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workathomemom13 · 6 days

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Furiosa’ Fires Up Cannes With 6-Minute Standing Ovation for Anya Taylor-Joy and Teary Chris Hemsworth

In a remarkable display of cinematic fervor, "Furiosa" ignited the Cannes Film Festival with an electrifying premiere that left audiences in awe and admiration. As the highly anticipated prequel to George Miller's iconic "Mad Max" series, "Furiosa" has been the subject of much anticipation and speculation. However, its unveiling at Cannes exceeded even the loftiest of expectations, earning a thunderous six-minute standing ovation and moving its stars, Anya Taylor-Joy and Chris Hemsworth, to tears.

The film, directed by George Miller and starring Taylor-Joy as the eponymous Furiosa and Hemsworth in a yet undisclosed role, promises to delve deep into the backstory of one of cinema's most enigmatic and beloved characters. Set in the dystopian world of the Wasteland, "Furiosa" takes audiences on a thrilling journey through a harsh and unforgiving landscape, where survival is a constant struggle and hope is a rare commodity.

The Cannes premiere offered a tantalizing glimpse into the world of "Furiosa," showcasing its breathtaking visuals, adrenaline-pumping action sequences, and gripping emotional depth. From the moment the lights dimmed and the opening credits rolled, it was clear that audiences were in for a cinematic experience unlike any other.

Anya Taylor-Joy's portrayal of Furiosa captivated audiences, with her fierce determination and steely resolve bringing the character to life in vivid detail. Taylor-Joy's performance was nothing short of mesmerizing, showcasing her range as an actress and solidifying her status as one of Hollywood's brightest talents.

Equally impressive was Chris Hemsworth's performance, which reportedly left the actor visibly moved during the film's emotional climax. While details about Hemsworth's character remain shrouded in mystery, his presence on screen was undeniable, adding depth and complexity to the film's narrative.

But perhaps the most unforgettable moment of the evening came during the film's conclusion, when the credits began to roll and the audience rose to their feet in a spontaneous display of appreciation and admiration. For six minutes, the theater echoed with thunderous applause and cheers, a testament to the film's undeniable impact and the talent of its cast and crew.

As the applause finally subsided and the lights came back on, it was clear that "Furiosa" had left an indelible mark on the Cannes Film Festival and the hearts of all who had the privilege of witnessing its premiere. With its captivating story, stunning visuals, and powerhouse performances, "Furiosa" has set the stage for what promises to be an unforgettable cinematic journey, one that will undoubtedly leave a lasting impression on audiences around the world.

#Furiosa #In a remarkable display of cinematic fervor #“Furiosa” ignited the Cannes Film Festival with an electrifying premiere that left audiences in awe and admiration. As the highly anticipat #“Furiosa” has been the subject of much anticipation and speculation. However #its unveiling at Cannes exceeded even the loftiest of expectations #earning a thunderous six-minute standing ovation and moving its stars #Anya Taylor-Joy and Chris Hemsworth #to tears.#The film #directed by George Miller and starring Taylor-Joy as the eponymous Furiosa and Hemsworth in a yet undisclosed role #promises to delve deep into the backstory of one of cinema's most enigmatic and beloved characters. Set in the dystopian world of the Waste #“Furiosa” takes audiences on a thrilling journey through a harsh and unforgiving landscape #where survival is a constant struggle and hope is a rare commodity.#The Cannes premiere offered a tantalizing glimpse into the world of showcasing its breathtaking visuals #adrenaline-pumping action sequences #and gripping emotional depth. From the moment the lights dimmed and the opening credits rolled #it was clear that audiences were in for a cinematic experience unlike any other.#Anya Taylor-Joy's portrayal of Furiosa captivated audiences #with her fierce determination and steely resolve bringing the character to life in vivid detail. Taylor-Joy's performance was nothing short #showcasing her range as an actress and solidifying her status as one of Hollywood's brightest talents.#Equally impressive was Chris Hemsworth's performance #which reportedly left the actor visibly moved during the film's emotional climax. While details about Hemsworth's character remain shrouded #his presence on screen was undeniable #adding depth and complexity to the film's narrative.#But perhaps the most unforgettable moment of the evening came during the film's conclusion #when the credits began to roll and the audience rose to their feet in a spontaneous display of appreciation and admiration. For six minutes #the theater echoed with thunderous applause and cheers #a testament to the film's undeniable impact and the talent of its cast and crew.#As the applause finally subsided and the lights came back on #it was clear that “Furiosa” had left an indelible mark on the Cannes Film Festival and the hearts of all who had the privilege of witnessin

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fqntasies · 1 month

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Just a taste, baby - Feyd Rautha x Reader

summary: You and Feyd-Rautha have been connected through dreams since childhood; a complex inner-working of the Bene Gesserit mothers to join your bloodlines. It binds the two of you in a pull you can't escape (nor do you want to). Feyd is absolutely feral for you.

words: 1,258

disclaimer: characters may be out of character, specifically feyd, considering his desperate softness here. just a forewarning.

You were trapped, breaths coming out of shallow pants as you felt the scratch of the cement structure beneath your palms. He had you against the wall in a hidden alcove; along one of the lengthy corridors of the palace in Giedi Prime. Your mouths were just breaths apart. In fact the Harkonnen before you seemed intent on matching your breaths, mingling them. Tasting your tiny pants as his own. It made your eyes heavy, made you want to tilt your head back and close your eyes, give him access to the expanse of your neck.

"sweetness." He rasped, unable to control himself. The Na-Baron wrapped an arm about your waist, a vice arching you against him as he lowered a wanting mouth to your neck, licking and sucking where the two met. You mewled at the wet heat, felt him growl desperately at the taste.

The two of you hadn't even kissed yet - but the wait; the dreams - you both knew each other to the soul.

---- flashback ----------

The sands of Arakis and Geidi Prime alike carried mysteries of prophesies of the lisan-al-gaib. But midst such tales, the Bene-Geserit mothers also had worked to connect bloodlines through dreams. The Na-Baron and the princess of Arrakis had been bound by such since birth. A well-planned move to align feuds and place power into wanting hands in preparation of war. A web of politcal conspiracy only they controlled. Their plans could not be foiled.

But Feyd couldn't care less about such witchcraft; and neither, if one were honest, could you. The two of you had known of this binding since a young age. And when you had met as children too - the connection had been strong.

"Their line is bright" The reverend mother's voice had burned into your mind, even at 10 years old.

You remembered her cloaked form; a black shadow against the haze of the horizon, a tower above you as she turned from your parents. Her voice had been void of emotion, except for a smugness you didn't understand. But when you turned to glance at the older boy before you (such a uniquely beautiful boy; broad shoulders and smooth skin, black attire across a lithe form), his eyes shone with an intensity that surprised her. Dark, watching, intrigued. He intimidated you. He made you curious.

At 15 years of age, the Na-Baron hadn't spoken in their meeting; but he had felt more than he had imagined. The girl...she had made him feel things. It confused and awakened him to something he had never known. His uncle had never spoken of such a pull. A need.

When the ship had arrived to his homeworld, and the strange foreigners parted like a sea, Feyd-Rautha found himself straightening to his full height; head lowered as he studied them beneath an angled gaze. Garbs of strange colors - hair he had never seen before in elegant styles. He would be Harkonnen predator. He would be a warrior. Strike fear in these alien people, show the Baron he was not swayed so easily by something new.

But then-

Swathed in layers of white, a girl stepped forward; dainty and gracious above all else; practically floating across the landing platform. Yet her eyes betrayed her; darting to capture the landscape, thrown off perhaps by the infrared of Giedi Prime's black sun above them.

She was drinking in the strange newness before her, and then they found him. Feyd felt his chest tighten. Fists clenched. Heat brimmed under the chestplate of his armor.

She looked like some newborn animal, caught in his gaze. But they both felt it. The familiarity. The warm hum between them. It made you want to slip from the safety of your parents and stand beside him, as though his shadow was more protection than the whole parade your own family brought with them. You wondered if he'd felt the same.

Three nights later, you had dreamed of him. A bit older, hand in his as he raised it to his lips. His eyes had never left yours. As a young girl it made you blush. Now...

--------------------------------

You made a breathy sound as his tongue lathed the mark he had made, moving with a lazy carelessness across your pulse, hungry above all else, uncaring for decorum. He wanted to devour you entirely. He wanted you to see you helpless and delirious against him, just as you were now. As you were in all his dreams.

He knew you'd had them all too. His eyes on you at their wedding. His tongue against yours, moans and tastes and hunger. You watching from the arena as he slaughtered man after man, coated and heaving. He felt like a beast.

"Feyd-" His name barely formed, like a prayer from your lips.

His eyes nearly lolled in his head at the way you sounded, and he dragged his wanting mouth up to meet yours. Wet and wanting. Feyd's free hand shifted to engulf your slender neck, moving your head against his mouth to deepen the kiss, taste all of you. Consume.

The Na-Baron was all muscle and prowess, a looming figure that practically dwarfed you. The spanse of his shoulders alone were sinful, and deep down you loved how it felt to be completely in his grasp. Guiding you in your movements.

Feyd's tongue sought yours as much as he could, controlling and demanding - but you were a needy little thing too, weren't you? In the haze of passion you were pressing into him - leaning just as much towards his heat as he was pushing you both together. You sucked his plush bottom lip into your mouth - unable to help yourself. After all, why was he made so beautiful, if not to kiss? He was quick to follow, biting your own with a growl that made your knees practically give, and following with his greedy tongue.

"You're going to be my wife." the words are a promise, his eyes glittering under the low light; shadows flashign with the coming storm. You part your mouth as though to taste him again, a helpless 'please' slipping past as you arch in his grasp.

Feyd practically took you then and there. Enter the nearest room... make all his dreams a reality. His patience was nearly worn thin. Years of waiting, of hunger. And now it was here. You were in his reach, that tempting little waist; those hips. It made him absolutely insane.

He wets his lips, gaze feverish.

"tomorrow. tomorrow sweetness, hmm? Can wait that long?" He intends to tease you, but he knows he speaks to himself, his jaw locking as he adjusts his arms to press you against him.

You're so fucking soft. It makes him groan. Of all the things he's known in his life, softness was not one of them, save for the flashes of you in his dreams. He craved you like a creature starved. Thoughts of you made him fight better. Made him kill easier.

There's a rumble suddenly of a drone; Harkonnen orders breaking the silence in distorted code. The words don't make sense to your ears. Not yet anyway. You hope to make progress in the language, but it was a challenge; more than others. The variety of tones were a feat for any foreigner to take on; but this was to be your home. A lady of harkonnen would learn her husband's native tongue.

You know he has to leave.

#feyd x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #dune 2 #dune part 2 #dune fanfiction #dune fanfic #austin butler #feyd #reader insert #reader #fanfiction #fanfic #the bald man has me in a chokehold #i love when powerful men are desperate for their soft ladies

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dolcettamagica · 2 months

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𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐈'𝐦 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞

virgin!sukuna x virgin!reader, modern delinquent au

request: can you write modern au!sukuna and fem reader taking each others virginity with a established relationship tags: fluff, fingering, penetration, petnames (princess, baby, babygirl), sukuna is a delinquent; @mangiswig notes: minors dni, sukuna is lowkey ooc wc: 2.0k

Despite spending a significant portion of his formative years behind bars, the weight of consequence failed to curb the rebellious spirit of Sukuna. Emerging from the confines of incarceration with a hardened demeanor and a penchant for defiance, he returned to the streets that had once ensnared him with a renewed sense of determination. To Sukuna, the rules of society were nothing more than shackles, constraining him from the freedom he craved and the life he believed he deserved.

Fuelled by a potent cocktail of resentment and bravado, Sukuna navigated the urban landscape with the swagger of someone who had stared into the abyss and refused to blink. From petty theft to brazen acts of vandalism, he left a trail of chaos in his wake, a testament to the indelible mark of his troubled past. For Sukuna, the cycle of delinquency was a familiar refrain, a symphony of defiance that echoed through the corridors of his consciousness, a reminder of the streets that had shaped him and the choices that had defined him.

Yet Sukuna found an unexpected beacon of light in the form of you, a college student whose innocence and sweetness stood in stark contrast to his own turbulent world. Your love was a fragile bloom in the midst of concrete, delicate yet resilient, defying the odds with each passing day. Drawn to your gentle spirit and unwavering kindness,Sukuna found himself navigating unfamiliar territory, his rough edges softened by the warmth of your affection.

For almost a year now, you have been the anchor in Sukuna's stormy sea, a steady presence amidst the chaos of his life. With your unwavering belief in his capacity for change and your steadfast support, you became his guiding star, illuminating the darkest corners of his soul with the light of your love. Despite the whispers of doubt that lingered in the recesses of his mind, Sukuna couldn't deny the profound impact you had on his life, your presence a balm to his weary heart.

Your love for Sukuna knew no bounds, transcending the boundaries of societal norms and expectations. Despite the whispers of caution that echoed through the halls of your mind, you refused to turn away from the tumultuous storm that raged within him. To you, Sukuna was more than just the sum of his mistakes; he was a complex tapestry of darkness and light, a flawed masterpiece in need of redemption.

While others cowered in fear at the mere mention of his name, you stood unwavering by his side, your love a shield against the slings and arrows of judgment. You understood the depths of his anger, the ferocity of his defiance, yet you chose to love him all the same. For you, love was not about changing someone into who they should be, but rather embracing them for who they were, scars and all.

The decision weighed heavily on your heart, a tender offering you longed to bestow upon Sukuna, a symbol of your unwavering commitment to your love. With trembling hands and a courage born of devotion, you found yourself standing before him, your heart laid bare in the flickering light of your shared intimacy. “I want you to take my virginity tonight, Sukuna. I’m yours, fully.”

As your words pierced the air, a surge of conflicting emotions washed over Sukuna. His heart quickened with excitement, the prospect of possessing you in such an intimate way igniting a primal fire within him. Yet, beneath the surface, a flicker of nervousness danced in the depths of his eyes, betraying the weight of responsibility he felt in this moment. There was something he never told you. Sukuna, the known and feared criminal, was a virgin himself. He didn’t have the chance to lose it since most of his teen years were spent in jail and he met you shortly after his release. Yet, Sukuna was sure that he would manage to not have to confess to his virginity.

Yet his dominant nature surged forth, a primal instinct asserting its dominance over his senses. With a predatory gleam in his eyes, Sukunas demeanor shifted, his posture becoming more assertive, more commanding. He saw this as an opportunity to claim you, to mark you as his own in the most intimate way possible. “Get on the bed, baby”, and you followed his command.

With a magnetic pull, Sukuna led you to his bed, your eyes locked in a heated exchange of desire and anticipation. The air was charged with electricity, every touch igniting a wildfire of longing between you. As you sank into the soft embrace of the mattress, a primal hunger consumed you, driving you to explore each other with an urgency born of passion.

With a possessive grip, Sukuna claimed your lips in a searing kiss, his dominance asserting itself with every fervent movement. His hands traced the curves of your body with a possessive intensity, his touch igniting a feverish need within you. You yielded to him willingly, your own desire mingling with his in a potent cocktail of longing and surrender.

“You’re so pretty, baby. I love you so much.”

Your clothes became mere obstacles, discarded in a frenzy of desire as you bared yourselves to each other without reservation. With each caress, each whispered promise, you delved deeper into the depths of your desire, your bodies becoming one in a dance of carnal pleasure and primal need.

“You belong to me, baby. All of you. Only to me. I’ll be your first and your last.”

As your passion reached its zenith, you lost yourselves in each other, your moans of ecstasy filling the air as you surrendered to the intoxicating rhythm of your desire. In that moment, on Sukuna's bed, you were consumed by the flames of your passion, your love, a blazing inferno that burned brighter with every touch, every kiss, every whispered promise of forever.

With a possessive hunger burning in his eyes, Sukuna trailed his fingers along your trembling form, tracing the contours of your body with a reverence that bordered on worship. As he settled between your parted thighs, he felt your pulse quicken beneath his touch, your breath hitching in anticipation of the ecstasy to come.

“You’re already soaked, princess. Been waiting for this, huh?”

With a predatory grace, he teased you with feather-light caresses, his fingers dancing over your skin in a tantalizing rhythm. Your soft gasps filled the room as he explored your most intimate depths, his touch sending shivers of pleasure cascading through your body.

With each stroke, he felt you surrendering to him, your barriers crumbling in the face of his relentless desire. He relished in the power he held over you, reveling in the way you arched into his touch, your cries of pleasure music to his ears, the way your wet pussy clenched and pulsated around his slender fingers. With a primal hunger driving him forward, Sukuna delved deeper into you, his fingers becoming an extension of his own desire as he brought you to the brink of ecstasy again and again.

“Don’t cum yet, babygirl. You wanted something else inside you, remember? Do you still want it?”

“Y–yes…ahh…f–fuck, yes, please, Sukuna.”

As Sukuna's touch grew bolder, you surrendered completely to the sensations coursing through your body. With each deliberate stroke of his fingers, you melted further into submission, your moans filling the air as you abandoned yourself to the overwhelming pleasure he bestowed upon you.

Your body quivered with every skilled movement, each sensation amplified by the electric tension that crackled between you. Your breath hitched with every caress, your heart racing as you surrendered to the blissful torment of his dominance.

With a possessive hunger burning in his eyes, Sukuna reveled in the sight of you laid bare before him, your submissive surrender stoking the flames of his desire to new heights. Your moans of pure lust were like a siren's song, drawing him deeper into the abyss of his own primal urges.

Driven by an insatiable hunger, Sukuna's touch grew more demanding, more possessive, his own arousal building with each intoxicating sound that escaped your lips. With each whimper of pleasure, he felt the intoxicating rush of power surging through his veins, his dominance asserting itself with an almost feral intensity.

“I think you’re ready, baby.”

Sukuna positioned himself above you, your submissive form trembling with anticipation beneath him. With a possessive grip, he guided himself to your entrance, the throbbing heat of his arousal pressing against your quivering flesh. As he poised himself at the threshold of your innocence, a fierce determination coursed through him, driving him forward with an urgency born of primal desire. With a forceful thrust, he pushed himself inside your pussy, the sensation of your tight warmth enveloping him like a velvet vice.

“Oh– Fuck…fuck, it’s tight. You feel so fucking good, baby.”

You gasped at the intrusion, your body tensing with a mixture of pleasure and pain. With each powerful thrust, Sukuna claimed you as his own, his dominant nature asserting itself with every primal movement. As you moved together in a primal dance of passion and possession, Sukuna felt a surge of ecstasy and lust coursing through him. You felt so good stretching around him, he could feel your heartbeat through your wet, tight cunt.

As your bodies intertwined in the fervor of your passion, Sukuna's arousal reached a crescendo, the intensity of the moment threatening to overwhelm him entirely. With each hard, deep thrust, he felt himself teetering on the edge of ecstasy, his primal instincts driving him ever closer to the brink. He pounded into you like a wild animal, feeling the undying urge to not only claim your soul as his but also your body.

“Oh fuck…oh fuck no.”

But then, in a sudden and unexpected rush, Sukuna's control slipped away, his body betraying him in the most primal of ways. With a gasp of disbelief, he felt his release wash over him, his climax crashing over him with a force that left him trembling in its wake.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Sukuna grappled with the intensity of his own pleasure, his body pulsing with the aftershocks of his release. And as he collapsed against you, his breath coming in ragged gasps, he realized with a sinking feeling that he had cum far sooner than he had anticipated.

“…’kuna?”, your eyes shot wide, feeling him release his hot cum inside you. Usually it takes you far longer to get him to finish with your mouth.

In the hazy aftermath of their passion, Sukuna's heart raced with a mixture of embarrassment and shame, his mind reeling with the realization that he had revealed his virginity in the most humiliating of ways. And as he looked into your eyes, he saw the confusion and concern reflected in your gaze, knowing that he would have to find a way to explain himself, even as his own insecurities threatened to consume him. Slowly he pulled out and grabbed the box of tissues next to his bed to clean you up.

With a heavy heart, he knew that he couldn't keep his secret any longer, not from you, not from the woman he loved more than life itself.

Summoning every ounce of courage he possessed, Sukuna steeled himself for the confession that weighed heavily upon his soul. With slightly trembling hands and a voice thick with emotion, he reached out to you, his eyes searching yours for understanding and acceptance.

"Baby," he began, his words coming out in a rush as he struggled to find the right ones. "I need to tell you something...something I should have told you before."

As he spoke, Sukuna felt the weight of his secret lifting from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of vulnerability unlike anything he had ever known. With each word, he bared his soul to you, revealing the truth of his inexperience, his virginity laid bare for you to see.

To his surprise, your reaction was not one of judgment or scorn, but of compassion and understanding. With a gentle touch, you reached out to him, your eyes filled with love and acceptance.

"Sukuna," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "It doesn't matter to me. What matters is us, and the love we share. I’m yours and you’re mine."

#𓂃⊹ ִֶָ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #sukuna #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna jjk #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #request

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andy-15-07 · 3 months

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Soft Spot

masterlist ! pairing Feyd-Rautha x reader

SUMMARY : you're going to marry Feyd-Rautha, but you didn't know he has a soft spot for you

GENRE: fluff, loveeee

The grand halls of the Harkonnen fortress echoed with the clinking of armor and the whispers of political intrigue as you, unaware of Feyd-Rautha's hidden feelings, prepared for the arranged marriage. The alliance between your house and House Harkonnen was to be solidified through this union, a union that held more secrets than you could fathom.

As you adorned yourself in the intricate wedding attire, your mind buzzed with the weight of responsibility. The marriage was a strategic move, a chess piece in the game of power. Little did you know, Feyd-Rautha harbored a soft spot for you that went beyond the calculated alliance.

As you walked down the aisle towards the ceremonial chamber, Feyd-Rautha stood at the altar, a stoic figure in his Harkonnen regalia. His piercing blue eyes, however, betrayed a subtle warmth when they met yours.

The ceremony commenced, the officiant reciting the traditional vows that bound you to Feyd-Rautha. Yet, amidst the formality, a flicker of genuine emotion appeared in Feyd-Rautha's eyes as he spoke, "I pledge my loyalty to this union, and to you, Y/N, my chosen partner in this intricate dance of politics and power."

His words carried a sincerity that resonated within you, and a realization started to dawn. Perhaps there was more to this marriage than just political maneuvering. The enigmatic Feyd-Rautha seemed to be unveiling a side of himself that few had witnessed.

As the ceremony continued, you exchanged vows, committing to the union with a sense of duty. Unbeknownst to you, Feyd-Rautha's words held a depth that transcended the political façade. "I promise to stand by you, Y/N, not just as a husband but as someone who sees beyond the political tapestry. You are more than a strategic alliance; you are the missing piece in my life."

The celebration that followed was lavish, a feast befitting the union of two powerful houses. Amidst the revelry, Feyd-Rautha found a moment to steal you away to a quieter chamber. The tension in the air was palpable as he looked into your eyes, his usually composed demeanor revealing vulnerability.

"Y/N," he began, his voice softer than usual, "there's something I need you to know. This marriage, yes, it's a political move, but for me, it's more than that. I've developed a deep admiration for you, one that goes beyond the expectations of our houses."

You were taken aback by the sincerity in his confession. Feyd-Rautha, the formidable figure known for his ruthlessness, was baring his soul to you. "I never expected to find solace in this arrangement, but in you, I see more than just an alliance. I see a partner, someone I want to stand beside in the battles that lie ahead."

His vulnerability resonated with you, and a spark of understanding kindled. "Feyd-Rautha, I may have entered into this marriage out of duty, but your sincerity has not gone unnoticed. Perhaps there is a chance for us to find common ground beyond the political landscape."

The revelation marked a turning point in your relationship. The walls that had separated you from Feyd-Rautha started to crumble, revealing a shared vulnerability that formed the basis of a connection neither of you had anticipated.

As the night unfolded, you found yourselves navigating the intricacies of this newfound understanding. Feyd-Rautha, known for his calculated moves, was now making room for emotions he hadn't explored before. The marriage, initially a pact sealed by duty, started to evolve into something more complex, a tapestry woven with threads of unexpected emotions and genuine connection.

And so, in the grand halls of House Harkonnen, a marriage born out of political strategy took an unforeseen turn, guided by the unspoken soft spot that Feyd-Rautha harbored for you. The game of power, it seemed, had made room for the unpredictable dance of the heart.

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #feyd oneshot #feyd x you #feyd x reader #dune x you #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha harkonnen x you #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #feyd rautha imagines #austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler imagines #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n

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sailorgoon13 · 23 days

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Theodore Nott

Basics:

Full Name: Theodore Nott

Nickname: Theo

Gender: Male

Date of Birth: 4 November, 1979

Heritage: English/ Italian

Blood Status: Pure Blood

Wand: Blackthorn, Unicorn hair, 11 3/4", Slightly Flexible

Appearance:

Hair Color: Dark brown, a bit fluffy

Eye Color: Striking baby blue

Skin Tone: Olive

Height: 6'

Body Type: Lean and athletic. Tall, well proportioned

Style: Well-fitted jeans or chinos paired with a crisp button-down shirt or a cashmere sweater. Accessories are key to his look, with luxurious touches like leather loafers, silk scarves, and perhaps even a designer watch or cufflinks. His color palette leans towards darker tones like charcoal, navy, and deep burgundy

Features: Confidence, Mysterious aura, Sharp wit, Distinctive voice, Leadership

Personality:

Traits: Reserved, Loyal, Manipulative, Intelligent, Emotionally Complex

Likes: Privacy, Fine literature, Refines tastes, Debates, Chess

Dislikes: Arrogance, Lack of ambition, Betrayal

Hobbies: Quidditch, Reading, Playing Piano

Fears: Vulnerability, Rejection, Turning to the Darker side

Family and Friends:

Father: Mr. Nott

Valued Pure-Blood status

Supporter of Voldemort's cause/ Death Eater

Mother: Mrs. Nott

Died when Theo was young

Instilled his love for literature and fine art

Taught him Italian

Friends: Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Lorenzo Berkshire, Mattheo Riddle

Magic:

Special Abilities: His father taught him darker magic when he was young, though he doesn't like to use any of it. Particularly good at charms and hexes

Boggart: A memory of when he witnessed his mother dying

Patronus: Fox

Polyjuice: Would look velvety black with sparkling flecks of gold and silver. Smell like earthy Italian herbs and leather books with a hint of roses. It might taste like dark chocolate infused with hints of espresso and blackberry, with a subtle undertone of smoky oak and vanilla

Amortentia: Bergamont, Sandalwood, Freshly Brewed Coffee, Dark Chocolate

Backstory:

Theodore Nott was born into a prestigious pure-blood wizarding family, his childhood filled with the enchanting landscapes and rich cultural heritage of Italy. His mother, a talented witch with a passion for art, literature, and music, imparted upon him a love for the finer things in life. She taught him how to speak Italian, play the piano, and appreciate the beauty of the magical world around them.

However, Theodore's childhood took a tragic turn when his mother passed away, leaving him with a profound sense of loss. Compounding his grief was the revelation that his father, though also deeply devoted to his family, had been a follower of Voldemort. With Voldemort's downfall, Theo's father met his demise, leaving Theo with conflicting emotions and a sense of isolation.

Despite his father's past affiliations, he distanced himself from his family's dark legacy, choosing instead to honor his mother's memory by embracing the values she had instilled in him. He found comfort in the company of his friends, particularly during Christmas vacations and over the summer, when he would often stay with classmates Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Mattheo Riddle, and Enzo Berkshire.

Throughout his years at Hogwarts, Theodore excelled academically and athletically, distinguishing himself as a talented and ambitious student. His keen intellect, strategic mind, and refined tastes set him apart from his peers, earning him both admiration and envy. Despite facing teasing and discrimination for his softer side and Italian accent, Theo remained resilient, drawing strength from the bonds of friendship that sustained him.

He discovered a passion for Quidditch, becoming the star keeper for the Slytherin team. With each dive and save, he felt a sense of freedom and exhilaration, leaving behind the weight of his worries and losses, if only for a moment.

Academics:

Best Subject: Charms

Favorite Subject: DADA (But he won't tell you its really Astronomy)

Favorite Professor: Flitwick

Worst Subject: Ancient Runes

Least Favorite Subject: Divination

Least Favorite Professor: Slughorn

Student Life:

Academically excels in his studies, particularly in subjects like Potions and Charms

A regular fixture in the Hogwarts library, spending hours poring over ancient texts and refining his magical skills, teaching himself a new language, (Or really just hiding behind a romance novel)

Respected by his classmates for his intellect and admired for his cool demeanor, though some may find him enigmatic or intimidating.

He enjoys spending time in the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, honing his skills as Keeper

He also indulges in his love for art, literature, and music

Girls at Hogwarts are drawn to Nott's confidence, intelligence, and refined tastes, finding themselves mesmerized by his cool demeanor and mysterious aura

While he remains discreet about his romantic interests, there is no shortage of girls vying for his attention and affection.

#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts houses #slytherin #theodore nott #theo nott #slytherin boys #theodore nott imagine #slytherin pride #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #Theo Nott HC #theo nott headcanons #slytherin boys headcanons #fancast #fancasting #Theo nott aesthetic #slytherin boy aesthetics

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papiliotao · 1 year

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・❥・BEAUTY AMIDST AN ENDLESS NIGHT

♡ — Reader: GN

♡ — Characters: Albedo, Alhaitham, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Thoma, Tighnari, Venti, Xiao, Zhongli

♡ — Synopsis: on days where you feel as though the world is against you, your lover is there to cheer you up.

♡ — Content: fluff, modern AU, established relationship, generally soft

♡ — Word Count: around 200 per a character

♡ — A/N: the fact that I wrote this solely because I get sad for no reason sometimes. I'm sure there are people out there who can relate though. For anyone going through tough times, stay strong and keep going! I hope this fic will be able to cheer you up a little. (P.S. the parts for each character are arranged in alphabetical order if you're looking for anyone specific)

As your boyfriend, it is both ALBEDO’s duty and pleasure to remind you how much you mean to him whenever melancholic feelings of dread weigh your heart down. You watch as he flips through the pages of a worn sketchbook sitting in his small art studio within your shared home. It is filled with the most wondrous portraits of landscapes, wildfires, and even people. However, Albedo completely disregards those works. Instead, he opts to point out particularly detailed drawings strewn throughout the sketchbook. Intersecting lines form picturesque depictions of the memories you share with Albedo. On one page, your first date. On another, your first night together. But it is the final page he shows you that causes you to raise an eyebrow at him. It seems to resemble a rather average day in your life. In the sketch, you and Albedo are conversing in a mundane setting; there’s really nothing special to be seen. When you ask your boyfriend about it, he allows a gentle laugh to escape the confines of his lips. Then, he points out all the finer complexities of the work. From the lovestruck expression on his face to the way he flawlessly replicated your every feature, you begin to realize how much Albedo thinks about you on a daily basis. Upon reaching this epiphany, the feelings of insecurity and bitter frustration that have been permeating every inch of your mind dissipate ever so slightly, and it’s all thanks to Albedo’s love.

On days where it feels as though you’re drowning in a sea of your own sadness, you are thankful for your lover’s relaxed demeanour. ALHAITHAM’s voice is the only sound that cuts through the tangible silence permeating the air of your living room. He recites complicated words adorning the pages of one of his rather verbose books as you sit beside him, leaning against his muscular figure. Although you can’t understand half the phrases that leave his lips, you feel at ease. His calm voice lulls you into a dreamlike trance, acting as a temporary ailment to the negative emotions that threaten to overwhelm you. So instead of paying heed to the disturbing feelings of deep melancholy that plague your fragile heart, you direct all your attention to the alluring sound of your loving speaking and the feeling of his body pressed against your own, allowing yourself to get lost in every single intricacy of his mannerisms — the very subtleties that you love him for.

Everything about today has felt rather off. Happiness eludes you, avoiding you like an ancient plague, causing feelings of unadulterated sorrow to bubble up within the depths of your soul. Although you’re trying to conceal all your woes behind a carefully-crafted mask of smiles and feigned lighthearted laughter, your facade is akin to porcelain — delicate and fragile, cracking under the slightest pressure. And to no one’s surprise, KAZUHA is able to see through your meticulously-designed illusion of exuberance instantaneously. The subtle sighs and breaks in your expression prompt him to drag you to bed as soon as you’re finished with your daily tasks under the guise that he wants to cuddle. In reality, he knows that you’re having a rather difficult time, and he wants nothing more than to hold you and kiss the pain away, so as of now, you are wrapped in his warm embrace as he continuously presses his soft lips to the back of your neck. His snowy hair tickles your skin as he comforts you, and between each chaste kiss, he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, assuring you that tomorrow, the sun will rise again, giving way to a brighter day full of ecstasy and warmth.

Some days you can’t help but feel as though the world has been obscured by veils of endless blue. Everything feels mundane, and you just can’t bring yourself to smile. Thankfully, even in moments as perturbed as these, you are able to seek a small bit of solace by confiding in SCARAMOUCHE. To others, he seems brash and insensitive, but when it comes to you, he is attentive beyond measure. So when signs of melancholy begin to show through the cracks in your demeanour, your lover drops what he is doing and turns his focus to you. He insists on taking you out to a mysterious location, and although skepticism floods your thoughts, you eventually give in, agreeing to trust Scaramouche despite his enigmatic musings. Your boyfriend drives you to a quaint location situated in the middle of nowhere by the light of the setting sun. As you exit his car, you are greeted by the scent of the evening air, refreshing and cool, just what you need after a long day of feeling down. Scaramouche intertwines his fingers with yours, grasping onto you like a lifeline. He pulls you through a sparse line of trees, and although the darkness of the night obscures your vision, you trust your lover to guide you. When you clear the grove of vegetation, you are met with a sight that causes your breath to catch in your throat. Scaramouche has brought you to a cliff in a secluded area overlooking the city. Millions of stars adorn the velvety royal blue of the night sky, illuminating the world below, and the lights that glitter from the distant urban area fill you with a sensation of nostalgic ease. As you sit down on the soft grass beside Scaramouche, a sense of calm washes over you. Here, beside your lover and under the watchful gaze of the luminous celestial bodies up above, you finally feel at peace.

Amidst restless hours filled with uncertainty and unwanted negativity, THOMA is like an effulgent light piercing through the darkness that clouds your mind. He caters to your every need, doing anything your heart desires in order to remedy your pain even the slightest bit. Right now, he is standing in front of the stove, his back to you as he attentively prepares a meal. A mouthwatering fragrance drifts through the air as he cooks, and the warmth that fills the kitchen from the stove melts the icy cage of sadness surrounding your heart ever-so-slightly. When Thoma finally finishes, he plates the food in a meticulous manner and then shifts all his attention to you. The steam from the fresh meal caresses your cold cheeks as your lover peers deep into your eyes, displaying to you a wondrous sea full of olive green lights as you lock gazes. Before you can thank him for making dinner, Thoma leans over the table and presses a tender kiss against your cheek — one filled with all the gentleness and comfort of the sun on hazy winter days, making even the harshest of stinging winds just a little more bearable.

Whenever the world seems grey, shrouded in the gloominess plaguing your heart, TIGHNARI never fails to restore the beauty of the vibrant hues around you by bringing you bright bouquets of delicate flowers. Vivacious translucent petals tickle your nose as you breathe in the floral scent of the blossoms you are holding in your hands. The perfumed aroma that fills the air causes the tension in your shoulders to relieve slightly. A sigh of contentment escapes your lips as Tighnari takes the flowers from you and places them in a vase. His fingertips brush against your hands, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. In a hushed voice, he begins to explain the symbolism behind each plant in the bouquet. From blush pink azaleas to the fragile and pure lily of the valley, your lover knows of the meanings behind each floret, listing them off one by one. You know that the only reason he’s rambling on and on is to distract you from the thoughts that wrack your restless mind, and for that, you are beyond thankful.

When VENTI first proposes the idea of going on a picnic, hesitance overtakes you. You know he’s just trying to cheer you up, but you’re not quite sure if you’re in the mood to go out. Nonetheless, he manages to convince you that leaving the confines of your house to breathe in the crisp, late spring air and surround yourself with the viridescent foliage of the outdoors will work wonders for your mood, so you allow him to drag you to the park, albeit somewhat begrudgingly. When you arrive at your destination, Venti sets a blanket down on the lush grass, and atop the checkered quilt, he places a weaved basket. Upon opening the basket, you discover that it is filled with all your favourite delectable treats, so despite the bitterness of the day, a small smile settles on your face. As you begin to grin, Venti sings you a song, imbuing each lyric with softness and tenderness, conveying to you that even in the darkest of hours, he will always be by your side. The wind tousles your hair as the sound of leaves rustling in a gentle zephyr rings out like a backing track to Venti’s angelic voice. For the first time that day, you feel a sense of ease settle over you.

XIAO isn’t great at comforting people, but each time he sees your empty expression, he feels his heart shattering into countless fractured crystal shards. Despite knowing that he’s not the most qualified to help you deal with your worries, you still decide to go to him to seek consolation, so in spite of the fact that he is rather inexperienced, Xiao tries his best. He tells you to rest and immediately tucks you into bed with a sweet yet endearingly shy kiss on the forehead. Before he leaves the room, he whispers a few honeyed words in a voice that somehow feels softer than usual, reassuring you that everything will be alright, and when he finally exits, he sets himself to work on all the unfinished chores around the house. He works diligently while you relax under the silky covers of your bed, and although it takes a while, when Xiao finishes with your trivial tasks, he joins you in bed, wrapping an arm around you and allowing you to bury your head in his chest, breathing in his comforting scent as you feel yourself drifting off into a blissful realm of alluring slumber.

On days where joy evades you, ZHONGLI never fails to find a way to comfort you. His presence alone is calming, but when coupled with his actions, you feel as though you can almost continue with your daily routine as usual. At the moment, you are sitting with Zhongli in your living room as your hands are wrapped around a teacup. Condensation graces your palms, and it would be unpleasant if not for the warmth seeping into your body through the delicate porcelain of the cup. As you take a sip of the drink, you allow an airy sigh of contentment to slip through your lips. It’s absolutely divine, reminiscent of the finest ambrosia, something straight out of the tales your lover is currently recounting. Your mind feels as though it is clinging onto his voice, hanging onto his every syllable to regain a sense of stability despite the fog that clouds your thoughts. He spins stories of downfalls and triumphs, some tales downcast while others inspirational, and in the midst of his narration, you find yourself transported to a different world full of fantasies — an oasis of reprieve hidden away from the monotonous and lamentable reality facing you.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, then reblogs and comments would be appreciated!

#r.archives *ೃ༄#astronetwrk #favoniuslibrary #albedo x reader #alhaitham x reader #kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #thoma x reader #tighnari x reader #venti x reader #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin comfort #genshin headcanons

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 5 days

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Keep Moving Forwards, Part 1

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

To follow this fic, follow that "Keep Moving Forwards Fic"

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, mentions of physical abuse, loss of a child, and general trauma.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author's Note: This is the first part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 1

There would be no going back. You had promised yourself that. As you stepped out of the cabin door, you vowed not to look back, not to turn around, not to wish for what was. You would move forward, one foot in front of the other, into the world. Yet, as you crested the first hill, your heart clenched, and tears welled in your eyes, a sudden and overwhelming loneliness gripping you. You shook your head, dismissing the thought. What could possibly bring you back to that place? A place where everything hurt constantly, and the only safe refuge was sleep—where even then, he invaded your subconscious.

You wouldn’t go back. Not this time. Not like the last time.

Pushing the tears down, you took another step forward. The companionship of the night, lit by the full moon, felt both lonely and liberating. You adjusted your pack and pulled your oversized, worn leather jacket tighter around your torso as you silently crept through the forest.

It wouldn’t be morning for a few more hours, and if you kept moving, you would cross the river while it was still dark. You had a plan and a general idea of where you were heading, but at the time you made this plan, your only thought was to get as far away as possible. To put as much distance as you could between yourself and the old, rotten cabin that had been your home for the past fifty-three years.

The moonlight made the trees seem farther apart, and you felt exposed. Glancing over your shoulder, despite the hill and the fallen trees and boulders between you and the cabin, you imagined you could still see smoke rising from the chimney. You quickened your pace.

You hoisted yourself over a fallen log, the moss soft and forgiving under your fingertips. The new spring air was beginning to overtake the cold of winter, and the damp scent of rain filled your nose. You had loved spring—or at least you used to, fifty-three years ago. Now, you couldn't remember what you loved or who you would be when you finally made it away. But you would make it away. You would not go back. Not for anything. No matter how much he begged, no matter how much he cried, no matter how much you ached to return.

Hours passed as you continued your trudge through the woods, your legs growing more tired with each step as you carefully descended the mountain. You lost your footing twice, but quickly regained your balance, careful not to make a sound. You wouldn’t stop moving, not until you had crossed the river.

As the night sky shifted from deep blue to purple, and the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, you heard the rushing of the river and quickened your pace.

When you reached the clear waters of the Highlawn River, you stopped, tossing your pack onto the pebbled shore, and leaned down to drink from the cold, clean water. You dipped your hands in greedily, cupping them to your lips, when you caught sight of your reflection glaring back at you. As you sipped, your eyes traced the cut on your cheekbone. What had once been a wound was now only a trace of dried blood, just like the gash on your forehead. You splashed water onto your face, scrubbing at the blood caked on your skin. You scrubbed the area raw and red, as if washing it away would also erase the memory of what caused the bleeding.

Kneeling there, your face burning slightly from the cold water, you took a deep breath and let yourself feel alive.

You pulled your jacket back over your shoulders, catching his scent, which made you recoil, your heart racing and your stomach dropping. But you reminded yourself you were alone. He was not with you. He would never be with you again. You grabbed your pack and hauled it back onto your shoulder, then turned and wandered down the shore of the river, searching for the shallow, rocky crossing. When you reached it, you carefully tiptoed across, taking care not to slip into the nearly freezing water.

Once on the other side, you turned and looked back up the mountain you had just descended, squinting to see the cabin's roof that sometimes poked out when the leaves were down. You couldn’t find it. Not that you wanted to, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

He would be getting up soon. He would find your note. Would he run from the house calling your name? Would he cry? Would he rage, swearing what he would do when he found you? Would he hunt you down, sending birds flying from trees and animals racing for their burrows? Or would he stand there in silence, reading the note, his green eyes calm and collected, before starting the kettle for his tea?

You hoped you would never find out. You turned again and walked farther into the deeper woods. You would not come back. You would live. You would live your life. You would survive this, just as you had survived the last fifty-three years.

As the early morning turned warmer and the sun rose higher, heating your hair and sending warmth radiating down your body, you removed your jacket, tying it around your waist. You continued wandering through the deeper woods, determined to reach the tavern, a day's walk away. Despite your legs burning and aching for rest, you kept moving forward. You would always keep moving forward.

The trees of the Night Court, now blooming with spring flowers, cast shadows on the forest floor. The sun's warmth on your face was both comforting and energizing. Morning shifted to afternoon, and afternoon into evening, and by the time you saw the tavern lights, you were nearly crawling with exhaustion. A renewed sense of energy hit you, and you made your way across the field, nearly running as you pushed open the creaky wooden door.

You peered around the lively room, searching for an open table. The crowd chattered animatedly, downing beers and spirits, guffawing with friends. You hadn't been around this many people in a very long time. Almost giddy with excitement, you chose a table near the back of the tavern. Settling into the booth, a waitress promptly placed a cold glass of water on the table, which you downed before she could introduce herself. You ordered a plate of chicken and potatoes and allowed yourself a moment to breathe. Leaning back in your chair, you felt your spine relax and the ache in your feet begin to subside.

When your dinner arrived, you scarfed it down as quickly as you had the water, the grease of the meat making your lips shine. You wiped your face with your sleeve, not caring if you looked like an animal. When you inquired about a room, the waitress informed you there was one left, but it was connected to another room already rented. You considered sleeping in the woods but knew you wouldn’t rest well and still had miles to travel. So, you pulled a satchel of coins from your bag, paid for the room, and gave the waitress a few extra coins, asking her to deny anyone who might come in asking about you.

When you made your way up the creaking steps, the lights in the other rooms had already been turned out for the night as the other travelers rested their weary bones. You found yourself at the end of the hall, the light under your door still lit. As you unlocked it, you were quickly taken aback by the sight of a man sitting in a chair across from you. His feet were propped up on an end table, and he leaned back comfortably in an oversized armchair, a book in one hand while the other hand lazily traced his lips. He looked up quickly, closing his book. He wore only a pair of black linen pants, his tanned skin covered in various whirling tattoos, and his black hair tousled as though he had been running his hands through it repeatedly.

“Sorry, I think you have the wrong room,” he said, quickly putting his feet back on the ground.

You paused, taking a tentative step back. “Um, no, actually, I rented this room. The owner said that someone else was staying in the adjoining one, but I can go to that one if you’ve taken this one.”

The man rose to his feet, and you suddenly noticed the large wings tucked behind him. He was much larger than he had looked when curled into that chair. “No, please,” he said, gesturing to the room and moving toward the adjoining door. “I was just using this as a sitting room.” He picked up his book, his bare feet padding across the floor. Opening the adjoining door, he ducked his head, turned back to you, wished you a goodnight, and quietly shut the door.

You didn’t move until the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears subsided. You hadn’t spoken to a man in decades, and the first one you see is half-dressed, and you walk in unannounced. Shaking your head, you muttered to yourself before walking in and shutting the door behind you, pressing your back against the wood, resting your head on it, and closing your eyes. You had worked so hard all day to keep the bond shut on your end, willing it closed while he pounded on the other side, screaming to be let in. You had given yourself a headache doing so.

You threw your pack down on the floor, pulling off your sweat-drenched shirt and pants from the hike and tossing them over the chair the man had been lounging in before flopping down onto the bed, your head pounding.

________________________________________________________

The sun beamed down onto your face as you squinted, eyes still shut as you rolled over in bed, groaning softly. You inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the burning fire, the heavy wetness of the April woods, and the scent of spruce and sage. Your eyes opened, and you found yourself staring at the log wall, the window above it slightly open with sheer linen curtains fluttering in the wind. The quilt you had spent months making was balled at your feet, kicked away in the night as the pre-summer air seeped in through the open window. Your hair was plastered to the sides of your face with sweat.

You sat up, your cotton nightgown sticking to your torso, the lace scratching lightly at your skin as you rubbed your neck and eyes. The cabin air was slightly damp; it must have rained last night. Planting your feet on the hard wood floor, you looked across the room to see a small wooden cradle. Walking towards it, you tied your hair up with a ribbon from the window sill and leaned in to see your tiny babe, still sound asleep. You smiled down at them, brushing your fingers over their soft cheek as they softly gurgled. They were perfect, angelic, with your nose and lips, their tiny hands curled into loose fists beside their head as they slept on their back. Even in just their cloth diaper, the heat of the morning had made their cheeks red and their skin slightly damp as you continued to run soft lines down their face. Perfection. They were perfection.

The morning dove cooed its melody as the world around you seemed perfectly soft and hazy, as though all the colors were muted and edges somehow rounder. Then you heard it, the soft crying from the main room of the cabin. The babe stirred slightly but remained asleep as you looked through the open door to the living room. You glanced back at your perfect babe, still sound asleep, and then lightly stepped through the bedroom, trying to peek around the corner of the door without making the floorboards creak.

You stopped at the threshold, placing one hand delicately on the frame as you peered out. He was sitting there, on the couch he had carved for your 120th birthday, the blanket your mother gave you draped over the back. The window next to the front door was shattered in a moment of blind rage many months ago that he still hadn’t fixed.

He sat there, his head in his hands, sobbing quietly. The wet inhales and exhales formed a rock in your throat as you stood there, still as a deer. His head jerked up, and he turned to look over the back of the couch at you. His eyes were red, bloodshot, and he sniffled back another sob.

“Why would you do this?” he asked, his voice a breathless sob. “Why would you leave me?”

You said nothing, eyes wide in shock, seemingly frozen in place. The only movement in you was your heart, beating faster and faster. You worried he could hear it. Your hands and feet went numb, and you felt every twitch in your body as you tried to keep still. Your mouth parted slightly to speak, but before you could get a word out, he was standing, walking over to you, the heavy sound of his footsteps echoing in your head, pounding through the cabin until he stood in front of you. You took a step back, hands flying upwards to block the doorway.

He wrapped his arms around you, his large frame towering over yours as he sobbed into your neck. “We can fix this, baby,” he cooed into your ear, still sobbing. His height lifted you from the ground, rising to stand on your tiptoes as he continued to plead. “Just come home, baby. Come home. We can make this right.” Your arms slackened at your sides as he held you up. You swallowed the lump in your throat, unsure if you were going to scream or vomit as everything inside you burned. “Just come home,” he whispered again into your ear, his hot, wet breath streaming down your back as his tears glued your hair to your face. He pulled back to look at you, releasing you back to the floor. His green eyes peered into yours, searching for a response—the response he wanted. He leaned down to kiss you, and in a moment of bravery, you stepped back. He reached for your arm to pull you back, and you took another step backward, your hands behind you.

“Baby,” he managed to get out, but the sound of his voice, broken by sobs, no longer echoed through your mind. Instead, it was a warning. He took a step toward you, reaching out. He grabbed your wrist, which you tugged free. He took another step, reaching for you.

“No!” you shouted as he grabbed for you again. Your voice barely above a whisper, “I won’t come back.”

He stopped, his hand still extended toward you as his face twisted in anger. His mouth curved into a catlike smile, though his eyes darkened. “Where are you going to go, baby?”

You swallowed down the rock in your throat, your vision blurring as tears clouded your eyes. “I-I-” you stuttered.

He smiled at you again. “Where would you go?”

You took another tentative step back, your hands brushing the cradle, which rocked softly. Your babe cooed lightly, looking up at you with bright, brown eyes.

He peered over your shoulder at the babe in the cradle. “You want a baby? I can give you a baby,” he promised. “You just need to come home.”

You looked at him, your mouth hanging open, searching for words to shut him up. Words that would let you win. He reached for you again. “Where will you go where I can’t find you?”

You turned, grabbing the babe from the cradle, picking up their blanket with them. In the frantic motion, the babe let out a wail, but it didn’t stop you. You pushed past him, dashing through the living room, past the broken window, and down the steps. Your feet barely registered as you pounded through the front grass and headed into the woods, your babe pressed to your shoulder, crying out. As you hit the treeline, you turned to see him standing on the porch, his arms crossed, the catlike smile still inching across his face.

You tore through the woods, careful to hold your babe's head to your neck, trying not to trip over roots and branches, panting out wild breaths as the woods crashed around you.

As your babe let out another piercing wail, you found a hollowed out log that you crouched down in, trying to shush the screams. You rocked, hushed and pressed soft kisses into their temple as your heart continued to beat wildly in your ears. From behind you, you could hear branches and twigs snapping as he made his way towards you. Where would you run? Where could you go? Where can you go he wouldn’t find you? As your mind races you suddenly realize the babe has gone quiet and your arms are light, you look down and in your arms you hold an empty white blanket. A sob escapes you as you search around frantically for your babe, a wail crosses your lips as the sounds of the branches get louder and louder, you fall to the ground screaming as the sounds of him calling your name mixed with your pounding heart flood your head. It’s all gone. Everything is gone.

________________________________________________________

“Hey! Hey!”

Your eyes shoot open, and the room around you is pitch black. You hurl in a heavy breath, wheezing out a cough, sweat pouring down your face and back as you scream, but no sound comes out. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see moonlight streaming in from the window, tears blurring your vision, and the silhouette of someone yelling at you, their hands pressed onto your shoulders.

You rip their hands off, kicking back to ball up in the corner of the bed, pressed into the wall, ragged breaths tasting of iron in your lungs. You pull your legs into your chest, eyes wide and frantic. The figure in front of you is the male from earlier, sitting on his knees, his wings tucked behind him and his hands up, showing he means no harm.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, “It’s okay.” But it doesn’t feel okay. Everything is on fire.

You shake your head, snot running down your face, your lips quivering as you try to form words that won’t come.

He shushes you quietly, lowering himself from the bed onto the floor. He slides closer, reaching out a hand, his hazel eyes filled with concern. You look down at his hands, scarred and malformed. You try to let out another breath, but it gets caught in your throat as you cough. His extended hand covers your foot, and you continue to fight down sobs and screams. He hushes you again, “You’re safe. You’re here. You’re right here.” He squeezes your foot lightly, the pressure somehow grounding you. Your screams fade, but the tears continue to stream down your face as you cry silently. He runs his thumb up and down the top of your foot, his eyes never leaving you. After a minute, he reaches out his other hand, and you reach back. His hand engulfs yours, squeezing gently, kneeling beside your bed as if in prayer. “It’s okay.”

As if the reminder shatters something inside you, your tears fall heavy and full as your body relaxes. “Everything is,” you start, “it’s so loud.”

He lifts himself from the floor, and you curl away again, pulling your hand back. Realizing your response, he slowly lowers himself back to his knees, reaching out again. You take his hand, and he presses it between his palms so it disappears completely.

“There are clouds rolling in. I can smell the rain,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Between sharp intakes, you can smell it too. A storm is coming.

One hand stays with yours as he runs his other over the blanket. “This blanket,” he says, pressing your hand to it, “is scratchy and wool, too hot for this season.”

You nod slightly, unsure of what he’s doing. He glances at the clock. “It’s a little past two in the morning.” He looks back at you, your hand pressed into the bed, his hand over yours.

“Can I stand?” he asks, still whispering.

You nod, unable to speak. Slowly, he rises from the floor, which creaks beneath him. His movements are deliberate, raising both hands as he gets to his feet. “Can I sit down?” he asks, gesturing to the bed.

You nod, and he turns to sit next to you, his back against the wooden wall. He holds out his scarred hand again, and to take it, you have to scoot away from the wall. He takes your hand and runs his thumb up and down the back, his face now calmer. “You’re okay,” he reminds you.

Finally able to breathe more steadily, you wipe your eyes with your free hand, never letting go of his. He never loosens his grip.

“I’m-” you start, your throat raw, “I’m so sorry.”

He smiles lightly at you. “It’s okay. I was already awake.”

You look around the room, everything as you left it when you went to sleep, but the bed is a mess. Pillows have been ripped, and the sheets are strewn about as though a tornado had passed through.

You glance back at him and suddenly become aware that you’re only wearing your underwear. You rush to pull the blankets up around yourself, the wool feeling immediately too warm. The male reaches for the armchair and hands you your shirt, which you gratefully pull over your head, pushing the blanket off of you.

He looks at you again, his hazel eyes scanning your incredibly red, puffy face. “Has this happened before?” he finally asks.

You swallow and nod, licking your cracked lips. In truth, it had happened many times before, whenever you had run. In sleep, when the bond opened up, he wormed his way back into your mind and tormented you. You had replayed this scene so many times: you and the babe you wished you had, sprinting through the woods to get away, only to find the babe missing. Normally, he made it all the way to you and brought you back to the cabin, finding your scent and coming for you. But not this time.

You wipe another rogue tear from your eye, pushing the snot from your face where it pooled above your lips. You sniffle as he takes your hand again, rubbing soothing circles into the back.

“I really am sorry,” you say, the words coming out broken.

He just shakes his head. “Like I said, I was already awake.” Then he smiles slightly at you. “Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod, trying desperately to clean your face.

“I’m going to grab you a wash rag, okay?” he offers.

You shake your head. “That’s okay. You can go back to bed. I’m alright.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve heard less intense screaming on the battlefield.” You look down, shameful. “Let me at least get you a washcloth.” With that, he stands slowly and makes his way to the washbasin, running a rag through the water and bringing it back to you. You look up at him, your eyelashes clumping together from the tears as he props your chin up and runs the cloth delicately over your cheeks and eyes, giving you a soft smile. When he’s finished, and the cool water has soothed the burning on your skin, he pushes your hair back behind your ear.

He hands you the cloth as he takes his place next to you on the bed again. You run the cloth over your face and chest as he watches.

Your head feels heavy, your body like you’ve run miles. Everything feels sore. You let out a sigh, wiggling your nose slightly as it finally clears.

“I am genuinely sorry,” you say, looking down at the bed, hands in your lap.

“And I genuinely don’t want you to worry about it,” he responds, chuckling slightly. “It sounds like whatever’s going on in your head is much worse than losing a few hours of sleep, if I was sleeping at all.”

You chuckle slightly as well, then look up at him. His eyes meet yours. It’s so strange. This whole interaction is very strange.

“Thank you,” you finally say.

He smiles at you, a genuine smile, laced with a tinge of pity.

“I think I’m okay now.”

He nods, his smile fading slightly. “Are you going back to sleep?” he asks.

You nod, even though you’re sure you’ll spend the rest of the night with your eyes wide open, too afraid to let your guard down again.

He slowly stands, reaching out to take the wash rag, which he brings back to the basin to wring out. He turns, looking at you again, and opens his mouth as if to say something but stops himself. He makes his way to the door of the adjoining room, still flung open from when he crashed through earlier.

“If it’s alright with you, I’m just going to keep this cracked,” he says, one hand on the door.

You nod.

“Just in case you need anything,” he says again, “not that you do, but,” he pauses and smiles, “for my sake.”

You smile, the dried tears on your cheeks making your skin feel tight, and chuckle slightly, “Sure.”

With that, he closes the door to a crack. You hear him through the wall as he crosses his own room, the rustling of blankets being pulled back and the creak of the bed as he lies down. You wait until it goes quiet before pulling the sheets back up, resting your head on the last pillow that isn’t shredded, and stare at the window, waiting for the sun to come up.

#azriel x reader fic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar #acotar abuse #acotar fanfic #acotar azriel #azriel #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #azriel fic #azriel angst #azriel x y/n #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar fandom #Keep Moving Forwards Fic

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bogkeep · 7 months

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being in aroace education mode has me all fired up...... one thing i talk about a lot when given the opportunity is Deconstructing How We Think About Relationships - in short, if we put all of our relationships with other people into a pie chart the 'romantic partner' slice is likely to be a very small slice but gets a disproportionate amount of Relationship Infrastructure compared to other categories, such as vocabulary, rituals, attention and narrative scaffolding - entire systems such as dating / finding "the one" / break-ups / the relationship escalator, etc. on the flipside, 'friend' is such a vast category consisting of a plethora of different relationship, all ranging from Friendly Acquantaince to Extremely Close Childhood Friend You Share Everything With, but we have a lot less language and structure for how we think about these relationships even though many of them can be deeply important and intense to us.

the line between romance and friendship is really blurry, maybe even non-existent, but it feels like the way we think about these categories is that Romantic Partner is this one very specific, formalised box of a category, while Friend is a vast and vague landscape where anything can happen - and it's on this free real estate we have built structures like Queerplatonic Partner. the concept has probably existed since forever, along with many other different types of relationships throughout time and cultures, but it's our current attempt at having a Word for it.

are you with me so far? i want to write a blog post about Deconstructing Intimacy.

just putting a CW here that i'm going to say the word sex a lot and touch on the topic of sexual trauma.

one of the very thorny things about This Whole Topic is that sex and sexuality is extremely political. we just do not live in a world where there's any neutral ground to stand on regarding sex. every demographic comes with a lot of assumptions and expectations and moral judgement tied to sexuality. some demographics are desexualised, some are hypersexualised, some are Both At Once, and in addition to that there's lots of stigma, moralizing, pathologizing, and lawmaking. just a whole mess.

so all of That makes it kind of impossible to fully Dethrone Sex. and by dethroning sex i mean stripping it of the baggage it's accumulated in our cultures. Sex Is A Thing You Can Do With Your Body (And Your Mind?). this does not have to make it any less or more meaningful to you than what it already is. what each person considers intimate is very individual. many people find hugging completely inconsequential and will hug anyone at any time, and for some people a hug is A Lot. For some people, sex is a very fun and casual activity, and for others it's Sacred and carries a lot of meaning and a very close bond. sex is intimate - it requires trust and vulnerability.

it is not the only way to achieve trust and closeness, nor the only thing that requires it.

whenever i take the bus somewhere, i trust the bus driver to take me there safely. i put my literal life in a stranger's hands, but it's a very casual affair i don't think about too much. it's not an act of intimacy, just someone doing their job.

i think the way we talk about sexual assault as the evillest most horribly irredeemably worse-than-death thing, and sexual trauma as a unique kind of trauma amongst traumas, is... indicative. and please do not get me wrong, SA is a horrible thing in every way. it's a violation of trust, vulnerability and personal space. it's an abuse of power. those are the things that make it so horrific - but it's not unique.

an abuse of power, a violation of trust and vulnerability, can happen in so many different forms. emotional abuse, non-sexual violence, medical abuse, et cetera - i don't think it's possible to place trauma into a hierarchy from least to most bad. trauma can be incredibly complex and it's different for everyone. if one day the bus driver on a whim decided to drive off a cliff, i think that would severely fuck up my ability to trust other people to drive me around. if i trusted someone with my innermost thoughts that i have never shared with anyone else, and they used them to be cruel to me, that would severely impede my ability to connect with others.

i just... don't think it does anyone any favours to separate sexual trauma from all other trauma - making it seem like sexual trauma is The Worst Trauma Possible You Can Never Heal From, and on the flipside, make it seem like Well Your Non-Sexual Trauma Cannot Possibly Be That Bad.

TRAUMA TOPIC ASIDE, i think the concept of intimacy has a tendency to get flattened into just the one kind. there are many, Many ways for people to be intimate, many activities that require some form of mutual vulnerability or physical contact, but it seems like we're just very used to placing Acts of Intimacy into the Sexual category. kind of like a venn diagram where the two circles are Sexual Intimacy and Non-sexual Intimacy that are largely overlapping. but what if, instead, it's more that Intimacy is a really big circle, and sex is just one of the circles within it?

the way i think this slots into the whole Relationship Infrastructure thing is that We Like To Categorize Things. if we see two people being very intimate in a way that's not explicitly sexual, it's tempting to think ah yes they are in love AND they're having sex, OBVIOUSLY, because they are clearly capable of having that level of trust and vulnerability together. but what if they're not? does that devalue their relationship? does it make them any less close? these are very chewy questions to ask even without bringing shipping discourse into it, and i would prefer Not To because sexuality is political and there is no right answer.

another way this flattening can be frustrating is all the times non-sexual intimacy is treated as Sexual By Proxy. let's say, for example, you're telling a story, and all forms of intimacy within that story get read as metaphors for sex, despite your actual intentions. there's nothing wrong with using metaphors for sex, especially since Sex Is Political and sometimes we gotta be clever about the storytelling - but it can get very messy if people read sexuality between characters who don't have that, especially characters between which it would be very problematic to portray that. we gotta be able to tell stories about all kinds of close relationships, and surely it should be possible without bringing freud into it at every turn.

intimacy is context-dependent, i would say. a moment of vulnerability can be platonic or romantic or sexual or maybe something else depending on a situation and all the factors involved. human connection is an boundless spectrum, not just a couple boxes.

did any of this make sense? they're just my Thoughts, i'm not a scholar on this i just

#too long for twitter #aro ace tag #asexuality #aromantic #and look. i too am a proponent of calling things gay (complimentary) without it being Explicitly Gay in a sexuality sense.

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she-is-ovarit · 6 months

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Data spanning from 1995 to 2021 in India revealed a striking gender imbalance in organ transplants, with four men getting organ transplants for every woman. A total of 36,640 transplants took place in this period, out of which 29,000 were for men and 6,945 for women.

This substantial difference is attributed to a complex interplay of economic responsibilities, societal pressures, and deeply ingrained preferences.

Dr Anil Kumar, director of the government-run National Organ & Tissue Transplant Organisation (NOTTO) highlighted this significant aspect of the organ donation landscape.

While more men contribute as cadaver donors, a staggering 93 per cent of total organ donations in the country come from living donors, he told the Times of India newspaper. This hints at a trend: a majority of living organ donors are women. Socio-economic factors a driving force for women donors? A study published in the Experimental and Clinical Transplantation Journal in 2021 delved into the intricacies of living organ transplantation in India. The findings showed that 80 per cent of living organ donors are women, predominantly wives or mothers. The socio-economic pressure on women to assume caregiving roles within the family emerges as a primary factor, compelling them to step forward as donors. Men's reluctance in surgery In many cases, men, often the primary breadwinners, hesitate to undergo surgery, contributing to the gender gap in organ recipients. The study highlights that when the recipient is a male breadwinner, family members, especially wives or parents, feel a heightened responsibility to donate organs. Emotional dynamics The emotional dynamics surrounding organ donation are intricate. Women recipients, in particular, may experience guilt when their family members, especially wives or mothers, become donors. This reluctance leads to a scenario where women recipients may find themselves on waiting lists. Notably, Karnataka has topped the charts in organ donation in the past decade. The number of donations have risen from 102 in 2013 to 765 in the first 10 months of 2023.

A user on Ovarit added this helpful context:

"Just a little more context to this: men produce male-specific proteins (on the Y chromosome) which often get rejected by women's bodies. Since males have an X chromosome, their bodies recognize proteins from female donors. This makes it more difficult for women to receive male tissue/organs, while still being acceptable candidates for donating to men. Even still, these ratios are very disproportionate".

"As women we absolutely need to be aware of our vulnerability of being used as spare parts in a man's world. Especially when we are being socialized into believing that we need to sacrifice our bodies and lives for others- and society has developed a sense of entitlement to this sacrifice, while downplaying the suffering of women."

#organ donation #marxist feminism #India #women's rights #feminism #global feminism #intersectional feminism #women's oppression #patriarchy #sex-based oppression #gender critical #gender critical feminism #radblr

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herlondonboy · 4 months

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metaphor, clarisse la rue

summary: nudes is a metaphor for love, but surely there are other way to express your feelings?

warnings: ITS NOT SEXUAL!!! it's 100% pg-13. DIOR IS 17, that's weird. nudes is a metaphor for love but reader doesn't get it. just says nudes a bunch. again, NOT SEXUAL.

wc: 1.1k

a/n: please tell me if this makes sense...

you share nudes when you trust someone deeply. it’s considered a high form of showing your love. allowing someone so far away to see you at your most vulnerable. it was what you did when you were in love, right?

did you understand it?

do you understand why, in a world painted with vulnerability, the exchange of nudes becomes a delicate dance of trust? each pixel, a brushstroke revealing the canvas of intimacy between two souls. as you bare your essence through the lens, it's not just skin on display; it's a testament to the trust woven into the fabric of your connection.

the subtle play of light and shadow mirrors the nuanced layers of your emotions, creating a mosaic of intimacy that transcends the physical. each shared image is a whispered promise, an unspoken pact that echoes the trust built brick by brick in the architecture of your relationship.

the digital realm transforms into a sanctuary where openness thrives, and the exchange of nudes becomes a metaphorical bridge connecting hearts. in the vulnerability of exposure, trust finds its strongest anchor, fostering a bond that withstands the test of time.

as you navigate the terrain of shared moments, the pixels become vessels of sincerity, encapsulating the essence of trust in a world where transparency is often obscured. nudes, in this verse, transcend mere visuals, becoming the language of trust that binds two souls in a symphony of shared vulnerability.

in the quiet corridors of your mind, scepticism echoes louder than the gentle whispers of trust. the metaphorical dance of nudes as a symbol of profound love seems like a concept too fantastical to grasp. as you navigate the digital landscape, you can't help but question the validity of such an intimate metaphor.

the canvas of your doubts is painted with shades of scepticism, and you find yourself hesitating at the threshold of vulnerability. the notion that sharing nudes could encapsulate the depth of love feels like a poetic exaggeration, a narrative spun by the romantic minds that may have overlooked the intricacies of real-life connections.

in the glow of your screen, you ponder the fragility of trust and whether pixels can truly translate into a language of profound emotions. the scepticism is a shield, a defence mechanism honed through years of navigating a world where trust is often elusive and fragile.

as you scroll through messages and shared images, you can't shake the nagging belief that love, true and unfiltered, transcends the digital realm. it's a sentiment anchored in tangible actions, shared experiences, and the messy, imperfect reality of human connection. nudes, you argue within yourself, can't possibly encapsulate the complexity of emotions that define genuine love.

so, no. you don’t understand it.

yet, even in your disbelief, a subtle curiosity lingers. perhaps there's a kernel of truth in the metaphor, a flicker of understanding waiting to be unearthed. as you continue to grapple with these thoughts, you find yourself at the crossroads of scepticism and the potential for a deeper understanding of the intricate dance between trust and love.

in the quiet moments of introspection, you wonder if embracing vulnerability in the digital realm could indeed be a bridge to a more profound connection.

then came along clarisse la rue.

she emerges as an unexpected muse, but your scepticism remains steadfast. the fiery connection you share with clarisse doesn't completely dissolve the doubts that linger around the metaphor of expressing love through shared nudes.

in the soft glow of your screen, your affection for clarisse grows, but you continue to believe that love transcends the digital realm. the metaphor, in your eyes, simplifies a complex spectrum of emotions into a narrow perspective. you yearn to express your love for clarisse through diverse channels, beyond the confines of shared images.

for you, love is a multi-dimensional tapestry, woven with actions, shared experiences, and genuine moments of connection. clarisse becomes the recipient of your affection, and you express your love through handwritten letters, spontaneous gestures, and the timeless art of conversation. the pixels on a screen, while a part of your journey, don't encapsulate the entirety of your feelings.

despite the depth of your emotions for clarisse, you remain unconvinced that exposing the vulnerable aspects of yourself through shared nudes is the pinnacle of trust and intimacy. your belief in the richness of diverse expressions of love becomes a testament to the complexity inherent in human connections.

you can show your vulnerability through your words.

inside the area cabin, you and clarisse found yourselves wrapped in the embrace of each other's presence. the soft rustle of leaves overhead provided a natural symphony as you both sat together, the moon casting its gentle glow upon your shared solitude.

as you stared into the distance, clarisse's voice broke the tranquil silence. "what are you thinking about?" she asked, curiosity lacing her words. the night air held a subtle chill, but the warmth of your connection created an invisible cocoon around both of you.

a thoughtful smile played on your lips, contemplating how to articulate the intricate thoughts dancing through your mind. you ended up just settling on a short, “nothin’.”

clarisse nodded, her eyes, filled with a depth of emotion, met yours. in that moment, her voice softened, carrying a weight of sincerity, "i love you infinitely."

the simplicity of those words held a profound impact, resonating with the unspoken understanding that had grown between you. a rush of warmth surged within you as you locked eyes with clarisse. in the quiet embrace of the night, you knew words were unnecessary— your hearts spoke a language more profound than any conversation could convey. than any picture could convey.

with a reciprocal smile, you reached for her hand, intertwining your fingers in a silent acknowledgement of the love that bound you together. the night seemed to stand still as the world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only the intimacy of the present moment.

"i love you too," you finally uttered, the words carrying a sense of completeness. with those three simple words, the unspoken thoughts and emotions found a voice, echoing through the stillness of the night. “i’ll love you for forever and a day.”

as the night continued its slow journey, you both lingered in each other's presence, finding solace in the depth of your connection. the world outside melted away, leaving only the shared heartbeat and the whispered promises of love exchanged beneath the celestial canopy. in the quietude of the night, you revelled in the beauty of a love that needed no explanation— it simply existed, profound and infinite.

in your own way.

#clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse my beloved #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x you #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue #elijah writes #does this make sense #please reblog

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snowfll · 3 months

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Miss Me; Coriolanus Snow

pairing - young!Coriolanus Snow x capitol!reader summary - Coriolanus is too busy making his way up in the Capitol to spend time with you. All you want is for him to miss you, like you miss him. words - 2.71k warning - coriolanus snow! note - I really wanted to make this a lot longer than it is, but I already rewrote it 5 different times and wasn't getting very far. I have a hard time when it comes to writing snow so I hope you like it! Oh! i changed my theme, but kept the same username! my other fics in the work should be out soon! until then, stay safe, ily 🦋

“Could you miss me for a moment?” You shouted at the man standing before you. “I’m constantly making time for you, Coryo. How is it that you are always late?”

“I have so much to do and so little time; this is my life now.” He responded, explaining the perpetual busyness that seemed to keep him at a distance.

Upon his return to the Capitol, a palpable shift occurred in the dynamics between you and the once-familiar boy—who now asserted himself as a man. However, the shifting dynamics of your relationship had been set in motion long before Coryo’s reinstitution in the Capitol.

As he embarked on his assignments in District Twelve, you remained a constant presence in his life through the written words that bridged the physical distance. Each week, your letters became a lifeline, painting vivid pictures of the life he missed and offering him a connection to the world he left behind.

In an unforeseen twist, he penned a final letter, a bittersweet gesture granting you the freedom to explore other connections during his prolonged absence. However, despite the newfound freedom, you found yourself tethered to the belief that Coryo was irreplaceable.

The connection you shared, woven through shared memories and the emotional landscape of your history, seemed to defy the notion of easy replacements. Even with his permission to explore others, the gravity of his absence and the unique bond you shared lingered, creating a complex tapestry of emotions.

Your prayers echoed with the fervent desire for the day Coryo would return, a day when everything would seamlessly revert to the way it once was. In the sanctity of your hopes, you envisioned the revival of late-night dates that stretched into the early hours, the days where you stood by his side, and the warmth of shared dinners with his family.

However, as the day of his return finally arrived, the reality that unfolded in the streets of the Capitol shattered those hopeful expectations. The person you longed for, the one you envisioned in your mind, stood before you, yet the familiarity that once defined your connection seemed elusive.

At that moment, the Capitol streets became a metaphorical crossroads, and the realization struck that the journey ahead might not seamlessly align with the nostalgic dreams of the past. Rather than confronting Coryo directly in the bustling streets of the Capitol, you chose a different path.

Walking right past him, you could sense his gaze lingering on you, and a subtle double-take betrayed his surprise at your unanticipated move. The decision to withhold direct acknowledgment was a silent rebellion against the expectations you had harbored, a momentary attempt to regain control over the emotions that had surged within you.

As you made your way to work, the weight of confusion and hurt accompanied each step. Seeking solace, you confided in a friend, sharing the unexpected encounter with Coryo. To your dismay, your friend revealed a disheartening truth—Coryo had been home for almost a month, a fact that had been hidden from you.

With the day unfolding with a semblance of normalcy, the echoes of the unexpected encounter with Coryo reverberated within you. However, the evening brought a sudden twist as a knock echoed through your apartment. Opening it revealed Coryo standing there, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

Once you let Coryo into your apartment, he extended the bouquet toward you, a silent offering to bridge the emotional gap that had widened during his prolonged absence. His voice carried a mix of surprise and regret as he confessed, “Hey... I, uh, didn’t expect you to just walk past me earlier. I’ve been back for a while, and I didn’t mean to keep it from you.”

You met his gaze, your eyes reflecting a sense of hurt and frustration. “It was more than that. I've been writing to you, waiting for your return. And today, when I saw you, it felt like all those moments were forgotten.”

Coryo’s expression softened, remorse evident in his eyes. “I never forgot, not for a second. I’ve been back for weeks, and I got caught up in trying to make things better for us. Time slipped away, and I messed up.”

The weight of your emotions hung in the air as you processed his words. “I wish I wasn’t so forgettable.”

“You’re not forgettable. You are the reason I’m doing all of this.” Coryo assured, his sincerity cutting through the tension. “I brought these flowers as a small way of saying sorry.”

Examining the bouquet in your hands, you acknowledged its beauty. “They’re beautiful, Coryo. But they aren’t enough—I need you to make an effort to be present, to not let us slip through the cracks.”

He nodded in understanding, a determination settling in his gaze. “I promise, from now on, I’ll be here. I want us to navigate the Capitol together—like we planned.”

His pledge to be present echoed in the air, creating a tentative bridge between past grievances and the possibility of a renewed connection. Despite the lingering doubts, a small glimmer of hope emerged as you decided to grant Coryo a chance to prove himself. The journey toward rebuilding trust required both vulnerability and resilience, and you were willing to tread cautiously along this tentative path.

“I know you’re busy, but you promised you would be here.”

The weight of the argument lingered in the air as you sat on the couch, the room heavy with the echoes of the heated exchange that had lasted through the night. The tension between you and Coriolanus had reached a breaking point, leaving the aftermath evident in the room. You found yourself pleading with him, exhausted and disappointed at the fact you were going over it again.

The promise he made on the day he came back had been broken long before this argument. The repetitiveness of these arguments weighed heavily on your shoulders, each broken promise creating a rift that seemed harder to mend. The one vibrant connection you shared during your academy days had unraveled, replaced by a stark reality that left you yearning for the Coryo from before the Hunger Games.

The argument slowly died down, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Coryo, in a moment of reconciliation, made another promise—one he claimed he wouldn’t break. In that fragile moment, exhaustion blurred with a glimmer of hope, and you found yourself, once again, believing in the possibility of change.

Foolishly, you allowed yourself to be swept up in the promise, despite the history of unfulfilled commitments. The room held a fragile peace, but the unspoken tension lingered, creating an undercurrent of uncertainty. As you navigated the aftermath of the argument, the promise hung in the air, a delicate thread that would either mend the frayed edges of your relationship or further deepen the wounds of disappointment.

The familiar frustration bubbled up, and the echo of broken promises rang in your ears. It seemed the pledge to be present was just another fleeting promise. As you read the note, a sinking feeling set in, overshadowing the warmth of the anniversary you had envisioned.

The realization hit hard—perhaps your one mistake was believing in Coryo’s ability to change. The echoes of past letdowns resonated, casting doubt on the sincerity of his promises. The bond you had hoped to celebrate on this anniversary seemed to fray at the edges.

The anticipation had been building all day as you prepared for the first anniversary of the rekindling of your relationship with Coryo. Determined to make it special, you embarked on a shopping adventure to gather the finest ingredients for the celebratory dinner you had planned.

As you roamed the aisles, selecting the items with care and excitement, thoughts of the evening ahead filled you with warmth. The memories of the past year, the struggles you both overcame, and the promise of a shared future fueled your enthusiasm for the night you had envisioned.

The disappointment settled in as you returned home, groceries in hand, to find Coryo absent once again. The carefully planned evening to celebrate slipped through your fingers, replaced by a note explaining his absence due to an important candidate meeting for the upcoming election.

As the evening unfolded in solitude, the flickering candlelight highlighted the void left by Coryo’s absence. The apartment, once a haven of shared moments, now felt like an empty shell. The Capitol streets, once envisioned as a path to navigate together, seemed like a lonely stretch.

Laying on your couch, a familiar place of solace, exhaustion had finally taken its toll, lulling you into a restless sleep. As you drifted into slumber, the anticipation of Coryo’s return lingered in the air, a silent hope that he would fulfill the promise he made after the intense argument.

In the quiet of the night, the creaking of the door announced Coryo’s return. He entered cautiously, the weight of the broken promises etched on his face as he saw you peacefully asleep on the couch. The soft glow of the dimly lit room highlighted the tired lines on his face.

As he stood there, a debate waged within him—whether to gently wake you up and guide you to bed or to let you rest on the couch. He pondered over the fragile state of your relationship, unsure of the right course of action. The roses he held in his hand seemed to carry the weight of unspoken apologies, a peace offering to bridge the gap that had widened between you.

Eventually, Coryo decided to wake you up, his voice a gentle whisper in the stillness of the room. “Hey, wake up,” he said, holding the roses out in an attempt to mend the strained connection between you.

Your eyes fluttered open, the dim room coming into focus as you saw Coryo standing there with the roses. Confusion briefly clouded your waking moments, but as the events of the night flooded back, a surge of frustration and disappointment overcame you.

“Where have you been, Coriolanus?” You screamed at him, frustration and anger punctuating each word as you sat up from your position on the couch.

Coryo was taken aback, not by the intensity of your anger but by the fact you called him ‘Coriolanus’. In all the years you had known each other, not once had you addressed him by his first name. From the day the two of you met, it had always been ‘Coryo’—a name that held the echoes of your shared history and the intimacy of a connection that had weathered the storms of time.

In a mix of exhaustion and raw emotion, you went off on him, unleashing a torrent of words that had bottled up during the hours of waiting. The importance of the date, the broken promises, and the repetitive cycle of disappointment fueled your outburst.

Coryo stammered in response to your outburst, his eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and mild panic. “I was busy with a meeting; I thought I wrote a note?” he offered, the uncertainty in his voice betraying the realization that he might have overlooked a crucial detail in communicating his whereabouts.

“Oh, I saw the note, but really? On our anniversary, you just had to be busy on our special day.” The words tumbled out of your mouth, a mix of disappointment and frustration lacing each syllable. The weight of the occasion and the significance of your anniversary seemed to amplify the impact of Coryo’s absence and lack of a more personal gesture.

Coryo, faced with your pointed words, could only offer a remorseful expression, realizing the gravity of the situation. The note, which might have been intended as an explanation, now felt insufficient in the face of the emotional void left by his absence on such a meaningful day.

“I understand that you are busy, but don’t you see that it leaves me busy being hurt?” You continued, the vulnerability in your voice cutting through the air. Your breathing patterns became a palpable rhythm, the heaviness of your breaths echoing the weight on your chest.

The room, once a space of shared moments and comfort, seemed to be closing in on you. The familiar surroundings that had provided solace now felt suffocating, the air thick with unresolved tension. The weight of disappointment and hurt seemed to manifest physically, making it harder to breathe.

Everything was spinning as the reality of the moment sank in. The couch, once a haven, now felt like a confined space where the complexities of your relationship played out. The emotional storm unleashed by the missed anniversary swirled around you, leaving you breathless and disoriented.

“Hey,” his voice softened, a gentle murmur cutting through the emotional storm. “Take a second and breathe; smell the rose.” Coryo’s tender words carried a soothing tone, and he pushed the bouquet of roses closer to your nose, an offering of fragrant calmness amid the turmoil.

“Why don’t you understand, Coryo? It’s the time, not the flowers, that I want.” Your voice carried the weight of unmet expectations and the longing for meaningful connection. The bouquet of roses, though a well-intentioned gesture, seemed inadequate in the face of the emotional void left by his absence on your anniversary.

Coriolanus tried to make another promise, his voice tinged with remorse and desperation: “I swear, I’ll make time in my day for you; I’ll change, I promise.”

But you, weary from the cycle of broken promises, couldn’t bring yourself to accept it this time. The weight of disappointment had become too much to bear. “No more promises, Coryo. I can’t keep going through this. It’s not just about time; it’s about trust, and that has been broken too many times.”

A breaking point had been reached, and you couldn’t endure the hurt any longer. In a surge of frustration and anger, you yelled at him to get out of your apartment, the words hanging heavily in the air like a verdict on the fate of your relationship. The once-familiar space now felt charged with the culmination of unresolved emotions, the walls echoing with the impact of your declaration.

He hesitated, unwilling to accept the finality of your words. “Please, just give me one more chance. I’ll prove it to you,” Coryo pleaded, his desperation laid bare.

As he lingered, you raised your voice, the intensity of your anger escalating to the point where it scared him. “I can’t keep living like this! I’ve given you chances, and each time, it’s the same story. I need more than promises; I need actions.”

Coriolanus, realizing the gravity of the situation, began to fumble for words. “I love you, and I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted, his vulnerability evident on his face.

In a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, he refused to leave. “We can work through this; we always do,” he insisted, his voice tinged with a mix of hope and desperation.

But faced with your escalating emotions, he felt a growing unease. “I just need some time to think,” you asserted, the strain in your voice clear.

That’s when you dropped a bomb, threatening to reveal the truth about his actions, potentially ruining his chances of becoming president. The weight of the threat hit its mark, and a momentary panic set in. “You can’t do that. It’s not just about us; it’s about my career, about everything I’ve worked for,” Coryo protested, his anxiety palpable.

Coriolanus, realizing the potential consequences, turned to leave. However, as he retreated, a chilling declaration escaped his lips, “This isn’t over. You are mine and always will be.” The ominous words lingered in the air, leaving a sense of foreboding and uncertainty in their wake. The door closed behind him, the once-shared space now a silent witness to the shattered fragments of a relationship that seemed irreparable.

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novlr · 4 months

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How do you write characters who ignore their feelings

When you write characters who ignore their feelings, you delve into a complex psychological landscape that, if done well, can resonate deeply with readers. These characters are walking contradictions, their emotions simmering just beneath the surface. This tension between their inner experiences and external expressions makes them fascinating and relatable to readers.

Behaviour

Disregard their own emotional well-being

Focus on logic and facts

Appear stoic or unfazed in stressful scenarios

Engage in compulsive behaviours as a distraction

Will take on burdens without complaining

Avoid conversations about their feelings

Can be reliable in a crisis

Immerse themselves in work or hobbies

Seen as cold or insensitive by others

Exhibit control issues, and micromanaging tendencies

Interactions

Difficulty forming deep, emotional connections

Uncomfortable with physical displays of affection

Struggle to empathise with others’ feelings

Change the subject when discussions turn emotional

Appear indifferent or detached in social settings

Perceived as blunt or straightforward in their communication

Offer practical solutions to problems, rather than emotional support

Have a small, close-knit circle of friends, if any

Inadvertently hurt others by dismissing their emotions

Often seen as the ‘rock’ or ‘anchor’ by their peers

Body language

Cross arms or create physical barriers when emotional topics arise

Maintain a steady, controlled posture

Rarely exhibit nervous ticks or fidgeting

Minimal eye contact during emotional conversations

Often have a rigid or stiff walk or stance

Avoid touch or recoil slightly from unexpected contact

Neutral or hard to read facial expressions

Look away or distance themselves from emotional displays

Rarely cry or show signs of emotional distress in public

Likely to control voice pitch and volume meticulously, even when agitated

Attitude

A practical and no-nonsense demeanour

Often skeptical of emotional reasoning or decisions

May seem dismissive or cynical about sentimentality

Value strength, self-sufficiency, and independence

Pride themselves on not ‘giving in’ to emotions

Can be incredibly self-disciplined and focused

View emotional displays as weaknesses or inconveniences

Have a strong drive to maintain composure under pressure

Sometimes accused of lacking passion or enthusiasm

Can come across as disinterested or aloof

Positive story outcomes

Learn to acknowledge and accept their emotions in a healthy way

Build stronger, more genuine relationships through vulnerability

Find themselves more at peace after emotional breakthroughs

Gain respect from others for their growth and emotional maturity

Overcome past traumas that caused them to suppress their feelings

Develop a more balanced approach to problem-solving

Become a role model for others struggling with emotional expression

Facilitate a cathartic moment that resolves a central conflict

Experience personal breakthroughs leading to unexpected joy

Discover hidden strengths through the acceptance of weakness

Negative story outcomes

Relationships may deteriorate because of emotional neglect

They could face a breakdown from accumulated stress

Might cause unintended harm to themselves or others

Risk becoming isolated because of their lack of emotional openness

Can suffer from health issues related to suppressed emotions

Might miss out on life-changing opportunities because of fear of vulnerability

Could be overtaken by their emotions in a critical moment

May lose the trust or respect of peers who crave emotional honesty

Potentially fail to resolve a major conflict because of emotional barriers

Their growth as a character might stagnate, leading to a tragic outcome

Helpful Vocabulary

Aloof

Detached

Dismissive

Stoic

Impassive

Restrained

Unflappable

Resolute

Suppressed

Guarded

Inexpressive

Dispassionate

Self-contained

Unemotional

Nonreactive

Disconnected

Inhibited

Controlled

Reticent

Reserved

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astrolovecosmos · 2 months

Text

Chiron in Aries as a spiritual warrior is confronting, impulsive, and strong. They embrace the bravery needed to navigate self-discovery, healing of the ego or identity, and empowerment overall. They fight for their soul. Despite this self-focus they can be good at getting others passionate about a cause or sense of justice.

Chiron in Taurus as a spiritual warrior embodies grounded healing, stability, and prosperity. They face issues of self-worth and material security with resilience. They can get stronger with a deep connection to nature, with self-acceptance, and seeing intrinsic value in things or people. Chiron in Taurus teaches that true healing arises from a strong sense of worthiness and connection to what you can create, nurture, or sustain.

Chiron in Gemini as a spiritual warrior is intellectually agile, communicative, and adaptable. They confront inner conflicts through dialogue, seeking understanding and integration. Embracing the power of words and ideas, they navigate the complexities of their psyche and relationships with curiosity and flexibility. They fight for clarity of thought and the liberation of the mind.

Chiron in Cancer as a spiritual warrior is the protector, guard, and natural healer. They address inner wounds with empathy and sensitivity, embracing vulnerability as a path to healing. Guided by intuition and the wisdom of the heart, they navigate the depths of their emotional landscape with compassion and courage. They fight for emotional security and the healing of ancestral patterns, fostering a sense of belonging and nurturing within themselves and others.

Chiron in Leo as a spiritual warrior is bold, creative, and fiercely authentic. They mend inner wounds related to self-expression and validation with heart and passion. Embracing their unique gifts and talents, they shine brightly as beacons of self-love and empowerment. They are guided by an inner fire and can inspire others to embrace their own sovereignty and creative potential. They fight for the liberation of the authentic self and the reigniting of a spiritual flame. They can also act as spiritual leaders at times.

Chiron in Virgo as a spiritual warrior is meticulous, analytical, and devoted to their causes or sense of justice. They must deal with inner wounds related to self-criticism and perfectionism with humility and acceptance. Embracing the power of self-care and service, they navigate the journey of self-improvement with precision and compassion. Guided by a desire for wholeness, they seek to heal themselves and others through practical, tangible means. They fight for inner purity and the integration of mind, body, and spirit.

Chiron in Libra as a spiritual warrior is guided by a desire for peace, they fight for inner equilibrium and harmonious connections. They fight and defend their inner peace and level-headedness. Logic and objectivity being tools for them on their healing journey. Embracing pros and cons of intimate or partnership-like dynamics, fighting for fairness, and seeking justice are all battles for this soul. Inner beauty, kindness, and grace are their weapons.

Chiron in Scorpio as a spiritual warrior delve into the shadows of the psyche, embracing the power of regeneration and healing. Guided by a profound understanding of the cycle of death and rebirth, they navigate the soul's journey with passion, intensity, and emotional strength. These are perceptive beings that must learn a lot about inner power and outer power dynamics. They fight for the integration of darkness and light, embracing the alchemical process.

Chiron in Sagittarius as a spiritual warrior seek a spiritual truth, they seek meaning and purpose. They are guided by a spirit of adventure and a thirst for higher knowledge, they navigate the terrain of their inner world with courage and optimism. They fight for liberation from limiting beliefs and dogma, embracing the transformative power of open-mindedness and philosophical exploration.

Chiron in Capricorn as a spiritual warrior navigates the rocky terrain of their inner world with patience and perseverance. They fight for self-reliance and the empowerment of their true potential, embracing the promise of hard work and follow the path to personal and spiritual growth. They are responsible, enduring, and ambitious spiritual leaders or followers. They have a deep sense of integrity and duty.

Chiron in Aquarius as a spiritual warrior breaks free from societal norms and embrace their authenticity. Guided by a spirit of innovation and a desire for social change, they navigate the complexities of their inner world with unconventional wisdom and radical self-acceptance. They fight for the freedom of the soul and the advancement of humanity, embracing collaboration and progressive thinking on the path to spiritual evolution. They inspire, rebel, argue, and shake things up.

Chiron in Pisces as a spiritual warrior transcends with profound empathy and spiritual insight. They are drawn to ideas and practices of enlightenment, seeking to dissolve boundaries and connect with the universal consciousness. They confront wounds related to vulnerability and sacrifice with a deep sense of compassion and selflessness. They fight to defend the sanctity of spiritual realms and to safeguard the well-being of all beings, embracing the archetype of a hero who fights out of love and devotion.

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