#This was born because I was listening to In the moonlight

[aetherialpiplup108]

What the Train Takes With It

“For the record, I don’t trust the military,” Pinako says, fingers flexing instinctively in search of the bottle of liquor circumstances seemed to demand. Alas, it was no longer the 1870’s when she would outdrink those haughty travelers until they lay awestruck under the table, listening to her smack her lips and offer insincere gratitude for quenching her thirst with their dimes while encouraging the terrified visitor to stop by the old sheeptown in a few years because mark her words, Resembool’ s a-goin’ places whether Amestris is gonna follow or not. 

It was no longer 1870. Madam Dendra’s spirited tavern had been robbed of walls and smiling customers alike by the Civil War; hardly any travelers would stop by Resembool now except to catch connecting trains; Pinako herself had to drop a few vices in favor of responsibly raising her children and their children; and it wasn’t like alcohol could compete with the bitterness crawling down her throat as she watched children too young inflict irreparable damage on their bodies and psyche to withstand burdens too big.

“We’ll take care of each other, Granny,” Alphonse says, sweet as always, and his shoulders are rigid in the way an immobile suit of armor should be but Pinako delivered this boy herself and hell if she didn’t know those shoulders would be shaking if that simple right of expression hadn’t been stolen from him, too. 

Edward is made of flesh and metal she herself fused with youthful nerves and he, too, does not shake. He offers neither an apology nor a reassurance. 

He does not meet her eyes.

That says everything anyway. 

Pinako sighs, wondering if Trisha Elric was cursing her from beyond for whisking her children away from one hell only to let them walk into another. 

And that was what the military was, no doubt about it. A staple truth of the elderly woman’s painfully long life. The hometown she had once bragged about to anyone who’d listen was set back thirty years, scared and wounded by war. Every ounce of love the great Panthress of Resembool gave her son was a scalpel carving out her insides at his funeral. And now she was watching Amestrian blue and a silver chain wrap a leash around yet another child she loved dearly.

Pinako Rockbell had chosen to be an engineer because she yearned to rebuild what was broken and protect what was dear. 

And she was damn good at her job. 

A right and true trailblazer in the industry, a godsend for veterans and betrayed civilians alike during the Eastern Conflict, a hero by anyone’s metric.

All that and Pinako still found herself helpless when it came to her own family. 

She should stop this. 

She should have put her foot down and slammed the door in the Flame Alchemist’s face the second he had the audacity to step foot into their house and extend an offer to her child. She should have refused Ed’s reckless demand to cram his recovery into a single year. She should have at least asked Alphonse to stay behind because if she had to lose one of them, why let go of the other as well?

Maybe if she had kept a closer eye on them, none of this would have happened.

In the end, she could only—

(Alphonse sat alone, moonlight glittering cruelly against azure steel as hours blended together in what seemed like an eternity of isolation. "I'm all right," he lied. "Nothing worth worrying about."

Edward leaned forward to grasp her hand, eyes blaring with determination borne not of strength and recklessness but guilt and need as he asked her for prosthetics. "My fault," he rasped. "Let me make it right. Please.")

—let go.

It was a cruel world. Tragic and depraved, cold and unfair.

But it was theirs.

A whistle cut through the air with a sense of impending finality and Ed offered a shaky smile as he took a step backwards towards the stabilizing train. Alphonse matched his step, the locomotive’s doors flapping open behind them leaving a residual image of angels about to take flight. 

They were beautiful, her children. Like their mother, like her son, like Sara.

She didn’t want to bury them, too.

Winry’s palm, still marred with scratches from the wires and metal she spent nights welding together, rubbed against her weary eyes in a futile pursuit to scrub away the water that had not stopped streaming down her cheeks since the first drop of lighter fluid hit a house stocked with memories of an old life, long gone but cherished.

She forced a smile. “This isn’t goodbye,” she croaked, voice dry but sure. She was still so young. “It’s not. When Al gets his body back—and you better hurry up, okay? No dilly-dallying, you two—you’ll come back here. First thing, right?”

Sharpness flashed across golden and crimson stares alike. “Right.” 

They were all such bright children, radiant and young. Pinako scrounged for the hope she had never been able to fully abandon and wished that light would guide them to the future they deserved, if not the one fate had in store.

“I don’t believe in the military,” the old woman repeated as her boys ascended the vehicle, steam beginning to flow out its stack. Ed leaned out the window and watched them frantically with wide eyes, Alphonse close behind, as if trying to memorize the details of their faces to recollect later. It would be a while before they met again, and Pinako wasn’t sure what she’d find in their gazes the next time she saw them. “But I do believe in you. Wherever you go, whatever you see…remember that you are more than capable of making it through.”

“Thanks Granny,” Al whispered, and Ed swallowed, simply nodding as his bangs were swept by the exhaust of the rumbling vehicle. He raised a hand in farewell.

Winry chased after the train until it darted past the station’s border, and they watched as it took the remaining half of their hearts along the tracks to the world beyond.

They stayed there for a while, the old lady and her granddaughter—the ones left behind, the ones that gave the boys the strength to move forward—before the duo trudged back to the warm house atop the grassy hill belonging to a sheep town that had produced some of the strongest people Amestris had ever known. It was quiet now.

But it'd be all right.

Come back soon. Come back safe.

Come back as yourselves.

#pinako rockbell #edward elric #alphonse elric #winry rockbell #fanfic #my writing #fma #not really relevant but pinako would HATE mustang lol #as she should #panthress of resembool #fmab #fma 03 #written in honor of the fma brainrot resurgence #someone help me write and title things please

[huh-1260]

This ship is now rotating in my mind like a rotisserie chicken. And i love it. Also this is probably never going to get finished, so why not post it now

#I'd like to thank the three ao3 fanfiction writes for getting me addicted to this ship #Adaman x Emmet #Princess mononoke au #Kind of? #This was born because I was listening to In the moonlight #emmet #adaman pokemon #Going to write some crack story on ao3 #Hopefully I get it done and posted today or tomorrow

[ruershrimo]

f. megumi x reader | one moment longer

under the light of the moon, he looks more beautiful than anything.

spiky black hair shining like stunning silver, eyelashes weaved of the silkiest threads one’s genes could offer, green eyes shimmering, scrutinised by the moon’s glow. if there was a painting to describe the epitome of beauty he would be its subject.

the collar of that tidy black uniform you can nuzzle your face into, the hyaline scent of detergent and a freshly cleaned room, the rhythm of his breaths, faint and light, as lithe, warm hands rest on your back the same way puzzle pieces stay connected.

“i love you,” you hear. it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

you aren’t a jujutsu sorcerer yourself, so maybe you wouldn’t know enough. still, you know some people say that the world of sorcery is one devoid of hope and humanity; you know the general sentiment among them is that this has always been a sisyphean task, that it was born from the resistance of impermanent lives against an evil which would last for all eternity.

yet how can they let their worlds be entrenched in such darkness and lovelessness?

love and good are everywhere, you think, no matter how much loss there is to endure. you’ve felt so yourself.

you see it when you sip from teacups in cafes where the saucers come with biscuits on the side and your ears notice the shutter of his camera and you gaze at the mellow grin resting on his face. you hear it when he sends you whatever tune he’s been listening to for the past few days, sent with a text saying, “thought you might like this”. you taste it when he presses his lips to yours and kisses him back out of joy in a bold defiance of this world’s sorrows. love and good is everywhere in the mundanity of life and it’s minuscule, quiet moments.

“i love you,” he whispers again, voice as soft as a gentle breeze in an autumn-touched street, but with enough conviction to make the mightiest of rulers fall, you’re sure. you shut your eyes slowly as his feet move languidly in tandem with yours.

“you do?” you ask, “i love you too, megumi.”

one day the world he resides in will take him away from you. one day you’ll be left alone with no one to hold you under the moonlight while it spills into their wooden-tiled dorm room, one day you won’t have anyone to dance with you despite the chills outside.

but today is not that day. tonight is not the night you’ll be screeching and crying as you hear news of his death from a cellphone call. it’s not the night when you’ll be shaking and collapsing over his mangled corpse, if there even is one left.

you want a future together. you want for him to stay even after he leaves graduates, for years and years and years of his life. but even you know that with the life he’s living, with the kind of life where any night is one when he may die, you just wish that it can last for a while longer. if not two years, then maybe two months. if not two months, then maybe two weeks. or perhaps…

…just one moment longer. one moment longer with fushiguro megumi.

I don’t even write for jjk haha, I was just simping at 3 am (I want to sleep. I’ve to wake up before 9 tomorrow. someone pry my phone away from me.) I’m also doing this to cope because gege is cruel. someone help this is probably so bad I didn’t even do any formatting or anything bro that picture isn’t even one of the moon

#lmao what am I doing it’s like 3am #I’m going to sleep this is probably so bad #megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi fluff #ruer writes #stuff that isn’t genshin #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader

[ruewrote]

𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠.

PAIRING: jj maybank x longhaired!reader WARNINGS: none GENRE: fluff, fluff, fluff SONG INSPIRATION: electric love by BORNS WORD COUNT: 668

navigation | inbox

it had now become a routine between the two of you to wake up, get ready and then start the day surfing together. before you stepped foot out of the house jj would help tie back your hair.

it was such a hassle to keep it down when you were in the water, getting your arms tangled in it as you paddled back to shore. it was just too annoying, he must have had enough of your complaining because the boy watched video after video just to learn how to braid it.

you had no idea that he had taught himself how to do it, until one morning, you walked out of your bedroom to see him sitting waiting on the worn-down couch, scrolling through his phone until he heard your door shut, looking up with a contagious grin.

eagerly patting the cushion that was placed on the floor in between his legs, also noticing the new hair brush and hair bands next to his leg closest to you.

you can't lie and say it didn't take a while for him to properly learn how to do it, but you were patient and supportive of him. with more time that passed the dutch and french braids went from loose and in your face to tight and perfect.

sometimes you'd be impatient, kicking your feet against the floor, trying to knock the pins and needles out of your toes.

"are you nearly done jay? my feet are going to sleep!" you whined, slightly leaning your head back only for it to be nudged forward by the back of his hand.

"nearly!" he mumbled, one of the pins in between his teeth, making sure your flyaways were completely out of your way.

when he was finally done, you both grabbed your bags reminding him of anything you knew he would most likely forget, something important like his sunglasses, or sunscreen.

oh, and it wouldn't stop there, he would also take out the braids, running specific oils through the ends as he unwrapped each section, making it easier for you to wash it later in the week or the next day.

you would like to think that this brought you closer together, because of the very few days that you'd let your hair down to breathe. he got all grumpy and would not give you a real reason as to why he was in such a sour mood, but since you had known him for so long, you just knew it was because he felt 'unhelpful' that day.

you were so close to each other that you'd often lay in the hammock together, soaking in the sun, he absentmindedly played with the ends of your hair as you blabbered on about the day prior to the one you were in now about some obscure post you'd seen on tiktok.

"did you know that when you sleep that your brain kinda absorbs the fluid in your head and cleans it? but if you don't get enough sleep then you technically have dirty brain water if the process isn't completed," you exclaimed, throwing your hands up into the air.

"there's no fucking way." he then processed to grab his phone to search it up even if it was bullshit he still listened intently beside you.

everyone started to say there see you tomorrow for the night, keira hugged you, before getting into the truck to leave.

john b and sarah also called it a night, which left you and jj to continue to sit on the fallen tree in front of the fire.

"i know it's been a while since you started doing it, but i really want to thank you for putting in the effort in to learn how to do my hair for me..." glancing towards the now dying flames, then back over to him.

"i really appreciate you j, i hope you know that." with that said you walked over to him, pressing a light peck to his cheek as you walk into the shared house.

jj sat there bright pink under the moonlight.

© ruewrote.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank oneshots #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank fanfics #outer banks #outer banks x reader #outer banks oneshots #outer banks imagines #outer banks fanfics #obx #obx x reader #obx oneshots #obx imagines #obx fanfics #x reader #oneshots #imagines #fanfics #ruewrote

[thepersonnamedsam]

getting to know the genz!driver

pairing: the genz!driver oc

summary: getting to know the genz!driver

warnings: none :)

note: welcome and have a seat, let’s get to know our beloved driver of the z generation

masterlist / taglist

i imagine our beloved driver to be 18/19 years old

the driver was born female and identifies as one

we all know she does not have a drivers licens

her driving number is 90, just because

she is ruthless and most times let’s her intrusive thoughts win

her best friends on the grid are definitely lando, george, mick, carlos and charles

her grid dads are lewis and seb

and we know that danny just kind of overtook the role as her older grid brother

she is the sunshine of them all, like there is not one person who doesn’t like her

even christian horner thinks highly of her (he wouldn’t tell that to the media though)

she drives for a mediocre team, but for that she performs extremely well, most times in the points

yuki and pierre are her gay dads, always mentioning to them how they remind her of a couple

she hangs out with the wags in the paddock, like carmen and lily are her besties

she is pure chaos

like evil chaos

but also good chaos, do you know what i mean?

she has brown long hair, but usually doesn’t do much with it

she likes to listen to music all the time, it calms her anxiety

outside of the paddock she likes to draw and sing, oh and she has a youtube channel about her life as a female f1 driver

she has no siblings :( but all of the drivers are like older brothers to her

she definitely raced with mick in prema

mick and her are besties! michael has definitely helped your parents with racing stuff

she did karting with charles, max, mick etc.

she is not tall, taller than yuki for sure, but after that… she is not taller than anyone on the grid

lissie mackintosh are absolute besties, she’s always so excited to be interviewed with her and their interviews always turn out so funny

mostly they don’t chat about the race or f1, but they gossip

her and lissie have started an organisation together with susie wolff, that helps young female drivers to race

she is definitely involved with the f1 academy

attending races if her schedule allows her to, only zandvoort possible

but she knows all the girls and supports them

susie is her favourite wag, we all know why

our genz!driver is something special and we all love her for that

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @missskid , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 #gen z #genz driver #gen z driver #gen z shit #gen-z!driver

[ask-serendipity-sky]

1108: Facts and observations

•Day 0

1108 started on the 8th of November of 2015.

Jimin uploaded a video of him and Jungkook to twitter:

On the 26th of January 2016, Jk uploaded a small snippet of a song he was covering.

•Day 100

And on the 15th of February of 2016, Jk uploaded the entire song Nothing Like Us and noted to listen to the lyrics as they were expressing what he wanted to say:

In Korean culture, parents celebrate 100 days after a child is born. This is to indicate that the child made it through the first vulnerable phase in their life. In the same manner, the 100 days are celebrated by Korean couples.

And this is what Jk had to say 100 days after the 8th of November of 2015:

There's nothing like us There's nothing like you and me Together through the storm There's nothing like us There's nothing like you and me together, oh

•Day 366 (1 year)

On 08/11/2016, a year later, Jimin posted another video of them:

•Day 732 (2 years)

On Oct. 28, 2017, Jungkook treated Jimin to a trip to Tokyo. It was because of this trip, that Jungkook released gcfTokyo on Nov. 08, 2017.

A fan used the images in the video and was able to determine the hotel and room jikook stayed at. It was room number 1108.

The video also used the song There For You by Troye Sivan:

Boy, I'm holdin' onto something Won't let go of you for nothing I'm runnin', runnin' just to keep my hands on you There was a time that I was so blue What I got to do to show you? I'm runnin', runnin' just to keep my hands on you

Day 811

On the 26th of January 2018, in a Japanese fancafe, Jimin gifted Jungkook a drawing of a set of champagne glasses and a bottle. Note the details of the glasses.

•Day 900

On the 25th of April 2018, a day before the 900 day milestone, Jimin had a vlive where it was obvious he wasn't alone in the room. He kept looking to the side, laughing shyly and explained:

After he said this, you can hear someone whisper, "Jimin."

Day 1000

On August 3rd 2018, Jk posted a selfie while they were all filming BV3:

During BV3, jikook were able to look around the city alone, and have a boat date under the moonlight.

Day 1013

As you all may know 10:13 is also known as Jimin ssi, or Jimin time. It only makes sense that this day would be special to jikook too.

On the 16th of August 2018, Jimin tweeted a series of 3 tweets:

Jungkook was the only member that appeared in the photos with Jimin. It is also interesting to note the 2 butterfly temporary tattoos he had on his hand.

This is the same time when they had the photoshoot with the inflatable unicorn:

The next day, Jimin uploaded a tweet with the caption "Love Ya", and one of the photos was him and Jk.

•Day 1141

On the 22nd of December 2018, when fans uploaded their selfies on fancafe, the fans let Jk know that Jimin had uploaded his own:

This prompted Jk to type "JIMINNNN" and he signed off. He later uploaded a song that he stopped at 1:18:

You take my mind away When you touch me that way This place, your face It gets hard to breathe I know you're feeling me now You're all I see Almost like we're dreaming

•Day 1394

On the 1st of September 2019, Jk made 2 tweets. One in which uploaded a snippet of Decalcamonia, which he also ended on 1:18:

•Day 1500

On the 16th of Dec 2019, Jimin posted a good night tweet:

The time he uploaded this was at 1:50.

•Day 2300

On Feb 22, 2022, Jk uploaded a story on insta where he is in a car, listening to So Good by Joan. The story was labeled 23:08 even though he uploaded it at 1:24 am.

You and me Got a lotta tension, not even to mention Ooh, that night, just two weeks ago It was half past ten Thinking about living, suddenly when you walked it You took my breath away

•Day 2315

On March 10, 2022, during the Permission to Dance Concert, Jimin used the 2315 numbers and stated the following:

2315 days had passed since November 8, 2015.

•Day 2545

On the 26th of October 2022, Jk uploaded a photo of himself while he was in Qatar. He uploaded the photo at 11:08 Korea time and, 5:08 Qatar time.

•Day 2643

On the 2nd of February 2023, Jimin answered a question on weverse at exactly 23:08. The question is now deleted.

•Day 2684

During Jungkook hosted a series of lives on White Day, 14th of March 2022. His first live was started at 8:11 pm:

During these lives, Jk changed to various outfits and had an extensive playlist. One of the songs that was included was There For You.

•Day 2855

On the 1st of September 2023, Jk hosted a short live to thank the fans for being present with him during so many birthdays. He ended his live quickly and it lasted 8:56 minutes:

My impressions

Based on Korean customs, celebrating different day milestones is typical in a Korean couple.

While some may think that jikook started dating on the 8th of November 2015, I think that's when they decided to be intimate with each other.

I feel like a jikook kiss had already happened since the last time Jimin asked Jk for a kiss publicly was in September 2015 for Jk's birthday. From there, one can only think that things proceeded quite quickly.

I think that in recent years, we have observed less mentions of 1108 because of BTS' popularity and so many fans expecting something from jikook.

It's possible that jikook has decided to not make these milestones known like they did before, but every now and then, they still reference that number. Who knows when they will do it again.

But who is counting, right?

#jikook #jimin #jungkook #1108 #Spotify

[twola]

Seven Deadly Sins - I

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Summary: Because if one thing is true, it is that Arthur Morgan is a sinner. Pure, organic, non-GMO smut. A continuing series.

Lust: an intense sexual desire or appetite, uncontrolled or illicit sexual desire or appetite; lecherousness, a passionate or overmastering desire or craving.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Next

That is the absolute last time he ever listens to some hare-brained plan dreamed up by Sean MacGuire. Abandoned cabin, he said, not a soul around, he went on. He just failed to mention that this cabin near Eris Field was a goddamn Lemoyne Raiders safe house. Not nearly worth the take, and now Arthur needed more shotgun shells. He made sure Sean caught hell before sending the boy off in the other direction. He cuffed him over the head for good measure.

Arthur swung around to the south of Rhodes to keep away from camp for a while, it was only a matter of time until those inbred hicks realized it was another gang encroaching on their territory. 

He spurred his horse into a gallop as the sun set over the west, and a full moon rose over the hill country of Scarlett Meadows. 

Arthur hits the shores of Flat Iron Lake just north of Braithwaite Manor.

He pats his mare’s head as she slows to a walk, breathing heavily, coat worked into a lathing sweat. “You’re alright, girl.”

Trailing along the shoreline, in the distance, he can see the faint lantern lights from the gang’s camp at Clemens Point. He stops the horse, allowing her to step down to the water and take a much-needed drink. Swinging off the saddle, he pops his shoulder, still feeling a twinge of pain from his ‘stay’ with the O’Driscolls weeks ago.

A sound reaches his ears, rustling of leaves, movement of water. 

He ties up his horse against a tree, unholstering his revolver as he sneaks closer to the small cove that the shoreline creates. He takes cover behind a wide tree trunk, slowly clicking the safety off his revolver.

He peers on the other side of the tree at the rocky shoreline.

It is not some bounty hunter, or robber, or frankly any kind of threat.

It is you.

You’re partially obscured by the outcropping of rock, but there is more than enough moonlight to trace the sinuous curves of your body.

You’re completely bare, nude as the day you were born, washing yourself in the waters of Flat Iron Lake.

He should be blushing and turning away, leaving you privacy while he reaches camp from another direction. But as the moonlight dances on your dewy curves, Arthur is guided by another notion.

He did always say that he wasn’t a good man.

Arthur holsters his gun, trying to be as quiet as possible. He watches you with the eyes of a predator, a hungry wolf with a doe in its sights. It hasn’t been since his untried youth that he’s so governed by an urge like this, being driven by pulsing blood and hotheadedness and want.

You’re wringing out your long hair over your shoulder, the expanse of your back and the curve of your spine above your hips visible above the water.

He swallows, hidden by foliage, behind the tree trunk overlooking the cove where you bathe.

Arthur can’t say he’s ever looked at you like this, thrumming with the singular need to sink his cock into your body. You’ve been around a few years, a dependable thief, a decent shot, he looked at you no differently than he looked at Karen, Tilly, or Mary Beth. But now, seeing you like this, he’s driven by a need that pounds in his blood. He knows he shouldn’t be here, dirty old man , but by some kind of force far stronger than shame, he is rooted to the spot, breathing in a deep breath through his nose.

He uncomfortably shifts, his hand over his gun belt that’s slung across his hips, tighter now against his hardening cock. He pushes at it awkwardly, trying to find some damned relief. 

You turn, humming to yourself while taking a step closer to the shore. More of your skin becomes visible to him as you rise from the water like some storybook nymph.

He swallows, tracing the rivulets of water down your frame, down over your pebbled nipples and the swell of your breasts, your soft belly, sliding down your skin into the thatch of dark hair at the apex of your thighs.

Arthur liked to think of himself as being above that. Not so completely enraptured by the female form that he could think of little else.

But right now? His stiffening cock pressing against his pants is his priority. With guidance that he knows could only come from thinking with his cock, he steps out of his hiding spot and down to the shoreline.

Leaves rustle on the ground.

You catch his gaze. Surprised, fearful, like a skittish doe in the jaws of that hungry wolf. Stunned into silence, into stillness. 

Water continues to drip down your body. Nothing is hidden from his eyes. 

Were he not but a trickle of that fresh lake water, trailing slowly down your skin, down your breasts, your soft belly, collecting at the cradle of your hips. Weaving its way through the hair there. 

Drip, drip, dripping to the hidden, dewy skin of your cunt.

-

You swallow. Your skin breaks out into gooseflesh as you shiver under the cold weight of his stare. You should scream, you should run, you should hide yourself from him.

Should, should, should. All of these things you should do.

But the way he is looking at you. The way he is staring. The shadow across his face from the brim of that old leather hat. The telltale sign of heavy breathing, his chest rising and falling. You can see his fist clenching at his side.

Arthur has always been distant. You had heard talk of a woman he had been involved with years ago, some high society girl that broke his heart. Not that you were particularly eyeing anyone in the gang for any self-gratifying reason - it was less complicated that way.

But now, now,  he looks at you with a hunger that needs to be slaked. Arthur Morgan. Dutch’s top gun. The enforcer. You’ve seen him break men with his two hands, those two hands that clench at his side as he struggles with some semblance of control.

In this moment, you imagine those hands on you.

Something, perhaps the traitorous clenching of your cunt around nothing when you look at him, goads you into speaking up.

“Want to join me, Arthur?”

-

Your voice is soft, breathy, when it reaches his ear. He continues to stare, gnawing at his lower lip for moments that seem like an eternity.

His cock is so hard it’s almost painful, straining against the fabric of his jeans. A cool breeze rushes in from the lake and you shiver, the goose flesh that springs up on your skin makes him itch to touch you. Even feet away, he can see your nipples darken and harden.

“Are you coming?” You whisper at him, your hand slowly raising toward his still form. 

The double entendre is not lost on him. 

Arthur hasn’t been one to be guided by his cock, certainly not recently. Not in years. He’s not one to seek out whores in far-flung cattle towns the gang rolls through like a prairie wind. But Christ , if you aren’t here, hand outstretched, beckoning him to come to you.

His gun belt lands on the ground with a clatter. Arthur is kicking his boots off while shrugging his suspenders down his arms, fevered in his movements. His satchel joins his belt on the ground. He refuses to look away from your figure, refuses to give up a single moment of the moon shining down on the expanse of your skin.

Arthur works at the buttons of his work shirt, one by one, as his breathing becomes heavier. He nearly rips his shirt off, it falls to the ground over his discarded gun belt. The Lemoyne heat and humidity are stifling, and he has forgone a union suit underneath his clothing.

You suck in a breath, and he sees a glint of hunger in your eyes, beginning to match what he’s sure is emanating from his own. 

His hands glide to the buttons of his pants, pressing them between the fabric eyes, his cock insistent against his fly. 

One, two, three.

-

You stare at him, your gaze darting downward from his hungry eyes to his broad chest, covered in wiry hair. His arms, muscled and sculpted and brawny. The way his waist slightly tapers inward down to his hips. He is hewn from decades of intensive labor, the chase of violence, living on the lam. 

The trail of dark hair from his navel that disappears under his pants becomes more and more visible to your gaze at each button he undoes. His fly hangs open for a moment, before he hooks both of his hands at the sides of his pants and slides them down, baring himself to you the way you are to him. He tosses his pants into the pile of clothing on the shore.

He steps into the water, unafraid, confident, driven. Wading toward you, the water creeping up with each step, up his calves, past his knees, up his thighs to where his engorged cock hangs heavy. 

Arthur reaches you, his hungry hands on your body as your breath hitches, shivering as you close your eyes. A thumb brushes over one of your nipples. Fingers dance across the soft skin of your inner thigh, moving closer to the apex, and you widen your stance unconsciously, as your hands find their way to his chest, palms spread wide over the planes of his solid pectorals. 

Your eyes snap open as your breath quickens, Arthur drags the knuckle of his pointer finger between your folds. You gasp, and in response his mouth hangs open, his other hand leaving your breast to dart down to his cock, stroking it slowly as he rubs at your core.

“A-Arthur,” you stutter, one of your hands moving to his forearm, clenching it tightly as he presses against you. 

“ Jesus , woman.” He slips a finger inside you and you keen, head thrown back and gasping to the nighttime sky. Arthur groans in response, his other hand moving from his cock to grasp roughly at the back of your neck, pulling you forward, nearly stumbling into him, and captures your lips with his own, smothering your high-pitched wail with his mouth.

The hard, hot line of him is pressed against your hip, insistent, and as you quickly get used to his ministrations in your cunt, you reach between your bodies to ghost your palm over his cock, taking the place of his hand that is winding through the hair at the nape of your neck.

It’s his turn to groan, and you feel the vibrations of the low register of his voice down your spine, he juts his hips against you. He pulls away, gasping, pupils blown. His hand moves slowly back from your neck to cup your jaw, the rough skin of his thumb tracing your lips.

You open your lips and take his thumb in your mouth, sucking gently. His eyes widen, mouth twitching for a moment. You feel him push a second finger into your cunt and you burn , your teeth clenching down on his thumb gently as you suck.

You know, you know , that there is no going back from here, that you’re about to tread on dangerous ground, but from the way your vision narrows to the pulsing of your blood underneath your skin, you don’t care.

-

Arthur stares down at you, his thumb in your mouth, fingers in your cunt. One of your hands lazily strokes at his cock, your thumb swiping over its head every few strokes.

He draws his hand from your mouth and leans back in to take your lips against his again. His tongue presses against yours. You’re completely pliant against him.

“Gonna fuck y’ now.” He pants into your mouth, taking his hands from their places and quickly grabbing the undersides of your thighs, hoisting you from the water as your hands find his shoulders. Your legs immediately wrap around his hips.

Your lips remain locked on his as he wades back toward the shoreline, and once he’s out of the water, he’s sinking to his knees, bending over to lay you out on the ground. 

Your hands card through his honeyed locks, as he presses his lips to yours again. He settles in between your hips, his cock pressing against your thigh.

You moan into his mouth, and one of your hands reaches between the two of you to grasp him, guiding him in between your thighs.

He pushes inside. 

It’s slow, as much as he wants to fuck you until you scream, he can get to that later. Inch by torturous inch, he presses forward, until the bones of both of your hips touch, and he is buried deep within you.

Christ, you’re just as tight, wet, and warm as he’d thought you’d be.

He grunts, rolling his hips back to withdraw, then pushing forward again, swallowing your moan as his lips remain on yours.

There he is, fucking you on the sandy shoreline of Flat Iron Lake, the both of you naked as the day you were born, kissed by moonlight. He pulls away from your lips, and you both breathe fast, panting breaths.

“ God -” you croon, your blunt nails digging into his back.

He chuckles lowly, “Not quite.”

Arthur loops one of your legs over his shoulder, and your babbling becomes incoherent as he widens the yaw of your legs, and you struggle to keep your eyes open.

He’s careening toward completion, that feeling deep in his gut where he knows he’s about to have this burning energy that’s overtaking him pulled out through his cock.

You’re shamelessly moaning beneath him, gasping syllables of his name. God, hopefully, you ain’t so loud the camp hears you, cause there would be absolutely no hiding what he’s doing to you.

“I’m, ooh- god…” you spit out, voice breathy as you begin to arch underneath him, your cunt embarrassingly wet, the squelching of his thrusts becoming louder as you cry out, clenching around his cock, scratching his back near painfully. Arthur continues to fuck you through your release, chasing his own as his breathing tumbles into panting as he slams his hips into your own. He lets your leg down from his shoulder.

Arthur pulls out with not a moment to spare, the hot spatter of his release against your inner thigh as your back continues to arch against him. He groans, his forehead against yours, out of breath, barely holding himself up as his forearms bracket either side of your head.

You sigh, satiated, breathy, slowly coming down from your high, “Mister Morgan.”

“At your service, ma’am.” He places his head in the hollow of your shoulder, nipping slightly at your neck before he rolls off of you. 

You’re both covered in sandy mud, streaks of the red clay that helps give Scarlett Meadows its name coating your skin.

“Looks like I need another bath. I was almost done, ‘fore you interrupted me.” You sit up, wiping at a smudge of mud on your hip bone.

“Mm, could help ya there, if y’ need it.”

You roll your eyes at him, and he reaches over to pinch at your hip, causing you to giggle and scoot further away from him.

“Arthur. Knock it off or we ain’t ever gonna get clean.” You scold but cannot keep the smile from your face. You push yourself up to stand, moving back toward the water, stepping in gingerly, wading out until you can sink down so the water covers your shoulders.

Arthur reclines back, propped up on his elbow, watching you pick leaves and twigs from your long hair. 

You turn around, catching his eye. “You coming in?”

Arthur snorts, looking down, but cannot keep the grin from his face. He pushes himself up from the ground, standing up and wading into the water.

“Y’know, Mister, you ain’t half bad.”

“You ain’t half bad yourself, Miss.”

He circles you, your hair fanned out in the water. You eye him with a glint of mischief.

“I wouldn’t mind if we did that from time to time.”

“Oh? Would you now….” He reaches toward you, and you push a small wave of water at him in response.

“Mhm. But not now. You’ve got mud on your face.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan #rdr2 smut #red dead depression #seven deadly sins #twolafic

[rottingfern]

strap the wing to me (death trap clad happily) || a Bad Omens fanfic

Pairing: fae!Noah x gender neutral reader (yes the smut is gn too)

Summary: He’s beautiful, so, so gorgeous, unless otherwise he’s completely grotesque, a scent of something eldritch you’d rather not acknowledge. When he kisses you, he tastes of burnt wax and antimony, straps candlewick wings to your aching back, and you don the death trap happily.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: unbeta'd trash. overly flowery written pretty much entirely in prose. smutty smut smut. oral sex. just a tiny whiff of dubious consent by way of fae trickery

A/N: I drank a lot of wine and listened to Hozier on repeat the other night and then saw a very mind-meltingly beautiful pic of Noah on the dash and had a really weird dream and this is the result. Enjoy the ramblings xoxo Fern

Brainrot Club: @familiarscarsxelectrichearts @throughwoodsanddirt @cowpokeomens

Masterlist here.

Title taken from Sunlight by Hozier; banner made by @throughwoodsanddirt; dividers by @saradika

“You lost?” he asks, and that is what ruins you. You’ve heard the old stories of wicked fae-men and how to avoid them - beware strange beings in the wood, don’t stray from the path - but in all the stories, none author had bothered to mention they’d peek around a tree with wide, irresistibly innocent curiosity and ask you, You lost?

There’s a flash of a glint in his eye, a bare twitch in his lip predating what might’ve been a smirk, but you can’t help but smile at the childlike confidence in his voice, and then he smiles back and –

That too is your ruin. There perhaps hasn’t been a sweeter smile - not in your years, not in the years of all of time, you reckon - to grace a human being, and it steals your breath sure as he’d picked it from your pocket. He takes it as an offering, slinking around the trunk with the air of something much smaller, more slight than he; gravity must be a friend, lover, even, with the grace she offers to his motion.

His eyelashes flutter on his cheeks as you take his tattooed hand - an imperious command, or perhaps a childish invitation - granting you the proof of satisfaction you hadn’t known you’d been waiting for, a breath of relief expelling from its locked chamber you’d ignored until now. 

You stare, because how can you not? He is beautiful, yes, but his visage flickers from soft to vulpine with a flicker of shadow and moonlight, something inhuman, dangerous, alien turning well-bred beauty, like the kind some are just born with, masculinity encapsulated by that rare softness. 

He’s beautiful, so, so gorgeous, unless otherwise he’s completely grotesque, a scent of something eldritch you’d rather not acknowledge. Within a breath, he moves from shy, soft smiles to something aloof, something dangerously mischievous, something terrifying when the moon shines just so and you’re reminded of that glint in his eye. You only need blink for that chipped granite of his cheekbone and hardened brow to give way to that downy smile once more, like it had never gone.

You walk over roots, vines and ivies and he is barefoot, feet uncalloused and unscarred.

The trek back to the path is as treacherous as he warned, for which he never lets your hand go - vines threatening to trip you up with each step, roots growing where there were none minutes ago. He regales you with faerie-tales - his childhood, he calls it - and you follow his younger self through burrows and glades and loss and loss and loss and to the rivers and all the girls (and boys) that live in them, the monsters that he’d fought and the girls (and boys) he’d had there after, and to the mountains and still you follow and –

And he pauses, and you’re overcome with the bodily realization that you’re exhausted. You’re not sure how long you’ve walked, but your legs burn. Your feet are torn, shoes and socks evidently long gone somewhere along the way. Your head swims, and he barely turns before you collapse into him. 

You don’t register the hawthorn he’s pressed you up against, solid as stone, until the bark digs through your shirt to chip and stab at your skin, oozing wet warmth down your back that’s conflated blood and sap in your mind. A tsk from his mouth - the sound forms so prettily on his perfectly formed Cupid’s bow - produces a golden fruit in his hand, taken from a bush or his pocket, or somewhere else entirely. You’re too dizzy to follow the movement of his hand. It’s so splendidly shiny, citrine flesh pulled so taught it aches for just the single prick to burst the saccharine juice within. 

Before he even presses it to your lips, the scent makes your molars ache to grind it to a pulp. He teases it, hovering it before your mouth, reveling in your fight against the strong thigh he presses to your core to reach it. 

His fingers brush your lips when he finally acquiesces, and he blushes with a bashful smile like it’d been a mistake, and between his smile and the alchemically intoxicating scent of the fruit, you forget all about the warnings of eating Fae offerings and - 

It bursts like an eyeball with just the barest graze of your teeth, blessed wet rushing to coat your throat liquid as the taste has done to you; it is the sweetest, sharpest flavor you’ve tasted, salty too - though perhaps that’s the tears streaming down your face. Your core throbs a drumbeat. You’re nothing more than meat and nerves and blood in a sac of skin, pulsing as the seeds and pulp slither down your throat. 

Your head dips - involuntarily - to suck the sap from each digit. You want to wrap your legs around him, to grind shamelessly until you too are nothing but sap. 

When he kisses you, he tastes of burnt wax and antimony, straps candlewick wings to your aching back, and you don the death trap happily. 

He draws you down to the bed of moss with kisses and gentle strokes, soft and spongy and earthen and cool and moist beneath your naked skin. His great coat envelops you both, secreting beneath it the dance of his nails (not nails, but claws, unpainted black and whispering a deadly promise) along the planes of your burning, overstuffed skin. He swallows down your whimpers and gasps, curiosity painting his face lent by innocence to understanding his touch is the cause; too light a touch, you think, you need more. 

The callus of his fingers speaks of handiwork as they brush you, painting you red hot and wanting. He watches his brushes as they stroke lower with open fascination, like you’re the one alien and not he. 

You arch into him, begging for your flesh to be flayed from bone, for him to sink those razors he calls teeth down to the marrow. There they are at your chest, dangerously grazing the delicate pebble of your nipple, plump damp lips suckling it as though it is the fruit itself. There is his hand at your thigh, hot palm pressing your leg up his waist, clever, spindly fingers teasing the apex, wandering but never finding home. 

He laughs when you reach for him, for the heat beneath his trousers weighing heavy in the cradle of your hips. “Later,” he tells you, swallowing down your indignant whine before it can burst forth. Now, you want to beg, but then his hand reaches the destination you desire most, shackling you to the singular sensation in short, strong strokes, and you think, okay, later.

Your skin burns, stretched taught and oversensitive as he probes you, knuckles bulbs as they puncture the precipice, only the cool damp of the moss beneath you granting reprieve. You paw at it helplessly, unmoored, gripping up great chunks of it in Sisyphean effort to ground yourself against the fullness.  

He chuckles. “Never said you couldn’t touch,” he mutters against your belly, words muffled by your skin as the vibrations run straight through your core. Something ragged wrenches from you as you dive your hands in his hair, pulling at soft and silky and ink-dark even in the twilight canopy of the wood; a slippery purchase at best as he journeys downward, leaving lush, slick trails in the wake of his mouth that nearly steam against the cool of the breeze. 

He laughs, exultant, and curls those clever fingers inside you hard, bifurcating within you, plying and playing, and teasing and then, then, finally, his head dives between your legs. A hot breath first, a nudge of that pointed nose, then his wicked tongue, licking and lapping and curling, and then those sweet lips wrapping and sucking around you, tongue pressing until you’re reduced to faint breath, until you can only cling with the white static tuned to the red-earthen-hot tune of want. 

You come, spread apart like a dam on the moss. He leeches to you, stroking and sucking and curling and pressing until there’s nothing left in you but shallow heaves and twitching limbs. 

The smirk spreading his mouth when you finally settle in the cradle of his arms is so absurdly silly, so endearing and human, so real, you can’t help but laugh, curling drunkenly into it, each breath a stabbing pain you receive gladly. He gathers you, watching as you laugh, seeming pleased with himself as a cat with cream. 

Together, when you’re once again able, you gather what can be salvaged of your clothes. It’s not much, so he cloaks you in his coat, the unstarched fabric simultaneously stiff and soft against your bare skin, sliding silkily with each step. He guides you along by his lithe arm, veins dancing up the tattooed lengths like sinew upon bark, hand now sticky from being buried within you. 

The fallen leaves ease your way, damp earth gathering between your toes, sluicing off the pain with the cool of it. 

He leads you where? There is no door, no hawthorn trees nor spiderwebs, no shimmering air to pass through yet for a moment you are distracted, and then you are in the woods no longer. The walls are earthen, ancient vines thick as elk climbing like supporting pillars, illimitably, impossibly, reaching for nothing but night sky. The stars, though far above, seem sharper, tangible, and close as you might reach should you choose as you stare into the boundless void between; a darkness luring so sweetly you’d tumble into it for a single unsteady step. 

For the first time since he found you, you do not struggle to look away from him. Walls give way to great earthen colonnades, thousand-story balustrades housing hanging gardens of lady slippers and cowslips and columbines glimmering in the light of torches tall as men. Above it all is still the fathomless, terrifying sky, and everywhere there are people, throngs of faerie folk in every direction as far as you can see. Most pay you no mind but those that do, do so with blessedly parlous curiosity, curling lips clueing teeth that’d bite. 

The sheer number of colors and shapes and bodies has your memory grow fading, evanescent. Some have hooves or scales or feathers, beaks or antlers, and others - just a face the wrong side of sharp, limbs lengthened just past that boundary of eldritch. A few stand out: a man, long-haired and goateed who’d pass human were he not nearly twice the size of a regular man, with sclera deep as bitter licorice; another, flat-faced with the lightest eyes you’d ever seen, veins and sinew and muscle coiling and rippling beneath transparent skin; a creature you struggle to wrap your mind around, a great wolf’s maw forced where the young man’s mouth would be, slitted pupils twitching as he watches you pass, hackles raised. 

Your skin erupts in gooseflesh, and Noah bends his head to nip at it. 

There are three girls standing with heads bowed together, faces painted in warm knavery, identical in all but where they split the embodiment of moon, sun, and void. One’s hands look capable of melting your skin off, and another’s claws drip an ichor you’d let run poison deep below your sluicing skin as you’re blinded by the radiant glow of the third. 

You imagine them spreading you apart, tasting you, tasting them. You’re acutely aware of the heady sourness of your arousal, a scent so human amid bark and earth and animal scent, among burning floral oils.

They are beautiful. They are all beautiful, and you’re struck with a pang of precipitous, desperate hunger. You want all of them. Blisteringly. 

“All of them?” he chuckles, nuzzling the side of your face, insectile fingers gripping your jaw firm with practiced precision. “Greedy.”

Your veins already are hot, pulsing iron, overstimulated and frazzled, but now they spill crimson across your cheekbones, hairline tightening at the tone of his accusation. But he only coos, bringing you in with tangling arms round your waist. 

“Spare me,” he sighs against your temple. “Greed is good. You’ll have it all and more later. But first, let us sate that hunger.” Yes, let us, you think. You never could refuse his command. You hope he will feed you more of those delightful fruits.

#bad omens rpf #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian x reader #fern words

[bellaxgiornata]

Forbidden Love [Part One: Encounters]

Pairing: Vampire Henry x Fem!Werewolf!Reader Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings/tags: Smut, blood, biting (I mean...that's a given), bit of enemies to lovers, maybe some angst and fluff

Summary: After awhile you'd grown used to the vampire who often lurked around the woods you hunted in. Though that didn't mean his irritating presence didn't bother you, or that you didn't wonder why he often seemed to be waiting for you–especially since your kinds weren't meant to intermingle.

a/n: This is just a short little mini series in honor of spooky season for Henry. Because how am I supposed to resist a hairy vampire Charlie character? Not sure where I'm going with this besides some smut, I'll be honest. But enjoy and feedback is always appreciated! The installment list for this mini series can be found here.

Tag List: @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment

The nearly full moon hung heavy and low in the sky, just barely brushing the treetops. A light, misty rain had been sneaking its way through the cover of them ever since the sun had set, a refreshing autumn breeze accompanying it as the wind rustled the dried leaves still clinging to the branches around you. Paws racing across the cold and damp dirt, your keen eyes noticed every flicker of moonlight along the forest floor as the clouds trailed their way back and forth across the moon.

It was liberating running loose like this. Weaving your way among the tree trunks and leaping over the trees felled by lightning or rot. There weren’t many in your pack that still enjoyed the freedom that the wolf allotted them–not quite like you. But as a full-blooded werewolf, you’d been born human and wolf, and you certainly embraced both sides of yourself. Which was why you often spent your evenings alone, reveling in the hunt and pushing your limits out in this forest where you were allowed to unleash that other side of yourself.

Because these were your hunting grounds.

Though as you easily hurdled another fallen tree, that familiar and unwelcome smell met your nose. Muzzle wrinkling at the scent, you immediately recognized it. Your pace instantly slowed, your eyes surveying the trees around you. That damn vampire was back again, you could tell by that smell that always accompanied him. Your hair bristled along your back, the scent of blood and death and cologne mingling together in the air. Ears twitching on alert, you listened closely for any sign of movement as you caught your breath.

The faintest sound of leaves crunching underfoot came from nearby and your head snapped sharply in the direction of it, eyes narrowing. Another set of eyes met yours in return, the inhumanly silver gleam an easy tell that the man stepping out from behind the tree wasn’t human. Lips curling back into a sneer, you barred your teeth at the vampire. 

“Straight to the threats again this time?” he asked, amused. 

Hackles raising further, you widened your stance and kept your eyes trained on his every movement. The vampire lifted his hands by his chest as if he meant no harm, taking a few cautious steps forward towards you. A rumbling growl vibrated in your throat, your muscles tensed and ready for a fight. 

You’d stumbled on this vampire a handful of times out here over the past few weeks now, but you had absolutely no idea why he kept appearing. Though the first time you saw him and he’d spotted you, it was almost as if he was in awe of you. On a more recent encounter he’d mentioned that it’d been quite some time since he’d seen one of your kind–one of the few things he’d said to you so far. And that had made sense, considering vampires and werewolves didn’t mix. Your kinds were supposed to abhor each other; each one considering the other an abomination in their own right. 

Yet for some reason, it was like he kept intentionally seeking you out.

“Why don’t you shift back this time?” that smooth voice of his questioned. 

Another rumbling growl tore its way up your throat, ending on a warning bark as you took a step closer. He’d never hurt you before, but why would you let your guard down with him this time? Why would you trust a vampire ? Especially one who seemed determined to get you to shift into a weaker form for him. What was his game?

“You know I don’t speak dog,” he teased, a sly grin slipping onto his lips. “And I don’t quite enjoy the scent of a wet one, either.”

Then fuck off , you thought.

You growled again in irritation, teeth still barred. He only chuckled lightly, his hands still raised as he stood there in his pristine and outdated navy suit. 

“You have my word,” he promised, “’m’not going to hurt you. I only want to talk, I assure you. Nothing more.”

Continuing to stay where you were, hackles raised and lips still curled back in a silent snarl, you carefully surveyed the vampire. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious as to why he kept showing up here, always watching you. Always so goddamned curious about you himself. But as you sniffed the air when another breeze blew past, you noticed that the scent of blood on him was yet again something animal–fox this time. It was always animal blood that you smelled on him, never human.

Your head tilted in confusion to the side, eyes narrowing further at him. An almost questioning rumble vibrated in your chest at the scent. Why did he only ever smell like he’d just drank from an animal?

His hands dropped back to his sides as he nodded, taking another step towards you. “I take it you noticed that I don’t feed on humans,” he said as if he somehow knew what you’d picked up on. “Used to be one. Call me sentimental, I s’pose.”

Gradually the tension eased a bit from your muscles at his reply. That was unusual, you had to admit. Though you still kept your guard up, keeping a close watch on him as he stood not too far from you. You still didn’t exactly trust him. 

He hummed out an approving noise when he noticed your change in demeanor, offering you a smile that was somehow both cheeky and reassuring. You didn’t quite know what to make of that, either. But admittedly you also hadn’t run into another vampire before, so you didn’t really know what to make of them in general. Especially this strange one. You’d only known the things you’d been told your entire life–which was that they were vile, dangerous, and untrustworthy. 

Though this one was…interesting. Intriguing. And, truthfully, you quite liked the look of him. His face was handsome and appealing, there was no denying that. You liked that full, thick beard he had and the way his buttoned up dress shirt was open at the top with his ascot messily undone, revealing a trail of dark hair that you assumed continued down his chest. If he’d been a human or an unmated member of your pack, you’d have been drawn straight to him. 

But he wasn’t any of those things. 

Yet still, your curiosity eventually won out. Deciding you’d shift and hopefully get some answers, you hesitantly began to take a few steps backwards, your eyes still fixed on him in front of you as you moved. The vampire’s head tilted just a bit to the side, his eyes continuing to reflect that inhuman silver color at you through the darkness as he watched you in return. 

You took a few more steps backwards before you ducked behind a nearby tree. Pausing for a moment, you listened and made sure he hadn’t followed after you. He hadn’t though, instead having remained perfectly still right where you’d left him. Uncertain if you were making a grave mistake right now, you closed your eyes and shifted back. 

Shifting now wasn’t like what it had been when you first learned to do it. It wasn’t nearly as painful and difficult anymore, and now you’d grown so used to it that it was as natural as breathing. It took you barely any time at all to switch forms, which would prove in your favor if this vampire decided to attack you, thinking he’d outsmarted you by asking you to shift in the first place.

But as you slowly rose back up to your feet, the large tree trunk still blocking the vampire from your view, you had become very aware of your nakedness. It wasn’t as if you could shift back fully dressed, and you’d long since learned to strip out of your clothing when you shifted to avoid destroying the entirety of your wardrobe. So when you came out here to hunt at night, you always kept your clothing hidden under a rock, ensuring you had something to change back into. It wasn’t like you ever wanted to trek back home in nothing.

Though right now you felt quite vulnerable and exposed as the autumn wind nipped at your bare, damp skin.

Cautiously you stepped around the trunk of the tree, one hand lingering against the rough bark as you moved. The vampire hadn’t left his spot, but you could see his reflective silver eyes roaming over your bare form once you’d appeared again. His gaze and the cold droplets of rain on your skin drew forth goosebumps almost instantly. Despite your weakened vision in the dark in this form, you could still see that cheeky, sly smile drawing itself across his lips once again. 

“Ahh, and now finally we meet,” he said, breaking the silence. “My name is Henry. What would yours be, darling?”

Lip curling back, you pulled a face. “Why do you even want to know that?” you shot at him. “And why should I even tell you to begin with?”

“Would you care for some incentive?” he asked, dark brows raising onto his forehead. “Alright then. One moment.”

He was gone in a blur, your mouth falling open as you gaped at his speed. You’d known vampires were fast, but you hadn’t known they were that fast. 

Mere seconds later he was standing in the exact same place you’d watched him disappear from. It took you a moment to realize why he’d disappeared in the first place, too busy admiring his handsome face that was now looking rather pleased and smug. But then your eyes dropped down, realizing he’d been holding something in his hands–your clothes. Eyes widening in shock, they darted back up towards his face. Henry chuckled softly at your reaction, holding your clothes up even higher for you to see them.

“Incentive enough?” he asked.

“Are you serious?” you snapped at him. “Give me my clothes back!”

He tsk’ed lightly, shaking his head as he lowered the bundle in his hands back to his side. “I’ll only give them back if you give me your name,” he told you. “Though I’ll admit, I’d almost much prefer you didn’t just so I could keep you like that.”

Lips parting in surprise, you felt heat creep its way up your neck and to your cheeks despite the chill of the evening. Was he flirting with you? How absolutely absurd considering what you both were. Your kinds didn’t mix, and they certainly didn’t have relations .

“Why have you been watching me?” you demanded. “What do you want from me?”

Henry’s head tilted a bit to the side as he eyed you. “I believe the deal was for you to tell me your name in exchange for the return of your clothing,” he replied slowly, “but if you’d much prefer I keep your clothes and answer your questions, I’d certainly oblige.”

Teeth clamping down on your lip in irritation, you stood there glaring back at him. What an infuriating, pompous asshole. You’d rather him give you your clothes and leave, never to return back to your hunting grounds without giving up your name to him at all. But as your hand curled into a fist against the tree trunk, you found yourself telling him it in the hopes that he’d finally disappear.

“Pretty name,” he mused.

You scoffed, still glaring back at him. “I could care less whether you find it pretty or not,” you snarled, your left hand extending out towards him. “Give me my clothes and leave .”

“Mmm,” he hummed out, stepping nearer to you. “Thought you wanted to know why I was here?”

Pressing your lips firmly together and squaring your shoulders despite the chill threatening to send a shiver through you, you watched him cautiously approach. He was taking his steps slow and careful as he moved, walking slower than one normally would. Considering how fast you’d just seen him retrieve your clothes, you knew he was doing it on purpose. Probably so he didn’t startle you, you figured.

Eventually he came to a stop just before you, practically invading your personal space with his proximity as the moonlight slipped through the trees and illuminated his features. His eyes were a beautiful hazel color and you were surprised to find nothing terrifying about them besides the mischief lurking inside of them. Inevitably your eyes dropped down to his lips. They were plush and curled into the ghost of an amused smile, though at this distance you could see the faint bit of dried blood at the corner of them from having just fed. Unable to stop yourself at the scent of the fox blood, your eyes lingered at the speck of red as your tongue darted out, licking your lips hungrily.

Henry’s soft laugh drew you out of your thoughts, your heart jumping in your chest at the abrupt sound that had startled you out of your near trance. Your gaze darted back up to his, noticing that he was smirking down at you now, amusement openly glistening in his eyes. A moment later you felt the fabric of your clothes brushing against your bare chest and you gasped lightly, head snapping downwards.

“I believe these belong to you,” he murmured.

Swallowing thickly as your heart hammered in your ears, your hands hesitantly reached out and accepted the bundle of your clothes from him. Gradually your eyes rose back up towards his, fingers tightening around the damp fabric. Brows drawing together, you were confused as to why he was smiling at you like that. Unless he’d mistaken your body’s reaction to him for something else, something it didn’t mean. 

Because it absolutely did not mean what that self-assured smile seemed to think it meant.

“‘M’sure I’ll be seeing you again real soon,” he whispered.

He said your name so softly that you’d have missed it among the dry rustling of leaves if it wasn’t for your heightened sense of hearing. But before you could even respond or yet again ask him why he kept appearing in your forest, he disappeared in a blur, leaving you with more questions than answers as you stood there naked and confused in the rain.

#henry eat locals #henry the vampire #henry x fem!werewolf!reader #eat locals

[soup-of-the-daisies]

Grim-Old-Place

Inspired by this post, by @in-flvx. I fuckin LOVE magical homes.

***

Sirius Orion Black is the last of the male line, and Grimmauld Place Number Twelve is his tomb.

It is his home as well, but that’s neither here nor there. Not for Sirius, who sees further than Number Twelve’s façade: he is its Master, was born in the mistress’ bedroom, learnt to crawl and walk and run in its hallways and learnt to whisper and speak and scream through its doorways. Master learnt to read and write in the study its previous Master stayed in until his death, learnt to sit up straight and hold cutlery in the dining room that ends up abandoned, learnt to swallow his emotions down down down like his father before him and his father before him with a parent looming over his tiny human body.

It’s always been this way. Number Twelve knows no better than how his Masters of the Past and Present have been raised, have grown, have pushed their power into the tough-cold-living stone of its cellars. Number Twelve has belonged to the House of Black since before it was built, before it rose up from pre-existing foundations permeated with old magic. It has belonged to the family for generations, and in this day and age, its current Master shall be its last.

Number Twelve shall listen to him. Number Twelve was built to listen, to accomodate, to warp and change to the wishes and whims of its Master. It became a fortress because its previous Master wanted it to, strengthened the wards he weaved by borrowing his willpower—softened its floors when children fell because Master-of-the-Past did not like cries of pain, bore down on unwanted guests because Master-of-the-Past did not like most people. Number Twelve listens and follows both spoken and unspoken orders. That is what it was built for.

Number Twelve is not just a neglected, abandoned family home. It is not dilapidated and haunted just because it was left to rot for so many years, just because its only inhabitant was for nearly a decade was an old elf influenced by an object emanating magic fouler than any kind Number Twelve has ever housed; it is because its current master is unable to imagine it any differently, and Number Twelve adapts accordingly, because Number Twelve listens.

Master is the last bearing his last name, the last of the male line, and the House of Black is forgotten glory. It is a family that has sunken down from their presumed superior position like a rock hurled into deep waters. How else would this decline present, than decaying walls and festering infestations of vermin? Number Twelve is Master’s prison and it morphs itself into one, turns its air oppressive and its temperature down low, narrows its winding corridors and shrouds itself in misery.

Number Twelve becomes the representation of Master’s biological family, gone and dead-won’t-stay-dead, because Master sees Number Twelve as such. Ghosts creep behind ratty curtains and loom in shadowed corners, become mirages by moonlight and play in the motes of dust, and Number Twelve lets them because this is what Master thinks, what Master says. When Master’s mood drops, so does Number Twelve’s, because when Master is saddened and angered he thinks, deep down, that these other residents ought to be uncomfortable and irritable as well. When Master’s mood becomes cheerful, Number Twelve dutifully pushes the joy into its floorboards and walls, as Master wishes to share his happiness and Number Twelve gladly helps. Number Twelve locks doors when Master does not want to see the residents who are filling Number Twelve with life and Number Twelve changes its layout when Master does not want to be found. Number Twelve was built to listen to and follow orders, and it will do that until it falls apart. What Master wants, Master gets.

Number Twelve does not appreciate the other residents when they upset Master. Number Twelve does appreciate the other residents’ attempts to clean its rooms, wishes it could show how grand and beautiful it used to be and can be. But Master thinks cleaning to be a lost cause, so Number Twelve ensures it is a lost cause: it presses dust out of the smallest corners without any trouble, and it delights in Master’s delight when the other residents feed their frustration into its walls.

Number Twelve listens and acts. Master refuses to look in mirrors lest he see something he does not want to, so Number Twelve darkens them, dirties them, ruins them until they cannot be fixed. Master believes and does not want to be disproven about the hatefulness of the elf, so Number Twelve does not even attempt to improve the relationship. The elf was the one to bring the foul and dirty object through the very wards Master-of-the-Past erected to keep such magic out anyway, and Number Twelve is old enough, fed enough, to hold a grudge. Master’s joy, even if it is tainted by grief and ire, is Number Twelve’s joy. Number Twelve is, after all, simply glad to have a Master.

It has always been this way, even if it is different now, with a Master so similar yet so different to Master-of-the-Past. A fortress and a tomb are synonyms in the loosest definition, and Grimmauld Place Number Twelve now has a Master who sees it as his tomb: as Number Twelve cannot begrudge its Master anything, it will be a tomb. But Master sees it as his home too, deep down, and Number Twelve was built to be a home.

It will adapt accordingly.

#sirius orion black #grimmauld place number twelve #grimmauld place #noble and ancient house of black #drabble #harry potter meta #ish #hp fanfic #most noble and ancient house of black

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

could i request a nikolai x reader imagine with a drunken confession from either party that leads to awkwardness the next day and then a real and sober confession?

Y e s. Sorry to keep you waiting, had a busy week.

On The Rocks - Nikolai Lantsov

Content Warnings: Alcohol Consumption. Drunken Confessions. Suggestive Content. Explicit Language. Not Beta/Proof Read.

Nikolai Taglist: @hauntedenthusiasttragedy , @writingmysanity

It was a dumb statement, clearly all ego and no sense and if Nikolai had thought about it even for a moment he would not have pushed his boastful comment into something he needed to prove, but he was already six shots in when the words left his mouth, and they didn't fall on deaf ears.

"I could still drink you under the table, Kir Bataar," he states, that grin of his so foxlike and devious even without the alcohol spurring him on.

Tamar laughs and she is ready to let it go, but he holds her gaze and Tamar wasn't born to back down from a challenge. "Want to test that, Captain?" She asks, raising a glass.

"This I have to see," you whisper into your drink.

Now you know, Tolya knows, and Tamar knows you should have cut him off a while ago. But it is hard to get Nikolai to listen to sense even at the best of times. It's often just rebutted with "I prefer to live on a healthy diet of impulsivity and regret." And you know how much he will regret when his head is hammering in the morning.

Tamar is still able to hustle cards while Nikolai is forcibly being tapped out. "I'm going to make sure he makes it to his bed in one piece," you tell the others.

"Don't let him drag you overboard," Tolya calls after you.

"Or into bed," Tamar adds before knocking back the last of her drink. You laugh at them both before guiding Nikolai out.

The alcohol has reduced his normally expansive vocabulary, and excessive capability to talk to the limit of your name. Like a request, a need, a prayer. Only your name over and over.

You're trying to ignore him, he is always charming, always flirty, but this... This feels specific. "Any port in a storm," you mumble. Nikolai drunk as he might be looks offended.

"You doubt my intention," he asks. His smile is soft and his eyes don't leave you, if you didn't know how much he had drank you'd almost believe it was really you he wanted, and not just because you are here and he is drunk.

"I doubt that you would be looking at me with those eyes if you weren't drunk," you tell him, making sure to keep him a distance from the edge of ship.

"I crave you," he admits, looking up at the sky, "you might notice that I'm in love with you to the point of breathlessness, if you weren't always looking the other way."

Your throat is suddenly sand dry and you think you might forget how to swallow, but then Nikolai is tripping up over the deck and you remember just how much he has had to drink. It would be foolish, you tell yourself, to put any merit to drunken confessions, things he would not otherwise say. But it doesn't stop your heart from begging you to reach out to him. But you've gotten pretty good at ignoring your heart until now, why should tonight be any different?

"If you keep walking like that Captain you won't get to your-" he pulls you in close, keeping you steady and your words fall short.

"See," he smirks and you can smell the bourbon, "perfectly balanced."

"It's cruel you know," you tell him, keeping your voice genuine but not scolding. "To play games with someones feelings just because you've had enough alcohol to not think your actions have consequences."

He frowns, and in the moonlight you can recognise that look of hurt in those eyes of his, all traces of Sturmhond long gone and just the boy prince remains.

"Come on," you remind him, "before you start the rumours going about why it took me so long to get back."

You wake him with a tall glass of water and he scrunches his face. "Couldn't you spare me some whisky?"

"After your performance last night?" You laugh, "no, Captain, I don't think I can. You drank like a fish, I can imagine your head hurts."

You're not incorrect, his head does hurt, but he wakes to the pain in his chest running a close competition to the banging in his skull.

His memories break the fog of the thumping pain and he wants to have words with himself, strong and explicit. That is not how he wanted to do things.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I was out of line."

"You were drunk, besides it isn't like I took you seriously, I know better," you tell him. That stings Nikolai more than he thought it would.

"What do you mean by that?" He asks, sitting up right.

"I just mean to say I know you have no real interest in me Captian, so I didn't take drunken flirting to heart," you explain.

"What makes you say that?" He asks. You look at him with softness and you are met with almost sad eyes- needy, wanting, restless. The ocean of emotions swimming in that gaze nearly knocks you breathless.

"I," you manage a breath, "Nikolai you cannot ask me that, it's unfair, if I think about the possibility of your feelings for me too long, I get dizzy and lightheaded. I cannot let myself get lost in the illusion youd have feelings for me, it's not fair to me."

"Do you have feelings for me?" He asks.

"That is a bold and frankly unfair question," you start.

"I have not said an untrue word, sober or otherwise, so I need ask, do you have feelings for me, because I want nothing more than to be clear and honest about the depths of mine."

You feel the air in your lungs tight in your chest. "You meant it?"

"I meant it," the look he holds you with is stronger than any physical grip you've ever known. "Do you?"

"I like you," you say a little coy.

"You... like me?" He smirks, edging closer.

"I really like you," you try, leaning to lessen the space.

"I was hoping for maybe a different word," Nikolai admits.

"Want?" You offer. Something in his eyes lights up.

"Oh, that word might be even better,l"

"Here, now?"

"Those are my favourites so far."

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai x reader #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai x you #nikolai lantsov #nikolai duology #rule of wolves #king of scars

[siderealmaven]

Love Letters To Your Zodiac Sign <3

Dear Aries,

Did you know that there is nothing wrong with being angry? It means you’re alive and attuned, sensitive and observant. You’re more intelligent than people give you credit for because the things you’ve seen and come to know are not something you can stay silent about. Your voice and actions have impact, a butterfly affect that spreads like wildfire, igniting the hearts of all who dare to get close to you.

Your anger is a sacred wild thing. It warms the body, it cradles the heart and motivates the mind to strive for something better. When you stop being ashamed of all they have labeled as aggressively too much, you’ll come to understand you need every untamable part of yourself to achieve your dreams. You will accept you could not be led because you were meant to lead and leaders must be able to defend and protect all they hold dear. Be proud of your strength. The world needs it.

Dear Taurus,

Did you know that it’s okay to invest in yourself? You don’t always have to put everyone else first. This body, this mind, this soul are yours and you are in charge of protecting and nurturing it. You cannot allow others to treat you like a plot of farmland to be tilled, sown and reaped until the soil is depleted. There is no smile worth that pain. Don’t even bother with those barbed wire fences, make sure you go for the iron and stone. This land is sacred land.

Don’t listen to the people who try to tell you what you should plant or how to make it grow. You were born for this and the plan must come from you. The vision and the work and the sweat must come from you. They will stand at your gates and beg to sit by your flowers and eat at your table after swearing that you would never harvest anything. Go ahead and let them see your smile as you say “This one is just for me.”

Dear Gemini,

Did you know that it’s okay for you to speak your mind, even before you’ve already made it up? The best ideas come mid-sentence and give you unexpected endings. It’s okay to delight in the excitement of seeing what your brain will divulge next, to feel curiosity towards your own subconscious without shame or reservation. You are like a magician and each time you cast a spell the result is different, a never ending kaleidoscope of brand new colors.

You have the heart of the inventor and the hands of a craftsman, you were built to create with wild abandon. Every time you allow yourself to wander and drift, to rebel against the rigid lines laid out for you, you follow the sound of your own inner voice. It doesn’t matter if anyone else is listening or if anyone else believes. The most important question to ask yourself is this; do you?

Dear Cancer,

Did you know that it is okay to be soft? The walls around your heart shine like armor in the moonlight; a warning to stay back, a lure to come closer. A call to animals with sharp teeth. You don’t have to apologize for the way that you are made or the way that it makes others feel. But you do have a duty to protect and preserve these precious parts of yourself, to treat your body like a shrine to your own life. Putting up walls to do so does not make you a bad person.

In a world that is cold and cruel more often than not, the softness of Cancer is like a warm fireplace, setting the living room aglow. It’s the warm stew in your favorite bowl and the handmade quilt laid over your lap. Without Cancer’s softness there would be no comfort, no nurturing hand, and no growth. There would be no safe places to land. So go head and hang up your artwork and light the scented candle. These small touches are what makes your house into a home and home is what the world needs, more than anything.

Dear Leo,

Did you know that it’s okay to want to be alone sometimes? You were born in the spotlight and I know you love the way it enhances your natural shimmer. There is nobody that can steal the stage and captivate the crowd quite like you can. However I know there are times when you wish you could just sit quietly and observe things, let your sparkly clothes rest and your cheeks recover from flashing that mega watt smile. So why do you keep pushing yourself to do more than is humanly possible?

The ooohs and aaaahs are certainly not worth the burn out. Your best work will be born in those quiet moments of solitude, when you allow yourself to reflect on your own thoughts and feelings without another person’s input. These are good times to ask yourself if your own needs are being met. It’s all too easy to get lost in the sauce when you’re constantly surrounded by others. Today, give yourself a break and ask yourself the real question. What makes you feel like a million bucks even when no one is looking at all?

Dear Virgo,

Did you know that it is okay to not always have the answers? There is a delicate element of beauty to uncertainty and it deserves your attention. There is a softness in the waiting and something like the relief in letting go of the need to know. Your value isn’t dependent upon your ability fix things and provide for others, much less in your ability to spout off information when someone asks for it. Who are you trying to save with your knowledge?

The most important answers are found within the quiet stillness, where thoughts can run free without expectation. Hit pause on your routine, forget about your schedule and step outside of your comfort zone. Leave the mess exactly like it is. Wander outside and let your mind contemplate the shapes in the clouds. Imagine the butterfly floating by has something important to share with you. This is how you save yourself.

Dear Libra,

Do you know that it’s okay to say No? You don’t have to be everything to everybody all of the time. There are pieces of you that were only ever meant to be yours and you have to guard them as fiercely as any treasure. There are times to be graceful and kind, and there are times to growl and roar like the animal we all are at the end of the day. When is the last time that you let your inner beast out to play? Let it scream with wild abandon?

The thing about rules is that we made them up. We can deconstruct and discard them, build them back up in a new image. There are society’s rules and then there are your rules for yourself. Does your personal code of honor actually serve you and your goals, or is it designed to keep you safe on someone else’s chessboard? If you’re tired of playing this game, then take off your helmet. You’re free to create your own rules and your own game, whenever you choose.

Dear Scorpio,

Did you know that it’s okay to let your guard down every once in a while? I know the world is full of terrifying monsters, but you were born with a knife in your hands and that is pretty scary too. Besides, there is more to life than just defending yourself. Like community, friends and family, who are on the other side of these mile high walls. I know you have every reason to be scared of vulnerability but we all know it’s what you crave the most.

Believe it or not, the things about you that make you different than everyone else are the most alluring thing about you. You don’t have to share yourself with everybody, but don’t make people who are jumping through hoops wait outside your door forever. Pay attention to who shows you curiosity and sees your authenticity as the gift it really is. The world has a lot to learn from your emotional strength and resilience.

Dear Sagittarius,

Did you know that it is okay for you to change your mind? That it the beauty of life; it is ever changing and so are you. You don’t have to hang on to your old selves, perspectives, beliefs or desires and carve them into stone. You don’t have to be who you were yesterday. I know that some people will call you flighty or uncommitted, but you were made to explore, discover, and evolve with the times. Stagnation is a disservice to your growth.

Growth is the ultimate commitment and the most difficult to keep, but you’re devoted like no other. You’re allowed to focus on yourself and prioritize your own perspective. The greatest teacher is not someone you must find and follow, but the organ beating inside your chest. Quiet down and listen to its whispers. What truth is pumping through your veins? Are you brave enough to acknowledge it? You’re the only one who can.

Dear Capricorn,

Did you know that you’re allowed to have nice things? There is no point to Life if you don’t let yourself enjoy it. And I don’t mean the expensive cars and designer bags, I mean the homemade muffins fresh from the oven, just like your grandmother use to make. I’m talking about the fresh sheets on the bed sprayed with your favorite scent and letting yourself sleep in a little longer than you’re supposed to. I mean that hug that you really need, but won’t let yourself ask for.

It’s okay to ask for things, to need things, and to want them. Comfort isn’t inherently evil because it is temporary and you are not inherently undeserving because you’ve previously found it out of reach. And my love, don’t you know? You don’t have to work for it all either. The best things in life are free, arriving in the worn palms of a dear friend who’s been wondering where you’ve been. Won’t you open the door?

Dear Aquarius,

Did you know that it’s okay to let yourself been seen? You’re not going to burst into flames the second you allow someone to get to know you. But you certainly will start to slowly decay if you never allow anyone in, just saying. Sure there will be people who don’t understand and even people who purposely misunderstand, but you are free to ignore them the way they are ignoring the best parts of you. You shouldn’t ignore yourself just because they did it first. Who wins in that scenario?

You may not want to hear it, but the best parts of you are the ones you’re afraid to be open about. But that fear isn’t necessarily something that should stop you. The truth is that you are not as alone as you might think. There are lots of people out there who are hiding these same thoughts, feelings and sides of themselves too. When you take the leap and let yourself be authentic, it gives them permission to come out of hiding. So raise your flag high and ignore the haters. The friends and family you’ve been waiting for are making their way towards it.

Dear Pisces,

Did you know that you don’t have to believe everyone? Your heart is big and receptive, so it’s natural for you to want to give everyone the same empathy and benefit of the doubt that you wish was afforded to you. However, not every story is true and not every story is told with good intent. It’s important that you learn to discern the difference between people who have earned your affection and understanding, versus those who are just looking to take advantage of it.

The same way you don’t have to believe everything others say, you don’t have to reject your own story just because someone else has. Sensitive, intuitive people are going to pick up on things that others don’t and their inability to do so is not a reflection of you, your validity, or your worth. Make sure you prioritize relationships with people who believe you the first time, see your sensitivity as a strength, and encourage you to believe in yourself. Your story after all, is worth telling too.

Originally published on @siderealmaven's Patreon Page.

#astroblr #sidereal astrology #astrology community #astrology #valentines day #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Heart's Communication

Because I am never not thinking about Moonlight Chicken, I was thinking about Heart and his backstory around going deaf. From my understanding of Leng's conversation with Li Ming, Heart was not born deaf but went deaf after an illness a few years back. Which is making me wonder about Heart and his ability to vocalize.

To be clear before I continue, I am NOT saying I think Heart needs to or should vocalize only that I wonder if he can.

See, my grandmother went deaf at 12, and while she does have a deaf accent, it is very minimal, because she grew up being able to hear. But if you listen to her talk, she still does have a deaf accent. This is only a relevant statement because she speaks English which isn't tonal in the way that Thai is and I don't know if having even a small deaf accent with tonal languages would make it difficult to understand.

Why am I wondering if Heart can vocalize? And if he can if what he is saying could be understood without sign language to support it?

Because to me it changes how I view Heart. His parents don't sign, they might understand some of his signs, but they very clearly are using that same spiral notebook to talk to him, leaving him slips of paper on the fridge and have not once (in their granted minimal screen time) been shown to use any sign language. And yes, writing is functional, it'll work, it gets the job done, but it's slow and laborious. They very obviously do not know how to navigate having a deaf son, and are either ashamed at his deafness, thus hiding him away, or doing what many able-bodied people do to disabled people and infantilizing their son, not as much hiding him as keeping him in a cage for protection.

So... If Heart can speak and be understood, and he is intentionally withholding his voice then that paints a different picture to me of what Heart is doing/who he is as a character. If he is intentionally withholding his voice, then he is purposefully trying to force his parents to engage with him in the new context of his life. He is intentionally making it as difficult for them to understand him as they are making it difficult for him to understand them because they don't know sign language.

If he can't be understood when he speaks, then he has little to no control over his own connection to people. He can't try to force his parents hand here, he can't issue any test, he is just completely cut off from the hearing world at large. To me, if he can't be understood when he speaks and therefore lost his voice as well, he has less power over his parents, because he has nothing to fall back on if the isolation of not being able to communicate ever gets to be too much.

Either way he is facing the same reality. His parents do not care enough about him to adapt the same way he has had to.

And we know Heart uses people's ableism against them. He pretends not to understand what is happening when Jim and Li Ming are called in to talk about the alcohol in order to get out of trouble, but Li Ming calls him out on it and continues to call him out on it (re: the mop). If Heart can be understood when he speaks then, once again, it paints a different picture of what he is trying to do with Li Ming. If he is intentionally withholding his voice so that Li Ming will under-estimate him, will leave him alone, won't make him work, won't be able to get mad at him for framing Li Ming for the alcohol. Because, obviously, if he can't talk and he can't hear he didn't know what he was doing. But NO because Li Ming sees Heart trying to use his deafness and is like "write it down then" (I will come to your level) because he has (presumably) never met a deaf person and therefore has no knowledge of sign language, but he bridges the communication gap in the only way he knows how. If Heart knows that Li Ming has immediately caught on to the fact Heart plays up his helplessness to get what he wants, and Heart is intentionally withholding his voice then maybe he is testing Li Ming. Will this be someone who will stop treating him like he's fragile? Will this be someone who will try at all? And he does. And then it doesn't matter if he can be understood through speech, because he doesn't need to. He has his language and Li Ming has it too. It's not a life line, it's proof.

If he can't be understood through speech, then Li Ming showing interest in and working to actually learn sign language feels like more of a lifeline to me. It's allowing Heart to have and hold power he hasn't been able to have in years, because he can finally be understood. Because he is more easily able to speak his mind, to connect and relate to someone, to show and express his personality. No matter what, he won't be as isolated any more.

Either way the outcome is the same, he has found someone that cares enough about him to adapt the same way he has had to.

Either way it is a heart breaking realization that his own family won't put in the work, and a heart warming realization that to someone he is still worth putting in the work for.

Heart does not need to speak, he doesn't need to vocalize. I don't think we as an audience have a right to know whether or not he can speak, or what his voice would sound like if he did. Heart has language, and plenty of it. So I guess I wrote all of this this just because I want to speculate about Heart's motivations and to try to figure out how much agency Heart has over his own isolation.

#moonlight chicken #moonlight chicken the series #heartliming #limingheart #heart x li ming #heart x liming #geminifourth #fourth gemini #gemini norawit #fourth nattawat #the midnight series #gmmtv #aof noppharnach #mlc #mlcts #thai bl #bl drama #thai series #shower thoughts with wen-kexing-apologist #moonlight chicken analysis #communication #trying really hard not to think about how angry heart could feel about how little his family care and how trapped he is by them #also trying not to think about him potentially breaking his arm in a motorbike accident next episode and not being able to sign #side note: i really need to get back to learning asl #moonlight chicken episode 4 #mlc ep 4 #moonlight chicken ep 4 #moonlight chicken ep 3 #moonlight chicken ep 2 #moonlight chicken ep 1

[whorediaries-09]

born to die

pairing- cultleader!sirius black x reader warning(s)- mentions of murder, gore, dark themes. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- inspiration from a novel i'm writing!

ps- i'll only do a part two if people want to. this fic is not everyone's cup of tea, so i'll leave it be at this. i just wanted to tease the idea. :) let me know your thoughts though!

the slut club

choose your last words, this is the last time 'cause you and I, we were born to die

secrets were whispered ear to ear, scrolls of parchments with inked prophecies and lores were trapped under the facade of an unassuming bookstore. the cloaks of secrets unveiled a monthly ritual under pale moonlight, blood stained clothes and gashed wounds. it was an enigmatic society, with brilliant minds who were thirsty for esoteric knowledge and truths, known as the crimson harbringers. only those who unraveled the mysteries, could have initiated the cult's existence, which contained a collection of ancient texts, manuscripts and artifacts, some of which were considered to possess unimaginable powers.

this clandestine organization's helm, simply called 'the voice' was a figure of mythic proportions, who was believed to possess the ability to lull one with their voice, enchanting them under their spell, alluding to the capacity of manipulation and control over those in their circle. rumor had it, they could foresee the future, decode prophecies hidden within the time-worn parchments of manuscripts. the visions into fate and destiny were considered to be the cult's most cruelly and closely guarded secrets, the key to unlocking the universe's ultimate secret.

the chairs would scratch against the wood, creating an echo that would dull out the emptiness of the chair at the end of the high end oak table. the dim candlelight flickers over the masks of anonymity they wore. it was an eerie trepidation that crept under your skin, as you searched sat, squirming within the unfamiliar environment. but it was a mission, to end the rumors of the witches, to demolish the fear felt because of your kind.

there was a sense of shifting, a new tension in the air as the creaking floorboards announced the arrival of the helm named as the 'the voice'. he lifted his hand, rubbing his index finger against his thumb. the candlelight, the candle flame burning out with a wisp of smoke. hotness creeps on your face, as the mask of anonymity melted away. the silence within the darkness was eerie, heavy shrouded breathes echo across the room, oozing respect for the speaker.

'we meet again,' he says. the rumors about his voice weren't whispered tales. it tingled under your skin, with a feeling that made you loose your rational thoughts, clogged your head. it was as if his voice was gifted by secrets of bellowing winds, the rain and the whooshing of the trees.

'we have gathered here to discuss a recent prophecy our members have discovered. it contains a lore about aftermaths of the saints, who discovered the existence of witches.'

a collective gasp stunned the gathering.

'it speaks how witches tortured them into insanity, brutally murdering them. it explores the spectrum of tortures, where we discover how hard it is for human beings like us to exist, within the clutches of the wizards, and how painfully cruel they are,'

you sunk your nails into the skin of your toes. while what his lips spit out hurt your heart, your brain was too fogged to understand him, to fight the control he had over you, just by his words. you bit your lip, a feeling of anger overcame you as you fought your internal battle.

if you had to end these stereotypes, you had to sit there and listen. you had to understand the perspective of the other side who thought of your kind as dangerous. you had to curate a new vision for them, to fight against them.

'we have to destroy them, remove their very existence. suck their souls and rip them apart! ruin them like how they've been ruining us all these years! we have to show them how it feels to live with fear, and breath bloodshed every breathing moment into their lives.'

'if we really torture them, then what's the difference between them and us?' you speak. the room is dark, silent, but you know pairs of eyes are searching for you, some even staring at you. you realize no one dares to cut him off while he speaks, or maybe his influence is too empowering. either ways, the silence is scary when it envelopes you. he doesn't speak further, and you're not sure whether he simply doesn't care or he simply doesn't want to.

'i'm in authority. your minds have been shaped solely by me, and just me. you're not supposed to blaster out your opinions, upon mine, do you understand fellow member? or do i have to end your fate with destiny?' he breathed. you could hear his gritted teeth. 'meeting dismissed.' he ended, as the candleflame burned back to life again. you never saw his face, the mask framing his face again. it was different than what the others, including you were wearing. you sensed it was his way of standing out, of being different.

****

the distant echo of your footsteps reverberated through the empty streets. each turn towards your house crowded you into the labyrinth of shadows, of a fear that burned within your heart. you felt someone, but it was too quiet. all you could hear was your own footsteps against gravel.

while you could've disapparated, you wanted to walk to your house. you wanted to feel the cold air slashing through your skin while you let your thoughts consume you, rot your brain. it wasn't a fruitful try, but it was something. to begin with. to work with.

you murmured against your breathe, unlocking your door. the door clicked open.

'so you are a witch,'

the similar voice crawled behind you. before you could scream, you were pushed into your own house, the doors closing on it's own accord. you were trapped inside your own home, with your wand pointed at you.

dark eyes stormed into you, as he moved closer, with you taking your steps backwards. you were trapped against the wall and his chest. you gulped,

'you can't do anything with that wand.'

he provided you a lop-sided smile in response. brushing long strands of raven hair away from his face, he whispered,

'you're not sure about that sweetheart are you? i can do wonders with this wand. what makes you think i'm not a wizard?'

you splutter on you words,

'b-but you-'

his hands wrap around your throat, mocking you,

'b-but you-. it's a ploy you stupid bitch. it's a prophecy i've predicted. it's a ploy to get the wizards and witches rule over the muggles. you don't know the things i've gone through to get here! kill my friends. and oh it was just the beginning,'

you tried to breathe against the constriction, but he hardened the hold on your neck.

'i'll tell you a tale. it's so enthralling, you'd love it. you'd love to hear how i ripped out hearts, enjoyed as the blood stained my fingers. you'd love to hear how tearfully i could make them beg before they lost the hope of life in their eyes, and i'd love to chop them up, fed them to the wolves. i'll tell you all of them, make you slice through them.'

his dark eyes were all you remembered before the world blacked out.

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius black smut #the marauders #sirius black x reader #marauders era #sirius black imagine #sirius black thoughts #sirius black x oc #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanart #sirius being sirius #sirius black fluff #sirius black x you

[mayabooowrites]

Please leave me alone//T.R

Summary: after your daughter is born you are terrified for her fate

Warnings: toxic relationship toxic Tom riddle

The day you regret is the day you finally gave in to Tom riddle and fell for him, he wouldn't stop being 'romantic' he made you think he loved you to get you with him

Then gaslit and manipulated you made you lose everyone around you so all you had was him

Locked you in his house and never let you leave after you graduated Hogwarts

Then he got you pregnant 9 months ago but you overheard him talking about things you didn't even know were happening a war him being Voldemort

No Tom riddle charm could change the hate you felt for him saying he'll kill his own child if it's the prophecy child

You found everything out and broke free of him and ran away in the middle of night to the only people who'd forgive you

Your parents they took you in and hid you from Tom

You ended up having your daughter at home too scared to go anywhere

So today your mom helped you deliver her she was so beautiful once she was born and you could hold her

You never wanted Tom to see him ever

"I'm gonna protect you with my life I promise he'll never see you he won't even know your name." You say as you were holding her as you lay in your childhood bedroom and smile at her feeling so at peace you have your daughter and your away from tom

Your mom had went downstairs to make you something after 8 hours of delivery your mom knew you needed something to eat

But right then you heard your window open and a figure wearing a hooded robe with the hood up steps in. Who knows how long he was waiting on that roof to come in, he could have watched you give birth and been here. And that disgusting you

You hold your daughter close scared knowing exactly who this is "I said in my letter never come and find me!" You say and the figure smirks as the moonlight was shining just enough for you to see their mouth

"You think you can escape me?" Tom says and your daughter starts to cry and tom looks down in your arms tom goes to touch her but you pull her away

"Don't touch her!" You yell and then tom hears your parents coming up the stairs and as they run in he freezes them

"Good now no more interruptions." Tom says as your parents frozen body's were pushed out the door and Tom closes it

"Please leave me alone." You say and Tom smirks as he forces you to look at him as his hood was now down and he looked so angry that you left

"Never your mine." Tom says as he caressed your cheek as tears kept falling "You will never be able to escape me I will always find you." Tom says and you just wanted to be away from him you don't wanna be with him anymore how can you love him when he's a monster?

"Your a monster." You say and Tom smiles

"You'll learn to accept it." Tom says as you were shaking in fear and Tom then picks up your daughter and you try and grab her back but he points his wand at you "don't stop me or else I will have to hurt you and I really don't wanna but I'll have to." Tom says and you nod as you just lay there and Tom holds his daughter "You'll be coming back now." Tom says and you shake your head

"Never now give me my daughter I'm never coming back to you just leave me alone please. Your a monster for ever saying you'd kill my daughter I hate you!" You say and Tom shakes his head

"Well I won't be now because she wasn't even born close to when I'd have to kill her if she was so she's safe better?" Tom says and did he not get it?

"No because you thought of ever hurting her and that disgusts me now go away please just let me live my life please." You say and Tom laughs as he grabs your face and forces you to look at him

"No because your mine forever if you don't come with me I'll kill you and take her so make your choice your coming or dying." He says and you sigh as more tears fill your eyes

"Ok Tom I'll listen." You say and Tom smirks

"Good girl now we'll be leaving after you say goodbye to your parents forever love." Tom says as he helps you up as you were still weak from birth and hurt and he walked you over to your parents who were still frozen

"I'm sorry I love you both so much but I have to protect my daughter so I have to go back please forgive me." You say as Tom pulls you away and gave you back your daughter then apparated back to the manor you've been stuck in for over 3 years it feels like in Tom just gets you in bed and tells you to rest and labour must have been so hard especially without him around, you hated him so much but you have to be with him to protect your daughter and stay alive

"You will never escape me." He says and you know you finally get it now

Your his prisoner and he'll never leave you alone

#fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #harry potter #fanfic #x reader #xreader fanfiction #harrypotter #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #toxic relationship #toxic Tom riddle

[vala-dreams]

I can see tall Jazz getting really used to manhandling people around.

Like she's probably had to do it since the day Danny was born like look at the state of their house,,,,someone had to be ready to grab the baby at all times and y'all already know that someone ain't gonna be Jack or Maddie.

Not that they don't care about Danny. They're just far to consumed by their work to be bothered. Which is basically abuse cause child neglect but we can discuss that at a later date.

So yeah, Jazz getting really used to manhandling Danny to get him out of harm's way and later doing the same for Sam and Tucker when the whole Phantom fiasco comes around.

I feel like she would be very frustrated during this time, especially in the early days because up to this point she has considered herself as Danny's protector. His guardian. The one who would always keep him away from harm, the girl who would always be there to carry him away from danger. But it isn't like that anymore. She can't fight ghosts. Sure, there's the thermos and all the ghost hunting equipment but she knows that none of that matters. It doesn't matter if she can fight ghosts or not, Danny is going to fight them anyway.

And that scares her. And it frustrates her too, because she can't just stop Danny from fighting. It isn't going to help him. It isn't going to help if she finds some miracle way to make Danny listen because she knows that he feels guilty. She knows that he thinks it's his fault that ghosts are terrorizing Amity now. The feeling must be bad enough now as it is.

And so it goes. Everytime there's a rouge ghost, everytime Phantom has to fight, she's there. Everytime the Fentons come out to hunt her brother, she's there to stope them. Everytime there's a civillian trapped under miles of debri, she's there to tear it away with her bare hands.

Because she can't sit and do nothing. Because she can't just stand on the sidelines and watch. Because she can't let him do this alone.

She is Jazz Fenton, daughter of two of the most brilliantly deranged paranormal scientists, armed with the equipment to show for it. She is Jazz Fenton, the elder sister always looking out for herself and her brother, even when her parents didn't. She is Jazz Fenton, the girl who refuses to let the people she cares about suffer.

She is Jazz Fenton, and she is The Guardian.

....

And then, some nights, when the ghosts have been defeated, when all their wounds, all their rips and tears have been sewed back together, Danny would crawl up into her arms and fall asleep.

In those nights, with soft moonlight streaming in through her window, with Danny's slight, cold weight in her arms, she feels like a person again.

Just for a moment. Just for a little while till the world needs The Guardian again.

Till Danny needs The Guardian again.

............................................................................

THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A TALL JAZZ SHITPOST WHA—

Okay anyway, superhero Jazz au in which Jazz is called The Guardian.

She has eldest daughter syndrome. And will psychoanalyze everyone except herself so she doesn't even know it

#danny phantom #danny fenton #jazz fenton #big sister syndrome #maddie fenton #jack fenton #the fentons are not good parents #jazz has eldest daughter syndrome #tall jazz #this started out as a tall jazz shitpost but it ran away from me and became this #angst #dp angst #is it angsty? idk #superhero jazz fenton #i already have a cool costume cooking in my brain #the guardian jazz fenton #jazz fenton is a good sister #elder sister jazz fenton #danny is tiny #hes so short #short danny #smol #jazz can pick him up and wear him like the world's most ghosty hat #dp #family feels