#The secret of never losing to war.

[falseandrealultravival]

Lao Tzu (老子), all chapters bibliographical ~ ~ Part 2（２/３）:Essay

Lao Tzu ( Kunio Hachiya :paperback Iwanamibunko)

The Chinese classic "Lao Tzu" is a short document consisting of a short sentence fragment and 81 chapters (5,000 words), but its meaning is very deep. From now on, I will divide it into three parts and list the keywords and key points of each chapter. It is written as @ 1 = Chapter 1. 81/3 = 27 chapters each. The source is from "Lao Tzu" (Tamaki Ogawa, translation: Chuko Bunko). This blog makes sense to index and organize the Lao Tzu in me. This is the second time.

(Before accepting)

@ 28: "If you keep the weakness while maintaining the strength of hardness, it will become a valley in the world. Then you will acquire the same virtue. It is the uncut wood (Araki:樸) (wood as it is cut) Is equivalent to. "(See @ 19)

@ 29: "The world is not something you can catch when you try to catch it. If you stick to it, you lose it."

@ 30: "Those who have the intention of the Tao do not use force. The place where the army hangs out becomes a barren land."

@ 31: "A good weapon is an ominous tool." & "Don't be honored to win the battle. Those who do it are those who enjoy murder." Those who hold a celebration party die violent death.

@ 32: "The way the Tao is. The Tao is permanent and has no name." & "It is small wood but no one can make it a subordinate."

(See @ 19)

@ 33: "The state of an excellent person. It is a wise person who understands others, and a person who understands himself is a person who has a insight." It has a poetry-like form, such as stepping rhyme and using couplets.

@ 34: "The great Tao is like a floating ship. No matter what you can do, you don't take credit for yourself."

@ 35: "People in the world gather to those who hold a great shape. When the Tao is mentioned, it is candid."

@ 36: "The secret of never losing to war." "If you want to weaken a person, you must first strengthen it for a while. If you want to take away from it, you must give it first. (Several other examples)" & " Fish should stay at the bottom of the deep water. The nation's sharpest weapon should not be shown to anyone. "

(Note) There is a theory that the text of the ancient conspiracy book "Zhousho".　It has been said mixed in with this chapter, but since it has been regarded as a chapter of Lao Tzu since ancient times, the theory would be adopted. The point is to accelerate the decline of the enemy by consciously increasing it. You can imagine the idea of ​​"the moon that is missing when it is full" in I Ching(易経). The latter half of the word "fish is ..." is an image of the strongest modern weapon, the nuclear submarine. It is reminiscent of a fish in a deep pool firing an SLBM. This is a unique chapter among all 81 chapters of Lao Tzu.

@ 37: "The Tao is useless, but it can' t do nothing." & "The unnamed log:樸 "creates a state of unselfishness. (See @ 19)

(Up to this point, the first volume is called "Tao Sutra." The second volume is called "Virtue

Sutra." Together, it is "Lao Tzu ‘s Tao Virtue Sutra." It is the official name of "Lao Tzu.")

@ 38: "People with high virtues do not brag about it." & "Relativization of Confucian morals such as jin(仁), righteousness(義), and gratitude(礼)."

Jin and righteous people have some motive to do "good deeds."

@ 39: "One (one: perfect) ... By knowing the unification principle, heaven, earth, and living things can live." & "The king uses loneliness, widow, and poor crop as his own name."

The king is said to embody the misery of the world. Orphans are "minashigo". The widow or widower is "one person", and the non-grain is "bad crop and food is scarce".

@ 40: "The road goes back. Weakness is the function of the Tao."

@ 41: "Differences in how to accept the Tao depending on personality (3 ranks)." & "Great talents mature late "(Great talent=Large vessel)

The word "large vessel means "not that a large vessel is completed slowly, but that a large vessel is not completed".

@ 42: "The Tao does produce one, one produces two, two produces three, three produces all things." & "All things bear the yin and hold the yang."

This part is common to the Yin-Yang Wuxing theory and the view of I Ching. The intimacy is extremely high with the trinity of father, mother, and child, and I Ching, which talks about the fate of all things.

& "A ferocious thing does not die well. I make this the father of teaching." As in this chapter, there are some things that make it difficult to see the connection between the first half and the second half, making Lao Tzu particularly difficult.

@ 43: "Water rushes ignoring hard things." & "Teaching without words, things that can be compared with actions without actions are rare."

Lao Tzu praised water in the previous chapter. (See @ 8)

@ 44: "Which do you choose, honor or body?" "If you are too greedy, you will suffer a huge loss."

The question mark was asked, "What is the significance of the honor of damaging the body?"

Also, greed is a source of earthly desires.

@ 45: "It looks like there is something missing in the big ones. (Hereafter, the same purpose is expressed in antithesis.)"

@ 46: "If there is no war, war horses will become farm horses." & "Knowing enough is always enough."

A bell against spreading desires indefinitely.

@ 47: "Knowing the world without leaving the house. The farther you go, the less you know."

Nowadays, the power of television, radio, and the Internet makes it possible to understand the world, but how did Lao Tzu know about the world? It is a mystery to modern people. Also, if the person traveling visits a tourist destination or a commercial city, the blind person will only get information that is junky.

@ 48: "When you study, you will know more. Those who do the Tao will reduce what they do."

From a slightly twisted point of view, if you study and do the Tao, what you know and what you do is the same. So I see that both are needed.

@ 49: "The idea of ​​good is completed, with good people as good and non-good people as good."

Only when you know that it is "bad" can you understand that it is "good." Both are two sides of the same coin. In this view, saints do not discriminate against different people. (See @ 27)

@ 50: "The way to divide life and death ... Who can predict? Many people who are obsessed with life go to the dead place."

@ 51: "The Tao creates creatures, and virtue nurtures them."

The kanji "Toku(徳)" originally has one more stroke, and when the character is translated, it can be read as "going the way with an honest heart." Then you will meet various tangible and intangible treasures on the road. In kanji, it leads to the homophone "Toku(得)".

@ 52: "There is a mother in the world. You know a child from its mother, you know a mother from its child, and you will not be harmed until you die."

@ 53: "The people are hungry, but the dynasty has sharp weapons, and gets bored. It is a country that is off the Tao." (← For example, modern North Korea. There must have been such a country even during the Spring and Autumn Warring States period.)

@ 54: "With well-prepared equipment, offspring will continue to respect their ancestors. It is a virtue of the Tao." & "I see a virtuous person from the eyes of a ruler."

There are similarities between governing a country and governing a home.

(Hereafter, next time)

#Lao Tzu #81 chapters #5000words #its meaning is very deep. #Tao #The secret of never losing to war. #The unnamed log #I Ching #Lao Tzu ‘s Tao Virtue Sutra #baby #essay #Rei Morishita

[antianakin]

@kine-iende

I feel like I'm kicking a hornet's nest by answering this, but what is this blog for if not controversial opinions on things.

Just as a quick disclaimer, Soft Wars is obviously a FAN WORK, so I am not trying to attack the author of this series for their chosen interpretations of things, their characterization choices, etc by stating my opinions on this. Everyone is allowed their own opinions and interpretations and tastes and I applaud this work for the well-written epic that it is and the clear impact it's had on the fandom as a whole.

TL;DR at the end under the cut.

With that out of the way, I think it does some things REALLY REALLY WELL, and some things that I like considerably less. As this reply says, it's really high quality writing with some interpretations of characters I don't personally like or agree with (I won't say they're "bad" because just because I don't like something doesn't make it bad).

Firstly, I really love the way Soft Wars chooses to portray the clones, the focus it has on them already HAVING a chosen culture before the Jedi that they've created amongst themselves, a lot of their own independence, and the strong and unique relationships between the different clone characters. Cody does not feel like he could be replaced with Fox or Ponds or Bly and be effectively the same character, for example. They also all have such unique relationships among each other and with their main Jedi counterparts which was really interesting to see. I love me a niche pairing sometimes.

I particularly love the way Fox and Ponds' relationship played out as someone who identifies as asexual and at least a little aromantic, too. I also really like the way Obi-Wan's sensitivity to touch is handled within his relationship with Cody and how respectful Cody is of that, it's one of my favorite aspects of that relationship in Soft Wars.

That being said, I'm not the BIGGEST fan of the way the Jedi are portrayed all the time. Sometimes it's really great, and I do like it! It's by no means ANTI Jedi, there is no virulent hatred aimed at the Jedi in the narrative. But it absolutely falls into the category of showcasing the Jedi as repressed and somewhat complacent and if they just were a little more Mandalorian, a little more like Anakin, they could've saved themselves from genocide and they'd just be generally happier and healthier people.

This obviously makes itself MOST known with the way the relationship between Rex and Anakin (and Obi-Wan to some degree) gets treated. Rex becomes like Anakin's replacement father-figure because Obi-Wan just didn't quite hit the mark well enough because he's too much of a Jedi and doesn't cater to Anakin's specific needs which is why Anakin falls for Palpatine's manipulations so much. Rex's blatant dislike of Obi-Wan which he BARELY keeps in check and which everybody is aware of because he blames Obi-Wan for Anakin being kind-of a selfish juvenile shithead is... certainly a take on that relationship. Rex tends to give Anakin a lot of advice that I personally see as just obvious normal Jedi philosophy and values as though it's clearly something Anakin wouldn't have learned from the Jedi already.

I'm also not a huge fan of the way Obi-Wan's relationship to Cody plays out in conjunction with the "pledge" to Cody as vod'alor. The fact that Obi-Wan DOESN'T pledge himself to Cody AS A POLITICAL LEADER somehow ends up meaning Obi-Wan doesn't love Cody enough and it's only when Obi-Wan chooses Cody OVER THE JEDI that Obi-Wan is truly... freed? Unrepressed? On his way to a happier way of living life because now he's willing to be in a more typical committed relationship and that's the only way to have a healthy relationship? Obi-Wan choosing Cody and the clones over the Jedi is also what ultimately gets Rex to decide Obi-Wan's not a TOTAL piece of shit and can be saved from his unhealthy toxic Jedi ways.

Then there's Cody apparently blaming MACE for the clones' situation within the GAR. Like I get that the clones would've believed the Jedi had ordered them and all that, but he's literally in a relationship with Obi-Wan who is ON THE COUNCIL and was the one to discover Kamino and the clones and could 1000% tell Cody the truth, and Cody is not presented as though he's kind-of dim and unintelligent or too stubborn to accept the truth, so it feels strange that Cody would hate Mace because he thinks Mace is the reason the clones are "enslaved" to the Republic or whatever. But I will mention here that Mace IS portrayed positively, Cody's dislike of Mace and his choice to blame Mace for their situation is NOT universal since we see a really lovely friendship between Mace and Ponds, so it's not like Mace is at all villainized. It just feels like a strange opinion for Cody to have, especially since it really only makes an appearance once and never gets explored again to my knowledge and Cody's blame seems to rest SOLELY on Mace, not the Jedi or the Council at large.

I don't like the way the Council gets sort-of villainized as a governing body even if its individual members are sometimes treated positively outside of it, specifically through them being pitted against Anakin in particular for no obvious reason. The Deception arc is interpreted as the Council ORDERING Obi-Wan to fake his death and then lie to Anakin about it, when it's stated really really clearly in the episode that the Council itself (or at least Yoda and probably Mace too) don't actually think lying to Anakin is the best idea but that Obi-Wan himself insisted on it for several different reasons, both strategic and personal. Obi-Wan specifically says the Council wants him to "break" Anakin, when a) it's not the Council's idea to begin with in canon, and b) that's not even what Obi-Wan's TRYING to do with this choice in canon.

This theme of pitting the Council against Anakin also comes up in a fic where Obi-Wan "allows" the Council to force Anakin to help Quinlan learn how to go undercover as a slave. It's pointed out by Cody that Quinlan is a perfectly good undercover agent and so he either shouldn't have NEEDED assistance from anyone in figuring out how to act the part or he should have other friends he could go to that could help him learn more that just... aren't Anakin (why it's a better idea to ask a different former slave for advice rather than Anakin who is a trained Jedi with access to mental health care and a lot of support just because Anakin is Anakin and so he's special does not get addressed). The implication here is that the Council just doesn't care about Anakin enough to utilize these options if it's quicker and easier to just use Anakin.

I don't like the way Ki-Adi Mundi is portrayed in Soft Wars, although I have seen a few posts on the author's page about this kind-of addressing some of the critique about the way Ki-Adi is written which... helps. Ki-Adi is apparently someone who gets a LOT of fandom hate for some reason, I assume it's a Legends thing since he's pretty minor in high canon and all of his scenes are pretty generic kindly old man stuff. Since this seems like something that's gotten discussed and brought up a bunch by other people I'm not going to dwell on it.

Soft Wars DOES undo the entire Tusken massacre because it recognizes that's something you either just undo or have to address and deal with and they went with the easier option of just saving Shmi and letting him not massacre an entire village of people down to the last child. I don't have any strong feelings on this honestly, it's clearly the only real way to pretend Anakin's not an irredeemable piece of shit by the time of the Clone Wars. Also the entire point of Soft Wars is to save everybody from death, so saving Shmi is kind-of a necessary thing to do.

You could probably also categorize Soft Wars as one of those stories that acts like if Anakin had just gotten one more lecture from someone about what attachment actually means or that the Jedi actually CAN love blah blah blah that it would've suddenly saved him from going Sith. It's not particularly accurate to how Anakin is written in canon, but it's pretty common to how people who really like Anakin and sympathize with him and relate to him like to write him as a character.

All in all, Soft Wars is exactly what it says it is. It's soft. It's soft towards Anakin, it's soft towards the clones, it's soft towards the war and the worldbuilding. It's definitely worth a read just for the way it handles the clone worldbuilding and the clear impact it has had on the way the clones have been written in fic ever since. At this point, I don't regret reading it but I also don't go back to it very often anymore and there's a reason I didn't rec Soft Wars in my Pro-Jedi Codywan rec list lol.

TL;DR: Soft Wars is not what I would consider fully Pro-Jedi but nor is it anywhere near virulently anti-Jedi and it has some really neat writing for the clones while obviously being really pro-Anakin Skywalker to the point of smoothing out most of his more uncomfortable flaws to make him a more sympathetic and likable character.

#fan fic #fic #my relationship with soft wars is that i kind-of created my own soft wars in my head to cater to my personal interpretations #rex gets thru to anakin not because the clones know better than the jedi but just because palps poisoned anakin against the jedi #and palps never saw the clones as a threat in that particular way so he never bothered poisoning anakin against THEM #so rex can say exactly the same thing as the jedi do and anakin will hear it like it's totally new information #cody's relationship with obi-wan is a LOT more respectful of his jedi values concerning commitments #so at NO POINT is obi-wan pressured into 'pledging' to cody nor does cody ever even expect it #he doesn't love obi-wan in SPITE of obi-wan being a jedi i hate that #soft wars also seems to either have the jedi reform to allow marriage or they just always had marriage and anakin didn't know #i can't recall offhand #but either way my soft wars would have no marriage #if anakin wants to stay married to padme he can damn well leave the order to do it #i also decided that anakin pledging to cody in secret ends up this major betrayal once obi-wan finds out about it #because he just BROKE HIS VOWS like it didn't MATTER #anakin keeps it a secret in part because he just doesn't want to face censure or disappointment from anyone #partly because he doesn't want to lose ahsoka and if he gets asked to leave the jedi that's obviously a consequence #but also partly because he DOES care about the jedi and they're still at war and if he has to leave the order he also has to leave the GAR #he wants to be able to be there to help protect the clones and other jedi #he doesn't want to have to abandon them #so he just keeps it a secret while fully intending to reveal it after the war is over and THEN leave #but obi-wan does find out thru Reasons and anakin faces Consequences for his actions #including losing ahsoka and probably having to leave the GAR #but he rejoins as a civilian consultant the way ahsoka does and likely via pulled strings gets assigned to a segment of the 501st or smthg #ahsoka ends up obi-wan's padawan #obi-wan and cody end up ending their relationship while all of this is going on because cody lied to him too #and obi-wan feels really upset by this but recognizes that cody is a political leader of the clones and was just doing his job #cody was protecting his people in the way he believed was best #cody was prioritizing duty over his personal relationship to obi-wan #and given that obi-wan will always prioritize duty over his personal relationships he can hardly hold this against cody

[rmu-vincent]

I don’t know why people keep saying things about your future, car accidents, and Myers. Those things are in NO WAY related. What even IS a car accident really? NOT something that happens to you, that’s for sure! Definitely NO car accident and NO gruesome betrayal of ANY SORT afterwards, it could NEVER happen. Some people are so creative!

Anyway, uhhh uhhhh a question…would you rather achieve your dreams and be completely alone, or miss the opportunity but still have someone by your side…?

Thank you for your message, Ms CelestialPaperHaze. With so many awful, borderline-threatning asks in my inbox lately, I've been perplexed and worried; receiving a sensible message was a breath of fresh air.

Calling those people creative might not be the right choice of words, they are more likely either ill-willed and jealous or simply foolish for believing in the mythical concept of destiny, but you are absolutely correct: their strange, sick fantasies have nothing to do with reality, nor do they make sense.

As for your question, I am inclined to believe that success serves as a means of achieving anything. I have never had many people beside me; it has always been me that I had to rely on. Still, I have come this far, and I do not intend to stop at least until my dream job is acquired and I am stable and confident in my social and financial position. People often say that there are things that money cannot buy, and it is true to some extent; for example, no one can buy true genius. However, things that we are unable to purchase directly are still available to fake. With this said, when I achieve my dreams, there would be no possibility of me being completely and utterly alone. Myers Corporation is famous for its tightly-knit team and wonderful rapport. I assure you there will be more than enough space for me in the Corporation when I join them, and then… Well, then there would be nothing I could not do.

#Being alone is frightening yet it is not something I have never experienced before. #Losing the final battle of a life-long war would be significantly more devastating than looking around and seeing #That you are its only victor. #vtsom #vincent the secret of myers #vincent edgeworth #rp #ask blog

[zellyrolls]

u guys have no idea what mfin SITUATIONS i put binxhera in w my brain. they’re crazy. it’s insane. they’re Such Situations.

#me and my binxhera spy in the midst of a war espionage au #where the unseelie is more directly involved in taking down the court of craft #and the court of craft is in the shadows as this dangerous and secretive mysterious dangerous court #and andhera is left behind to be a fake prisoner to them to gain intel for the unseelie #and instead finds unparalleled kindness and warmth behind the protective facade of an imaginary ruthless army #and struggles as he gains all the info that he could use to rise to a higher station in the unseelie court #but also a friend he has never had before and is unwilling to lose #shakes shahla #i got SO many situations in my head you have no fuckign idea

[merevide]

the urge to put every thing i enjoy on my blog as a sort of shrine to my interests vs. the urge to not let anyone know how much i’m consumed by things

#they’re fighting to the death btw #i won’t lie i’ll be obsessed with something and then just not talk about it anywhere bc i feel like it’s something i gotta #just keep to myself. in my head. like in a mix of ‘how dare i have interests’ sort of way and a secret second thing (if i start talking #about it i’ll never stop) usually i lose the war with myself but yknow how it is #at the same time idk why i even have this dilemma bc one it’s my own blog #i can post what i want. when i want. no one cares. two i am just some person on the internet nobody gaf #my text #posting draftsss

[ghoulphile]

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 3.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --” ➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠 there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself mostly un-beta'd atm a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!

feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.

Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.

It’d be easier if they were.

Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.

Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.

Then came the separation.

Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.

And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.

See, war’s something he understands.

But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?

How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?

When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?

He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.

Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.

The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.

Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.

Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.

But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.

See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”

While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.

It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.

A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.

At first, he kept his distance.

Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.

Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.

Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.

Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.

Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.

So what if he takes himself in hand after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?

Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?

Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.

“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”

Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.

“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”

Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”

Shit.

“M’sorry, baby. He’s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”

Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.

“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”

“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”

“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”

Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.

You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.

“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”

“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”

Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.

“... Then pancakes it is.”

As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”

“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”

“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”

“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”

She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears. 

Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.

“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.

“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”

The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.

The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.

Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.

When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.

You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.

Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.

Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”

Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”

Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood. 

“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”

He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”

Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.

“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.

Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.

Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.

The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.

“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”

“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”

Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”

“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.

Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.

Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.

Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.

When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”

“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”

Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”

The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.

He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.

However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog. 

Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not what I --”

He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”

“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”

Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.

Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?

Hell, you even cook and clean!

Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.

Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.

How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.

If he wasn’t so captivating…

“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”

“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.

When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.

Waiting to see what you'll do.

Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.

Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.

Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.

“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”

The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.

“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”

The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.

The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.

“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”

He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.

Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”

Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.

“C’mon, be honest.”

With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.

“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”

“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”

“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”

“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.

He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.

Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.

“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”

Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.

Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.

You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.

He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."

Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”

"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."

part 2 dropping soon

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard smut #cooper howard #the ghoul #the ghoul smut

[stormhearty]

Pushed to the Edge

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Trigger: angst, cheating, suicide, death

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You were the official seer of Night Court for nearly 500 years. the Inner Circle had always listened to you and your visions; however, when the Archeron sisters came and Elain started to show her powers, your family started to shift their attention to her visions. When you try to voice your warnings about the death-lord’s resurrection, everyone gave you the cold shoulder, ignoring your prophesies — this included your mate.

Note: no hate to Azriel or Elain, it just helped with the plot. and Also, I know it's completely unreasonable for Azriel to not have the Truth-Teller be with him at all times, just go with it for now. And I am working on “Reach Your Voice” Series, I’m still trying to figure out how to make sure each of our boys spends quality time with the reader.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

“That sounds absolutely absurd… How many times will you try to warn about something that will never happen?”

Your voiced died in your throat as you watched Rhysand look at you with apprehension before focusing on the paperwork in front of him.

You had ran into his office, waking up in cold sweat after another vision of another Death God crawling it’s way back into Prythian. You had tried to forewarn your High Lord for weeks on end ever since you first saw that vision. However, your warnings had been ignored by Rhysand. You knew that it sounded impossible, you knew that, Prythian had just finished a war — one that almost destroyed the world.

After the war with the King of Hybern, Prythian was slowly returning to its normal … well, attempting to fix what was broken by the King. The Night Court was healing, trying to rebuild itself again to its glory, helping other Courts to fix the damages that the war caused. Rhysand had been through an ordeal, losing his life to save Prythian and you knew that your High Lord was still recuperating from that tragedy. You knew that your High Lady was as well, almost losing her mate.

They didn’t need another war to happen when peace had barely returned.

But you also knew there was another reason your High Lord had been ignoring your for forewarning. You looked to the side, one where the rest of the Inner Circle was watching the confrontation. Cassian and Nesta, sitting close to each other, a glass of wine in their hands, whispering to each other, mostly likely about you and your vision. You could barely pick up with your keen Fae hearing on what they were saying.

“Do you think what she’s saying is real? That Koschei is trying to come back?”

“Elain hasn’t seen it though…”

The whisper of the middle Archeron child echoed in your ears as you looked at the Made Fae. She sat next to the window, brown eyes that seemed to sparkle like the sun rested on you before turning over to the male that she was sitting with. Your gaze followed hers to Azriel — your mate— but you can see that he didn’t bother to glance in your direction, only to focus on the delicate female next to him.

It hurt. You watched as the two of them conversed, glancing back in your direction before focusing on each other.

It was no secret, not for you, on Elain’s growing infatuation for the Shadowsinger, and in turn his own growing affections for the middle Archeron child — and in turn, losing his love for you.

You woke up in an empty bed, your mate missing from his side. You tried to talk to Cassian about how his day went, on if he would still train you with the Valkyries if he had time. You tried to converse with Rhysand and Feyre, seeing if they were healing properly after the war, wanting to make sure your High Lord and Lady were safe. You sought after you mate, wanting to spend even a second with him.

But they disregarded you so easily. Especially after they had found out that Elain had similar powers to you, one that was gifted to her by the Cauldron — one that was deemed more powerful than your own.

Your role as the Official Seer of Night Court was granted to you after Helion had sent you as an emissary for Day Court. Helion had found you wandering around Day Court lands. You had been a wandering child, with no real attachment to any Court, abandoned in the streets by your family at the age of five when your seer powers started to come into light. Helion had taken you in when you were ten, helped you hone your powers. Being a seer had been a mystery, no one in your heritage (that you were aware of) was a seer. And it baffled Helion on why such a remarkable gift had been casted aside.

You had stayed with the Night Court, gaining their trust and friendship for five centuries, gaining your own little foothold in their family. You had been a pillar when Rhysand had been trapped Under the Mountain for nearly fifty years. You helped Mor and Armen with the official Night Court Duties, trained with Cassian to ensure you were strong enough to fight when neither he nor Azriel was there.

During your time protecting Valeris from the eyes of Amarantha, your mating bond with the Shadowsinger snapped. It had been difficult at the start, both of you were still struggling with the disappearance of your High Lord, along with the weight of protecting the very city he hidden from view. But during that time, you became each other’s pillar, each other’s comfort in such a dark time. Falling in love with Azriel wasn’t difficult.

But keeping his love, apparently, was the most difficult.

When the Archeron sister’s came into everyone’s lives, it caused a tip in the scales. You loved Feyre, you loved your High Lady. You would do anything in your power to ensure she was safe and well cared for. But for the Cauldron-Made sisters, it was difficult for you to accept them.

They were different. You couldn’t see anything about them, as if the Cauldron had masked them from you powers. It made you terrified of them. Feyre and Rhysand had tried to assure you that the Archeron sisters deemed no threat to the Night Court. And you trusted them — trusted your High Lord and Lady without a blink of an eye. And yes, while their words deemed true, you did not realize that they were a different type of threat. One that would eventually lose your foothold in the Night Court.

You swallowed, your throat parched as you glanced from the sight of your mate and Elain speaking to one another to Rhysand and then to Feyre who had stood next to him. She gave you a worried look, wondering what you were wanting to tell them.

The air was tense, the declaration from your High Lord seeming to echo in your surroundings — he had deemed your vision to be false. And he had never done that before.

“… But…” you whispered, your voice nothing but wind in such a large room, “… I’ve seen it so many times, Rhys. Someone is trying to resurrect him. That they need a piece of something from the Cauldron — -”

“The Cauldron is with Miryam and Drakon… in Creta. There is no way that anyone would be able to use that power again,” Rhysand’s tone was taut, as if trying to drawn a line between the truth and your vision, “Your vision must be wrong, (Y/N). There is no way that Koschei can be resurrected from that lake.”

Another swallow, “But what if it doesn’t have to be the Cauldron itself. It could be something that was Made from the Cauldron.”

Rhysand’s eyes snapped up from his desk, up to you, eyes darkening at the words you were insinuating, “—- What are you trying to say, (Y/N)?”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes shifting down to your hands, fiddling with your fingernails — a habit that you’ve had ever since you were a child — one that would leave your hands raw from removing skin, ‘… Nesta and Elain were Made from the Cauldron. If it were to get word to the followers of Koschei, they… they could be in danger. The power that resides in them is the Cauldron… Nesta took something from the Cauldron and did not return it… They could be looking for that.”

It was already bad that you were trying to suggest a return of a Death God, months after a war with Hybern, but it was worse that you were even implying that the sisters were the center of being in danger again.

A dark shadow stood in front of you and you looked up to see Azriel. The golden string that connected the two of you sung, it had been weeks since Azriel went near you, but you knew that his side of the bond was shut, enshroud by shadows, completely shutting you out.

“Az—-” you said his name, as if it was a prayer, hoping he’d be the voice of reason. That he would back up you and your visions. As he always had in the past.

“How can we know that your visions are truth, (Y/N)? There are two Seers in the Night Court now, and yet you are the only one who sees this.”

Your ears rang, a high pitch noise echoing through them as disbelief shook your body. Azriel never distrusted you, never doubted your visions and your forewarnings.

The bond in you ached, as if it was burning you on the inside. Tears lined your eyes as you looked up at your mate, brows furrowing, “…How could you, Azriel?” you muttered, the pain lining your tone, “How can you not trust me?” your voice small.

“Because Elain hasn’t seen it,” was all he had to say.

Hot tears ran your cheeks, as you shakily stepped back from the male that had towered you. You glanced at Cassian and Nesta who looked at you, their eyes inattentive to the pain that you were feeling. You glanced at your High Lord, who looked at you with disinterest. You looked at your High Lady, the only person in the room that seemed to have noticed your pain and anguish, as she took a step towards you way, only to be stopped by Rhysand, his hand around her wrist.

“… So, just because the Cauldron-Made Seer hasn’t seen it, doesn’t mean that it is going to happen?” you asked, your question in the air for everyone to think, “… Just because I wasn’t a Seer Made by the Cauldron, that my visions and my words are not real? That I am a lesser of a Seer than her?”

“(Y/N)—-” Feyre, the voice of reason, called our your name.

You took a step back again, head shaking at them, “I’ve worked my life off for the Night Court. Ensuring that your city is safe, making sure that any danger would never step past the wards that you have put up. I have never hidden anything from any of you. I used my visions and my powers for all of you. And yet…” your voice shook at the end, not believing anything that was happening in front of you, “You disregard me… the moment a better Seer shows up. One that is Cauldron-Made… one that you…” eyes shifting to Azriel, “Deems more suitable for you.

“I’ve seen it. Not only in my visions but here with you all. You have decided to all turn a blind eye to it, decided not to tell me about it. Three sisters for three brothers, isn’t it, Azriel?”

Azriel’s form stiffed in front of you — he did not think that you would have heard that.

You were done, you were tired. You were tired of the lies and the deceit from whom you thought were family.

Feyre’s brows furrowed as she looked at you and then her elder sisters before the back of Azriel. Rhysand stood up as well, standing next to his High Lady at your declaration.

“… What are you talking about, (Y/N)?” Feyre asked, watching your form shake.

“Don’t you lie to me…” you muttered, glaring at your High Lady, “Don’t you dare lie that you have not seen it. Don’t you dare tell me that you have not noticed that Azriel and Elain have been together all this time. That you have turned a blind eye that a mated male would be infatuated, would fall in love with someone else that was not his Cauldron-bound mate. Don’t you dare lie to me you have not all seen it, and have ignored it and not tell me about it.

“You also have all disregarded me and my visions, ever since Elain started to show her own powers. You have all deemed, even without you telling me, that my powers are not worthy enough. That you all would listen to her cryptic visions rather than my own.”

Your words were rushed, you were hyperventilating to the point that your visions swam, but you shook your head, focusing on the scene unfolding — Feyre’s surprised look, Nesta and Cassian staring wide-eye at Elain before glancing at the Shadowsinger in front of you and your High Lord gripping the edge of the table, his violet eyes clearing as if he was in a trance, as if his mind has been cleared and he realized what he has done and what was unfolding with his family.

“No, (Y/N), that’s not what we meant…” he tried to reason, try to gain back your trust in the found family you had with them.

You scrunched your face, shaking your head as you looked at your High Lord before back at your mate, “…That’s what you have meant for the months you have been ignoring my forewarnings. Been ignoring me. Because Elain’s powers are better than mine, you have casted me aside…” Another step back, glancing at the grand door behind you before you glanced back at the family who had lost you, to the mate that had broken your entire being, “You had decided, to your own conscious, to fall in love with someone else, who is bound to someone else, just because you deemed that the Cauldron was wrong. I don’t understand what I have done to you, Azriel… when I have spent nearly five-hundred years with you, fifty years with you as your mate. And you, knowing Elain for a mere five minutes, throwing all that away…”

Azriel looked at you, his chest rising and falling quickly, his eyes staring you down. He watched as tears continued to flood down your cheeks, your form shaking even further. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t just stand here and be the object that they throw away.

So, you ran, ran out of that room, your name echoing behind you as your dress swirled behind you. You climbed up the spiraling stairs to your shared room with Azriel, throwing up the strongest ward you can muster behind you and around you. You couldn’t handle it.

You couldn’t handle the echo of the bond in your chest, you couldn’t handle the empty stare of your mated looking at you. You couldn’t handle the thought that you were so easily replaceable. A sob escaped your lips as you rummaged through Azriel’s drawer of weapons, pulling out the one weapon that he never is without — Truth-Teller. Dark tendrils of shadow gripped your wrist as you looked around you, Azriel’s shadows surrounding you.

That was where his shadows went — they had always disappeared when he was around Elain, yet they were here with you.

Frantic knocks startled you as you grasped the weapon close to your chest, your head whipping around towards the door. You heard them — Feyre’s panicked voice, Rhysand’s apologizes, Cassian yelling your name. But you didn’t hear that one voice that you had loved — you knew Azriel wasn’t there.

That had pushed you. Gripping the weapon, you moved to the bathroom, the shadows following your every movement. As you kneeled down on the marble floor, you felt the tug of the shadows against your hand, trying to will the weapon out of your grip — attempting you to stop at a take of your life.

You had always loved the shadows that surrounded Azriel, both physically and metaphorically speaking. They had always comforted you, protected you, always had been there for both of you when times were tough. But this was one of the times that you didn’t want them protecting you, comforting you.

“Please..” you begged at them. Whether or not they would listen or sprint off to their master, they backed off, though a few tendrils stayed behind, slithering around your wrist, holding Truth-Teller, as if a reminder not to do it. But you had made your mind — you couldn’t stay and be pushed to the side. Not anymore.

And with a last breath impaled yourself with your mate’s beloved knife, the very knife he had handed Elain during the war, was the last thing you remembered. As your body fell against the marbled floor, your soul leaving your body, you felt the tendrils of shadow frantically skim over your body, as if to try to find a piece of life still clinging onto you. Eyes looked and watched as the ward was broken and your High Lord and Lady skidding towards your body as your soul left for the skies above, the cool feeling of shadow never leaving your body.

A gasp escaped your lips, the dull ache on your chest making you rub at it.

“— - What…” you mumbled, your voice hoarse as if not used for a century.

“That Shadowsinger did not know what he had decided to let go, huh…” A voice, one so dark and so familiar echoing.

You knew that voice, that voice that haunted you in your visions for weeks — the same voice that you tried to warn your family about. Eyes opening, you were surrounded by the dark, the voice of the Death-God echoing around you.

“I should have died…” you voiced to no-one.

A laugh echoed around you, “You did, (Y/N), but you forget that I am a Death-God… And I can resurrect anyone I wish. Now, that your family has abandoned you, why don’t you join me. Show them what happens when a Seer of your capacity has been cast aside. I should have had you when that original family of yours stranded you, but that damn High Lord of Day found you first. Anyway… come child…”

You laid there, in the darkness, before you shakily reach out a hand, before spiny fingers grasped onto yours and pulled you out of that darkness.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar angst #a court of thorns and roses #( .one shot : pushed to the edge )

[andragoras-in-vanity]

ah the bathtub scene, akin to what the shower scene is to slashers

#we love a bathtub scene #also i miss my haunted old house but im VERY glad i never faced that #the thing running across the dinning room at me was just not a favourite moments #but i miss my old house so so so much and i wish we could move back #but if my mum and i are leaving then why cant we live one of those ghost stories where the somewhat downtrodden mother and child move into #the ancient and shoddy home that has more than a few tragic secrets #or just the movie practical magic #GOD DAMN. ID LOVE TO LIVE ON LAND THAT HAS A BOAT HOUSE #FUCK #i just want a big old house again even if its haunted especially if its haunted #i love ghost stories but my god why do i feel the same loss of a woman in a gothic novel whos husband died at war #she haunts the house she wants him to haunt the house she wants what he never gave her the life they never got to have #i miss being around the spirits so much they soemtimes eased my heart better than any living person could #so why do i feel like the love of my life is already dead before i ever met him #im haunting the earth and i cant even find a home to haunt instead and i dont want to be dead anymore #i want the man who should love me but its hard to have faith he even stull exists when i fee the sorrow of losing him in a previous life #qnd the god awful pain of his funeral happening before mine #the sheer injustice of that orange sunset when they buried him and having to live without hin #for however short it was before i died too #ill never know if it was sickness or a cut on the wrist but i couldn't live without him and i still cant #i shouldn't have watched this episode #gothic horror destroys me usually in a good way but not this one this one just hurts #im more dead than alive i miss my ghosts #cabinet of curiosities #the murmuring #that was a perfect episode to end with and i want a series of stories just like that one

[bi-writes]

bestfriend!roommate!simon x fem!reader masterlist all contain nsfw (18+) or at least suggestive content. please read cw before engaging.

notes about reader: described as curvy, has hair long enough to hold, grew up without money and has none to her name, mentions having little to no family -> as always, the reader is a character herself, but i’ve tried my best to give little to no physical description and no native country of origin

a collection of stories about lieutenant simon "ghost" riley and his childhood best friend who he is really, totally not even a little in love with.

new uniform -> you get a new job

lingering customer -> your new job is complicated

tomorrow is just a day too late -> simon loses some self-control

simon helps you tie your shoes -> simon loses control again

non-negotiable -> simon makes a difficult decision

just another day -> december 25th is just another day

it's only dinner -> a homecooked meal

friends don't keep secrets -> lying to simon is never a good idea

war paint -> simon gets his face painted

the first time she sees who you really are -> simon makes a mistake

hide and seek -> simon has nothing left to lose

background player -> simon introduces you to a friend

written in stone -> mine, mine, mine, mine

if you would like to know when i post something new, please turn on notifications for @bi-has-written.

no taglist. it updates when i get thoughts, which lately has been frequent.

back to complete masterlist

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut

[ironambivalence]

It starts slow. Just the sensation of leather cuffs cutting into your wrists and ankles. The metal collar fastened around your neck, its thick chain bolted into the wall. It has been days like that, unable to rise beyond being on all fours, your meals placed into the trough in front of you. Fumbling to gulp them down without hands in the dark.

The first crack of light through the open barn door is a revelation. Blinding you at first, you feel the cool air brush against your bare skin, completely naked except for the chains and cuffs that hold you in place.

You hear the sound of men’s voices. Of footsteps coming closer. Then rough hands on your skin. You catch the words “auction” and “inspection” through the thick haze of your mind. One of them examines the plastic tag in your ear, then you feel several strange sets of hands on your body. Groping you, grabbing you. Your tits and ass and thighs all kneaded and examined. Your holes invaded by strange fingers as you are probed and examined in the most vulgar and humiliating ways. Your cunt is stretched wide and exposed. Your asshole penetrated with gloved fingers. Your mouth opened with applied pressure on either side of your jaw, two fingers flat against your tongue as your teeth and gag reflex are checked. Dehumanized, as though you were nothing but a cheap doll. Every aspect of you vulnerable, helpless, and exposed. Nothing private. Nothing secret.

Suddenly, everything comes clear as you’re jerked up onto your feet, vision snapping into focus. Surrounded by twenty men on that concrete floor, you hear the bidding war as you’re led over to the metal rack. As your wrists and ankles are fastened into place, you realize they are bidding for who gets the privilege of going first. You realize, in that moment, chained to a rape rack on all fours, that you are about to become a breeding bitch. A cocksleeve for twenty men. Nothing more than collared livestock, to be raped full as your womb is forced to accept the relentless violation. You would scream if you could, but the metal bit in your mouth prevents it. Instead, you’re forced to whimper in desperation as the first rough set of hands grips your waist, the head of his swollen cock pressed against your helpless cunt, before he sinks deep inside your vulnerable, aching hole.

You are rutted into the dirt on your knees like a bitch in heat. A filthy thing to rape and ruin. Destroyed, one by one, as your cunt is violated with thick rivulets of cum. More animal that human. A toy for men to jerk off with, your body nothing more than bruised and ruined rapemeat, holes gaping and spasming, as your mind leaks slowly into your cunt. Your legs are shaking and your bruised body is slick with sweat. You’re losing everything now. All sense of time and perspective. Your dignity was gone a long time ago. Minutes and hours and days and weeks are interchangeable, and the constant filth and violation of stranger’s cocks pumping your aching fuckmeat becomes your new normal.

It feels like forever, chained down to the concrete slab and bred ceaselessly, until your hole is wrecked and gaping and dripping, completely unrecognizable. Until your belly is full and swaying beneath you, still relentlessly bred despite your condition. Never quite allowed to cum from the abuse. Kept denied until your hole is dripping down your legs. Your teats swollen and engorged. A pair of metal clamps screwed down so hard onto your aching nipples that they turn white. So hard that no milk can escape, your tits aching so badly with the need for release that tears are running down your cheeks. If you’re good, they may eventually let you cum, roughly pulling off the clamps as you do, your fat udders spraying milk as you collapse like a filthy animal on the floor. Two suction cups attached to your nipples, one on your clit, as the sadistic machine roars to life with its endless rhythmic, torturous suction. So achingly sensitive and overstimulated that you are unable to speak beyond the animalistic grunts that now dominate your speech. Off in the distance you hear the sound of a horse, and dogs barking. Just another day on the farm. You turn your face back to the trough, trying to acclimate to the heavy ache of hard use.

After a few months, you are docile and they rarely need to use the shock collar on you anymore, so when they bring in the new girl, chained down on all fours beside you, you barely register the look on her face. Not just of horror, but recognition. The recognition of an old friend. The recognition of her own future.

#cnc k!nk #r4p3 kink #r@pe k1nk #rough cnc #breeding pet #r@pe k!nk #r@pe kink #cnc kidnapping #cnc rough #huc0w #r@petoy #r@pedoll #degredation kink #humiliation kink #abuse k1nk

[kamaluhkhan]

pov: you're the daughter of nemesis. you play it safe around camp, say you prefer balance over revenge, even though you're hungry for something else, something more. enter luke castellan, the boy who was never the saint he pretended to be. and, sure, eventually you become enemies on opposite sides of a divine war; sure, you swore luke would pay the price for everything he'd done. but...part of you wanted luke to dig his fingers into the wounds he left — just to feel him again. even if it went against the gods; even if it bled you dry.

(because the truth was: you were never much of a saint, either.)

ACT I. SPILL UR GUTS

i. THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

ii. GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you wanted revenge on luke castellan)

ACT II. WE'LL WRITE SINS NOT TRAGEDIES

i. sloth (IDLE WORSHIP) *: you and luke, on the roof of the hermes cabin after curfew, getting high and fooling around ;)

ii. envy (I BET ON LOSING DOGS)*:  luke is getting tired of keeping your relationship a secret, you get a new sparring partner, and silena beauregard wins a bet.

iii. pride (BAD REPUTATION)*: luke will do just about anything to keep his title as truth or dare champion.

iv. lust (COMPLICATED)*: the lives of demigods are never simple. why would your relationship with luke be any different? four moments of tension + one moment of release. featuring a trip to montauk with percy, grover, and annabeth.

v. wrath (FUCK U IF I CAN’T HAVE US)**:  luke starts leading an army from a luxury cruise ship, chris is tired of hearing him whine about your unofficial break-up, and clarisse convinces you that the best way to channel your anger is to join her in the sea of monsters.

vi. gluttony (GUILTY AS SIN?)**:  after a mission gone wrong, you unknowingly take the fall for a friend; you get drunk with the enemy; and you start to think that, if they’re going to crucify you anyway, you might as well indulge in a few fatal fantasies.

vii. greed (A DEAL WITH GOD)**: artemis offers a solution to your existential crisis while hermes makes it worse, luke meets his would-be-mother-in-law, and you challenge the olympians to finally do the right thing.

*set during the lightning thief/season 1 of pjo

**set post-the lightning thief/season 1 of pjo

#finally making a masterlist for this series!! #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan smut #luke castellan angst #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan fic #saf writes #inspo: name one hero who was happy #luke castellan x nemesis!reader #navigation

[rad-batson]

Headcanons of Tim and Damian’s Love/Hate/But-Mostly-Begrudging-Love Relationship (They’re My Babies)

They will take EVERY opportunity to be a little bitch to one another

Tim: “Don’t get too close to me. You probably have rabies.” Damian: *actually bites him*

Damian tripped Tim once, which started an all out prank war that lasted several months. It only ended when Bruce walked into a glue trap and couldn’t reach his phone to call for help. But he couldn’t figure out who put it there so they were both grounded. (It was Tim.)

Tim teaches Damian to finish his vine references when Bruce tells them they need to “bond.” They proceed to try and speak in exclusively vine references and TikTok sounds during patrol. Bruce benches them for his own sanity.

Damian: “I’m not touching you” *gets pushed down the stairs*

Tim: “I’m not in your room” *gets hit in the face with a book*

Tim calls Damian short even tho he’s only like two inches taller for quite a bit of time (and Damian never hears the end of it after Tim’s growth spurt)

Family Game Night could go in one of two ways: they’re opponents and spend the whole night one-upping each other OR they team up and wipe the floor with everyone else’s pieces

Damian: “Just trust me.” Tim: *remembering that one time Damian tried to kill him* “Okay.”

Tim: “Don’t ask questions.” Damian: *recalling the multiple genocidal Tim variants* “Whatever.”

During one Wayne Gala, they make up this game called Freestyle Checkers where they choose guests as their “pieces” then subtly manipulate them into walking to their opponent’s side of the ballroom without talking to someone from the other team or they’re out. No one can know that they’re part of a game or their opponent wins by default.

Bruce is proud of them at first for being more sociable during galas until he realizes what’s going on and immediately loses five years from his lifespan.

Both have attempted to fake their deaths to get out of the same school project

They’re both notorious for stalking people to get information instead of just…ya know…asking like a normal person. So they’re bound to team up one day.

Like maybe it’s Bruce’s birthday soon and both are like “No, I’m getting him the better present,” but then they run into each other in the vents trying to find out what he wants and they end up trading secrets. Just brotherly things

Tim: “I need you to follow this guy for me. I think he’s our culprit.” Damian: “I would rather die than take orders from you.” Tim: “I’ll buy you that fancy oil painting kit you want.” Damian: *already changing into his Robin gear* “Where is he?”

Tim makes Damian play the dumb, helpless kid in all of their covert operations, which pisses Damian off until he gets so good at it that he uses it to his advantage and annoys the hell out of Tim when they’re paired up for public appearances

“God, he’s so annoying.” “Yeah, totally.” “What the fuck did you say about my brother?”

Damian is the only person who can get Tim to actually sleep for once. No one knows how he does it, but the strongest theory so far is blackmail

Tim “I’m ignoring Bruce’s instructions because they failed the vibe check” Drake and Damian “I can totally do this mission that requires four people on my own” Wayne teaming up behind Bruce’s back and immediately getting into deep shit but somehow making it out alive with the bad guys behind bars.

During one of said missions, they thought they were going to die and said “I love you” to one another. After they survived, they silently agreed to never mention it again.

Damian gifts Tim a new board that he designed for his birthday. It took weeks. Tim cries

#tim drake #damian wayne #batfam #dc #dc robin #red robin #robin damian #batfamily #incorrect batfamily quotes #they love each other #dc universe #damian al ghul

[sayruq]

Hamas propaganda is so much more effective than Israeli propaganda despite not having the support of seemingly every western news organisation. It's simple, clear, cohesive, easy to understand, and therefore believable.

For example, Hamas will film themselves handing over healthy looking hostages to the Red Cross and then interact with them right before they leave to show how friendly the captors and captives have gotten. You watch the videos and you understand everything that is being conveyed immediately.

And it worked. Even the people in my life, who aren't watching the conflict as closely as we have, have seen these images and have spoken in varying levels of surprise at how 'nice' and 'hospitable' Hamas was to the hostages. Keep in mind that these videos came out after weeks of billions of people witnessing the brutal and systemic murder of Palestinian people. The contrasting gentleness of the hostage exchange stood out greatly.

Israeli propaganda is chaotic, it conflicts itself, it's complicated. Look at this for example

In order to explain why the hostages were so friendly with their captors, first, it was because the hostages had Stockholm Syndrom. Naturally, social media, their second greatest enemy, was awash with people refuting the existence of such a syndrome. So, it became that the hostages were actually being held at gun point. While, there were guns present during the hostage handovers, no one was pointing them at hostages in the videos that we all have available. No one was being hostile either. Now, we have the sedative explanation which again can be easily refuted by the videos we all have access to because the hostages didnt seem particularly drowsy. So, we have hostages with Stockholm Syndrome, who had guns pointed at them, and who were sedated. That's just too much. How can Stockholm Syndrome coexist with being held at gun point in front of the Red Cross? Why would they need to threaten the hostages if they're sedated? Which explanation can the average zionist go with? Which one can a neutral party accept?

The same goes for the war propaganda. On one hand you have American officials insisting that Israel would never harm Palestinian civilians on purpose but on the other hand, you have soldiers filming themselves shooting recklessly and with wild abandon into thin air with the implication being that they're battling off screen Hamas. You also have Israel insisting that hospitals, schools and refugee camps are secret Hamas bases but all we are seeing is civilians getting murdered in protected areas. When it comes to war reports, they can't decide if they've killed 1,000 or 5,000 Hamas fighters. No wonder even Israeli commentators have given up on the promise of the complete eradication of Hamas.

The Palestinian resistance have also released war propaganda. Simple, well edited videos showing their fighters actually battling Israeli soldiers and tanks, sometimes very up close. The videos are similar despite featuring different confrontations in the battlefield over a period of time. It's easy for anyone to spot an Al Qassam or Al Quds video. It's even easier to accept their daily war reports because we've seen them back up their claims. The numbers they give are consistent with their capabilities as well as various indicators such as Israel being forced to decommission their older tanks for the war in Gaza. Would they be doing that if they weren't losing their top line tanks fast?

Many zionists have spent the past 2 months confused as to why the whole world has seemingly turned against Israel. I'd point the finger at Israel if I were them, both due to its actions in Gaza and its inability to continue fooling the world.

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #news on gaza #palestine news #news update #war news #war on gaza

[fuckmeyer]

the choice between Edward & Jacob is not a question of which relationship is healthier or which partner is best suitable for Bella. neither is correct. neither is best. neither produces a happy ending for Bella. at the end of the day this is still a vampire novel. any choice Bella could make would yield, at best, a bittersweet happily ever after.

if she chooses Edward, she gets the terrifying Breaking Dawn ending: a girl who rejected her call to grow up has hung her love & her eternity on an emotionally stunted partner who hates himself marginally less than he loves her. she's a teen mom with a kid she never wanted who perpetuates the generational trauma passed down from her parents. by keeping this child, the Cullens have set the stage for an uprising/cold war against the Volturi who are likely to take revenge in order to maintain power. Bella is living in a tenuous "dream come true" wrapped in a nightmare & doesn't realize it.

choosing Jacob is the true coming-of-age ending that rips the stitches out of a wound that never fully healed. even if we ignore the fact that she ends up with a man who sexually assaulted her (we must bear in mind Jacob's character is influenced by smeyer's racism, but it did happen), they can't have a secure romantic relationship. based on the high imprinting rate of the pack, Jacob will likely find his imprint in his lifetime & will lose himself to the imprintee. he will no longer be her Jacob. he will inevitably abandon her (whether he wants to or not), & she must reconcile with the reality that she will always be inadequate to Jacob's imprint. & say he never manages to escape the vampires? he will presumably not age for a long time, meaning the relationship Bella always feared with Edward (her being an old grandmother while he stays forever young) remains a possibility. this is the story of a girl who slaps a Band Aid on an open wound & calls herself healed while flinching every time she sees the shadow of the knife that cut her.

if she chooses neither (team therapy), her healing requires her to lose or be at least partially disconnected from everyone she cares about. Bella must spend the rest of her life shut out from one world while never fully existing in her human world ever again. she must always keep secrets. she can never go back home. even in the unlikely event that she manages to escape the Volturi, the threat of being hunted by vampires will never leave her. in addition, she must face her worst fears (aging, losing Edward) while always keeping in mind the immortal life that could have been hers, if only.

even the "healthiest" option produces scars that will never quite heal.

Twilight is a horror. Twilight is a vampire novel. Twilight is gothic. Twilight is fiction. neither Edward nor Jacob is a "bad" choice because neither will give Bella her happily ever after. the choice between Edward & Jacob is simply a matter of which horror story you prefer to read.

#twilight #twilight renaissance #bella swan #the twilight saga #edward cullen #twilight saga #twilight meta #not to be a downer but the edward/jacob feud is silly #i understand this feud will continue in perpetuity because controversy & drama will always garner attention in online spaces etc #but the idea that either of these men will provide the happy story some people in this fandom want is an illusion #because no matter what happens The Twilight Saga still operates in the context of the vampire/gothic genre which by design can't produce #a 100% happy ending. the vampire itself reflects the inner anxieties of a society - & isolation & change & death - etc. #these are anxieties that can be alleviated thru vamp media. they can be escaped but never solved. which is part of the horror of the genre #The Horror Will Not Go Away #& in this respect Twilight is NOT the exception to the rule. #'oh but it's a YA romance so-' yeah so the black walls get wallpapered. they're still black underneath & nothing changes that #i wish we were able to debate the choice between Edward & Jacob while still bearing in mind neither choice is wrong #i think this fandom would be a lot less toxic & mean to each other for no fuckin reason but oh well

[mojogojocasahouse]

unexpected visitor

jiyan x f!reader

Jiyan sneaks home to your bed in desperate need of a soft touch and sleep

c: NSFW 18+ only, smut, oral f-receiving, creampie, tacet marks are sensitive I don't make the rules, not beta'd

He slips in like a whisper, an unexpected secret cradled by the black of night. At first, you mistake him for the rustling of a rabbit outside the window and a burst of wind swirling beneath the clear moon, but then there was the clanking of metal buckles and the rustling of heavy robes falling to the floor. There was only one source of those sounds.

Jiyan.

Two weeks had passed since he’d left, and according to him, he was supposed to have been gone for much longer. Now, the mattress is dipping as he falls into bed behind you, a strong, warm arm circling your middle and pulling you flush against a broad, muscled chest, lips pressing to the curve of your neck.

“You’re home early,” you whisper, reaching back and threading your fingers through long, teal hair.

“Only for tonight,�� he sighs, nuzzling his nose to the hollow behind your ear, “No one knows I’m away. I’ll have to leave before first light.”

“And what will you tell them?” you ask with a mischievous lilt.

“That I needed to sleep.”

Those words have you turning, his piercing gold eyes meeting yours and pleading for what only you can give him. He’s always said he can only sleep here, in the sanctuary of your bed. He doesn’t even have a home of his own anymore, it’s a tent on the front lines or this small cottage in the village. He has little in the way of belongings, but he leaves hints of himself around that you find and smile fondly at. Though nothing compares to the sight of him basking in white light, gazing at you as if you hung those very stars in the sky.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you soothe, brushing his bangs from his eyes. You already know the answer, but still, you ask every time in case he changes his mind.

“No.” It’s a polite but curt response, “You need not hear of the troubles of war.”

“But you’re troubles–”

“Are mine to bear.”

That will be the end of that discussion, as it always is. With a sigh, you cup the back of his head and pull him in, his lips so gentle and cautious as you welcome him home even if it is only for a moment. It’s your tongue that asks for entrance first, sliding along his bottom lip slowly, and he opens with a sigh. Large hands pull you in closer, your leg winding around his waist and you can feel his erection pressing against your thinly clothed slit. He’s opted to sleep with nothing on, as usual, and you curse the thin shorts you’d decided to wear. The grip he has on your side is hard enough to bruise, and you hope he has every intention of making sure you feel him tomorrow when you wake up in the bed alone almost as if he’d never come. Like this was all a fever dream. You’re still not sure if it is.

The tips of your fingers gently trace the Tacet Mark on his upper spine, his breath hitching as he flips you to your back. He kisses you like a man starved, nipping and licking into your mouth with greed and gluttony, his hips pulsing into your damp center as he slowly begins to lose that steadfast composure he holds so dear. You want him to lose it, too. He deserves to take for once, and you’ll let him bleed you dry.

As your teeth bite down onto his lower lip, he groans, taking one last parting peck before sliding down your body. The shirt you’re wearing is torn down the middle, and he latches onto one of your stiffened buds, his hands moving to cradle your other breast as if he hasn’t touched anything soft in weeks. His touch is so reverent and desperate that you’re whimpering as his tongue swirls and lips purse, your hands tangled in his locks as he descends lower, pecking a trail down your stomach until he’s pulling your shorts and panties off in one quick tug. 

Mingling moans echo off the walls as he locks onto your clit, your back arching off the bed as he suckles hard, worrying it between his lips before lapping at your soaked slit. You know you’re soaked, your inner thighs wet with what has already leaked free, and he takes it upon himself to not miss a single drop. As he’s tasting the sweetness sticking to your legs, you spread them further, inviting him back to bury his tongue in your cunt. And he does, happily, pulling you so tightly down onto his face you’re not sure he can breathe.

Muffled grunts and hums of bliss rumble deep in his throat, the vibration enough to have you keening in his hold. His talented mouth alternates between teasing your swollen bundle of nerves and enjoying the nectars of his labor, his face smeared and glistening every time he comes up for air. You want more, but you don’t dare stop him. If this is what he needs, this is what he can have, all you can do is scrape your nails soothingly against his scalp and try to quiet the roiling storm building in your belly. 

He’s waiting for you to come, you know that, but still, you try and stop the balloon threatening to burst. The sooner this is the over the sooner he’s gone again. And while you feign bravery and understanding of his long, frequent absences, deep down it breaks you every day to walk around town and see the couples together doing mundane tasks. They’re shopping, enjoying a meal, laughing and walking, and you’re…alone. You sacrifice the one you love so they can have this life, and while you’ve come to peace with this, no part of you has convinced you that you have to like it.

When he adds a finger, then two, you’re pulling his mouth back to your core by his hair, his smile stretched across your skin as the tip of his tongue prods so skillfully.

“That’s it,” he praises, “That’s what I want. Let me have it, baby.”

All he ever has to do is ask. Your orgasm washes over you gently like the waves on the shore, nowhere near as explosive as you’d been expecting, but you assume that was his intention. He knew you well enough to have discovered which of his ministrations caused which reaction and now he was almost tactile. It’s a little unfair.

No time is wasted, you’ve barely registered the end of your descent into the clouds and you can feel the soft head of his cock pushing into your cunt, your slippery walls giving no resistance as he bottoms out. He gives you a moment to adjust, taking advantage of your parted, panting lips to drag you into a messy kiss you can taste yourself on. You’ve missed the way he feels stuffed inside of you, bullying its way into a space too tight to accommodate his length and girth, but the burn subsides quickly and you let him know with a quick roll of your hips to urge him on.

The course hairs at his base are already soaked with your arousal as he begins to snap his hips into yours, the sound of skin slapping and breathy moans like a forbidden song drifting off into the night. His forehead is pressed to yours, the only air you can breathe is each other’s, and he entwines his fingers with yours and pins your hands to either side of your head, opening you up to his new, brutal pace. He can’t help himself, he’s long gone, drowning in the way your pussy clamps down around him every time he lets a whine slip out. You’d think he’d have learned by now and let his blissed sounds free, but he hasn’t. Maybe he never will.

“Jiyan,” you mewl, gripping him so tightly your knuckles turn white, “harder.”

It’s like something snaps, with a groan, he pushes himself up to sit on his knees, his hands claiming your waist as his hips begin to piston so hard his hold is the only thing keeping you in place. Your tits bouncing wildly hold his gaze as you cry out loud enough for anyone in the surrounding area to hear.

“Touch yourself,” he commands, regret in his voice because he can’t do it himself, “Come on my cock.”

Your two middle fingers dive to rub frantic circles on your clit, but you’re unable to focus as you dip your touch down to feel where he’s mercilessly thrusting into your hole. You can feel how stretched you are, how swollen, you’re moments away from release.

“Come with me,” you beg, your nails scraping down the firm dips and swells of his stomach, “Come with me, please.”

He looks wrecked as he lets himself lose control. His head falls back, his hair splaying across his shoulders, long enough to have the ends dancing over your skin. The way he glistens with sweat makes him look damn near ethereal, with green markings accentuating his clenched jaw as he tries to draw out what he knows is coming to an end. 

The molten pleasure boiling in your belly finally spills over, running through your veins until every muscle is tensed in anticipation and then released with a shrieking cry, his feral snarl joining you as he spurts hot, thick ropes of cum into your cunt. 

It’s a moment of stillness as you both catch your breath, his grip loosening as he fucks his seed deeper, enjoying how easily his softening cock slips through your channel. You’re so sensitive it almost hurts, but you’re not ready to lose the weight and stretch of him inside of you just yet.

“You need to sleep, my love,” you coo as he pulls out, immediately walking off to get a warm cloth to clean you with.

“Mm,” he hums, wiping what’s leaking from your fucked out hole, “In a moment.”

When he curls up behind you, there’s no stopping how you turn and bury yourself in his chest. It’ll be harder this way when he has to leave, but you haven’t heard the steady beating of his heart in too long. He chuckles as he wraps you up tightly, tucking your head beneath his chin, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your bruised hip. 

It’ll be just a few hours, and as much as you want to stay awake and relish in this rare time, you can’t. Sleep finds you easily swaddled in his arms, the faint arid, earthy smell of him the most comforting scent. When you wake, you’re alone, not that you expected anything different. However, one thing that wasn’t there the night before catches your eye–a single Pecok flower in a vase.

A promise to return home.

#wuwa jiyan #jiyan wuthering waves #jiyan x reader #jiyan x f!reader #jiyan smut #jiyan #i'm down so bad for him????

[calisources]

ROYAL, FANTASY ROMANCE AND SPICE. all these quotes and sentences are taken from different sources as well some made by myself. change pronouns and places and names as you see fit. some of these are heavy with tension or sexual intention, though nothing too graphic, but you are warned some of these are full of spice and forbidden romance. if you have more suggestions, send them to me and i will add them to this post.

ACTIONS AND SCENARIOS. add +reverse to change the roles.

(royal ball): our muses dance at a royal ball. 

(captive in the tower): sender is held captive and receiver helps save them.

(arranged marriage): our muses are thrown together into an arranged marriage.

(childhood betrothal): arranged to wed since being children, our muses finally meet days before the wedding.

(ward): send is a ward at the receiver's house/home. 

(stolen kiss): sender kisses receiver before a battle, away from prying eyes.

(mystery knight): sender is unknown at court and receiver wants to know them further.

(secrets): our muses are together in a secret relationship as their families wouldn’t approve. 

(brother’s keeper): sender is receiver’s brother's best friend. Sender has been harboring a crush since they met.

(taken): sender is taken prisoner by receiver on their ship at sea after a shipwreck.

(horse ride): there is only one horse trope, our muses have to ride together.

(guard): sender is made receiver’s guard and they have to travel/spend time together.

(no one is here to help): receiver is taken to sender as their captive.

(aftermath): after a battle/war, sender and receiver reunite thinking the other was dead. 

(my prince): sender falls for receiver, who is the realm’s prince/princess.

(tourney): sender gives the receiver their favor during a tournament.

(piece of me): sender ties a piece of cloth on receiver’s hand to wrap around a wound.

(you left): sender left receiver years ago, now reunited, receiver is upset.

(last kiss): unsure if they will see each other again, sender kisses the receiver before distracting enemies so receiver can escape.

(under my protection): sender proclaims himself receiver’s protector while receiver is traveling/captive.

(starcrossed): our muses find out they have to marry other people and they reunite at night.

(we were in love once): our muses were together in a relationship in their youth and now see each other after years.

(my castle is yours): sender pledges their castle as a fortress to keep the receiver safe.

(gentle touch): sender heals the receiver of their wounds and inevitably grows close.

(magic): receiver is a being of magical properties and sender finds themselves enthralled by them.

(my paramour): receiver becomes sender’s mistress.

(the bane of my existence): our muses never got along and yet, they harbor feelings for one another after a heated argument.

(maze): our muses lose their guards in a maze and they find each other alone.

(it was always you): our muses are childhood friends about to get married.

(to make peace): from opposite houses, our muses are now married to bring peace.

(corner): behind a corner of the great hall, sender corners receiver after seeing them dance with someone else.

(advisor): receiver works as an advisor for sender, despite objection around court.

(rags to riches): receiver is a bastard now made legitimate and people around the realm came to meet them. Sender is one of them.

(at your service): receiver is a lady in waiting/personal guard to sender’s sibling and a romance develops.

(saved): sender is saved by receiver, who is a healer/witch.

SENTENCES AND QUOTES:

“You are enough to drive a saint to madness or a king to his knees.”

“He didn't marry you to become king. He became king because he wanted to marry you.”

“Little by little, the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him.”

“I want you—but I don’t want this."

“Rule with the heart of a servant. Serve with the heart of a king.”

“There’s a fine line between gossip and history, when one is talking about kings.”

“I will not share you."

“Well, princess, let’s see what you’re made of.”

“She added the flowers and incense to help mask your own scent.”

“Your eyes betray you. Your body even responds to mine no matter that you’re angry. You want me.”

“He is my ruin. My complete and utter devastation.”

“Just how long have you been sticking it to the girl who’s like a little sister to us?”

“There’s a certain sort of beauty in submission.”

“My story hasn’t been written yet, but I know it begins with you.”

“You will love this man. Do you understand? You will love him, serve him, and obey him in all things. This is your duty to me and to France. Am I clear?’

“She didn’t need a man. She wanted one.”

“Your wish is my command, my queen.”

“It is legal because I wish it.”

“Rejection is an opportunity for your selection.”

“She's magic, Cassandra. A single flower blooming in an endless desert.”

“Do you really want to put yourself through this? Is loving me really enough to endure everything you have to just to be with me?"

“Make no mistake.You are under my protection now, and I protect what is mine.”

“But perhaps, when you sleep, you will dream of me."

“I cannot come with you, my prince.”

“This woman was consuming him, bit by bit.”

“Call him. Claim him. Speak his Name. Make him thine before all others.”

“You are the harbor of my soul’s journeying.”

“We love what we love. We don’t need to justify it to anyone… not even to ourselves.”

“To love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect.”

“The heart is neither given nor stolen. The heart surrenders.”

“Give yourself to me.”

“I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your man to serve.”

“I married you to stop the bloodshed, and you keep killing. When will it be enough- when?”

“Marriage is a marriage- love or arranged. Both require the same level of commitment.”

“We are trapped by convention and must marry another.”

“We had both accepted the unwritten rule of arranged marriage: love, if it arrived at all, would bloom with time.”

“Be with me. Want me. Stay with me.I don’t know how to be without you.”

“We were doomed from the start. A lost cause. A losing battle.”

“Mr. Larsen, if you make me cry at my own coronation ball, I’ll never forgive you.”

“You are my very own forbidden fruit.”

“I’m scared, but I’d rather have one real day with you than a lifetime of misguided security.”

“And you, are mine.”

“You think a courtship and a hunt are two separate things. They are not.”

“I will share him with you, I cannot lose him.”

“Why must you resist me so dearly? When you tremble under my touch?”

“You must be made of magic itself. Your touch is warm.”

“One day, I will be able to leave you.”

“Did he touch you? Did you enjoy the way he held you across the room?”

"I will be your husband. I will take a solemn vow to protect you until death do us part. Do you understand what that means?"

“And why, pray tell, should I make it easy?'

"You are the bane of my existence--and the object of all of my desires. Night and day I dream of you."

"I did not ask for this--to be plagued by these feelings."

“I have loved you at every dance, on every walk, and every time we've been together. You must feel it in your heart, because I do."

“Because,by the time I’m done, prayer is the only thing that is going to save you.”

“Suppose I told everyone that I had seduced you.”

“You’re not planning to refuse me, are you?”

'Tell me if I do anything you don't like.”

“Say you do not care for me. Tell me you feel nothing and I will walk away.”

“I am a gentleman. My father raised me to act with honor, but that honor is hanging by a thread that grows more precarious with every moment I spend in your presence.”

“If I wed your sister, it will bind me and you together for eternity, and I will spend every day of my marriage wanting you, dreaming of you, dreading the day when my last thread of honor finally snaps.”

“I have never met anyone like you. It is maddening, how much you consume my very being.”

“That scent. It has remained imprinted on my mind ever since that night of the conservatory ball on that terrace. Lilies.”

“I desire you. I burn for you. I can't sleep at night because I want you."

“You’re the center of a star, and the force of gravity keeps pulling me closer, and I don’t give a damn that I’m about to be incinerated.“

“Whatever bad thing happened to you, it hasn’t made you less beautiful. There’s beauty in darkness, too.”

“I belong to you. Only you…I’ll always be yours. No matter what.”

#rp meme #sentences memes #meme call #roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. ) #rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #roleplay meme