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flordeamatista · 1 year

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𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝗠𝘆 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

concept: Over and over again, I repeat your name, because there is no sound in the world without your heartbeat.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: the feels are here, the poetic angst, blip grief, the love, the want, losing someone, fluff poetic moments, what is love without Bucky, waiting for him nickname- (Doll)

a/n: Let yourself be swept away in this daydream with tissues in hand

lovely beta: @writing-for-marvel

the cute gif and moodboard/line divider made by me

masterlist

You're the one I hold onto with my heart.

Even though you tried to ignore it, the feeling was burning in your chest.

Like a dark cloud hanging over your head, it's always there in the back of your mind. Eventually, you realize that you can't ignore this feeling of unease - you must confront whatever is causing it directly, before it becomes irreversible.

The sky was no longer a beautiful blue, but a dull and oppressive gray. The sun had vanished, replaced by a deep sense of despair. Weeping and broken, the dark sky is a broken sky. The birds stopped singing and the wind stopped blowing. Everything was still, as if the world had gone silent in response to the broken sky.

Nothing felt right, and a deep sorrow seemed to linger in the air.

Somehow, you knew something wasn’t right, but you’re not sure what it was. It could be a gut feeling or a series of small, unsettling events that have accumulated over time. You felt that something lurked beneath the surface, ready to pounce whenever you are least prepared, regardless of the cause.

His presence was lost in your heart, and Bucky was your first thought.

You shivered and tried to push away the feeling. But it was too strong and you could not ignore it. You had to find out what was wrong, and soon.

Safe.

The stars are twinkling in the night sky, and you can feel the warmth of the summer air surrounding you. You take a deep breath and exhale, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over you.

"How safe are we?"

"There's no need to worry, you're with me."

He takes your hands in his and you feel a warmth radiating through you. His azure eyes search yours and you can feel the intensity of his reassurance.

He gives you a gentle smile and you know everything will be alright.

"How come you always protect me?"

Taking his hand from where it was hovering near your waist, he looks down at you. The thought of pressing your lips against his is enough to drive you to tears. His eyes search your face, and he leans in closer. A passionate spark spreads through your body every time he speaks, his lips brush against yours, his words ignite a fire within you.

“The beauty of your soul is what I admire, and I wish to protect it from the horrors of the world. You have a heart of gold and I want to make sure it stays that way. I will always be there for you and will do my part to keep your soul safe.” His lips press gently against your forehead, his breath warm and gentle, he says "around the way of things. They want to corrupt you, inject demon fires into your veins, and make you see evil."

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "But I won't let them. I'll protect you from all of it. Just let me take care of you." His lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck and a shiver runs down your spine.

He pulls away, his hands still on either side of your face, and looks into your eyes. “Doll please-” He whispers, “Let me in your heart.”

“Bucky, I–”

Home.

The sun had just begun to set when you stepped out onto the porch.

Breathing deeply, you inhaled the fresh air.

It had been a long day at work, but coming home to this peaceful setting made all the stress melt away. As you gazed at the rolling hills, you felt gratitude for everything you had in your life. This house, this land, and most importantly, the man who awaits you inside. Back inside, you smiled as you made your way back, ready to start your evening together.

As you settled in for the evening, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you.

The fire crackled softly in the background as you cuddled up next to Bucky.

You both sat in comfortable silence, lost in your own thoughts. It was moments like this that made all the hard work and struggles worth it.

The world may be broken and full of despair, but knowing that Bucky is there to hold you tight makes it all bearable. He's been through hell and back, but he still manages to give you hope for a brighter tomorrow.

With him by your side, anything seems possible.

Love.

"Please, no." You could barely get the words to pass through your lips and your voice sounded weak and hoarse to your own ears. He felt lost; helpless as the love of his life turned into thin air.

You listened to his best friend's words and the tears running down his face and tried to reach for you.

Suddenly, drops of salt water poured silently down your cheeks, tumbling down your cheeks.

You tried to blink them away, but it was too late. It's just a dream, and if you blink hard, you will see him next to you.

Tears flow freely as tens of thousands of fears surface.

The soft breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers as you walked along the path, lost in thought. You had never felt so content before, as if everything was finally falling into place.

Suddenly, a rustling in the bushes interrupted your peaceful stroll and you froze, your heart racing.

As a figure emerged from the foliage, you let out a sigh of relief - it was just him, grinning at you.

"I'm sorry," he said, still laughing. "I couldn't resist."

You glared at him, but you couldn't stay mad.

“Don’t leave me, Bucky."

"I'm not going anywhere." Pulling you into his chest, he pressed your head against it. His heartbeat would beat steadily for you whenever you expressed your fear of losing him. He held you tightly, reassuring you that he would never leave. He kissed your forehead and whispered words of love to you. No matter what, he was here and would stay by your side.

"I'm right here. Do you feel me?"

A whisper came from you, "I feel it."

As you listened to his heart beat, you shut your eyes. You felt at peace, and the sound of his heartbeat was like a lullaby. You allowed yourself to drift away, feeling safe in his embrace.

"I'm here." He said softly. "I'll be here for you no matter what."

You finally stepped back, but you knew the moment would stay with you forever.

But happiness will be washed away from tears

Over and over again, I repeat your name, because there is no sound in the world without your heartbeat.

The air is icy cold, and you don't know what to do. Walking into the darkness, with heavy breathing and no control over your emotions, you feel helpless and helpless. You look around you, searching for something to cling to for hope. You try to find a light that could guide you, but all you see is endless darkness. You feel completely alone, and you wonder if you will ever find your way out.

I will be your light in the darkness and your guide in the unknown. I will be here to support you and help you through any difficult times.

There is a constant chorus of rain falling against the windows, reminding you of the storm brewing both outside and inside. The dark sky reflects your tears as your tears run down your checks.

Memories of laughter and love flash through your mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of what once was. The emptiness in your chest feels overwhelming, but you know that time will heal all wounds. But this wound cannot heal because he is not here with you.

Home is Bucky, and your safety is missing.

There is no more of him. His dust disappeared into thin air.

His memory vanished like nothing.

Others tell you that he may not physically be with you, but his memory lives on in every beat of your heart.

There's a fat lie here because what about if his sunshine helps beat your heart?

As your heart breaks into the darkness, he promises to protect you. What happens when he says the words he said he would be your shield?

There is only pain left without him.

You know that he's the only one who can make things right. The only one who can take away the pain and bring back a sense of safety and home.

You long for his touch, his embrace, his love.

It's him and no one else.

As only the rain can heal my lost love, it will always be my confidante and remind me of how much I love you since the light has died

As you close your eyes and let out a sigh, you whisper his name: "Bucky, please"

The memory of Bucky Barnes lingers in your mind like a haunting melody. His piercing blue eyes, his rugged features, and the way he held you close filled your heart with warmth.

Love, safety, and home - all wrapped up in one man.

But now, as you wipe away the tears from your eyes, you're reminded that pain is an inevitable part of life. Because you didn't even tell him how much you admire him for being a golden heart, is this the part he promised to show you and shield you from the world?

You know what it is and it's only him.

“Come back to me and protect me”

What is safety? What is love? What is home?

Bucky Barnes.

“I miss you”

My heart was filled with your presence, but I would like you to come back to make me whole again.

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newnevermind-sanity · 7 months

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This is probably going to sound more like word vomit but I have a lot of thoughts on Grimm and the Radiance and I would love to get it on paper. The difference between the Nightmare King and the Radiance are night and day, and I find it fascinating that the one with control over NIGHTMARES is the one that's way more approachable and inviting than the main baddie who burns as hot as the sun. Maybe in seeing their differences too we can start to understand (though I doubt we'll ever get an answer) why the Nightmare Realm is now apart from the Dream one.

The difference is the willingness to come down to a Mortal's level.

Grimm has a mortal form. It's one that embodies the cycle of life and death. Burn the father, feed the child. I think however child is not a correct word for what Grimmchild is at first, but simulacrum. A vessel for the new Nightmare King. Much how we were supposed to be a vessel for the Radiance, Grimmchild is a vessel for the Nightmare Heart in a cycle of life and death that fuels it until the ritual fails one too many times and the final embers go out. Whether or not that's willingly is up for interpretation and there's a lot that can be played with here.

The Nightmare King is how he is in dream, with the Nightmare Heart being, well, his heart: his source of power, tucked away in a realm he allows only a select few in. But most won't see that. Only the ones chosen to aid the ritual get to see it. Most people just see a polite troupe master that, while a bit unsettling and creepy, puts on shows to wow crowd, bows before any opponent, and gives kindness to those helping him. He's the one that treats us with the most respect. He disarms our perception of a Nightmare King by coming down to a mortal's level, by being kind and approachable. It's through this method that he's been able to keep going for so long. While others reject him for his nature and for being, well, the Nightmare King, those who are kind and most likely outcasts themselves, are more than willing to help a fellow outcast.

He does show however his real power in dream, but by then you know damn well to expect it. You know this is where he thrives. This is him fueling the fire before you throw him upon it for the child you carry. He is still the Nightmare King, he burns hot and bright, almost untouchable, but he dims that fire in the real world. Instead of an inferno, he's a warm crackling fireplace.

Furthermore he's not an all powerful god, he's a scavenger. He takes the flames of an old dying kingdom and burns them for his ritual, allowing for something new to be reborn from the ashes. He cleans up the last of the mess and leaves a blank slate for the next kingdom that he will one day return to. It may seem as gross and invasive to some who rather peace for the dead, but to others, they're just glad it's gone and can move on in their lives to build something new.

The Radiance on the other hand, is a blinding, burning sun, that can never be touched without serious repercussions.

She doesn't have a mortal form, only appearing in dreams. As such, she requires people to worship her in order to keep her godly form. She needs people to remember her. We're not told too much about the Radiance before she began to infect everyone, but I don't think it's a stretch to say that her moths left her for a reason. The Pale King is a much softer, more gentle light, that encourages thought and free will. Who wouldn't want that, when your previous god is oppressive and intrusive to your own thoughts?

It's hard to forget something like that, even through the generations. Told in whispers around the campfire of the previous god, they unwittingly keep her on life support, enough that she could concoct her scheme of revenge.

She appears as a blinding, burning light in dreams, offering unity at the cost of free will and thought. It burns, it's hard to resist in dream. It smells so sickly sweet that you want to throw up, permeating the senses and blocking all else. Even Void beings that are heavily resistant to this light can give in with enough prodding. There's no sense of humanity or kindness in it. There's no turning it off once it's there.

It's also very clear that she would not have stopped, not until everything was hers in Hallownest, or perhaps even beyond. In her own terror of being forgotten, of facing death in every sense of the word, she clawed her way back violently, not at all caring for the mortals destroyed in her wake, not at all caring about the repercussions to her living jailer, or that she's taking away others autonomy for the sake of being remembered and worshipped like the old days.

She is blinding, intrusive, hot, and at a distance she's warm and radiant. Up close, it's too much for any mortal. It hurts too much to stare into her and become blind to all else. It hurts to try and hold her at bay.

The only thing that can get anywhere near her and swallow her up, is the very Void itself, and the Lord of Shades who controls it.

With all that being said, what we're left with is two very different gods who don't talk about each other. Whether it was because there was no good place to put it, or whether it was on purpose, this is what we got. So then, what happened to make Nightmare split from Dream?

There's three options here as to what caused the rift.

It was a mutual split between two sides that never liked each other or thought it better to not have it together. (Possible, but unlikely. We do not have enough information to know their previous relationship. Friends? Siblings? Lovers? Absolutely loathed each other from the start? No damn idea. They're just connected through Dream with two very different ways of doing things, and I doubt they approved of one another once those were set up.)

Grimm began a conflict leading to the split. (Also very unlikely, unless his personality was different back then and this humbled him into what we see now. Grimm does not pick fights unless they help his ritual, and the only other time he would fight is in self defense, most likely.)

The Radiance began a conflict leading to the split. (Most likely with what we know, unless her personality wasn't as controlling and overwhelming back then. We don't have enough information to be sure.)

In the end it's left to us to speculate, and there's a lot to play with here. It's just important to remember the distinct difference between the two.

TL;DR: Grimm is terrifying and powerful, a swirling inferno, but he dims himself down to be much more approachable and welcoming to mortals like a campfire would be. Radi is terrifying and powerful, but doesn't dim herself down at all, and is just a blinding, burning sun that will melt your face off if you look at it wrong.

#sanity shut up #hollow knight #the radiance #grimm #troupe master grimm #nightmare king grimm #headcanons #I think #analysis #kinda that too #idk I just wanted to get this out there #I love the concept of these two so much

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xluna-reclipse · 1 year

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If you wouldn't ask Lan Wangji to move on from Wei Wuxian, you shouldn't expect Lan Xichen to do so either. Lan Xichen, by the end of the novel, decides to enter seclusion for Jin Guangyao just as Lan An did for his wife. Whether or not you subscribe to the Lan only love once theory, Lan Xichen has made his choice. In the novel, you see, even months after, through the eyes of Wei Wuxian, that Lan Xichen behaves as if his soul has left him. In The Untamed behind the scenes, Lan Xichen's actor even stated that without Jin Guangyao, Lan Xichen will not return to the world. Enter the world for one person and leave when they go, leaving only dust in the wake (Wei Wuxian's observation upon seeing the Lan murals).

Lan Xichen was a gentle, compassionate being before Jin Guangyao, equal in his love and care for all living beings, heart the surface of deep calm waters. He was the ideal of Taoist goals, a person without waves and attachment. Lan Xichen, after Jin Guangyao entered his life, was a person brought alive, finally bound by the red threads of emotion and living, a statue become human.

Lan Xichen looks at no one the way he looks at Jin Guangyao, treats no one the way he treats Jin Guangyao. Just as Jin Guangyao considered Lan Xichen the impeccable, flawless moon in the sky. To Lan Xichen, Jin Guangyao was the scorching, life bringing fire of the sun. Here existed a man who was born in the mud, but rose above to stand above all men. Not only did he command the world, only in his hands was power a force for good. Jin Guangyao alone, saved the most lives in Mo Dao Zu Shi. He built a temple to Guanyin for his mother, and through it, offered food and medicine for those the cultivational world were only willing to offer their pity and unwilling to lift a finger to help. He built the watchtowers when all of the cultivational opposed it, fought day and night, endured his father's abuse so that places considered beneath other cultivators would receive timely aid. When others took power, they just wanted to elevate their own family and oppress others. Jin Guangyao took power and saved the world.

Lan Xichen loved exactly this man. The man who was covered in scars and bruises from the circumstances of his birth, who was smeared with the biased opinions of others and the crappy luck that plagued him wherever he went, who was oppressed and abused by those with power, and yet never broke, never stopped lifting his head to the heavens and standing up again to climb. The man who saved him from the moment they first met and repeatedly after. Jin Guangyao rebuilt the Cloud Recesses for Lan Xichen. Lan Xichen decided to build ties with the world for Jin Guangyao. The man who acquiesced to pressure in the treatment of the Wen, bore the scorn of the cultivational world beside Jin Guangyao to build the towers, to elect Jin Guangyao Chief Cultivator.

Lan Xichen loved him and only him. With the long life of a cultivator, and the reliable promise of human greed, that coffin will open while Lan Xichen lives, and he will be ready. Just as Lan Wangji regretted not standing beside Wei Wuxian in his first life, Lan Xichen will finally be able to stand beside Jin Guangyao in his next.

The knife in the dark is effective because you cannot see it. Lan Xichen won't repeat his mistakes this time. He will be prepared to support A-Yao.

#xiyao #lan xichen #jin guangyao #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #mdzs #chen qing ling #LunaMeta

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flowersforchoso · 5 months

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Intro dialogues w/ mk1 male characters

background: fei is an oc and a chloromancer which means, she's a practitioner of plant magic. these are intro dialogues with the men of mortal kombat 1. ranging from friendly, flirty, subtextual romance to animosity.

sub-zero: you're as delicate as a rose

fei: wait till you see my deadly thorns

sub-zero: i do not wish to fight you

fei: are you conceding defeat already?

fei: i have immense respect for you but i wont stand down

sub-zero: a fatal mistake

fei: you have something against me. what is it?

smoke: i- well...

fei: you find me alluring?

smoke: your powers are

smoke: you'd fit right in with the shirai-ryu

fei: a compliment, but i doubt it

fei: for the last time johnny, its a no.

johnny cage: wait. i just wanna ask for gardening tips

johnny cage: you could be the leading lady in a movie. just let me contact my agent

fei: i'm not interested in your proclivities

johnny cage: i've been thinking about going vegetarian

fei: this concerns me how?

havik: you're pathetic and weak

fei: a baseless assumption you'd soon come to regret

havik: chaos is order, beauty is oppression

fei: you gain converts by spouting such nonsense?

havik: when order has been replaced by chaos, you'll be by my side

fei: keep your delusions to yourself, havik

shang tsung: your powers would be beneficial

fei: i won't be subject to your sick experiments, sorcerer

shang tsung: when i say join me, i'm being diplomatic

fei: never! not even in my death

fei: how do you live with yourself?

shang tsung: *laughs* its all too easy

reptile: i've- i've never met someone like you

fei: is that a good thing or a bad thing?

fei: you bleed green?

reptile: does that terrify you?

reptile: have you ever heard of the kytinn?

fei: yes. they're truly... bizarre

fei: you're so different from your brother

kuai liang: sharing blood is where our similarities begin and end

fei: how is young hanzo doing?

kuai liang: very well.

kuai liang: you still trust bi-han? after everything he's done?

fei: not trust. more so, understand his perspective.

general shao: i'll trample upon your vines and thorns so scamper.

fei: if raiden can take you down, then i can

general shao: your kind should not be in battle

fei: care to explain further, general?

fei: i must admit, you're terrifying

general shao: *laughs* and you still choose to proceed, woman?

fei: crafting a world and maintaining it must be tedious

liu kang: a price for the greater good

liu kang: don't overwork yourself

fei: thanks. i'll try not to

liu kang: its regrettable. what we've become

fei: i'd rather not dwell on it

kung lao: you and lord liu kang were a thing?

fei: how- how did you know of this?

fei: your ego will soon be your demise

kung lao: doubt it. its one of my greatest assets

kung lao: i'm single y'know

fei: tell that to someone who cares

reiko: liu kang is not gonna save ya

fei: i'm more than capable of holding my own

fei: basking in the glory of war makes one inhuman

reiko: keep your sanctimonious drivel where the sun doesn't shine

fei: you're no soldier, you're a criminal

reiko: and what does that make you? a sheltered brat

fei: the way tarkat holds you hostage worries me

baraka: i do not need your pity

baraka: i'm sure my mere presence sickens you

fei: don't assume such baraka.

baraka: my ilk are treated worse than dogs

fei: its terrible. they deserve better

fei: you have alot of luck on your side with that amulet

raiden: *laughs* even without it, i'm formidable

fei: confidence is not pride. gladly wear it

raiden: i suppose. old habits do die hard

raiden: you're like mother nature herself

fei: *laughs* i'm nothing but a custodian

fei: how are you so bereft of principles despite being a high mage?

rain: don't speak on things you do not know of

fei: its comical that you run with a tail between your legs afterwards

rain: i'm not above seeking repentance

rain: my storm will wash away your plants

fei: water only fosters nature.

fei: i've never faced a blind swordsman

kenshi: it'll be your first and last encounter

fei: is it possible for others to control sento?

kenshi: try it. the anticipation is killing me

kenshi: i was in the yakuza once.

fei: so you admit to having blood on your hands

fei: what does the future hold for me?

geras: that, i cannot say

fei: being only a construct must be a terrible fate

geras: why do you presume so?

geras: just as the stars are infinite, so are the grains of sand

fei: proverbial. but where are you going with this?

#mortal kombat 1 #sub-zero #scorpion #smoke #kenshi takahashi #reiko #johnny cage #geras #rain #raiden #liu kang #kung lao #baraka #general shao #havik #reptile #bi han #kuai liang #tomas vrbada

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ohallthecrushes · 9 months

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May I get Arthur x Reader. Reader has heat exhaustion and Arthur cools them of after they pass out. I'm hot afff now lmaooo

A/N: thank you for your request. This has been in my drafts for ages, oh dear lord. 😅 I remember I thought I published it, but I didnt. I'm sorry.

Words count:416

The scorching sun beat down relentlessly on the city as the heatwave engulfed Gotham. You and Arthur decided to take a stroll in the park, hoping for some respite from the oppressive heat. But the unforgiving weather took its toll on you, and you soon found yourself feelin dizzy and weak from heat exhaustion.

"Arthur?" You whispered in a weak voice alarming him.

Concerned, Arthur looked at you. He saw you were about to pass out and quickly led you to a shaded bench under a large tree. You sat down and he cupped your face in his hands, worry etched across his face. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You looked at him, into his green eyes, and tried to nod but your head was spinning too much. "I-I think I just need some water," you managed to whisper before everything went black, and you passed out in Arthur's arms.

Panicking, Arthur quickly sprang into action.

"Oh no, oh no." He murmured to himself.

He gently cradled you on the bench and rushed to find a water fountain, tripping over his feet. When he returned, he gently splashed water on your face, hoping to revive you.

"Come on, please wake up," he urged softly, his heart pounding with worry. "I'm here, and I won't leave your side."

He covered his mouth to suppress his laughing fit, hoping it won't hit him right now.

Slowly, you began to stir, your eyes fluttering open. Arthur's relief was palpable, his panic slowly ceasing as he continued to cool you down with water, gently brushing your forehead with his wet sleeve.

"You scared me," he confessed, his soft voice wavering slightly, his brows slightly knitted. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

You managed a weak smile, touched by Arthur's concern. His face was all you could see as it was only inches away from yours, "Thank you for taking care of me," you murmured, your voice still shaky.

Arthur smiled back, his eyes filled with genuine affection. "Always, I'll always take care of you," he vowed, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

As the sun gradually set, the heat began to subside, and the cool breeze provided much-needed relief. your strength returned, thanks to Arthur's loving support, and you two walked home together, hand in hand, knowing you had someone to lean on in both the scorching heat and the darkest moments of life. You were utterly thankful for that.

#joker #arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #joker 2019 #arthur fleck fanfiction #joker fanfiction

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supermoongirl9 · 6 months

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We have 3 planets in Scorpio rn (the Sun, Mercury, Mars) and I'm seeing way more graphic videos and somehow gruesome content about Gaza - imo it's not even a bad thing because you cannot comprehend how horrendous what's happening is without that and Zionists' lies are exposed.

Scorpio season is always about exposing more truth even if it's uncomfortable af, even if it's dark and raw and that's good that more and more people are realizing how what's happening in Palestine as a whole is far from normal - that's how you initiate actual changes.

Pluto squaring the Nodes for months (starting that intense journey back in march) and that aspect finally ending is also showing us all we have to do in order to not repeat the darkest times of history and how we can do better than that - we owe it to every oppressed group 🇵🇸❤️.

Also witnessing boycotts of major companies is very on brand for Scorpio energy (and it's nice to see the solidarity rn) : Scorpio won't ever support someone or something they hate, that is hurting their loved ones or that is evil generally speaking - and that's what the collective is experiencing rn.

Saturn is gonna station direct very soon (November, 4) and imo it could show even more mutual aid for palestinians, maybe actual international sanctions/that awaited cease-fire - just something actually working in order to save them and end that barbary we're witnessing.

#astrology #saturn #pluto #lunar nodes #astrology transits #politics #free palestine #astrology & politics #astrology for liberation

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eisforeidolon · 1 year

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maybe i'm still stuck on the question of why misha thought he could poll an audience on their sexuality if he had no interest/intention/comfort sharing his own in the first place, but i don't get how his latest spin that the wb didn't want him to clear up the misunderstanding makes him any more sympathetic. if the wb asked him to "drop it" after the people article, i'd honestly assume they were talking about all the baiting rather than legit asking him to pick up a ruse he's trying to pretend he never meant to start in the first place

"stop feeding the rumor frenzy" is a legit media pr strategy that misha would probably benefit from learning about, but he's too desperate for validation

Well, like so much of what Misha says? It's specifically tailored to gain the sympathy of his sycophants in particular.

As you say, WB or no WB, Misha was the one who told the original "joke" specifically to bring up sexuality with his audience. Misha was the one who decided to compound it with an additional "joke" about his own sexuality. Nothing anyone did after he made those choices mitigates HIM being the one to MAKE THOSE CHOICES. Not for most people, anyway.

To a heller/minion, though? Well, they already believe the sun shines out of Misha's ass and he can do no wrong. He was the poor homophobically abused real star of SPN! He's the only one who ever told them The Truth™ detestiel was totes real! They're in it together with him as poor, oppressed little victims the evil network took advantage of!!! This plays so exactly into that, it's farcical. Look at how horrible the WB is, they don't respect sexuality! So evil! Poor Misha, how could they?! Hellers were already insisting he either just made a perfectly understandable mistake (lol) or was *gasp* being forced out of the closet! Oh, look, now they have someone else to be mad at and see as "victimizing" Misha. It doesn't matter Misha stuck his entire leg into his mouth of his own accord, just like it never mattered HE was the one baiting them detestiel was going to happen when it never did.

And yeah, IF the WB legit actually said anything at all to him about it, the likelihood is that it was a plea for him to just STFU and let it blow over for a while instead of any kind of suggestion he pretend to be bisexual. He probably figures this won't get back to the WB, and even if it does? He can say, "Oh, I only said you told me to 'let it go', I never SAID you tried to get me to pretend to be bisexual!" Which ... is the kind of stupid thinking that got him into a situation where he had to come out as straight in the first place.

He never seems to think this shit through, but then again, why would he learn? His audience doesn't care and keeps coming back to give him more money, happy to be lied to and manipulated.

#anti misha #askboxery #anonymous

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nakamurastorrington · 10 months

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I've come to ur askbox bearing percybaster and also trans!al

Alabaster doesn't like swimming bc gender dysphoria so Percy makes it a mission to find a lil secluded spot in the forest that nobody visits and makes a lil pond type thing for them to swim in 👁👁

took some liberties by making the lil forest pond a lagoon cave thingy instead but here ya go hehe

The little cave is beautiful, with columned walls and jagged domes of limestone embracing the glinting turquoise waters, which are so clear that Alabaster can see the bedrock several fathoms beneath them no problem. Hanging over the cave's northeast side is an eye to the sky, letting sunrays provide them natural light as Percy beaches their little kayak on a flat area next to the mouth of the cave.

It's beautiful, and trepidation cloys in Alabaster's throat. Percy has just barely managed to hammer into his head that all this care wasn't just a way to somehow fatten Alabaster up before he's offered up to a slaughter for the gods. Now, it was just a question of whether said care was out of pity or remorse.

Alabaster likes neither option. Even moreso now that they would make his discomfort look very, very bad. He doesn't wanna be ungrateful.

"C'mon, Torrington! Get in!" Percy yells, whooping as he leaps in headfirst. When he surfaces again, the water rolls off tanned skin in rivulets. "It's the perfect day for a swim!"

"For you, maybe," grumbles Alabaster, toying with the bottom of his shirt. "Any day is a perfect day for you to swim."

"Tsk, don't be so hotheaded. The sun today is oppressive enough as it is."

"Well, don't put the fault on me. Contact your rhyming fucker of a cousin and tell him to tone it down, since you're so chummy with the family."

Still, Percy is right; the day is hot. The crevices of his inner compression shirt are uncomfortable with damp sweat, and the glimmering water looks horribly tempting. Alabaster settles for sitting down where the limestone drops off beneath the water.

Percy wades towards him. "Did I do something?" he asks.

"No." Alabaster slowly kicks out his shins, creating gentle whirpools underwater. "For once."

"What is it, then? Is this... Is this too much?"

"Is what too much? Talking like you sculpted this place into the ideal date venue," Alabaster scoffs.

There's a beat, and Percy awkwardly chuckles. "Not entirely. Just smoothed out the dangerous edges, put the skylight there, cleared out some sharp rocks... But the rest is natural. I just happened to find it."

When he receives no reply, Percy hoists himself halfway out of the water. Alabaster's face grows hot in a way that has nothing to do with the weather—and everything to do with the way Percy settles himself, sculpted forearms and lean torso and all, in the space between his legs.

Contrary to the seeming audacity of that move, though, Percy's next words are laced with uncertainty. "If I overstepped, I really didn't mean to. We can just forget about this and go back—"

Alabaster grabs the Camp bead necklace before Percy can continue, and the son of Poseidon settles. Then, seized by some strange urge, he flattens his palm against Percy's firm sternum.

"One day, when I'm not constantly at the risk of dying," he says, "I won't have to rely on the Mist or my binders anymore. I'll be able to handle being—being seen. Then maybe I'll swim."

Percy blinks at him. "Being seen by others? I can swim outside if you want privacy."

A bitter smile crosses Alabaster's face. "Some days, I can barely look at myself. Today's one of those days, apparently. Especially when you look like goddamn Little Merman, in your element and all. It's annoying."

"Oh. Sorry?"

"For fuck's sake. You were all too happy to give me a show, weren't you? Go on." Alabaster pushes him away with his fingertips, and Percy topples back into the water with bubbling laughs.

He wasn't lying; the next several minutes, he leeches off the contagion of Percy's joy. "Look at this weird seashell I found down there," "How long can you hold your breath, just dunk your face in—haha you look stupid underwater," "SPLASH FIGHT!" and Alabaster actually fucking indulges him. The last one in particular gives him an idea of how to use this place. Just so Percy's effort doesn't go to waste, of course. If there's one thing Alabaster can appreciate, it's a masterful use of one's powers.

That's all there is to it. Really.

"Hey, Jackson!" he calls out, getting to his feet. "Fuck you!" And predictably, Percy shouts it back and sends another mini-tsunami at him.

Alabaster grins. "Incantare," he mutters under his breath, so that Percy can't hear him, "Furit Mare."

Immediately, the wave erupts from the surface with a roar, reversing its momentum and crashing down on its original caster.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Percy's voice reverberates from underneath, and Alabaster smugly grins. The dark head pops back out. "WHAT WAS THAT?!"

"Well, I figured," Alabaster replies, "if I can't fight you in your element, I'll just have to learn how to work with it to beat you."

"Oh, it's so on," Percy growls, commanding the water to raise him to his feet.

"Oh." Another incantation, and when Alabaster steps onto the water, the surface holds. "It is."

Note: "Furit Mare" roughly translates to... "The sea is raging" .... ? But I am no Latin scholar so I make no pretensions of expertise here HAHAHHA

#i loved this prompt #hope you like this lil smth hehe #percybaster #watermagic #al learning how to walk on water hehe #percy jackson #alabaster torrington #my ficlets #my asks #trans!alabaster

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jegulily-stuff · 6 months

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Day 1: Water

I call this my maladjustedseer!regulus AU

@jegulilyweek

...

The evening is overcast, but when he looks at the surface of the lake Regulus still sees the stars.

He always sees the stars.

Back when he was little and the only people he knew were his family, he thought they were his ancestors, all the people who came before him watching him walk the path set out for him just like they had. Now he knows just how many other people there are in the world, he's less sure of that.

They are the important ones, his family, so maybe its still true.

But these days he thinks of it as the universe watching, that great weight of stars above him, that he sees every waking moment, and every sleeping one. Some great totality.

Sirius has always acted like he cant see them. Like what they've set out for him to do is nothing to him.

Its a weakness of his, Regulus knows, that his brother can't accept the way things have to be.

Everyone knows the future is full of horror. Its plain to see, there in the stars. Each person's fate hangs vividly over them.

Regulus does mourn his brother's. It's so unhappy - but that's no excuse for failing your obligation.

Fate is hard, but you cannot stray from your path. You owe it to the world to keep it turning on. What will be is already decided and you must live it.

Regulus breathes out slowly. Its not a sigh. The world has no use for his sighs, and he doesn't want the watching stars to think he has any inclinations to mutiny, or cowardice.

He doesn't hold resentment. He understands what rules are. Unbending, and good.

The tree he's sitting under cracks in the changing temperature from the setting sun.

The thick clouds above are still tinged with orange, and the water in the lake is impossibly black.

Water is always impossibly black.

That one's not like the stars. The universe that holds every person in its eye. The water's just for him.

His future.

His doom, already waiting. Waiting since before he was born.

He knows it, has his whole life.

It's cold and sad and lonely, and so so painful, and he's always accepted it.

Like a good b-

Like a good person.

He hopes the stars know that, how much care he has for the rules, that he's never considered breaking them.

Sometimes its oppressive, the gaze of thousand eyes, endless light in endless dark. But at least someone is watching, and he won't be alone when it happens.

No one else ever mentions the water.

It's not done, talking about other people's fates, even though they all know. Sometimes he thinks it'll drive him mad.

But he doesn't really worry, about the future, about anything.

There's no uncertainty in the end.

#gonna try and do a short scene in this au every day this week #im busier than i expected to be #jegulily week 2023 #jegulily #regulus black #fic

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jupyt3r · 4 months

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Yellow

Set between Acts 2 and 3, Wyll confronts Astarion about the Rite of Profane Ascension; Astarion realizes that they have more in common than meets the eye.

It's nice to see the stars again, he thinks, after so many days spent cloaked in the gloomy, arcane shadows that had marred the landscape nearly from Elturel to Anga Vled. He'd only just gotten used to the sun's warmth when they'd entered the dark cloud, somehow so oppressive as to be almost tangible; like breathing in curls of steam, if steam were cold and necrotic. But the air is clear now. Clear enough, in fact, that he can see the whole of the Gate sprawled out on the horizon, the warm glow of candles and cantrips a lively reflection of so many icy stars above. An all too familiar silhouette looms menacingly from its perch along the curve of the lower city’s central wall, and Astarion has to quash the fear rising up in his throat as his eyes skate past it. He has a plan. A real one, now. When he gets to Baldur's Gate, he will ascend, and Cazador will be no more.

But he's not in Bladur’s Gate, yet. The gray stones of Wyrm’s Lookout are cool beneath him, warmed ineffectively by the dying coals in front of him. It's late, and the others have gone to bed. He considers curling up on his bedroll to trance, but suddenly there's sounds of movement from down below, where the camp has been set up. Rustling of blankets; shuffling footsteps. A pause. Then the clink of buckles on a pack being undone, the whisper of canvas as something is removed. The footsteps are heading for him now, ascending the ladder to the roof of the squat tower where Astarion is sprawled by the remains of his fire. The breeze carries a scent towards him, and it's all yellow: lightly floral, lemony, golden honey-mead middle notes, and a barely discernible undertone of brimstone. Sickeningly sweet. Sunshine-sour. Sulfurous.

Wyll Ravengard lowers himself wordlessly to the ground next to him, uncorking the bottle he's brought with him and taking a swig. Looking up at the stars, he proffers the amber liquid to Astarion. At first, he screws up his face and prepares to decline, but then thinks better of it; he takes a long pull. It's exactly the sort of drink he'd expect to find in one of the lavish estates of the Upper City, and he's not even sure how Wyll had managed to procure it: aged whiskey, peppery, vanilla, biting. It's not good. It's strong, though, and he figures that's what they're both after.

“Nightmares, is it then, darling?" he says dully, passing the bottle back.

Wyll shakes his head. “Actually, unless you count our nocturnal visitor, I haven't dreamt at all since this," he replies as he taps his forehead and sighs. ”Just couldn't sleep, is all.”

Astarion's question had been rhetorical and he doesn't much care to hear about whatever's ailing the restless warlock, so he doesn't deign to respond. Wyll starts talking anyway.

“I haven't seen my father in almost seven years. I keep running over in my head how it could go when we find him– gods, if we find him alive. I don't know how I'll feel. Angry? Relieved? Maybe he won't even want my help, when he sees these horns. But I have to try.”

"Hm.” Astarion truly wishes he had not asked. The quiet solitude of his night seems out of reach now. Last month, he'd have counted himself mad if someone had told him that his nights would consist of wrangling an owlbear cub to bed or listening to the laments of Duke Ravengard’s wayward son.

"Do you have anyone you're looking forward to seeing in the city, Astarion? A lover, perhaps?”

Oh, no. He is not having this discussion at all. He shoots Wyll a glare that hopes is interpreted as daggers coming out of his eyes. “Oh, yes. Hundreds. I'm adored by many people, you see."

The daggers fall flat against the shield of Wyll’s earnestness, or stupidity, whichever it be. “Oh, I have no doubt about that. Family, then? Parents?"

“No." Astarion can't remember his father, or even if he knew one to begin with. Seeing Wyll's discomfort, he thinks maybe that's for the best.

“What about Cazador's other spawn?"

He's had enough. “My ‘siblings’ should consider themselves lucky that their miserable lives will serve a higher purpose, for when I see them next, they will live their last.”

Finally, Wyll tightens his lips into a thin line, seeing that he's struck a nerve. Rather than back down, he needles it. "Siblings, though? So they are family to you?”

“It's not my chosen wording, it's– Ravengard, did you come up here just to bother me about my personal life?”

Wyll puts his hands up in surrender. “I'm just trying to make conversation, is all. And I have to admit, I've been curious about your relationship with them, and your plan, since you told us about the ritual. This… Rite of Profane Ascension. The name is a little on the nose, no?"

Astarion can't fathom why he'd take any interest in the plan beyond what would be expected of him for his involvement– which was very little. Either he'd help or he wouldn't, but that has no bearing on the decision Astarion has already made. "What would you have it be then, hm?” he asks. " The Rite of Puppies and Sunshine?”

"Listen, all I'm saying is that if it sounds downright evil and it's a contract drafted with a godsdamned devil, then maybe it's not all it's cracked up to be. Trust me, I would know. It just seems… nefarious in nature.” His mismatched eyes beseech him in silent plea.

He can't be serious. Astarion flops over dramatically, the back of his hand raising to meet his forehead as his eyes flutter shut. "Oh! At last, the famed Blade of Frontiers has come to save me from my own incompetence. My very soul is in danger– well, if there's still one to speak of, that is.” He peeks out of one eye at the last sentence, flashing a catlike smile.

The Blade of Frontiers purses his lips. “I'm being serious, Astarion. And while, yes, I am concerned about how this affects you, it's not just your life we're talking about.”

He scoffs, returning to his lounging position. "I'd be doing you a personal favor by carrying out this ritual. Six spawn and a full vampire lord disposed of, and you don't even need to lift a finger! What more could any monster hunter want?”

“To not create an even greater monster." He turns away, looking pointedly at the coals. The dim glow reflects off the dark sclera of his good eye.

Astarion suddenly understands the aim of the confrontation. Wyll’s not concerned about him, not really, but about the threat of unleashing a vampire ascendant; a wholly unknown type of being which exists entirely at odds with his naïve philosophy. He's still trying to play the hero– but Astarion knows that heroes don't exist.

He raises himself to a sitting position on his knees and spreads his arms wide. "Stake me now then, if you're so concerned.”

And Wyll looks like he really considers it, which stings a bit. Eventually, he says in a pained voice, "You have to understand the dilemma I have. Astarion, I don't want to go against you. But you confound me.” He shakes his head, running a hand up his braids between the horns. “On the one hand, if you don't perform this ritual, then it's easier for me to believe that a vampire is capable of good; but it also leaves alive seven vampires, one of whom I know is not good by virtue of your description of him. On the other hand, if you do go through with this, then maybe you are a monster. And while it's true the world would be net negative vampires, it would be hard for me to… trust you, after that. If you would sacrifice your siblings for power, the people you've spent two hundred years with, who's to say you would stop there?”

Astarion pouts in mock pity. "Aw, have we discovered what morally gray means?”

Wyll's fists gather on his thighs. "Don't condescend me, Astarion! I've dedicated my life to protecting the people of the Sword Coast, and I'm trying to do that here while giving you the benefit of the doubt because you're my friend.”

And that surprises him, because he hadn't considered them friends. He'd only recently stopped worrying about being staked in his sleep; although maybe that was a mistake. "Which is it, then? Am I a friend or a monster?”

"You tell me.”

Astarion is furious, then. What right does Wyll have to sit there and demand that he justify his own continued existence? As if he hadn't made his own deal with the devil? As if he were a hero, when no one is truly that good? If it were possible, then Astarion would have been saved long ago. Wyll's too late. Astarion would be his own savior now.

“I think," he snarls, “you're a sniveling pup poking his nose where it doesn't belong. I think you're an insufferable hypocrite to threaten me with the borrowed power of a devil. And I think you'll regret it if you cross me, because I'm going to live. I'm going to endure. I will ascend."

Wyll matches his intensity, nostrils flaring. “And I think you're making the wrong choice because you're afraid. You're too weak to do the right thing.”

Astarion is practically animal, hinged forward and fangs bared, because somewhere buried deep he knows the warlock is right. “Don't you dare think for a moment that you could presume my emotions. You are an infant. You could not conceive of the centuries of torture I have endured, the fetid conditions in which I was kept, the things I had to do to stay alive. I am claiming my right to be free; and to make sure I am never a slave to anyone else, ever again. And if that makes me a monster, then so be it."

“Just because I am human does not mean I don't understand what it is to be used. To be trapped. We both have our masters."

Wyll's voice is soft and flat; a hand rubs absentmindedly at his throat, and Astarion sees him for what he is beneath the heroic charade: a child, yes, but one who's lost his father, one who's under the thumb of a devil. He feels a little bad for yelling; but not that bad.

“Then you understand that I have to do this. No matter the cost. If given the opportunity, would you not make sacrifices to be free of Mizora?”

Wyll's response is immediate and resolute. “No. I agreed to this pact, and I would do the same if I was faced with the choice again. I may not have known the details at the time, but that's no one's fault but my own. I would not have anyone suffer for it."

“Then you are a fool. Can't you see that she tricked you? You were too young to soundly make that decision, however she coerced you into it." Gods, he can't imagine defending Cazador like that. He finds that he pities Wyll; so desperate to hide from the fact that he'd been taken advantage of that he tries to look strong by bearing the needless guilt, by indulging in this foolish fairy-tale heroism when he can't even save himself. The Blade of Frontiers is just a story he tells himself so he can sleep at night– and his presence here is only evidence to the fact that it isn't working.

Wyll has been silent, eyes scanning the horizon after taking another deep drink of the whiskey. After a time, he reaches out and points toward the base of Dusthawk Hill, a towering black silhouette which manifests mainly as a lack of stars. "That's where it happened, seven years ago. I told Tav the whole story earlier; Mizora granted me that, at least. In my father's absence, a cult made a move to summon Tiamat to Toril. The city would have fallen to the Dragon Queen; Mizora warned me just in time, and gave me the power to save it. Whatever price I have to pay is worth the lives of everyone in Baldur's Gate– so sacrificing more lives to undo my choice would render it meaningless. Besides, I've saved more lives with my patron’s power than I could have otherwise. I will bear it for their sake."

How boringly predictable. “And how do you know that Mizora didn't set the whole thing up? That she didn't tip the cultists off about your father's absence, precisely so you could fall into her waiting claws?"

He pauses as if he's genuinely never considered it before. “I suppose I don't. But what's done is done, and there's no use wishing it had gone differently. I can only hope to use these infernal powers for good now, when I'm not busy playing her games."

“You are hopelessly dull. Look at what she's done to you!"

“I–” he stops himself, and lets his face fall, realization finally setting in. “You're right. She's fashioned me into one of the very villains I'm sworn to hunt. I saw the way all those tieflings in the Grove looked at me– I can't imagine how my father will see me. I hardly recognize myself." He brushes a few fingers softly over one horned temple, releasing Astarion from the hellfire of his gaze.

Astarion runs his tongue along his fangs, remembering his own unpleasant transformation; the pain as his body healed over the fatal wounds, the feeling of his own blood drying up and cooling in his veins, and the gaping silence from where his heart was that would take years to get used to. He can’t imagine being dragged through each layer of the Hells had been any more pleasant.

“I can… sympathize," he says hesitantly, not even knowing why he wants to offer comfort to the man who's still deciding whether or not to kill him. “I'm not sure I would recognize myself, either, if I could see my own reflection. But for what it's worth, the horns do look quite flattering on you."

He looks a bit surprised at the compliment, which Astarion supposes is reasonable given the insults he's been hurling up until this point in the conversation. “... Thank you, Astarion. I'm sure if you could see yourself, you'd find yourself just as dashing as in your mortal life. I mean that– from one red-eyed fiend to another.”

And as much as Astarion is frustrated by Wyll's storybook prince persona, his annoying black-or-white morality, he admits that parts of him are the closest he's come in a long time to looking in a mirror. He has a plan towards his own salvation, and he can't help but want the same for Wyll. "You know… In my mortal life, I was a magistrate. If– Don't snort, it's unbecoming. One must have respect for the law’s intricacies to know how to escape its consequences. As I was saying, if Mizora has now freed you to discuss the terms of your pact… I would be willing to look over it for you. Perhaps there's a loophole. One that follows your rigidly virtuous creed, without demanding a sacrifice. A way for you to be truly free."

Wyll's eyes widen at the thought. “If such a thing were possible… I would truly owe you a great debt of gratitude. You would really do that for me? After what I've said tonight?”

"Just call it a favor. From a friend. And, of course, feel free to pay me back in advance by not killing me in my sleep tonight.”

Wyll smiles, although it hadn't really been a joke. “One of the stipulations of my contract actually spells out who I can kill. Clause G, section 9: Targets shall be limited to the infernal, the demonic, the heartless, and the soulless. I think I can safely strike you from the heartless category.”

Astarion tries to hide the worry from his voice when he asks, "And the soulless?”

The monster hunter is serious once again. “I don't pretend to be an arbiter of the soul, having sold my own. That one's up to you. You've been winning me over, as of late, Astarion, but please… think about what this ritual will cost you. I won't intervene, and I understand what's at stake for you. I'm going to trust you, so just… don't make me regret it."

He's not sure he deserves this trust; he knows he's not good like Wyll. But… he's starting to see a universe where he might try to be. He knows he'll never escape the sins of his past, and, gods willing, he won't become some nagging do-gooder, but with Cazador out of the picture… he might evolve into a version of himself that he hates less. It's just such a waste of all that power, at the tips of his fingers. And the blood on his hands would taste so sweet.

"I can't promise that I'll change my mind. But… I'll consider it,” he relents at last. It's the best offer he's going to give. Still, Wyll's posture relaxes minutely, and he clamps a warm hand on the vampire's shoulder.

"To considerations, then,” he says, bringing the bottle to his lips and then offering it out.

Astarion can smell the strange perfume of his blood from the wrist near his face, so he looks up from beneath his lashes and bravely ventures, “I can think of something better to drink, if you're willing… ?”

Wyll flattens his lips together and pats him a few times on the shoulder where his hand rests before getting up. "And here I thought we were making progress. Good night, Astarion.”

"Wh– I thought you said we were friends?" he protests at the retreating figure.

“Not that good of friends," Wyll replies as he descends the ladder. “Keep telling me how nice my horns look, though, and we'll see how we get on."

“You are surely the most fetching sheep I've ever met,” Astarion teases.

“Don’t push it.”

“Good night, Wyll."

#woe wyllstarion be upon ye #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #wyllstarion #wyll x astarion #this is platonic but also they want each other carnally #jupyt3r writes

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macksting · 2 months

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I'm gonna try to find other places my favorite people here are, that are not X or Tumblr. I'm gonna try to retain my contacts here. But I'm leaving again. I don't feel a need to get myself banned to make some point, and it looks like that's easy to do for now. He wants us off this site? Fine, I'll go. There's better places to be anyway.

But before I go.

I apologize in advance to any Christians who feel unfairly hurt by what I'm about to say, but: I don't hate Christianity, but I hate being unable to escape it anywhere I go. In the same way that a Christian atheist may still have a rabid hatred of Muslims, I find Christian and ex-Christian trans women still want our suffering to be holy, to be martyrs. Mostly they don't go running into the mouth of hell to suffer, if nothing else because that'd hurt and most of them aren't that devoted to this mindset; and some of us fly too close to the sun not out of masochistic death cultism but out of just being at heart a bunch of pains in the ass, so I ain't talking about that either. I'm talking about needing to be seen as suffering, as more suffering than others, as a kind of social oneupsmanship. And it's not better to do so in some kind of communion or solidarity or whatever, it's still ridiculous no matter how you do it.

We should be learning about the means of each other's oppressions, to better understand our own, not turning it into a fucking pissing contest.

And I cannot escape these mindsets. I see these baffling crab-bucket behaviors in these shitty online spaces that I almost never see in real life, with real world groups and people, because... iunno, maybe because I live in the PNW and a lot of folks didn't grow up being told that suffering is the highest form of virtue and therefore that if you are not suffering enough then you are not virtuous enough, and since real suffering sucks, it's best to just make people accept that the level of suffering you're going through, which is bad, is superior and unique and untouchably awful.

My friend Michael says it's also kind of a white thing. By creating a hierarchy of who is most oppressed and placing yourself on top, you can make yourself feel immune to criticism, and apparently this is just something a lot of white folks feel they need. Myself, iunno, I'm white too, I hope I don't do that, but I suspect my particular brand of OCD means my anxieties in that regard can't be alleviated without significant therapy and medication, which is not better but it does seem to make me a little less likely to try to put myself on top of hierarchies out of sheer terror of myself.

I seriously cannot escape this shit. I dunno how much I've got to go dismantling my own bullshit, but at least I wasn't raised Christian. It must be so exhausting. If you see me posting something positive that's happening, believe me, it's not intended as toxic positivity. It's intended as a radical statement that a better world is possible. It's radically asserting that life is not pain, and that our pain has causes that can be dealt with. And I dearly do hope it pisses someone off to see someone living their best life in spite of the horrors. A car outside our homeless shelter says, "Birds sing after the storm, so shall we," along with countless Christian statements scrawled all over it, and I am not waiting for some storm to pass. It won't pass in my lifetime. I'm singing now. And some of those songs are happy, and some of those songs are angry, and some are both.

If all you want is the aesthetics of suffering or the aesthetics of social justice, fuck off. I don't need more Christendom. I'm trapped in this place, and I am so fucking tired of it. I feel like Shrek yelling at Donkey, "can you please stop being yourself for five minutes!"

#rant #christianity #christian atheists #transness #iunno whatever there's a lotta good people here but i'm taking off for now

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gamingdestroyedmylife · 10 months

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The cold heart (Pierro x Tsaritsa)

This story might contain spoilers. If you don't like it, don't read it. Enjoy the first chapter of The Cold Heart (Pierro X Tsaritsa)

Chapter 1

The Tsaritsa stared at the chessboard in front of her. Once again, he invited her to a game. A game she couldn't say no to. Every few years he took it into his head to talk to her. She didn't really understand why, but she didn't want to start more problems. After all, she had already made sure that he had given up his gnosis. She smiled slightly at the thought that she was getting closer and closer to her goal. She took a pawn and continued to place it. In his eyes she could observe him thinking. Behind her, her closest follower moved. He had insisted on accompanying her. Just as he did every single time. Morax also made his next move and then looked at her, waiting.

"Do you have any other plans that I'm involved in?" he asked her casually, she didn't look at him. He wouldn't see it anyway. She wore a mask, as did some of the other Fatui. Hers covered her eyes and nose, leaving only her mouth exposed, which she twisted into a slight smile. "Who would know?" He sighed. "Of course you wouldn't tell me in advance, but just before you're going to carry out your plan." She nodded slightly. He'd known her for a while and knew what made her tick about some things. Why he hadn't stopped her yet was still a mystery to her. She suspected that a red-haired young man might possibly play a role, but she couldn't be sure. Morax always had an eye for beautiful things. They played on for a while, talking a little. She hoped the time would go by faster. She wanted to get home before it got dark. Darkness was something she couldn't stand. The darkness oppressed her. The reason for it was not quite clear to her herself.

"I think we'll go now" she said, smoothing her clothes as she stood up. Pierro stepped closer to her, not taking his eyes off Morax. He didn't trust most people and certainly not the other gods. "If you want to go already, I won't stop you, but we should meet earlier next time. There is always far too much time between our visits" He also stood up to escort her to the door. They left the small estate between the mountains. Years ago Morax had asked her to give him a small place in her kingdom and she just couldn't refuse his request. She hated it when people tried to take advantage of her soft side. One of the many reasons why her heart grew cold.

Pierro walked silently beside her as they made their way back to the palace. They used secret paths that no one but the residents knew about and were back after a good while. Just in time, because not much later the sun set, plunging the world outside into darkness. She said goodbye to Pierro and went to her rooms. She kept staring at herself in the reflections on the way. She already looked different than before. That Morax hadn't pushed her off and wanted to fight her was still a mystery to her. She undressed and went into her bathroom. She ran a bath and thought. What would she do next? She had to be careful. Since the Traveler was moving freely in the world, it became a danger. Her Fatui had to move more carefully as well. Otherwise, her entire operation would be rendered moot. Tomorrow she would schedule a meeting and discuss new procedures. She dragged herself out of the water and prepared for her bed. Tired. She was so infinitely tired. She tried to sleep and managed to slip quickly into the land of dreams.

Unfortunately, her sleep did not last long. She had bad dreams again. Dreams about which she could not tell anyone. She sat up and stared into the darkness in front of her, breathing heavily. She heard her door open quietly and then close again. Quietly he slipped across the room and lay down with her under the blanket. the blanket. She didn't hesitate and leaned against him. He did not know what was what was going on with her, but there was something reassuring about his presence. Tsaritsa knew that she looked weak when she approached him like that. However, she did not did not care.

Pierro stroked the Tsaritsa through her hair until she calmed down. He knew that she was reluctant to be touched like that, but she needed someone to take care of her when she was feeling bad. to take care of her when she was unwell. He did not even want to imagine how the other Harbringers would react to such a situation. No he was the best choice for this. For her. Always. He continued to stare at her. When she had calmed down, she quickly fell asleep. He wondered how long she could keep up the facade. Her power was waning and she would break under the pressure. break. He had to think of a solution. It would be best to have one tomorrow, he thought to himself. He would think of something.

Tomorrow.

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always-andromeda · 2 years

Text

ii. Flock | Eli Sunday x fem!Reader

Eli Sunday x fem!Reader

Word Count | 2,797

Summary | "And the man and his wife were both naked and were not ashamed." Genesis 2:25

Author's Note | hey guys. remember that post i made that one time saying that when i write smut, i feel like i'm possessed by some sort of demon? yeah, this is one of those times. i think it speaks very heavily on my religious trauma that the religious aspect is all the more hot to me?? anyhoooooo, we don't have time to unpack ALL OF THAT.

Warnings | smut, religious themes, breeding kink, Eli is such a sub, Daniel is terrible, nothing else I can think of! (MDNI)

Parts | i. | ii. | iii.

The wedding was humble. It took place in Eli's church, the sun shining bright through the cross cutout in the back of the room. Attending is Eli’s family and a handful of congregation members. But you didn’t mind. You are just relieved that your father isn’t there.

You’d gone to him and gently told him that you were getting married and that nothing would change your mind. Daniel asked who the man was, though he didn’t need to. In his eyes, Eli Sunday would always be trying to punch back at him for not paying him the money he was owed. This was just about a grudge. If the boy wanted validation from Daniel, he’d have to die waiting for it. So Daniel refuses to give his blessing. Calls you a harlot; nothing more than a cheap whore who crawled to the first man who showed you attention. Says that one day that Sunday boy will surely disappoint you and he won't take you when you come running back.

But you don't care; you can't make yourself care. You are never going to crawl back to Daniel Plainview. Not even if you were at death's door. You were soon to be freed from the oppressive grasp he’d had over your life for far too long.

You are not nervous as you walk down the aisle in your unassuming gown. The lacy fabric covered you from your neck to your toes and the floaty veil trailed behind you as you got closer to your husband to be. Of course, you'd allowed Mary Sunday to be the flower girl; she followed behind you, shyly tossing petals from her woven basket. H.W. was the ring bearer. His tutor has escorted him since Daniel declines to have any involvement.

But that turns out to be a positive as well. The tutor shows you a few simple signs to help you communicate with H.W. The most important one being 'I love you.' It had been a very long time since you'd been able to tell him that. And with the way Daniel had turned him away, you knew he needed to know it.

You allow him to see you before the wedding and you crouch before him, gesturing the little sign, albeit a bit unpracticed. H.W. tilts his head a little before finally understanding and wrapping his arms around your neck and burying his head in your shoulder. You nearly cried then, feeling guilty that you'd be leaving him behind, but feeling comforted knowing that now he has his tutor looking out for him as well.

At the altar, you tap his shoulder twice, your signal to H.W. to give the rings to you and Eli. You smile at him as you pick up yours. Eli's hand shakes as he slides the simple silver ring upon your finger. He is not surprised when yours stay still.

Of course Eli writes his own vows. They're long and he rambles a little bit, but it's clear that he is utterly devoted to you. He recites line after line with the same zeal as his sermons, proclaiming how he will never forsake you, he will stay faithful to you, and he intends to grow old with you, giving you everything your heart may desire. It's a bit intense, but you wouldn't want it any other way.

Both you and him are buzzing that it's actually real now. No longer are you a Plainview. You are a Sunday. And the name has never sounded sweeter than when Eli says it directly after kissing you, his bride. The rest of the reception passes by in a blur. The guests gather around as you two dance. Luckily, one of the members plays the violin. So he plays a lively tune and the rest of the guests create a beat with their claps. Eli is about as off the beat as H.W. is, struggling to keep up with your speed as you dance wildly. Soon, everyone is joining in.

For the first time in your life, you are grateful for oil. Oil is what brought you to Little Boston. Oil led you to Eli Sunday. And oil made you into Mrs. Eli Sunday.

The congregation had helped build you and him a little home. One large, main room that held a stove, a table with chairs, and a rocking chair, a slighter smaller bedroom for you and him, and an even smaller bedroom with one piece of furniture inside: a cradle. A not so subtle hint at the church's hope for your future. It makes you smile though when you step over the threshold and see the roots of your new, beautiful life with Eli Sunday.

Your breath catches in your throat when you step into the bedroom, seeing the bed that's big enough for the both of you to lay upon. The undisturbed white sheets tucked into the mattress strike you as an omen of some sort so you keep your gaze from them and instead center your attention on the beautiful vanity against the wall to your right.

The setting sun is visible through the window leaving the room in a faint light. You step towards the vanity mirror, staring into it when you feel Eli approach you from behind. He wraps his arms around your waist and makes you sway back and forth with him. He hums softly, taking a deep breath of your skin's musk as he nestles his nose in your neck.

"My lovely wife. Lovely Mrs. Sunday. So beautiful." He mumbles.

Eli is gentle. The pecks he leaves on your shoulder barely suggest what he wants; what he's been waiting to do for a very long time. But you didn't marry him to stay demure. You turn on your heel and bring his face down to yours, ravishing his lips with messy, inexperienced little kisses. One hand on his neck and the other on his lower back, commanding him to come closer. And he stumbles forward, just a bit, but enough that he lets out a breathy, nervous laugh.

"I wouldn't have thought you would be so insatiable, my angel." He smiles slightly.

"Only for you-" You're fumbling for the words to describe the feeling in your stomach that's only spreading to the rest of your body. And then you say the wicked words that make Eli want to turn wild once more, "Eli, please make love to me."

You're inching him closer and closer to the edge of the bed until he's sitting back on it. As you mount his thighs, he knows what you want him to do to you. But he's afraid; feels that pit of doubt that takes shape every once in a while. He wonders if this is right. If it would be a sin to take your virtue and to chain you to himself. He wants you more than any worldly thing. He pushes the fear down before it can get bigger but you catch it. You notice how for a fraction of a second, he hesitates.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Eli brushes the question away and presses his lips to yours, hoping you will just forget his momentary uncertainty.

But it's your turn to pull back and speak, "Eli, you must tell me. I'm your wife now. You must share what you feel with me, please."

The emotional appeal has him chewing on his lip before he answers, "I don't want to hurt you. If we do this...there is always the chance that I could lose you. You and I have both heard of the mothers all across the country, bleeding out in their beds. The motherless children and...widowed fathers...I couldn't bear it if I made you do this -- made you fulfill my self serving wish -- and lost you."

"Have I ever told you that I once told my father that I never wanted children. I told him I would rather die than give him a grandchild. And I meant it then. But the thought of bearing your child...I want that more than anything. I want you. You promised you'd give me a family. That you'd give me all the love you possibly could."

You shift closer, slow breath hitting his ear as you whisper, "Fulfill that promise."

And Eli finds himself heating up the way he did all those lonely nights under his sheets. But this time you're here. And he is finally allowed to have you. He is fumbling with the buttons at the back of your dress, eager to rip the wretched white fabric away from your nakedness.

For a moment, he is glad that Eve defied the Lord. For if she hadn't, this view wouldn't be exclusive to him. He decides that the birth of all sin is righteous and just, as long as shame keeps you from being unclothed around anyone else. It fully sinks in that you belong to him and, more importantly, he belongs to you.

He stares in awe as you stand again, letting the pesky garments fall away and pool beneath you, one by one. In this little room he now shares with you, you are an angelic vision. His mouth waters at the sight of the cavern between your legs, obscured by a patch of pubic hair. He doesn't know why, but he wants to taste you there. He wants to swirl his tongue around the spot until he becomes acquainted with all of your unknown parts.

So he does just that. He reaches for your hips and pulls you to his quivering lips, allowing his curiosity to run free. You gasp and clutch his short hair between your fingers as he laps at your folds with no consideration of technique or your squirming figure as his nose brushes against your clit. He's reaching his tongue as far into your hole as he can, barely catching a breath before you tug him by his hair away from you. Already, you're overwhelmed by his passion. You're sensitive, never having felt anything but your own hand there.

"Do you know what you're doing?" You take a deep breath in order to recover.

Eli looks up at you then, all starry eyed with red lips and a chin covered in shining slick, and shakes his head. He wants to know. And judging by your reaction, he figures that he's already found the place where he is supposed to enter you. The thought of his own length being inside of the tight passage he'd stuck his tongue in makes him firm up inside his dress pants.

"Can I show you?" You ask gently, lifting his chin with your index finger. He nods desperately. For this long, he had been your teacher in all things holy. Now it was your turn.

You tell him to strip himself bare, just the way you had. He couldn't be happier to remove his restricting trousers. He's impatiently rushing to unbutton his shirt, the puffy sleeves getting in the way of his progress. You steady his hands and make quick work of the buttons with your own nimble fingers. As the shirt slips down his shoulders and falls back on the bed, you admire his pale chest. Untouched by the sun from the years of being hidden behind his clothes and now from his cushy position in the church. Having not had to do manual labor on the Sunday Ranch in months, his shoulders are a bit less built. But you still love him this way.

As evil as it is, you are eager to corrupt him in the best way possible; to make him experience a divine release outside of his pulpit. You circle one of his soft pink nipples with your thumb and his breath hitches. Returning to your place on his thigh, you ignore his swelling cock.

"Oh, Eli, you've been so pure, so virtuous. It's such a shame that it took this long for someone to see you this way. Because you are so beautiful." Eli could moan out loud at your words alone.

You lean forward, applying the smallest amount of pressure to the shaft. "Would you like to be rewarded now?"

"Please, my angel, please," He begs. You smile innocently before latching your lips to his collarbone, hoping to taint his clear skin. Your fingers continue working on his chest, flicking his hardened nipples with your thumbs and smirking every time his chest twitches.

Eli needs you wrapped around him, completely at your mercy. "Darling, please, please give me relief. I have yearned to be inside of you for so long." He whines.

God, the heat that sends to your core is enough to make you let up on your torture.

You kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips, "Ask and you shall receive," Your voice is hushed. Gently, your delicate fingers take him by the shaft and bring him to your folds. Eli breathes jaggedly through his teeth and you swipe the tip across yourself, covering him in your wetness. Though your cunt clenches in anticipation, you yourself are nervous. You've heard horror stories about red weddings and his girth makes you worry that he'll tear you apart.

So you're slow as you sink down inch by inch, familiarizing yourself with the curve of his cock and the way it stretches you out. It isn't quite painful, you're surprised to find. But it takes some getting used to. It's an uncomfortable ache that floods your cunt that gradually becomes more manageable. And it just starts to dissolve into a weak spark of pleasure, Eli thrusts suddenly.

He hits something deep inside you -- a place that you'd never reached with your own fingers -- and it makes you jolt, letting out a sharp, "oh!"

"Have I hurt you?" Eli's voice is tender. He has never done this before. All he knows is that the hold you have on him is far better than his own hand could ever be. You're wet and slick and warm. Maybe this is why the Lord commands his creations not to touch themselves.

You're lifting your hips up and down, trying to keep the friction alive, "No, no, no, no, feels...good...keep doing that, darling."

With new confidence, Eli plunges deeper now and you try to meet his pace with your bouncing hips. You try to put a bit of a curve into the movement, trying to get him to hit that spongey ceiling he had before.

Eli groans, "Right there, right there, keep doing that," He's entranced by the way your tits bob on your torso and reaches a hand forward to palm at one of them. His moans grow louder upon touching the malleable ball of flesh.

You take the hand on your tit and bring it down to your clit. You struggle a bit to get one of his digits on the throbbing bundle, but once you do you say, "Do you feel that? I need you to touch me there." And before you know it, his fingers are roughly rubbing your clit. His movements are messy once more, but the friction is enough that you let him keep going. You’ll have all the time in the world to teach him properly after this.

It all builds up and up and up until the flames are threatening to burn through you entirely. The white hot inferno consumes every rational thought in your head. It leaves you with the scorching desire to spend Eli for all he is worth.

"Are you ready to take my seed?" Eli pants.

You're right there with him as you choke out, "Please, Eli, please give me your child. Please give me everything you have."

"You've done so well preparing me for this, it is time for me to reward you." His mouth hangs open, barely able to control himself from how hard he is focusing on putting all of his love and devotion into each thrust. And you're ready, taking his uneven but passionate ruts with ease.

He practically yells when the glorious release hits him, his heavy, warm seed spilling deep inside of you. So much so that it's already leaking out around him, staining your brand new bed. But you are happy. Happy with the peek of heaven that he has given you.

Eli holds you to his bare chest afterwards, his fingers pushing every bit of cum that escaped you back inside. He needs this pregnancy to take. He will fulfill his promise.

His tired eyes droop as he repeatedly murmurs, "I'll give you everything. I'll give you everything you could ever want, my angel." All while caressing your bare stomach, praying that in time, there will be life growing there.

#there will be blood #eli sunday #eli sunday x you #eli sunday x reader #eli sunday smut #eli sunday fluff #eli sunday fic #danonation #paul dano #danocel #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

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