, "This eye could have been my life, if I didn't dodge in time. Did you get what I mean?"

Viole frowned. "Then what do I do? I don't want to lose anyone anymore."

Hwaryun hummed thoughtfully, "That is impossible. All you can afford is to do your best by getting stronger, so at the very least, you won't see them get killed in front of you."

Fear reflected in Viole's eyes and he gritted his teeth. "How could you say such a thing?!"

"It's not impossible. If Hansung were to take Khun and Rak as a hostage, would you be able to fight back and win before he's able to hurt them, or worse?"

Viole bit his lip.

"Hansung wouldn't do that, don't worry. But I couldn't say the same thing with other rankers and regulars that will come across you."

Viole considered her words for a long time. "...I don't think I would be okay if I lost them."

"I know." It would be just like what happened with Jinsung.

Viole suddenly jumped down on his feet, staring sharply at her. "They are all still alive, right? My friends, I mean."

"Yes, they are. Grace would have told you otherwise if anything were to happen."

"Then, do you happen to know who Hyung's friends that's…?

Hwaryun shook her head, "No. None that we knew of."

"Ah." The sulking brokenhearted boy he was before was no more, and Hwaryun couldn't help but smile at her beloved god. "Do you think I can help him somehow?"

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oswlld · 2 months

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oswlld's monthly wrap up: march

note: i am trying something a bit different this year, so bear with me as i figure out how i want to format this. i wanted to spend more time sharing what i consume, beyond what i rb, and put my thoughts in one place. these posts are okay to rb

When We Cease to Understand the World, Benjamín Labatut [started 02/24, finished 03/14] What an outstanding example of blurring the lines between fiction and reality. I am content in never knowing what’s real and imaginary in the lives of these people. May we never forget that for every new idea challenged, there is a real person with real emotions and motivations behind it. 4.25⭐️ in storygraph. — No Stopping Us Now: A History of Older Women in America, Gail Collins [started 03/03, finished 03/30] This book makes some strong points, but comes off weak in its execution. By having it be told decade by decade, it becomes hard to follow along when so many names and events are being tossed around. Without a firm thread tying all the themes together, the achievements ended up feeling lackluster when it should leave you feeling a sense of pride and hopefulness. 3.25⭐️ in storygraph (I rounded up, but it feels more like a 3.15)

23.5 Degrees, GMMTV [started: 03/08, ongoing] What a breath of fresh air!! With my busy schedule, I managed to catch the first two eps and I’ve loved every minute of it. It doesn’t take itself too seriously, while still keeping a tight grip on its sense of identity. The series soaks up every aspect of its space theme like a sponge. Content specifically made for me, tysm! As much as I have tried refraining from consuming more high school settings, I couldn’t help but be enamored by what I have seen so far. I have paused this series for now, but hopefully I’ll be caught up before the end of April. I should be able to watch it live on Fridays in May. Until then, I will miss them dearly! — Always a Witch, Netflix [started 03/28, in progress] At this time, I have only seen episodes 1-5. So far, it’s a very straight-forward series. I am restraining myself from calling it predictable, because there are one or two things that really turns some tropes/themes on its head. But all-in-all, I am still waiting for this show to grab me. For a show that checks all the boxes that really makes a core jessi show, a series with time travel, magical realism, and found family, it has yet to completely sweep me away. Time really got away from me this month, but I will finish this series sometime in the next two weeks. We shall see if the latter half gets better.

Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour (Taylor’s Version) [watched 03/15 thru 03/18] I have seen this live and did see the original film in theaters last year, so this experience was more of a rewatch. This time around, my parents wanted to watch some of it with me so we made a whole evening of it on 3/15 so that was really neat. I will be traveling a lot in April and will be taking an audio copy of this to keep me entertained. — Oscar Nomination Season [started 02/17, ended 03/24] All of my initial reactions of what I managed to cover this Oscar season is in this post. Some of the strongest categories I have had the pleasure of covering this year were the Best Documentary (feature), Best Production Design, Best Live Action Short, Best Documentary (short), and Best Animated Film. I have several more films to tackle later this year, but my overall impression this Oscar season was just alright. One or two films have hit an extremely high note for me, but no worst of the worst.

BEYONCÉ, Beyoncé [relistening] During the pandemic, I really got into waching YT reaction channels reacting to full albums. One of my favorites is HTHaze and he is only beginning his listening journey through Beyoncé’s discography (yes, for the first time!) His reaction to Beyoncé’s self-titled made me want to relisten to it in full for the first time in years. I tend to only revisit a few songs through the years, but I do love going back to albums after time has past to recontextualize everything all over again. I’ve had my longtime faves from my 20’s but in my mid-30’s, the songs that hit harder now are: Pretty Hurts, Haunted, and Jealous. — Bewitched, Laufey [first time listening] The same YT channel got me to listen to this album. I am guilty in having my first listen be through his video first before diving into her album properly. With that said, the brain rot went FULL ROT. I love LOVE her compositions. Having learned from her Tiny Desk that getting a grand piano influenced the way she wrote her songs makes the whole conception so much grander. Her voice is soooo, it’s SOOOOO !!!!!!! I read a comment somewhere that her dream is to rejuvenate jazz the same way Taylor Swift did with country for a younger generation and that really spoke to me. I truly believe she is heading in the right direction in achieving that. My favorite run of songs goes from: Haunted, Must Be Love, While You Were Sleeping, Lovesick, California and Me, Nocturne (Interlude), and Promise. Those seven songs in that succession is so GOOD, ahH! — Once the Musical [relistening] Every spring, I fall into a Once spiral and it just gets deeper and deeper. This time though, I only tackled the core faves on YT rather than committing to the full audio (w/ Arthur Darvill and Joanna Christie). Although Arthur Darvill’s Leave will forever solidify his Guy as my Guy, Declan Bennett is The Guy of Guys for me. My mandatory relistening experience always goes: Arthur’s Leave, Arthur’s Say It To Me Now, Declan’s Say It To Me Now, Declan’s When Your Mind’s Made Up, Zrinka's If You Want Me, Once’s Spotify Jam Session. And it would all be on a loop lol. — Cowboy Carter, Beyoncé [first time listening] This is still fresh in my mind, having only listened to it in its entirety once through. My first impression is that it’s one of her most cohesive albums to date. Having had the first taste of what she would eventually achieve all the way back with Lemonade and The Gift, Cowboy Carter feels like a natural progression in her discography. I don’t have a top songs list to provide at this time, as I would need more time with the album. Fav songs come with time. Although, I did listen to 16 CARRIAGES when it was released several weeks ago and I knew then it would be a spectacular album. What a phenomenal single to lead a phenomenal homecoming.

Where’d You Go Bernadette, written by Maria Semple and narrated by Kathleen Wilhoite [started 03/22, finished 03/29] I… I didn’t like this. And that’s alright. Even if I didn’t like the premise or the characters, I did enjoy the format of the narrative and the narrator (especially her singing!!). But in the end, this was just not meant for me.

—

As it is still March when I am writing this, I wanted to endcap Women’s Month with a special shoutout to two women in my life that have been working with me to improve my overall well-being: Wendy (personal trainer) and Sofia (life coach). I am in a better headspace because of the work and trust they have in me to build a life I want. I cannot wait to see what I am capable of this time next year.

#oswlld 2024 wrap up #mine: edits #oscars 2024 #23.5 degrees #always a witch #laufey #beyoncé #cowboy carter #once the musical #where'd you go bernadette #will be returning each month when i post these #see you again soon :(

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sophieeeikli · 1 year

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Blood & Brothers: A Close Reading and Analysis of Dante Émile's "Dioscuri"

Blood and Brothers: A Close Reading of “Dioscuri” by @orpheuslament. By Sophie E. Eikli. Available on Substack.

The world is formed anew, as is our vocabulary. Tumblr poet Dante Émile begins his piece with a title, Dioscuri, which holds no meaning as can be divined through English language save for a single title given to a unique dynamic. The word refers specifically to that dynamic of those poorly fated twins from Greek mythology; Castor and Pollux. They are the masculine in the divine-and-mortal set of twins, having been born alongside Helen and Clytemnestra out of the nonconsensual union of Zeus and Leda. The word itself comes from the Greek ‘Dioskouroi’ meaning ‘Sons of Zeus’. The word may also whisper of similarity to the English ‘obscure’, something which is definitely present in the piece by Émile.

The piece begins in conversation with a seemingly invisible speaker. “Your blood is my blood is your blood is my blood,” uttered by an unknown voice to an unknown recipient. This sentence is repeated twice more in the poem, at the middle and at the closure. The pronoun ‘your’, is also repeated steadily over the course of the piece, while “I” is never named- save for the invisible, yet heady I present in the repetition of “my” in the line which has already been named. This proves the existence of a first-person speaker kept tantalisingly out of the reader’s grip, without revealing its identity. Is it Émile commenting through his own work, projecting to a specific person in an act of poetic espionage? Is it Pollux to his mortal and less radiant twin? Is it Castor to the son born as what he is not; glory and divinity? My suspicion is that the truth lies somewhere between the latter options, and that the unsureness is deliberate. Castor and Pollux’s blood is the same, not just genetically but in reality. The line “your mother never looks you in the eye” could indicate that it is Castor speaking to Pollux, but this is something that cannot, and should not be, confirmed. Although fraternal, they both carry the traits and evidence of a fated conception.

Aside from its title, the poem walks a fine line between pretentious and relatable as the meat of its text keeps it grounded in modernity. There are no heady Greek words, nor are there Latin ones. And yet it brims over with the past. Émile begins by thrusting the name of Castor into the present in an act of bait-and-switch, placing the two of them in the setting of a motel bathroom, and yet the present is scarcely mentioned again. The poem laps back through time, going from a “motel bathroom” to the reflection of their “once [having been] a light to sailors” until the devastating final blow that delivers Castor and Pollux to Hades. The piece exists within a context of Greek antiquity. The present is not gone, but it barely registers against the weight of the past.

To all who grazed the Tumblr poetry sphere of the mid-to-late 2010’s, tell me if this sounds familiar: Dionysus in the present, owning a bar. Aphrodite, a stripper. Zeus, a marine or some other authority.

Those who had a Tumblr account in the mid-2010’s may be aware of the pervasiveness of Classical Greece within the poetics of that time. Many of them are gone now, their blogs reduced to half-memories and deactivated urls. While some of them, such as New Zealand’s Darshana Suresh, went on to publish a book, I have no idea if any of them continued to write. Because of time, and disappearance, and ghosts, I cannot find the exact poems to reference. Therefore, I can only ask for your belief in the fact that one thing was almost always present in a Tumblr poet’s portfolio: the Ancient Greeks in the present, haunted by a lack of belief. This is not a denigration of that poetry in the slightest; as a teenager I found myself uniquely represented in the ambitious poetry of fellow teenaged and young adult poets who often suffered with mental health problems of their own. It was also a heavily queer environment, in which there was no question at all regarding the relationship between Akilles and Patroklus. There existed a genuine artistry and love for the source material that marked it as an artistically unique subsection of poetry.

Another uniting force for the Tumblr poet community was its metaphorical patron saint; Richard Siken. An absolute crescendo of his time, Siken released the collection Crush when he was barely 19 in 2005. Even today his work entertains a sense of immortality, often being used in so-called web weaves (e.g; “Sorry / about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.”(Little Beast)). Even I have a not-so-hypothetical desire for a Siken tattoo on my left arm. His work is manic, bordering on surrealistic as he blends time and space, but more than anything it is intensely physical. There are many, many times in Crush where the word ‘blood’ is used. Hearts are swallowed, cows fall from the sky like rain, houses and people are burned at regular intervals. There is also a very heavy presence of second person in his poetry.

In several ways, Dioscuri feels like a testament and subversion of these things. There is the heavy presence of the past within Émile’s poem, but it is manipulated in a way that contrasts those poems from 2015. Unlike the pieces of which I think, which could alternately place Dionysus at a bar or Ikaros in a First World War fighter, Émile begins in the present and pushes backwards into the past. The thick love of these brothers is constant and unbearable, with Pollux eventually resolving to pull his mortal brother with him into the stars. The language, too, leans progressively more into the Antique with epithets such as “God-sent white bird” – which is interestingly used to describe the “dove” that “you once buried”, rather than another white bird which is their father in the myth of Leda. – being paired with reflections on the soul dualism (“A soul splits in two, / that which has always been yours to share”) which Plato credits to Zeus in his Symposium. While a line near the beginning of the poem asks “Who in Hell knows who speaks first”, the ending describes one waking “Down in Hades.”

And yet the present does exist, reaching through Pollux’s grief for his brother killed in Troy. “I’m not reaching Heaven if it’s not with my brother,” he says to his “old man”, Zeus. While it could be a meditation on the skies to which Castor and Pollux eventually become stars, Heaven’s capitalisation leads one to wonder whether it is not a reflection of the immortality of that brotherly bond, pushing back out from that motel bathroom at the beginning of the poem. Whether it is not Pollux’s bloody and codependent love for his brother that breaches time, space, body. There is blood all over this poem, and inside of it.

There is blood everywhere, and one cannot help but notice that some of it belongs to Richard Siken. Some of the lines seem to be subconscious redirection of Siken’s images. Although it may be overreaching, one could see the “wild horses running through your hair at night” as an honouring of Siken’s “How it was late, and no one could sleep. The horses running / until that they forget that they are horses.” (Scheherezade). There is also something very resemblant in the demand to “Keep the shattered moonlight under your pillow”, which could resemble the physicality of Siken’s “Look at the light through the windowpane” (Scheherezade). Faces don’t just become bloody, but are bloody already. A bloodied fist meets a pre-bloodied nose. Catastrophe is written into the DNA of the poem right until the fateful cry of mortal Castor: What have you done, what have you done. Not a question, for the answer is known by both. The answer is them both.

For such is the love of brothers and of twins in Émile’s poem. Their love is codependent and damaging, but no more damaging than the conception that made them. The poem demands that one apologise to their mother while simultaneously reminding that “it’s not your fault if things always end this way”. They hide under covers in the motel just as they hide together in the night sky. They guard each other in every reality and every plane.

To end, I have only one request of our dear poet:

Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. Tell me we’ll never get used to it.

Credits given to:

Dioscuri by Dante Émile

Little Beast, Scheherezade & others by Richard Siken

Darshana Suresh and other Tumblr poets

#poetry #spilled ink #poetry analysis #orpheuslament #richard siken #classicsblr #my writing #my analyses #long post

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reagan-mclean · 4 months

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OC Kiss Prompt Day 2: Rain

Here are two more of my OCs with another prompt.

Louisa really wasn’t used to the ground moving. After four weeks, she’d finally started to get used to the rocking of the ship, but then they’d spent a week on land, and after almost falling repeatedly, she’d gotten used to solid ground again. She had no idea how the others did it except that they were professionals.

The door Louisa had been attempting to reach swung open, spaying her with water. That was what she was heading above deck for. Fanny had told her to go to sleep, but unlike her sisters, she couldn’t sleep. The sound of the rain called to Fanny as it had since she was a little girl. That and she knew her time on the Emerald Lady would soon come to an end, and she wanted to take in as much as possible so she could write a book about her adventure.

Struggling up the stairs, she finally made her way to the top deck, which she was certain had a special name and even more certain Captain Eamon had explained it to her at some point. That meant it was either in the extensive collection of notes she kept in the small room the captain provided her and Fanny or he’d told her while smiling and he'd been completely distracted by how beautiful he was. Lousia decided it was probably the former, even if the latter did occur too often for her to admit to her sisters.

When she’d been below deck, everyone seemed grumpy and wet. She’d wished she’d had some extra blankets to pass out, but all she had was the one in her bed. Once Louisa had decided to come up, she passed off her blacket to a cold sailor, but there wasn’t anything else she could do. Up here, though, the vibe was very different. Most of the crew were performing their various tasks as they did any other time.

The biggest difference was the handsome captain himself. He seemed more… Louisa couldn’t even think of any words that accurately completed that sentence. He simply seemed more. His clothes were completely soaked through, and grinning. He moved around the deck with ease, checking in on each group of sailors, seeming to accumulate more energy the longer it rained.

Louisa was so content watching him that she almost didn’t realize when he’d spoken to her. She blinked in surprise as he strutted closer. As he approached she noticed that the top half of the buttons of his shirt were open. Unbidden, her gaze dropped to his bared chest and she immediately forced it back up. She returned her gaze to his face, finding him wearing a faintly amused smirk.

“I asked you if you needed something, lass.”

“Oh. I just wanted to know how the rain affected the way their crew worked, so I was just watching.”

“Come with me. I’ll explain it to you.”

For the next several minutes Louisa followed Eamon around the ship listing intently as he explained all the ways weather affected sailing. She was interested enough that she only got mildly distracted by his attractiveness about twice. He ended his explanation by guiding her to the helm.

“I’ll take it from here,” he told the man currently manning the helm. He stepped away, offering control back to the captain and Eamon stepped forward. He only put one hand on it, choosing instead to make Lousia the focus of his attention.

“You want to try?”

Louisa’s jaw dropped, and she was certain Fanny would scold how unladylike it was, but she jumped in excitement and clapped her hands. “Can I really?”

“Certainly,” he agreed, stepping back to give her enough space to take the helm.

He waited until she had a secure grip to let go. As soon as he moved his hand, Louisa could feel a difference and she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to control it. Louisa could feel her muscles straining as the wheel spun and the boat started to move. She was about to turn around and ask for help when she felt it start to steady. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed Eamon had stepped up behind her.

“Not as easy as it looks?” He asked playfully.

“I don’t think I’m strong enough,” she admitted.

“It's okay lass, we’ll get you there,” he reassured, continuing to steer the ship with his arms around her waist. Unsure what else to do, trapped between him and the helm, Louisa continued to hold it as she was steering instead of him. Even though she was certain her sisters would not agree, Eamon kept a respectable distance for a pirate captain. Between the rain and her proximity to the captain, Louisa was happier than she’d been in weeks.

“You seem different in the rain,” she remarked after several moments of silence.

“It reminds me of home,” he answered in a rare moment of honesty.

“Does it rain a lot in Ireland?” She asked.

“Yes, you’ve never been I assume?”

Louisa shrugged. “Until now, I’d never left the island.”

“Truely?” He gasped. “In eighteen years, you never left that island?”

“Nineteen,” she protested. “And I’d actually never even left the town. I’ve always wanted to though. Henry used to bring me back stuff from everywhere he traveled. That’s part of why I’m so curious about everything. Once I go back, I probably won’t get to travel again.”

“Well then, I guess we should make better use of your sailing lesson,” he decided, removing the distance that he’d been leaving. The proximity made Louisa much warmer, especially when he leaned in close to her ear to whisper the instructions into her ear.

It took a lot for her to focus on the advice he was giving her instead of the way he was touching her, but she’d managed. She even managed to keep control of the ship when he took one of his hands off the helm to wrap around her waist. After a moment, he surprised her by pressing a kiss into her neck.

Eamon pulled away when she gasped. She turned around, trying to ignore the heat in her face. “W-what was that for?”

He shrugged. “Partially because I was proud of you for figuring thai out so quickly, but mostly just because you looked really cute.”

Louisa blushed at how openly he admitted to finding her cute. She didn’t have much, any, experience with men, but whenever her sibling talked about courtship they did it with subtle gestures, not honest declarations. “I…I’m sure I look silly all covered in rain, but…I’m glad you don’t agree.”

“You should go dry off and get some sleep,” he instructed. “Fanny will kill me if she knows I let you stay out here this late.”

Louisa huffed. “She’s not my mother even though she acts like it.”

“She’s just worried about you, and she’s got a good head on her shoulders. You should take more heed of what she has to say.”

The last thing she wanted to hear was that her older sister was right, but she didn’t want to insult the captain after how nice he’d been to her, and she didn’t want to jeopardize the chance of another situation like the one they’d just had. “I’ll think about it. Thank you for the lesson, by the way. I was so excited I think I forgot to say that. And thank you for everything else too.”

There were a lot of ways to interpret that last bit, given everything he’d done for her, but the blush in her cheeks gave exactly what she was referring to. The teasing smile on his face told her that he’d picked up on her meaning as well.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’ll take any opportunity I get to show off my Emerald Lady. And if you’d ever like another kiss, you know where to find me.”

#ockiss24 #oc kiss week #Eamon x Louisa #pirates #rain

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buckets-and-trees · 2 years

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A Man Is Not His Song - More than a Melody's Needed [1/?]

Series: A Man Is Not His Song

Fandom: MCU

Characters/Pairings: eventual Bucky x female!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: After DC but before Romania, The Winter Soldier wanders, trying to figure out who James Buchanan Barnes was, who he is, and stay hidden from anyone who could be looking for him.

Content Warnings: none this chapter

Additional Notes: This will be a short series – no more than three to five parts. I started this in September, but of course was working on The Brooklyn Boys and then took up Silent Screams in Wildest Dreams and was doing my best to finish the latter while it was still a tiny bit spooky season. I thought this would be a one-shot, but after getting back to this and mulling it over for the past few days, I think it actually is a short series, not just a one-shot. The title for this series (and this chapter) is taken from Feist's A Man Is Not His Song.

“Wait! Stop!”

Within seconds the stranger had crossed the room, had his right hand around your wrist, and the other gloved hand – instead of going for your throat or to cover your mouth or whatever else you expected – half-covered and half-gripped the phone in your hand.

“I’ll leave, just please don’t call anyone.”

“You– “

Your heart was beating out of your chest, adrenaline pumping through your veins, and your hands were trembling, but you saw an undercurrent of fear in the eyes of the hulking man invading your space. Possibly more afraid than you.

“You’re hiding. Who are you running from?”

“I don’t know the full reach of who I’m running from, but they are embedded in a lot of the system, which is why I need you not to call anyone.”

Your brow furrowed, your pulse starting to slow as you studied him.

“Give me an hour before you call. Please.”

You bit your lip. Everything in his look, the strain on his face, it was all desperation and fear. It wasn’t pathetic, clearly the man wasn’t weak or helpless, but it was tense.

You slowly brought your left hand up to rest on top of his right hand which was still gripping your wrist. “I won’t call anyone, and this could be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but stay here if you need to.”

It was his brow furrowing now. “Really?”

“My mom would be screaming that I’ve lost my mind, but my grams and gramps always did a good deed when they could, and this was their cabin. Besides,” you broke off and nodded your head to the other side of the kitchen where your border collie stood, “Knox doesn’t seem to have a problem with you, and he’s a better judge of character than anyone.”

The dog was certainly alert to the situation but seemingly unworried about the stranger, only that the two of you seemed tense.

Slowly he withdrew his hands from their grip on your wrist and your phone, and you each took a step back.

“Now if you’re staying, you can make earn your keep by getting the groceries from the car.”

He still regarded you with suspicion, but he nodded and moved towards the door, glancing once more over his shoulder at you before exiting.

You took a deep shaky breath, leaning against the counter. Your heart had slowed slightly from its racing pace, but it was still beating rapidly. You had no idea who had taken over your body and seemed to handle that in such a cool and collected manner, but whoever she was, at least she kept you from peeing your pants.

You moved quickly from the kitchen to the great room, Knox falling into step with you. There was a blanket near the fireplace along with a journal and a couple of books, a very utilitarian black backpack next to the couch.

Quick checks of the bedrooms made it appear that everywhere else had remained untouched by the stranger. You stepped into the bathroom upstairs and splashed a bit of cool water on your face, then patted your face dry before taking another deep breath and steeling yourself to go back to the kitchen.

The primary reason you’d sent the man out to the car to get the groceries was because he could have used the opportunity to take the car and get away. Yes, you had your keys, but the man had gotten into the secure cabin without any apparent damages, and if he could pick a lock and disarm a security system that quickly, he was on the run and could probably hotwire a car, too, and if you sent him outside to the car, he could make his break for it. You’d rather him take his out now and report the car missing – he would likely abandon it not far from here, and you’d be able to recover it. It’s what you would do… or rather what you would write into the plot for one of your characters on the run to do.

Knox had stuck with you around the house, but he trotted ahead as you returned to the kitchen. Once you entered, you found Knox surreptitiously following the man around as he put away the groceries.

It was a scene that would be mundane if only he weren’t a stranger.

He looked at you every moment or so, a mix between skittish and suspicious. You still felt a little trepidatious, but the fact that this hulking specimen of a man – with a thick neck, a strong jaw, and a chest and arms that were clearly rippling with muscles on muscles that he was trying to keep covered up – was nervous calmed you more and more. If he were deranged, the crazy would be showing more, and if he were a threat, he’d be projecting confidence or danger, right?

“You seem to have things handled here. It’s been a few weeks since anyone’s been around, so I’m going to take care some other things around the cabin.”

You turned on your heel, then paused and looked back over your shoulder at him. “I guess it hasn’t been a few weeks… how long have you been here?”

He looked directly at you as he answered, “Two nights.”

You nodded and then left him there in the kitchen. The cabin had been modestly updated over the many years, so truthfully there wasn’t a long list of things for you to take care of, but you did go check to make sure the water main and hot water heater were on, switched on the two breakers that get switched off between visits, and then went to the stacks on the south side of the house to collect some wood for the fireplace.

Fall in the cabin had always been one of your favorite times. Summer meant trips down to the lakefront, bike rides, family, bonfires, sleep outs under the stars. Winter was cold, snowy, dotted with holidays and weekend getaways, hot coffee, cider, cocoa, tea, lots of toast, and curling up in blankets. Spring was fresh, new, energizing, and anticipation for summer. But fall danced between warm and cool in the way that invited sweaters and a good fire in the fireplace at night but without the bitter cold. Fall was the time when the rest of the world seemed to be getting back to business after summer, but a chance you’d begun to seize each year to get away, sometimes for as long as six or eight weeks, to write and research, away from any distractions, in near solitude as the rest of the family took time off from any holidays or vacations, leaving the cabin completely at your disposal.

After depositing your armful of logs by the fireplace, you began stacking them neatly as your grandfather had shown you and your brother as kids. It also put you near those volumes you’d clocked earlier, and now you could see it’s not a journal and some books, but two journals and three books – one about World War II, one on the Korean War, and one about the rise and fall of the Iron Curtain. As a writer, you knew the signs of research someone is invested in when you saw it. You could tell one journal was full due to how worn it was – not old, but thoroughly used already – and the other next to it had a pen resting a few pages into it, keeping it from closing flat. You burned to reach for the journals but held yourself back only with great restraint.

You could tell the stranger hadn’t made a fire of any kind, which early October certainly called for, but which made sense if he was hiding. Smoke from a chimney that wasn’t expected to be occupied could have had one of the remote neighbors calling or stopping by. The other cabins weren’t close, but it was the type of place where the neighbors generally knew each other, had a couple of summer bonfires together, and this cabin had been in your family for a few generations.

Luckily it wasn’t too cold for the season yet, but after dark you would be glad for the heat, and so you got to making a fire since it would take a few hours for the heat to generate true warmth through the cabin. Once you got a small but strong fire going, you carefully staked in a few more logs so it would be sustainable for a few hours.

You returned to the kitchen, following the smell of beef stew and warm bread. The stranger was slowly stirring a pot on the stove, and he turned his head to nod at you as you entered. You stopped at the very edge of the counter, still giving him some space.

“So, what’s your name?” you ask.

“James,” he answers.

James was such a generic name it could be fake, but you weren’t going to press it.

You offered up your name as well. Only your first name.

After watching him for another moment, you spoke again. “Why does my dog already like you more than me, James?”

He lets out an almost laught that’s more of a huff. “I think he’s cautiously wary. Hasn’t moved from that spot watching me.”

You smiled, then bent down and held your hand out for Knox, and he immediately sauntered over for some pats and ear scratches. It did appear he’d been watching James, but your dog didn’t seem overly concerned with the presence of the stranger anymore.

You moved to the sink to wash your hands, and Knox moved back to the spot he routinely took up in the kitchen (the spot James said he’d been watching from). James pulled the bread from the oven and began cutting into hearty slices. You started puling bowls, plates, glasses, and silverware out and set the table for two. Within a few minutes, you were both seated at the table, James dishing up servings of the stew to each of your bowls while you started buttering a slice of the warm bread. Knox had come over to lay quietly under the table at your feet.

The dinner started in silence, and you could feel him glancing up to look at you as much as you were at him. You were so eager to launch a thousand questions at him, but you didn’t want him to bolt. As dangerous and idiotic as this was logically – keeping a stranger on the run in your cabin in the woods during the off-season – you were caught in the curiosity of it now.

And even though you had come to the woods to get away from everyone, now that there was someone here, maybe you didn’t want to be so completely alone after all.

His first few looks over at you had been true glances, quick, clocking, assessing. After a few more minutes, you could feel a first and then second longer, more speculative looks, and you refrained from your looks, letting him take you in, willing him to feel more at ease in your presence.

The third time he really looked at you though, you smiled and looked openly back at him. He didn’t seem to be alarmed or bothered by you meeting his gaze, and he did not return your smile, but his expression seemed to soften slightly in the eyes.

“Okay,” you started, “I want to know why you picked this place and what you’ve figured out about my family since you’ve been here for a couple of days.”

He continued to slowly chew his mouthful of stew, his eyes narrowing just a fraction as he regarded your face, no doubt trying to assess your tactics, see if there was a trap to dodge.

“Answer my two queries, and then you can ask me two of your own,” you offer.

He nodded, swallowed, then started to answer.

“The cabins here are remote but accessible to civilization, and spread out enough out here in the forest to be private. This one looked inauspicious and the back porch has heavy tree cover on both sides, which allows for slipping in and out without drawing attention.”

“Oh.” Of course, the trees your grandparents had put in to provide plenty of privacy so the family could always relax without worrying about prying eyes from any neighbors meant perfect seclusion. You wouldn’t suggest to the family that you thin the trees at all, but it was clearly time for an exterior camera system to be able to keep tabs on the place when no one was around.

“Your grandparents built the cabin in 1972, brought their kids often. A large addition was made ten or twelve years ago that corelates with the architecture, but it’s clearly newer and doubled the size of the cabin, and it tracks with the number of family members that grew in the photos on the walls. Your grandparents spent their full summers here in their retirement years. Now that they’re gone, the four sons they left behind still occupy the full summer season here, but only with all of you here at the same time for Independence Day. Your father is the oldest; the cabin was left to him, though he generously lets any of the family use it. The pantry is generally well-stocked with a mix of home-canned and shelf-stable foods. There’s an extensive game closet, and the study is a smaller room, but it has a decent library started by your grandfather and an old desk that looks like it’s been used routinely over the years.”

You nod as he makes each of his correct assertions.

“One of your uncles is a photographer. Your grandfather wrote history. There’s another family author with a featured spot on the wall, but your genre is historical fiction, specifically the American Revolution.”

You sit back in your chair a bit and drum your fingers on the table before breaking your eye contact and deciding to reach for another slice of bread.

“You’re correct on all accounts.”

“I know.”

“So how did you-“

“No,” he cuts you off. “It’s not your turn to ask questions anymore.”

Your shake your head but close your mouth. When he doesn’t immediately pose his questions, you push your chair back from the table, going to retrieve a jar of your favorite jam from the cupboard.

After sitting back down, he still didn’t speak, but you see he has filled his bowl with more stew. You spread a smooth layer of butter over you bread, then covered it with a layer of the jam. Knox shifted at your feet, content to rest and wait, but you knew his movement indicated he was hopeful either of you will drop something to the floor for him.

“What are you writing?”

You groaned, then swallowed the bite of bread you’d just taken. “Did my editor send you? That’s exactly what she’d like to know, too.”

Rather than pressing you for more, he let the topic sit with you, but in a way that indicated he was waiting for you to say more. It’s a behavior you would soon become familiar with from him, though you didn’t know it then.

“Did you read any of my stuff?”

He cocked his head, raising an eyebrow, and you saw the spark of mirth in his eyes.

“Right,” you responded and rolled your eyes. “Not my turn for questions.”

He nodded, then continued eating, eyes on you.

“I would be more annoyed if I weren’t a little impressed at your commitment to the bit.”

“You still haven’t answered.”

“Because I’m not writing anything right now. The research in the time period is just as interesting as it always has been, but I don’t have a story that’s pulling my curiosity yet. No spark, no intrigue, no inspiration.”

You let silence flow between you again and took the moments to finish off your slice of bread. You debated internally for a moment, but then reached for another slice, layering it with butter and jam, cut it down the middle and offered half of it to James just as he was setting his spoon down.

“Here, I can’t eat the whole thing.”

He took it without comment but studied it for a moment, then he turned his piercing blue eyes back to you.

“What makes you so comfortable around me?”

Your stomach flipped. Truly you weren’t comfortable around him, but you didn’t feel unsafe. He made you nervous, but – stupid or not – it wasn’t for the logical reason of him being a total stranger who could murder you at any moment. No, it had nothing to do with that and everything to do with the dark hair that hung slightly across his face, his strong jaw, the muscles barely concealed by his layered shirts, and especially in the way his eyes looked at you as if he were looking into you, not just at you.

You realized you’d taken too long to answer, and you hoped he didn’t notice your cheeks heat slightly. “Like I said before, Knox has always been a good judge of character,” you quickly said. It was true, and your dog seemed just as much at ease with him as with you and many of your close family and friends. “He’s extremely well-behaved, but he’s not content and at ease with everyone he meets.”

“Hmm,” he hummed.

“And now I can ask you more questions,” you said with a grin.

He finally broke off his eye contact again, turning it to the bread and jam in his hand. “I’d much rather listen to you talk,” he admitted. Then he took a bite, and his eyes immediately closed, and he moaned as he chewed and then swallowed.

You laughed lightly. “So, you like it?”

He opened his eyes again and shot what could be considered a glare at you. “It shouldn’t be this good.”

You watched him fight with quickly devouring the rest of it and trying to slowly savor each bite. He then reached for the last slice of bread that had been put out for dinner, buttered it, and slathered it with an even layer of jam.

You grinned, but pushed away from the table, grabbing your dishes to take them to the sink. “I should take Knox out for his evening walk before it gets too late.”

Hearing his name and the word out, Knox was quick to get up and follow you.

“I’ll clear dinner,” James said.

You nodded, then headed out of the kitchen. You ran upstairs and rifled through your bags to get your favorite sweatshirt and threw it on. At the back door, you slipped into your boots and put the harness and leash on a very patient Knox, then headed out into the crisp evening air. It was just hitting twilight, and you and Knox both were keen for a long stretch of your legs after the afternoon’s long drive up to the cabin. You also needed to walk off some of the lingering adrenaline and nervous energy from the presence of your unexpected guest.

Your adventurous dog was always up for a long walk, but by the time you finally returned, he seemed to perk up seeing the cabin back in his sights. By that time you’d also worked out why you were amenable to bunkering down with your strange intruder.

Listlessness.

Your life was good, but you were languishing in a period of dullness. Nothing new, no relationship, lacking inspiration in your writing, feeling more like you were treading water in your life than making any progress. There wasn’t anything bad, hardly anything to even complain about, but nothing noteworthy.

As reckless and dangerous as it was to allow a stranger who had broken into a cabin in the woods to continue staying with you, you craved a little reckless danger in your soul. You had Knox, your phone, and your intuition.

And your intuition was certainly aware of the situation, but when you replayed that first minute with him, where he could have easily overpowered or hurt you and didn’t, and you saw that fear in his eyes when he pled with you simply not to call anyone because he was trying to stay hidden, you felt this was a reasonable risk.

But not if you thought about it too much.

It was what it was.

He could have left in the commotion of your arrival out one of the other doors or probably any of the windows. He could have left when you went to check around the house – twice. Instead, he unloaded the groceries and made dinner.

Even if you’d caught him off guard initially and then he’d only stayed to fuel up one last time with the dinner, your evening walk with Knox had given him ample time to either escape or set a proper trap for you, and so you’d know what fate lay before you as soon as you got back inside.

If you to join the taglist, drop a comment here.

TAGLIST:@competitive-dust @royalwritersoftheuniverses

If you enjoyed, reblog to help others find this story AND to normalize fic-reblogging culture around here. I’m still new on the scene, but more established writers that I admire around here are spreading the call that we all need to reblog to keep this place a happy home for fic writers in the fandom.

My askbox is open.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x yn #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #post-winter soldier bucky #a man is not his song #aspen wrote something #female reader

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bowokshop · 16 days

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The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐

"When Basil Hallward paints the portrait of young, handsome Dorian Gray, he falls prey to his dazzling beauty. Afraid that his youth and looks will waste away, Dorian expresses a wish that his portrait, and not he, will age and fade over time. His wish is granted, and over the ensuing years, Dorian indulges in every kind of vice and pleasure, never ageing or disfiguring. Only his portrait, hidden to the world, bears the mark of his actions, and as his soul grows ever more wasted and corrupted, devastating consequences lie in wait."

It's difficult to review this book. I keep going back and forth between thinking it was a masterpiece and thinking it was overrated.

When I first started reading it, the first thing I noticed was the language. Jesus Christ - every sentence was so profound, and every word carried so much weight. It was quite difficult to read at first, but I got used to it.

Lord Henry's character was, I thought, that of a typical all-knowing older man. I found him quite annoying at times. A character would say one line and he would repeat back 3 pages of misogynistic nonsense. I can understand why a younger man like Dorian would be fascinated by him.

Basil was by far my favourite character. A tortured artist, his soul enraptured by this dazzling young man, and absolutely smitten with him only to be ignored and cast aside (by his closest friend no less!) - His character held so much potential. I only wish there was more of him.

Dorian's character confused me. I wish it went into greater depth of those years where his soul became so corrupt - what terrible things did he do? Why DID people leave the room when he entered? How many people has he hurt? I was quite confused reading the latter half of this book because of all these unanswered questions. I still pictured him as the pure boy we met in the very first chapter, and barely saw a shred of corruption in his soul.

The scene where Geoffrey shot the rabbit - that stuck with me for some reason. I felt very connected to Dorian in that moment. I could understand his anxiety, and his need to escape - that feeling that something bad is going to happen, it just felt very familiar. It almost felt too perfect that the man that was shot was James, which resulted in the situation being resolved as soon as it began. The guilt that might have gripped Dorian could've catalysed a deeper exploration of his soul.

But it stuck with me. The whole book has stuck with me since I read it. I do recommend reading it to anyone who wants to. I just wish there was a deeper, more personal exploration of the characters and their souls.

EDIT: After reading the preface again, I'm quite fascinated by the whole notion of the portrait turning corrupt. Did it really reflect Dorian's soul, when it was Basil himself who put too much of himself into it? It is said that his art turned sour after Dorian's portrait - what if this was a reflection of his soul? A soul who had fallen in love with the most beautiful of men, only to be rejected and pushed away? In addition to this, his masterpiece was never admired - it was shut away behind a curtain in a dusty room, locked to everyone except Dorian. And he despised the thing. It's said that a man can be forgiven in making a useless thing as long as he admires it intensely - and Basil adored the portrait. Even after seeing its grotesque form, he still loved it - he still loved Dorian. Perhaps the only sin Dorian ever committed was his indifference towards his own portrait.

#books #book review #reading #book recommendations #3 stars #swastrobi #classics #the picture of dorian gray #oscar wilde

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minervadashwood · 2 years

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Scars and Stitches, Ch. 6: Safe

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

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Summary: The safety of the CDC is short-lived (for a number of reasons). Warnings: offscreen attempted sexual assault (altered scene between shane and lori) Note: still one of my favorite chapters

People often said that eyes showed a person's soul, but I'd always thought it was hands that spoke the truth. ― Veronica Rossi, Rebel Spy

You were starting not to like Shane. Maybe it had been the time he’d spent in charge of the group, only for Rick to take over, but something about him was disturbingly self-righteous. Rick was obviously a better leader. He took in all opinions and explained his decisions clearly. Shane’s arguments basically amounted to, “Because I said so!” And that was not something that sat well with you, not in the least.

Even at the CDC, while most of you held out hope of a way to get inside, Shane was already giving up and harping on about Fort Benning, where the Morales family had gone. But the group was here, not there, and you thought it would be best to explore every possibility before giving up.

The scientists may have even stood a better chance than the soldiers. The former were locked up tight in a building that was meant to function during a public health crisis, while the latter were outside and exposed. It only made sense.

The hot showers and food were good and all, but they paled in comparison to the CDC library. You could spend a lot of time here and not realize how many minutes or hours or days passed while doing so.

First, though, you and Carol chose a book for you to read to the kids. After they were down for the night, Carol went to bed, too.

You figured most of the other adults were still drinking and carrying on—Daryl had been drinking liquor straight from the bottle—but that wasn’t your scene.

Instead, you grabbed a cozy blanket from your room, a half-eaten bag of pretzels from the kitchen, and headed to the library.

Just as you rounded the corner to your destination, the door to the library slammed shut. Odd. Lori wouldn’t go around slamming doors. Unless she needed privacy in a hurry. But you were pretty sure Rick was still with Dr. Jenner.

Not sure what else to do, you gave the door a soft knock. No one answered. You listened. Someone was speaking in a low, intense voice, but you weren’t sure who. As you tried to make out what they were saying, you heard furniture slam against a wall.

Behind the door, Lori shouted, “Shane, get your hands off me!”

That’s all you needed to hear. You dropped the blanket and bag of pretzels. Now you knew why Shane got under your skin. You had a sixth sense about abusive people. It came from experience.

You slammed the door open. Lori’s eyes shot straight to yours; they were filled with panic. Suddenly you were twelve years old again and your dad was beating your little brother. You ran for Shane. You weren’t strong, but you were heavy. You could knock him off balance and maybe get him to see reason. You threw yourself at him, flinging your body onto his back and wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

He never so much as stumbled, but at least you had given Lori a chance to get away.

Shane grabbed one of your arms in a vice grip and yanked you off him. The next thing you knew, your arm was twisted backward, you were face down on the floor, and his knee was pressing into your back.

After a moment, he let go of your arm and removed his knee.

When you stood up and turned to face him, he was smiling.

“Shouldn’t sneak up on me like that, Morgan,” he arched his brow as if to say, you get what you ask for. Like this had been your fault, like you were the one trying to assault him. The bastard, using the oldest manipulative tool in the book.

Neither you nor Lori said anything as he swaggered toward the door. On his way out, he nearly stumbled on your forgotten bag of pretzels, like it, too, had snuck up on him. He kicked the bag against the opposite wall. Pretzels spilled everywhere.

Lori reached a shaky hand to you, then she pulled you into a tight hug. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t—”

You ignored the slight pain in your arm and squeezed her tightly. “It’s over now. You’re okay.”

After a few moments, Lori took a deep breath and got herself under control.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” she said.

Why the hell not? “We need to at least let Rick know,” you replied

Lori stared past your shoulder, looking at nothing. “He’s the last person I want knowing. Please. Promise me.”

You knew this was a secret that should not be kept, but you also knew it was Lori’s decision. You nodded. “Okay, but if you change your mind, I’m here for you.”

Lori smiled gratefully. “Thank you.” She gave you another hug.

“Come on,” you said. “I’ll walk you back.”

After dropping Lori off, you went to your own room. Now that the danger had passed, your arm was throbbing painfully. About 5 inches past your wrist was a clear handprint where Shane had grabbed you. You could still wiggle your fingers, bend your wrist, and make a loose fist. However, your shoulder was aching. Luckily, nothing was broken, so all you could do was treat the pain and protect the injury.

With your good hand, you put your red backpack on a small table and searched through it, grateful that Shane hadn’t hurt your dominant arm. You managed to find and put on some pain-relieving ointment, then, with the help of your mouth and teeth, you wrapped your forearm with an elastic bandage, so nothing was visible. You hated this. Not just the pain, but the hiding. You knew Lori should tell Rick, not because they were married but because he was in charge. He dealt with threats. And Shane was a threat; maybe he had been for a while.

Lori was her own person. Just like your brother had been his own person when you tried to get him to leave home with you. For now, you would simply avoid Shane as best you could, make sure you were never alone with him. If Lori wanted your help, she knew where to find it. Everything else was out of your hands.

The incident with Shane hadn’t horribly triggered you, but you were riled up all the same. Even though the incident had passed, your body wasn’t getting the message. You took a few moments to work through an exercise that calmed and centered you. Feeling better, you took out the other two romance books you’d scavenged from the Atlanta camp. An escape into the world of Regency-era England would do nicely.

There was a knock at your door. You dropped the books onto your bed and took a deep, steadying breath.

Shane probably wouldn’t come back, but there was always that chance. With a glance at the door, you ensured the deadbolt was already in place.

You were tempted not to answer at all, but something could have happened to Carol or the kids. Or maybe Lori had come to her senses.

“Who is it?” you said.

“’s me.”

You knew that voice; it was a welcome one.

With your good hand, you opened the door and invited Daryl inside. He slipped in without a word. After closing and locking the door behind him, you held your injured arm to your torso. It eased some of the ache in your shoulder.

He looked around, taking in the details of your current living space. You tried not to be embarrassed by the bodice rippers on the bed. Instead, you watched Daryl. He was as relaxed as you’d ever seen him. Gone were the squinting eyes and tense shoulders. He smelled like the soap from the showers, the forest and cigarettes all but distant memories. His hair was clean and combed flat, a big change from the greasy, spiky mess it had been before.

You initially thought he was plastered, but he moved with an ease and grace that, while unlike him, was not out of place on someone who found themselves no longer in danger.

“Your back giving you trouble?” you asked. “Need some more pain medicine?”

“I’m good,” he told you. “Just got the hankerin’ to track a trail of pretzel crumbs before hittin’ the sack. Led me here.”

Oh no, you had forgotten to clean up the evidence.

Daryl took a seat at the table and rested his elbows on its surface. He met your eyes for the first time since coming into the room. “What happened?”

You shrugged your good shoulder. “I fell?”

Daryl’s eyes turned serious, and you saw a hint of the feral hunter he had been outside this place. “He hurt you.” His voice was low, simmering with an emotion you couldn’t place.

You swallowed against a lump in your throat and lowered your gaze. You badly wanted to tell him everything, but you couldn’t. You promised.

“Hey.” Daryl grunted, making you look back at him. “Three sets footprints out of that library, two led to Rick and Lori’s room, then one of those came here. The third set led right to Shane’s.”

Why did the man have to be so good at everything?

Defeated, you sat down across from him and rested your arm on the table. “Lori made me promise not to tell. He was after her—not me. I kind of got in the way.”

Daryl’s eyes softened. “You stop him?”

You nodded. “Probably wasn’t the smartest move the way I did it, but yeah.”

“Lemme see.”

You pulled your arm off the table and leaned back in your chair. All the effort you’d made in the past day to keep Daryl Dixon from dealing with you, the walking disaster, had been for nothing. Here he was again, taking care of you.

“You don’t need to fuss over me. I’m the medic. Sort of. I am the sort of medic.”

Daryl gave you a sad smile. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, you know that?”

“Says the guy who searched for footprints in pretzel crumbs.”

“Ain’t stubborn to make sure you’re alright. You need some lookin’ after, and I’m doing the lookin’ after.”

Maybe he was a little drunk, after all.

“You can’t be worrying after me all the time.”

“Not all the time, just right now.” He jutted his chin at your arm. “Let. Me. See.” This time it was a command from deep in his chest.

Resigned, you unwrapped your arm and again placed it on the table in front of you. Without touching you, Daryl took a careful look at Shane’s handprint and studied it from multiple angles.

He said, “He twist your arm back like this?” Daryl twisted his arm like Shane had done to you.

“Yeah, just like that.”

“Damn cops,” Daryl huffed.

You laughed; you couldn’t help it. It was just so…Daryl to say something like that. You’d known him for what? A week? It felt like you’d known him much longer.

He smirked back at you but turned serious once again. He took the elastic wrap in his large hand and, with nimble fingers, rolled it up again. “May I?” he gestured to your arm.

You nodded, and Daryl began to wrap your arm. His touch was gentle, despite the rough callouses on his fingers. You tried to ignore the warm sensations that sprouted from wherever he touched you, but the man was so careful and so focused, it was hard not to admire the precision with which he worked.

When he finished and pulled away, you missed his touch much more than you would like to admit.

Rather than look him in the eyes, you stared at the buttons on his flannel shirt.

He began rifling through your open medicine pack. “No slings or nothin’?”

You shook your head. “No. You think one would help?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

Daryl stood and pulled a pillowcase from the spare bed in your room. Then, with his knife he started purposefully tearing the fabric. Again, you were fascinated with the expertise he had with that knife, but, just like before, you had no idea what he was doing.

After a few moments, he compared the length of the fabric to the distance from your shoulder to your elbow.

“Should fit. You okay if I…?”

You nodded. Daryl flanked you. Gently he put what had been a corner of the pillowcase around your elbow, then he threaded two straps around the front and back of your shoulder, and finally he tied the straps together. He had made you a sling.

“Feel alright?”

You nodded. “Takes some of the pressure off.”

Moving to stand in front of you, Daryl rested his hand over the knot he had made at your shoulder, then he ran his hand down your upper arm, over the sling along your forearm, and finally your hand. He straightened your fingers and studied them for a moment.

The seconds ticked by as his fingers held yours. The comfortable silences that you had shared with Daryl were nothing like the heavy stillness you were experiencing now. You stopped breathing, stared at his hand holding yours, and wished for some release to the tension.

Slowly, Daryl’s fingers slipped from yours, then he was gone altogether, taking two steps back, away from you.

“Fingers ain’t cold so circulation’s good.” Daryl looked intently at the floor. “Shane’s prob’ly three sheets to the wind and may go lookin’ for more trouble. So you got three choices for the night. I stay here, you stay with me, or we go an’ tell Rick everything.”

You should say no to another night of sleeping in the same living space with Daryl Dixon, especially with the palpable tension in the room.

But you remembered how well you slept back in Atlanta. Something about him made you feel comfortable and safe. You said, “If I choose option A, can we stop by the library first?”

“You and those damn books,” Daryl met your eyes, the corners of his mouth quirking ever so slightly.

“Saw something you might like.” You shrugged and threw him a teasing smile.

In the library, you handed him a copy of Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods. “This Brit with minimal experience and his lazy friend try to hike the Appalachian Trail. It turns out about how you’d expect. You will find it hilarious.”

Daryl snorted. “If you say so.”

You nudged him playfully, “C’mon, don’t you trust me?”

Daryl gave you a somber nod, moved away from you, and led the way back to his room.

The next day.

Daryl thought for sure you were right behind him. He had seen you running out of the computer room with the everyone else.

“In the hole,” Rick shouted, and Daryl took cover behind a pillar. He laid down, arms over his head, but he didn’t take his eyes off the corridor. Then suddenly you were running down the hall, heavy red backpack in your good hand, headed straight to him.

He opened his mouth to warn you, but he was too late. The grenade went off, and you flew backward in the air, landing hard. Daryl got to his feet and sprinted to you, heart beating furiously, legs pumping with all the strength he had in him. When he got to you, he grabbed both your upper arms and pulled you to your feet.

He snatched the pack from you and took your good hand, some part of him realizing you must have gone back for the red medicine bag. You were so worried about others, but not enough about yourself. That just meant he would have to take better care of you. He ran with you to the broken window and lifted you out until your feet were on solid ground, outside. Then, he followed you, making him the last one out. Well, the last one who wanted out.

Once outside, he grabbed your hand again, and led the way back to his pickup. The next explosion would come any second. He got to his truck and took you to the driver’s side door. Again, he lifted you, putting you safely inside, then your bag. He followed you in, and you scrambled to make room for him. Once he got in, Daryl slammed the door closed, then he pressed your head and back forward, covering your body with his own and shielding you just in time.

With an explosion that shook the ground, the building burst into flames, almost instantaneously. The truck rocked, and Daryl held you tight, wanting to protect you with all he had.

After a few moments of blessed stillness, he took a deep breath, then another. Beneath him, he felt you trying to match your breath with his. After another moment of his breathing coordinated with yours, he slowly released his hold on you.

You sat up, and he couldn’t help himself from putting his hands on either side of your face so he could get a good look at you, so he could make sure you were real and safe and here, with him.

Your good hand reached for him, tugging at the front of his shirt, and Daryl pulled you into his arms. He put his hand on the back your head and held you to his chest.

He managed to calm himself, but the realization of how scared he’d been to lose you was almost as frightening. As he held you close, the survivor in him kept an eye on his surroundings. When he noticed the other vehicles starting to leave the parking lot, Daryl released you, allowed himself one last touch to your cheek, then started the truck.

---

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Next chapter.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #twd #twd fanfic #plus size #plus size reader #plus size fanfic #mdop #minerva writes #dd/xm #scars and stitches

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storiesofsvu · 2 years

Text

No Strings Ch 11

Warnings: Smut, language, NSFW 18+

Rafael stood behind his desk, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, talking over an unfolding case with Rollins, Fin, and Carisi, wondering why the latter was without his partner.

“Carisi, why’s your partner not here?” He questioned nonchalantly.

“She’s comin’” Sonny briefly checked his phone, “Said she passed off the perp to Liv, was on her way 5 minutes ago.” As if like clockwork, the door to the office flung open, you bustled in, slightly out of breath.

“Sorry I’m late.” You quickly started, “This building has way too many stairs for shoes like this.” Carisi smirked, having casually left out the fact that Liv had sent you undercover briefly, trying to catch a perp who’d been abducting working girls, he watched the expression on Barba’s face change, as his eyes raked over your body.

Your NYPD jacket hung from your frame, completely able to cover the smallest thing you could call a dress, with a neckline that made Sonny feel like he needed to go directly to church after this. Your badge was pinned to the top, pressing into your chest, and you certainly were right about the shoes…A pair of red fuck me stilettos weren’t made for so many stairs. Amanda broke the brief silence as you tossed a file onto Rafael’s desk.

“Do I even want to know where your gun is?” You let out a laugh.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” You laughed gently, “The perp was exactly where and who we wanted, we got as many girls and John’s as we could, Liv needs help at the station, there’s a lot to go through, she asked for us back a.s.a.p.” Fin nodded, taking the lead on leaving the office, followed by the others, just before you and Carisi hit the doorframe, Barba stopped you.

“Y/L/N, I’m gonna need to go over this with you.” He held up the case file, Sonny raised a brow briefly, “I just need to make sure everything undercover was by the book.” You nodded to your partner, Rafael watched him leave before double checking that Carmen was indeed at lunch, shutting and locking the door.

“Did you happen to own this dress before or did the department buy it for you.”

“You think the department has the money for that?” You laughed, tossing the NYPD jacket onto the couch “Raf, I’ve done so many UC cases, half my tax returns are clothes.”

“You should wear them more often.”

It was your turn to smirk as Rafael brought his lips to yours hungrily, devouring you in a kiss he’d been dying for the second you walked into his office, hands grasping at your hips, one snuck its way around to cup your ass, giving you a swift spank causing you to moan into the kiss. His lips broke free of yours to chase their way down your neck, biting that sweet spot, your quiet moans went straight to the growing bulge in his pants. He rolled his hips against you hard, seeking any sort of friction, before he pulled his lips off you.

“On your knees.” It was nearly more of an order than a request, and you were more than happy to oblige. Rafael had his belt undone in a fraction of a second, groaning as you took him out of his pants, there was no time for teasing today. You felt his weight on your palm, closing around his cock, giving him a few pumps before your mouth began its assault. Licking from his balls to tip, you swirled your tongue around him before taking all of his cock into your mouth. Raf moaned heavily, swearing under his breath as you bobbed up and down, his hand gripping tightly in your hair. One of your hands found its way to his balls, massaging gently, watching Rafael come undone so easily when he’d just been in full lawyer mode was utterly arousing, and knowing that you could do it with just your mouth was even better. You looked up at him through your lashes, smirking around his cock, catching his eye before you took all of it into your throat, moaning deeply as you did. “Fuck.” He swore, pulling you up off your knees, catching you in a deep kiss, “You drive me insane, you know that?”

“Si, Papi.” You whispered against his lips, he nipped at you before turning you around, bending you against his desk as he hiked up your dress. Pushing your underwear aside, he swiped through your folds quickly with his fingers, not surprised to find you ready. You gasped as he plunged into your cunt, thrusting relentlessly, your hips digging into the desk, a spank came down onto your ass as his other hand gripped your hair into a ponytail, pulling at the roots.

“Rafa!” You whined as his thrusts continued, the warmth pooling in you, you knew you weren’t going to last, the noises coming from behind you spurred you on, you squeezed around him, the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls was almost unbearable. A strangled moan came from Rafael’s mouth, he leaned his body over yours, continuing to fuck you into the desk, his teeth found their way to your neck at the same time his hand found its way to your clit, circling around it hard and fast. Your legs shook as you let out a cry, squirting around his cock, dribbling down your thighs, a few more heavy thrusts and Raf released inside you, collapsing over your body. As you started to catch your breath, he gently kissed across your back, pulling out gently, helping you up to turn to face him, leaning against the desk.

“That was new.” A sly smile splayed across his face and you laughed.

“Sure was…” Rafael caressed your side, pulling your body into his, kissing you gently, you could feel the adoration floating off him as you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, the warmth from his body making you not want to pull away.

“Dinner tonight?” A kiss left in your hair before you softly removed your body from his.

“Sounds wonderful.” You left a soft kiss on his cheek before moving over to the couch to grab your jacket, “And if a dress leads to that-“ You gestured to the damp spot on his desk “-maybe a fashion show of my closet after.” Barba laughed, watching the way you moved out of his office, throwing him a wink before you left.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #no strings #law and order svu #svu

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freckolocation · 10 months

Text

a post about signalis, a game i haven't finished, and how it feels to be haunted by a piece of art

(no spoilers save for a few quotes from the first hour or so)

the other day i asked a friend of mine if they'd ever felt like they'd been haunted by a piece of media. they told me about some experiences they had but nothing quite matched the way that signalis has affected me. this post is an expanded version of what i told them

i had heard whisperings about signalis around its release last year, and in march or so of this year, having recently finished the dead space and resident evil 4 remakes, i was itching for more horror. i picked signalis up in mid-april of this year and according to steam i have not played it since the 17th of that month. i played about five hours total

the first few hours were amazing, and with the exception of the dead space remake a few months prior, i don't know how long it's been since a game has sunk its teeth into me that deeply. everything about it was immediately fascinating to me--the world, the art, the design, the atmosphere, the soundtrack, the characters, the themes, the writing, the gameplay, everything

but the latter few hours were extremely frustrating, as someone not familiar with the more classic survival horror style. the combat is relentlessly punishing and the inventory system is brutally restrictive, and i wasn't approaching the game in a way that made it anything less than infuriating, as i didn't know how else to play

by the end of those five hours i didn't understand why it was garnering such universal acclaim. despite the world and atmosphere being unlike anything else i had ever seen, so uniquely tailored to my tastes in science fiction and horror and visual style, i found it incredibly laborious to play

ultimately, i assumed it just wasn't for me, and i decided to drop it entirely

but those first few hours were so gripping i couldn't stop thinking about it

there are a fair amount of literary references in signalis to works such as those of h.p. lovecraft, as well as an explicit reference to robert w. chambers' short story collection the king in yellow, a copy of the book sitting on a desk in the introduction. the collection is named after a fictional play mentioned within several of the stories, the second act of which would drive the reader to madness, the very first lines so captivating that the reader would feel compelled to continue

such a concept feels a bit too familiar, in retrospect.

i read what other people had to say about signalis. what their thoughts were on the things that frustrated me. i watched an entire half-hour review of it, and i began to understand that others found it just as enthralling as i did, and were simply approaching the gameplay differently, with more care and patience

and only a few days after deciding to give up, i decided that i hadn't given it the fair shake i thought i had, and that i would give it another shot

...but i still haven't opened it since i first decided to give up on april 17th.

a few days ago i came across a song: "no station" by the band 65daysofstatic, from their 2005 ep hole. the song prominently features a sample from the lincolnshire poacher numbers station, which operated from the mid-1960s to 2008. the transmissions, like those from most other numbers stations, began with something called an interval signal--in this case, a few bars from "the lincolnshire poacher," a traditional english folk song. a synthesized voice then recites a formatted string of numbers, purported to be encrypted messages for intelligence officers operating in foreign countries

there's a specific station that i think of any time i hear a transmission from a numbers station--one believed to have operated out of hungary from at least the cold war until 2005, known as the three note oddity. like the lincolnshire poacher, the three note oddity was named for its interval signal: a series of three rising tones, after which a synthesized voice would state "achtung! achtung!"--german for "attention! attention!"--and proceed to recite the numbers, also in german

a transmission from the three note oddity plays in the main menu and during the end of the intro to signalis, and it was the first time i had heard it.

a few days ago i rewatched blade runner 2049 with a few friends. it's one of my favorite films, and like the first, it deals with aspects of humanity in synthetic beings created by humanity, in humanity's image, to serve humanity

signalis has a similar concept, and similar themes.

when you are made aware of things in relation to a piece of media that affected you, you begin to notice things you may not have paid attention to otherwise

now i'll see a youtube video about the king in yellow, or hear the sound of a numbers station, or watch a movie about replicants, and i'll think of the book on the desk, of the three note oddity, of replikas.

i often say that there is too much art in the world i want to experience for me to dedicate too much time to the art i don't enjoy, and yet somehow this game i decided i was done with took such a hold of me that it only took mere days for me to decide it was still worth my time, despite my frustration

...and yet, i still haven't returned to it since the day i gave up, even though i said i would go back.

i think of the tones from the three note oddity and my memory repeats like the station itself

"achtung! achtung!"

as if this game i somehow couldn't bring myself to keep playing is calling me back, compelling me to finish it

there's a line from lovecraft's story the festival near the beginning of the game, an excerpt the protagonist quotes from the necronomicon: "great holes secretly are digged where earth’s pores ought to suffice, and things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl."

holes have been dug into my brain, and thoughts that ought to have dispersed have instead invited themselves in

despite the poetic yet haunting nature of the lovecraft quote, the penultimate line at the end of the intro is perhaps the game's most memorable:

"remember our promise."

signalis has dug itself into my head and latched onto my brain, and while it isn't a constant itch, it never completely goes away, and unrelated things keep guiding my thoughts to return to it, as though the game itself is haunting me

the game wants me to finish it, it needs me to finish it

and until i do, every time i hear those three notes, i will feel that calling and the hairs on the back of my neck will stand up

"achtung! achtung!"

attention, attention, it calls

i said i would go back to finish it, and yet i haven't.

but the game itself insists i keep my word.

REMEMBER OUR PROMISE

#ves.txt #long post

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greenconverses · 2 years

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Recently read: Thanksgiving long weekend reading round-up time! Heading into the clear the to-be-read shelf phase of the year, so the next few round-ups will probably be an interesting mix of things.

The Indifferent Stars Above by Daniel James Brown is a harrowing look at the experiences of the Donner Party during their fateful trip out west. Despite the latter half of the book being pure nightmare fuel, the audiobook’s narration is pretty soothing in the first half and the descriptions of life on the prairie were very evocative. Would recommend if you’re interested in Donner Party stuff! (★★★★★)

Candace Camp’s back catalogue continues to delight me. Treasured was a fun marriage-of-convenience romp in the Scottish Highlands with a bonus treasure hunt. Belatedly annoyed at myself for only picking up the first and third in the trilogy while at the thrift store for reasons that don’t make sense to me now. (★★★)

Hello, I would like to rave about Kamila Knows Best by Farah Heron!!! I didn’t realize this was an Emma retelling when I picked it up and I almost put it aside once I did, but I’m so glad I didn’t. I adored this book and the characters, as well as Heron exploring Kamila’s people pleasing nature through the lens of anxiety and self-esteem issues. The romance was wonderful. Gah. Can’t wait to read Heron’s YA debut in a few months. (★★★★)

Alisha Rai’s Partners in Crime was a lot of fun! Vegas diamond caper with a second chance romance. Not as steamy as some of her other books, but the romance was a delight. There was just a little something missing to take it from a four to a five-star read. (★★★★)

I’m not sure where I stand with While No One Is Watching by Alyssa Cole. It starts as a thriller/mystery about gentrification of a Brooklyn neighborhood and then zigzags over to a hollow romance for a bit before exploding into action horror at the final third. I loved the concept, but a lot of it was pretty heavy handed in regards to messaging and the antagonists were cartoonishly evil at the end. It was an easy and gripping read, but the abrupt, kinda shoulder shrugging ending didn’t seem to fit with the rest of the book. (★★.75)

#currently reading #books of 2022 #contemporary romance #historical romance #books

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silentsneezes · 2 years

Text

unsurprisingly, i’ve written another stranger things steve/eddie snzfic

snzer: eddie

enjoy :) it’s unedited- sorry for any grammatical mistakes or mispellings

After a particularly busy shift at the Family Video, Steve wandered over to Eddie’s trailer (Steve argues that he sleeps better when Eddie is his pillow). It didn’t take long for the brunette boy to fall asleep, his head resting peacefully on Eddie’s lap. Unfortunately, it also didn’t take long for Steve’s new cologne to start bothering Eddie’s nose.

Eddie noticed it immediately, initially enjoying the scent before his allergies kicked in. Now, his boyfriend’s sleeping peacefully and he’s trying his best not to sneeze on the sleepy boy.

With a groan of annoyance, Eddie submits to his nose, rubbing it with the palm of his hand to ease the itch. His breath hitches dramatically as soon as he touches the itchy appendage. He grips his nose between his pointer finger and thumb as a few half stifled sneezes tumble out of him, “nGSxhew! g’NxCHtch! heh… hehrNGXxt!”

Steve stirs in his sleep, shifting to a more comfortable position, but keeping his eyes closed. Eddie lets out a worried breath once he realizes that Steve is fast asleep. He looks around the trailer, wishing he’d grabbed a book or movie to entertain himself. He would’ve even settled for the rubix cube Dustin bought him (a cruel gift, Eddie thinks).

He rolls his eyes as the itch returns, “Spare me,” he mumbles sarcastically to the silent room. The silence is broken with soft, hitching breaths as his nose teases him. He almost forgets that Steve’s sleeping on his lap, getting lost chasing after an illusive sneeze.

Eddie paws at his nose with his ring-clad fingers, massaging it roughly to either quell the itch or let him sneeze. Eddie’s nose decides on the latter; he sucks in a deep breath and pitches away from Steve, trying not to let the sneezes jolt him forwards.

“h’mMPSHCeW!”

The first sneeze escapes unstifled, leaving a slight mist lingering in the air. Eddie’s breath hitches immediately after the first sneeze, a sure sign that his allergies are about to fuck him over.

He considers waking Steve up and offering him a quick shower. Eddie decides that any reasonable person would do that: ask their partner kindly to wash off the allergen before resuming their nap. Eddie, however, is a stubborn son of a bitch.

He continues hitching dramatically, red nostrils flaring and brows furrowing. Eddie’s sure he looks like an absolute idiot, but the sneezes teasing him are more important.

“Almost the-heh-there,” he hitches delicately, so close to getting the relief he needs.

“HRrSSCHU!” an uncharacteristically loud sneeze bursts out of him, barely giving him enough time to turn away from Steve. He grabs a discarded t-shirt from the couch and holds it over his nose and mouth breathlessly. He doesn’t have to wait long for the sneezes.

“hMmftSCH! t’SCHMPh! heh…” the third sneeze teases him, an allergic tear slips down his cheek, “hhmDtSchHEw!”

Eddie tosses the t-shirt aside, sniffing deeply and wiping away the itchy tear. Steve sturs in his sleep, yawning and sitting up slowly.

“Bless you,” he mumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with sweater-covered hands.

Eddie blushes a deep crimson, even his ears turn a light shade of pink. He thanks Steve quietly, still unused to being so allergic in front of Steve. He’s never been particularly embarrassed of his allergies. He sneezes a lot, sure, but he’s grown used to his obnoxiously sensitive nose. Except for when he’s around Steve; He knows that the other boy doesn’t mind (in fact, he suspects that Steve enjoys his sneezes), but he never pictured himself dating /the/ Steve Harrington, let alone having sneezing fits in front of him.

Eddie gets lost in an embarrassed haze, only snapping out of it when he stifles a sudden, “k’NGXxt!” against his knuckles.

“Bless you, love,” Steve yawns, fatigue evident in his voice, “You feeling okay?”

Eddie blushes at Steve’s concerned expression, “Yeah just- one se-heh-sec…. ss-sorrEhHRN’gSXT! h’MPxXTch! Sorry, Stevie,” he apologizes through hitching breaths, “t’SCHUu!”

Steve seems suddenly alert, scooting closer to Eddie and placing a comforting hand on the older boy’s thigh.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Steve assures, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Eddie’s ear gently. They exchange a pleasantly romantic moment, admiring each other and wordlessly exchanging “I love you”s .

Eddie’s brows suddenly furrow as he turns away from Steve, ducking into his shoulder and releasing two impossibly itchy sneezes, “kKSCHT! h’HrSCHtchu!”

“Bless you,” Steve repeats, a concerned frown pulling at his lips. He looks at Eddie inquisitively, imploring the older boy to explain.

“I’m allergic to your cologne,” Eddie admits softly, offering Steve a sheepish smile.

“You-,” Steve’s jaw drops in exasperation, “You dumbass.” he quips fondly.

Steve hits Eddie in the shoulder lightly, laughing and standing up, “I’m going to go change and shower.”

Steve looks back at Eddie once he reaches the bathroom and realizes his boyfriend is still sitting on the couch, “You joining me or what?”

“h’MPTSChh! Of course,” Eddie smirks while sniffling against his itchy nose. Eddie gives himself a mental pat on the back for figuring out Steve’s kink beforehand before following his boyfriend into the shower, stripping off his t-shirt with ease.

THE END

(i could make a part two if anyone’s interested though)

#sneeze kink #sneeze blog #sneezefucker #fanfic #allergies #sneezefic #snzblr

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