#b: brilliant gold sun

[felinefractious]

Irgusstars Atika

🐱 Bengal

📸 Koshchina, Jamila Agaeva [Brilliant Gold Sun]

🎨 Black Rosetted Tabby

#photo #bengal #BEN #black #rosetted tabby #spotted tabby #n 24 #p: agaeva #p: koshchina #b: brilliant gold sun

[sapphos-ode]

Little Cat

Part 17

Larissa Weems part 16 | part 18 | ao3

Apologies for how long this took me to write. Forgive me. No warnings but it gets a little suggestive near the end. The next chapyer will be pg (I assume idk what imma write yet) but the following one will be 18+ if I stick to my plan… (6.5k)

~

There’s a nip in the air, Autumn’s cold embrace slowly curling around her form. Seeping into her bones despite her layers and the scarf that nestled around her neck. Her vision is hazy, subtle but enough for her to notice that the world looks softer. The leaves that begin to orange are fuzzy and mesh into a clump rather than maintaining their own distinct shapes. The trunks of trees look as if they were painted with a frayed brush, their edges bleeding into their surroundings.

The wind is deafening but there is no strong gale, only a gentle breeze that caresses the grass and ushers the clouds along the sky at a languid pace. So slowly that they appear stationary. The sun injects the sky with its brilliant light, dripping gold into the atmosphere and dusting the treetops in a luster.

A familiar presence sits to her right, there is space between them but not much — there’s scarcely any, a hair’s breadth. She shivers and draws the scarf closer to her, seeking any additional warmth that she can. The grass beneath her feels damp and cold.

She turns to look at her company, their gaze set on the expanse before them, birds can be heard in the distance singing their songs before they rest for the night. The sun is fast approaching the horizon and its honeyed light catches in ink black eyes. Many many years ago she would have described them as enchanting and inviting — back then she wished to crawl into them and bask in their warmth. But now, in the present day, there is no fondness left for those ink black eyes.

The quirk of plum coloured lips, that contrasts starkly with paper white skin, draws her gaze down to them. It falls lower, following the strands of pin straight raven hair. Their tresses are long, the ends pool on the forest floor in lazy curls. Something is off… She feels as if everything is perfect but her disdain for this woman runs deep in her veins. She should be sharing this idyllic moment with someone, their face she is unable to picture in her mind but she knows it is definitely not Morticia.

Silence stretches on between them as the sun dips down. What could be minutes or hours pass until the sound of leaves crunching underfoot disrupts the tranquillity. Morticia hums in delight as she keeps her eyes on the landscape. Larissa looks over her shoulder to the new presence and everything clicks into place when she sees your face. A dreamy smile plastered onto her lips as she watches you approach. Why Morticia is next to her she does not know. But what she does know is you’re meant to be beside her.

Your lips curve into a smile when you meet her eyes, “I didn’t know we’d have company,” you speak lightly coming to a stop a few feet from the duo. You’re curious, not annoyed.

Larissa opens her mouth to reply before she closes it. She has no answer.

“Larissa,” finally Morticia moves, leaning back on her arms as she twists her body to look at you. A coy smile on her lips as she lets her eyes trail over every inch of your body, her voice husky and sultry, “you never told me how bewitching your little toy is,”

“Morticia,” her words are loaded with warning and it’s no small miracle that Larissa didn’t tear Morticia’s head from her shoulders.

The ravenette only brushes her off as she stands and saunters over to you, adding sufficient sway to her hips, she stops a few meters away from you, silently prompting you to take the last few steps. Which you do. Slowly and unsteadily as if you were approaching a wild animal. Your eyes trained on Morticia as your lips part, mesmerised by her.

“Atikah?” Larissa calls out. A horrible cloying lump of anxiety burrows in her throat as she gets up from the ground.

Your eyes flit over to her before they’re back on Morticia. You barely spared her a cursory glance. Morticia closes the last of the distance between you, her hands landing on your waist before falling lower… resting on the swell of your hips where she pulls you flush to her.

Larissa goes to call out your name again but her voice breaks and catches in her throat as she lets out a strangled cry instead. A stinging sensation burns behind her eyes as hot tears begin to well. Morticia removes one of her hands and holds your face by your chin. Tilting your head up as she leans in. Plum coloured lips inching closer to yours.

What’s worse is the smile on your lips as you rush to close the gap.

~

The Principal wakes as the witching hour starts. Calling out a broken plea for you into her empty bedroom. It’s pitch black, the curtains drawn blocking the silvery moonlight from streaming in. With shaking arms she pulls herself into a sitting position. Fumbling for the switch on her bedside lamp. Its warm yellow light floods the room but its reach isn’t enough to whisk away the shadows that congeal in the corners of her room. They seem to laugh at her.

Her chest heaves as warm tears fall down her face onto her lap in steady streams accompanied by broken sobs. Her hands tremble as she runs them through her hair. The room spins as she tries and fails to take any amount of control of her breathing.

Her eyes fly around the room trying to count things she can see in hopes to reel her mind in and give it some semblance of calm. Her sights land on her phone and a white stuffed cat that she kept on her nightstand.

~

Your phone rattled against the wooden floor, you had fallen asleep after scrolling endlessly through videos and in your tiredness had let it drop to the floor as you curled into your covers. It’s incessant vibrating wakes you but you refuse to open your eyes, desperate to hold onto the last little piece of sleep you can. A hand shoots out the cocoon you’d made of your duvet as you blindly search for the offending item.

Once in hand you peek an eye open to read the caller id. Normally when you see ‘Rissa <3’ light up your screen you’re happy. But it’s unlike her to call during the middle of the night and it worries you just a little. You prop yourself up on one elbow as you answer the phone. Your voice gravelly and your fatigue is evident.

“Hey,” you stifle a yawn, “what’s up?”

Her voice is a little staticky over the line, but you can tell something is up, “I’m sorry to wake you, I just… just wanted to hear your voice,” she sounds sheepish.

“It’s alright Rissa,” you coo, “is everything okay?”

“I- yes, yes everything’s fine,” she falls silent for a beat, “sorry, I’ll let you get back to sleep,”

She hangs up before you can object. You stare at your screen in confusion and then toss your covers aside. Slipping on a pair of slippers and shoving the the first hoodie you could reach over your head.

~

Nevermore is deathly silent as you traverse the halls. The building seems to breathe as it settles itself into its foundations. Lamps made to look like torches line the walls at even intervals. They’re only ever on at nightfall.

You slip down a small corridor that runs adjacent to Larissa’s office. Her personal quarters have two entrances, one that adjoins her public study and the other down this discrete hallway — it’s really just a dead end. This entrance is inconspicuous, it still fits in with Nevermore’s grandeur and gothic nature but on it’s on the more simple side.

You knock on it, loud enough so it could be heard but you’re met with silence. You knock again and when the outcome is the same you take a step back and survey the door. You know she keeps a spare key somewhere.

If this was a house you’d check under the doormat but there is none. Two potted plants flank either side of the door frame and you check under both with no luck. You bite your lip as you look for anything out of place but nothing appears to be fake or sound hollow when you tap it.

You’re not about to give up. You take to pacing a little as you try to pretend to be Larissa. If you were an insanely hot principal, where would you hide a spare key? You run your hand along the panelled door, eyes roaming over the walls until a brick catches your attention. It’s a little too clean to be the same age as the others.

It’s as good a guess as any, so you steady yourself with one hand on the wall as you go on the very tips of your toes and reach as far as you can. Pressing the brick does the trick as it pops out of place. It’s a struggle wiggling it out of place but you manage it. Not without aching a little from the stretch. The top of it is hollowed out just enough to house a key. It’s bronze and looks like those old vintage keys.

You push the key into the lock and go through the arduous task of putting the brick back in place. You have to resort to jumping and simultaneously pushing it back in, it only takes you a few dozen tries. But once it’s clicked back into place you let yourself into Larissa’s quarters. Locking the door behind you as you call out her name softly.

The door takes you to her living room, the entrance to her office embedded into the opposite wall. It’s dark and you have to rely on your memory to navigate the furniture. You press an ear to Larissa's bedroom door and hear nothing. You debate going back to your quarters — perhaps she had gone back to sleep, you would hate to disturb her. But there’s a nagging feeling in your chest. So you slink into the room without a sound. Closing the door behind you silently.

A lamp was on and Larissa lay on her side, her back facing you. Silvery blonde tresses spread across her pillows and picked up the light, it looked as if fairy lights had been threaded through her hair. You smile at the sight as you pad over, rounding the bed to crouch down at the edge.

You thought it impossible to grow fonder of this woman but you stand corrected. Cuddled to her was the cat you had won for her at the Harvest Festival many weeks ago. Her arms wrapped around it tightly as she clutched it to her chest. You would say this was the picture of perfection if it weren’t for the troubled look on her face. You pout to yourself as you reach a hand out and gently shake her.

“Larissa,” you hum softly as her eyes flutter open.

Pale lashes tickle her cheek as she slowly gains her bearings. Roused from a dreamless sleep. She murmurs your name, confused as her brows furl. Her blue eyes flitting between yours.

“Is everything okay?” You ask again, one hand reaching out to brush a lock of hair from her face.

You rest it against her cheek, your thumb brushing over the swell of it. You admire the crows feet that grace the outer corner of her eyes whilst Larissa mulls over her answer.

Her face takes on a hardened look, “shouldn’t you be in Morticia’s bed,” she spits.

“Rissa?” You whisper with equal parts hurt and confusion as you pull back your hand.

Without taking her eyes off of you, the blonde sits up before continuing on, “I know I’m not much compared to her but the least you could do is end things first before you go giving yourself to another woman- ”

“Why would I be in a mortician’s bed?” You look up at her searching her eyes for any rational explanation, “There is no other- ”

“Don’t lie to me!” Her voice quivers from concealed anger.

“Larissa what the fuck?!” Your chest heaves indignantly.

In the few moments after waking, reality tends to blur with dreams. And it’s impossible to discern what’s real and what’s a figment of the imagination. Larissa finally comes to her wits and heavy regret slams down on her like cinder blocks.

“I’m so sorry!” Fresh tears build and tumble down her face as she covers her mouth with her hand, “I- I had a bad dream. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry darling,”

You stay quiet as you observe the blonde who stares at you, sitting still as if any movement would scare you off. You’re still crouching by her side, chest rising and falling in measured breaths, the muscle in your jaw twitches as your lips press into a thin line. Your eyes bore into her under the furl of your brows. She grows more sick as your silence draws on. Eventually you extend your hand out slowly, when she doesn’t move away you wipe away her tears.

“Do you think that little of me?”

“No.” She’s quick to answer.

“You think I take my feelings, and yours, lightly?”

A pause, then, “No.” It’s whispered.

The woman chances a glance into your eyes and finds your affronted anger has melted away into an anguished concern. If she looks a little closer she’d find the seeds of doubt and insecurity take root. Silently your eyes implore her to explain herself.

“The dream was so vivid…” Larissa rests her hands in her lap and picks at her cuticles, “It… I saw you with someone else. In my dream, you chose someone else. I was right there and so was she… and it was her that was chosen… again,” she trails off getting lost in her memories.

Larissa begins to feel embarrassed, it was an impossible pairing. Morticia was married and states away, whilst you were here. With her. Just as she’s about to apologise, you speak up.

“Dream me is a foolish woman, an absolute idiot,” you mutter scathingly to this other version of you which draws a wry chuckle out of Larissa. “I don’t know who Morticia is… but the only woman I want is you.”

You stand abruptly.

“It was just a bad dream,” you say with a tone of finality.

You shirk off your jumper and shoes. All the while Larissa watches minorly complexed, her eyes follow your movement as you climb over her and worm your way under the covers. Your arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her down to lay next to you so you could press your face into her neck, and marvel at how soft her hair felt against your skin. You could smell the lavender scent of her shampoo.

“I could have moved over,” she mumbles.

Mentally she relaxes, you’ve not stormed out on her. In fact you’ve done the opposite and you’ve held her close. She wants to cry again.

“But then you’d be on the cold side of the bed,”

Larissa turns in your embrace a dusting of red on her face at your gesture, she murmurs a quiet thank you then a stillness envelopes the air around you.

“Please don’t question my feelings for you,” your words are hushed but firm as you break the quietude, “I love you, more than you’ll ever understand,”

Larissa freezes in your arms. Eyes wide as she stares at the top of your head. She doesn’t trust her ears. There’s no way you said that… surely not. You can’t mean that, it’s all a mistake. Bound to be-

“I can feel your mind,” you pull back to look into her clouded eyes, “I love you, Larissa Weems,”

You bring a hand up to cup her cheek, your thumb caressing over the swell of her cheekbone. She blinks slowly. Then lets out a shuddery breath.

She struggles to find the words, she knows what she wants to tell you. But how, she doesn’t know. Your lips, soft and gentle, against her own stop her mind from racing.

“You don’t need to say anything, I just need you to know that I love you, and I am yours and only yours.” you murmur against her lips, “If you’ll have me… I’d like to be yours officially,”

“Please,” Larissa breathes out.

You smile and kiss her again, still chaste, just enjoying the feeling of her mouth on yours as you begin tracing mindless patterns on her back. She dons another one of her silk night slips, the thin straps leave plenty of skin for your hands.

In the light of the room you can see the freckles that dust her shoulders. Without thinking you pull away and dip your head down to pepper a few kisses over them. Larissa lets out a pleased hum — she adored how unabashed you were with your affection. She never found herself having to ask or beg for it.

“I…” Larissa swallows thickly, forcing down the lump rising in her throat, you deserve to hear the words from her, “I love you too, deeply,”

~

Each year a short assembly was held in the main hall – or in the courtyard if the weather permitted it – to announce that year’s Rave’N theme. In the meeting the rules of the dance were also discussed, more of a tick box action, it needed to be addressed despite being common knowledge. The main one was no alcohol. Of course, Larissa would turn a blind eye to the older students who would sneak away to their dorms and share booze at the end of the night. She had done the same during her Nevermore days, and as long as they behaved for the most part she would pretend she didn't hear the sound of glass bottles clinking in bags.

You walk with your morning class through the hallways, rain battered the ground outside and ricocheted off of the windows. You look out onto the dreary landscape, a misty haze falls over the forests – making the world feel like it wasn't as big as it was. A chipper voice draws your gaze away from the window. You look to the side at Enid

“Miss. Karnstein, what do you think the theme is?!” Enid asks. From her tone you can tell she’s just impatient and is hoping you’ve been let in on the details already.

You give her a bemused smile as you shake your head slowly, “Nope,” you pop the ‘p’.

The lycan sighs theatrically, and you think for a moment that she would make for a wonderful actress. Following that train of thought you look over your shoulder at the rest of the class, as your gaze flits past faces you conjure up all the possible careers and jobs they could take on. Your lips curve into a smile at each person’s potential.

“Are you going to the dance?”

“Probably, yes,” you say half distracted as you come to a stop.

You place a hand at the small of Enid’s back, it hovers a few inches from her as you gently guide her through the tall doorways of the main hall. You remain in place as you allow all your students to filter in, you slip into the hall and close the doors behind you.

You could count on one hand, excluding your thumb, how many times you had been in the assembly hall. The highschool you had attended as a teenager was on the larger end and doubled as the main sports hall. Nevermore’s was something entirely different. When you craned your neck as far back as you could, your eyes would find a ridiculously intricate and detailed ribbed vaulted ceiling. The masonry that jutted out to create the ribs intersected each other to create symmetrical geometric patterns, and the spaces between were filled with artworks all varied in subject matter. If you had to hazard a guess, you would say that the paintings depicted scenes from Outcast history. The supporting pillars that stuck out on the walls were filled with serpentine carvings of flowers and bats, you assume a vampire had designed the school when it was being built.

The seats were plush and similar to what you would find in an old theatre, upholstered in some sort of velvet fabric. Nothing like the hard varnished wooden benches at your highschool. You feel a tinge of jealousy.

You walk up a few steps and take a seat at the edge of the row where your class sits, beside you is Xavier who looks as if he were about to fall asleep whilst Ajax, on his other side, has actually dozed off. The crackle from the microphone perched on an elaborately crafted wooden lectern causes a hush to travel through the room.

There she stands, hands placed either side of the podium as she waits for the room to fall completely silent. The assembly hall featured a typical theatre stage, deep crimson drapes were held to the side, showing the black wall of the far side of the stage, The valance curtain was the same rich red and housed Nevermore’s badge in the centre. The cream dress Larissa had chosen stood out brilliantly against the dark expanse around her, as if she were a beacon of light to guide wayward travellers to safety and salvation.

She’s enthralling when she addresses a crowd, the tilt to her head, how she smiles, how she clasps her hands together only to tear them apart so she can gesture with them, and how she stands tall, shoulders back, unafraid to take up space by existing.

Her velvety smooth voice fills the hall, as she begins her speech, you try your best to listen but her red lips are so tantalising and has your mind running off into the gutter. How you wish you weren't here, and instead somewhere private with her… plump lips on your skin, waves of silver hair threaded between your fingers, her hand setting your skin ablaze in its wake as it travels down your body. The sinful noises she would make-

You jump in your seat when something hits your shoulder. You turn to your right to see Xavier jerk his head up, looking a little bewildered as he regains his bearings.

“You okay?” you murmur.

“Y-Yeah, sorry,” he fights through a yawn.

You nod and return your gaze back to the front. Your endeavour to pay attention ends in failure as you get lost in Larissa’s presence. And before you know it everyones standing from their seats, chatter filling the cavernous room. The assembly is over and people need to get back to their classes. You wait until the row in front of you has started down the stairs before ushering your class to file out.

You stand at the door and once the last of your students leave you go to follow. But not before looking back at Larissa who remains on the stage, you find, to your pleasant surprise, that she’s already looking at you. When your eyes meet her smile deepens and she nods to you with a small wave that you’re all too happy to return before disappearing out the hall.

You close your classroom door and let your students just talk for the last five minutes of the lesson. You sit at your desk and mindlessly fiddle with a pad of sticky notes. In no time at all Enid has sidled up next to you. Staring at you until you sense her eyes and turn to her slowly – a mild look of confusion on your face.

“Are you and Principal Weems gonna go to the dance together!?”

You blink. You hadn’t thought about it. Obviously you were, especially since you both had agreed to be official. You didn't need to but it felt nice to be able to say, with confidence, that Larissa Weems was your girlfriend, your partner, your lover. Subconsciously a smile worms its way onto your lips as you picture her angelic face in your mind.

“If she says yes,” you hum, “What do you think of this year’s theme?” Your eyes flit past Enid’s shoulder to Wednesday who is walking over. You give her a small nod of acknowledgment as she stops next to her lycan friend, you note she stands a little closer than a friend would, even a best friend.

The young blonde looks up in thought as she taps her chin, “Hmm, well, I like it, but as a proud werewolf…” Enid trails off.

You purse your lips trying to piece together what the theme could be, but Enid’s answer just has you more confused. As an adult you would have thought you would become better at paying attention.

“Dracula’s Ballroom,” a steady voice answers your unvoiced questions, “Elaborate gowns, decorated suits, and flowing capes. Fake fangs optional,” Wednesday reiterates a portion of Larissa’s speech.

“Thank you,” is all you can say sheepishly as the bell rings out.

~

The strangled creak of your window being pushed open breaks your concentration, you lower the volume of your music until it’s a ghost of a noise. You wear a smirk as you leave your desk chair and crouch down to meet Bärchen. Your hand runs through her silky fur as she butts her head against your knee.

“I’ve missed you,” you chuckle, scooping her up into your arms. Pressing a kiss to her forehead.

You hadn’t seen your little feline in a while, her visits had become scarce. If you had to pinpoint a specific time when her appearances had stopped then you’d hazard a guess around about when you had first kissed Larissa. Bärchen chirps as she pushes her head into your neck, pulling you free from your ponderings, her loud purring filling the room.

You bundled up an old sweater in the corner of your desk and plopped the cat down in the nest you had made before taking your seat again and resuming your work. Your eyes flit across the screen, every now and then you reach out to stroke Bärchen, finding comfort in her white coat.

Larissa decided she wasn’t close enough to you, so with determined steps, her furry little feet took her to the edge of the desk where she hopped down onto your lap. Turning in a circle a few times as she prodded your legs with her paws until she deemed them soft enough to curl up on.

And so your evening is spent rooted in your chair as Bärchen takes a quick catnap. Curled into a perfect circle with one paw sticking out. Eventually you get bored of lesson planning, and decide it’s time to turn in for the night. Ruefully you stroke the cat’s cheek to wake her, she jumps in fright despite your attempts to rouse her softly. To combat her embarrassment she starts licking her paw and cleaning the top of her head with an urgent suddenness, in an attempt to appear nonchalant.

“It’s bedtime for us,” you coo, lifting Bärchen as you stand.

You stretch your legs, sighing in relief as you dispel the dull ache in your muscles. Bärchen wriggled in your grasp, displeased with being moved. She voices it vocally with a series of mews and a monotone growl. You only shush her and cover her round head with your hand. The growl fizzles out.

You tuck her into your bed before getting changed, keeping an eye on the cat from your peripheral. Bärchen’s pupils dilate until hardly a sliver of that brilliant blue can be seen. And her purring is the loudest you’ve ever heard it. You purse your lips in thought as you disappear into your ensuite and rush through your nighttime routine.

Larissa feels the need to sleep weigh on her, she’s terribly tired — Wednesday had been antagonising Xavier all day, pulling all sorts of mayhem. Namely trying to tie him down and use him as a dummy for acupuncture, or so she claimed. The needles she had confiscated from Wednesday were thick and heavy, nothing like the kind used for acupuncture.

Perhaps she could stay for a short while longer or until you fell asleep. Then she would disappear back to her quarters and get some much needed rest herself. She begins to lose herself in thought — fond memories of you flashing in her mind until the mattress dipping under your weight broke her reverie.

Wordlessly you set an alarm on your phone and placed it on the nightstand, pushing items out of the way with it to make space. Something clunks to the floor but you ignore it. Too content to snatch Bärchen back into your arms and curl the covers around your forms. You press your face into the back of her head, the faintest smell of spiced citrus fills your nostrils.

The passage of time is lost on both of you, you don’t know how long you lay there, eyes closed as you take steady and consistent breaths. Nor does Larissa know how long she stays curled against your body, listening intently to your heart — its beat consistent. She’s convinced you’ve fallen asleep, she pushes up and presses her forehead to the underside of your chin before pulling herself out of your hold and out from under the covers. Her back is turned to you the whole process leaving her unaware of the fact that you’re watching her through half-opened eyes, a pensive look clouding them.

You allow her to hop down onto the floor and trot over to the window when you lean up on your elbows. Head cocked to the side.

“Won’t you stay the night, Larissa?” you whisper out.

Bärchen freezes mid-step, her front paw suspended in the air as it hangs limp. Her face peers up at you, pupils razor thin slits.

In her spot Bärchen seems to grow. She pushes up onto her hind legs as her form morphs becoming eerily human until Larissa Weems stands at your window. Staring at you with eyes like saucers, jaw tensed, and lips pursed. She stands stock still, her only movement the bob of her throat as she swallows. Her mouth feels painfully dry. And her heart feels like a jackhammer in her chest. The blonde feels her palms grow clammy.

Your expression is similar. Your eyebrows are nearly at your hairline, eyes mirroring Larissa’s as your mouth hangs open. Your brows move, one remains raised as the other is pushed down. Your eyes jump between the principal's as you finish registering the sight before you. A breathy laugh of disbelief leaves you before it turns into peals of giggles.

Tentatively Larissa calls out your name. Her voice delicate as she tries to gauge your mood.

“You’re a shapeshifter?”

Larissa swallows again, “Yes.”

You get up out of your bed, and walk over to your chest of drawers. Fishing around for one of Larissa’s t-shirts that you had acquired without her knowledge. All the while she watches you like a hawk. Her answer hung heavy in the air.

You take her hand and guide her to your bed, setting the top to the side as you push her down to sit on the edge of the mattress. You place your hands on her knees and gently push them apart so you can stand between them. She stares up at you wordlessly as your hands move around and up to toy with the fastenings of her dress.

“May I?”

Normally she would start to get excited. Larissa was human and less than decent thoughts of you often dirtied her mind, before she had confessed she was diligent in keeping them at bay but as of late she indulged her fantasies a little more.

Her initial answer is no, she doesn’t want to shift any part of her if this is going where she thinks it’s going. She wants to lay with you as herself, no adjustments. But there’s a softness in your eyes and she chastises herself, she takes a leap and ignores her gut crying out for her to run.

“Yes.” She says for a second time.

You smile and make quick work of it, slipping the dress down her shoulders — a few kisses are pressed to them — down her torso until it’s bundled at her hips. You lean back to admire her bare chest save from the cream bra she wears, it’s nothing elaborate but it’s certainly nice to look at with an intricate lace design. You can’t help the strangled whimper from escaping your lips which doesn’t go unnoticed by Larissa.

Your eyes fall lower to her stomach, taking in the soft swell of it and the way it folds to create rolls. You fall in love with it, something about it was so beautifully feminine and human. You let your fingers trace over the stretch marks on her skin, your movements slow as you watch her face for any signs of discomfort. None are to be found.

With a deep inhale you push the dress past her hips and coax her to move so you can slip it off her body entirely. You make quick work of folding it and draping it over the back of your chair before standing in front of her again. Letting your eyes roam across the artwork sitting before you. Her waist pulls in before the rise of her hips that lead to luscious thighs and sculpted calves. You inhale sharply as you catch Larissa squeeze her legs together whilst she squirms.

This whole time not a word has been exchanged. Larissa feels a heat pool between her legs, she feels exposed sitting in nothing but her underwear and heels. She hates not having the upper hand, not having control. But with you it’s exciting, and her breathing becomes faster and her mind races. Wondering what your next move would be… The blonde was never a glutton but she wouldn’t mind if you spent the whole night fucking her in every single position physically possible. Using her until she’s spent and all she can think of is you.

You lean over, bent at the hip as you hold Larissa’s face with both hands, you press your lips to her in an urgent kiss, which soon turns into a wet mess of tongues pushing against each other. Short panting gasps escape when you part for a millisecond to breathe in air before you’re back on her lips. Feasting as if you were starved and famished.

Large hands land on your hips, pulling you onto her lap, your thighs bracketing her body as you push yourself against her. She holds you down as her hips roll up into you, drawing a low moan from you. Desire spikes in Larissa as a dull throb begins to pick up between her legs. She pulls away from your mouth, your desperate whine is music to her ears. Your neck is her target, and ruby painted lips pepper wet kisses down it, focusing on a spot that has you bucking your hips and whimpering. Your head falls to the side, offering more of your skin to the angel before you.

Slowly you start to grind your hips against her, enjoying the salacious moans against your neck. You move your hands to her shoulders, about to push her down onto the bed but a yawn overtakes you. You instinctively turn away and cover your mouth. An apology is quick to follow whilst you rub your eyes in a desperate attempt to keep them open.

“Darling,” she coos.

“I want you so badly, but-”

“Another night,” she reassured you, not a hint of annoyance present in her voice.

“I’m sorry Riss- ” you cut yourself off with another yawn.

“Don’t be,”

You nod in defeat, lamenting the ache in your core that would go untreated tonight. You twist in her lap and snatch the t-shirt. In a fluid movement you have it over her head and help her poke her arms through the sleeves. Your hands trail down her chest over her stomach before slipping under the hem. You unclasp her bra and remove your hands. Helping pull the straps down her arms and free her of the bra.

You can see her nipples poke through the thin fabric. A lopsided smirk plays on your lips as you take one between your fingers, pressing it firmly as you twirl it. Fascinated by the way Larissa inhales and arches her back. Her eyes fluttering close.

“You little devil,” she huffs before using her strong arms to whisk you under the covers.

Your giggles fill the room as you wiggle about until you’re comfy in Larissa’s embrace. It’s solid and comforting. You feel secure. You peer up into her eyes as you try and fail to suppress another yawn.

“So, you’re a shapeshifter?” You pick up the conversation from earlier.

You rub what you hope to be soothing circles against her back when you feel her tense up. She nods slowly.

“You know it was a completely wild guess, I didn’t actually think you were really Bärchen,” you confess, “I felt a little silly asking a cat to stay, but it was you in the end,”

“Wh- ” her voice broke, she cleared her throat and tried again, “What gave me away?”

She doesn’t meet your eye, looking ahead at some spot on the wall.

You ponder your next words, “Just small things,” you answer simply. Nuzzling into her neck.You can feel her need to know the specifics, so you pull yourself out of your increasing tiredness for a brief moment, “One time I messed up your hair and the next second it was all neat and tidy… also cat you had the same pretty blue eyes,”

“Can this stay between us?”

“Of course,” you hum as you pull her closer to you, “Can I ask why you’ve been visiting me as a cat?”

“No, it’s too embarrassing,” the blonde mumbles under her breath as her hand cards through your hair.

“Pretty please,” you whine.

With a defeated sigh Larissa concedes. Her words are slow as she fights down her embarrassment, “You make me nervous, and before we started being friends… I didn’t have the courage to talk to you,”

You stay quiet, peeking up at her melancholy expression.

“I wanted to spend time with you and it seems that turning into a cat was the only viable option in my head,” she finishes. Slightly befuddled as she voiced out her own thought process, “Apparently talking to you like a normal person was too easy of an option,”

“I make you nervous?”

Larissa’s breath hitches. She had hoped you would gloss over her use of the present tense. Boy was she a fool to think she’d get away with that, given you taught English.

She nods. Cheeks glowing red.

“Aren’t you cute, kitten?” you croon.

Larissa stills. Eyes wide and her cheeks blazing red.

“Kit- kitten?”

“Would you rather I call you my little kitty cat?”

“Oh hush you!”

“As you wish… kitten,”

~

Taglist - @weemssapphic @h-doodles @blessmysouljessisonaroll @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @lvinhs @enchantressb @a-queen-and-her-throne @vmpnano @opheliauniverse @emsgwenstan @renravens @lex13cm @im-a-carnivorous-plant

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader

[impala-dreamer]

Everlong - Chapter One

A Supernatural Series

~Y/N has everything she's ever wanted - the love of a good man, a best friend she can lean on, drama, magic, and heroics. But everyone knows, things aren't always what they seem.~

Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester, Rowena, Castiel, Others

Series Warnings: NSFW. Angst. Smut. Blood. Magic. Trauma. Suicidal Issues. Major Character Death(s). Strangeness. It's Super Angst. Chapters won't be tagged to preserve story flow, but it is all angst. Be warned. 

Chapter One Word Count: 613

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works  ~  Buy Me A Coffee  ~  Feedback is Gold

Dean’s hand was shaking when he reached for her. His palm felt like fire against her icy cheek and the tips of his fingers curled gently into her skin.

Tears flooded his eyes but Y/N saw past the wetness, diving into a deep sea of green, marveling at the golden flecks as they sparkled in the dying sunlight.

The light was fading fast; color drained from the world around her, but his eyes stayed true. His gaze locked on her face, pupils wide and searching.

“Baby…” His voice cracked around the tears as he slipped his left hand behind her head, gently lifted her face to his. “Stay with me.” His lips trembled as he spoke, pushing out the words around the terror that rose in his throat. “Baby come on!”

Y/N struggled to take a breath but the bitter taste of pennies hit her tongue. A shattering cough wrecked her bones as the blood filled her throat. It bubbled up and out, spilling down her chin as she looked up into those spectacular green eyes.

“De-”

He looked so lost, so innocent; like a child forgotten in a crowd. His grip on her tightened and he dropped a hand to her chest, pressing down on the gaping wound.

“Y/N, hang on…” He lifted his head, eyes leaving hers as he screamed for help. “Sam! Damnit, Sam- we need help!”

Missing his eyes, she clawed at his hand, too weak to lift her fingers to his cheek. He came back to hers and his world shattered.

“Y/N… please-”

A smile tickled her blood-stained lips as her vision began to blur. The forest around them, the setting sun, the cool breeze meant nothing. There was only the brilliant green of his eyes and the warmth of his touch.

“Dean, I-”

Y/N woke with a start, grabbing for the hole in her chest and finding nothing but the soft, worn cotton of Dean’s old AC/DC shirt. The blood was gone and the forest had vanished.

Beside her, Dean stirred and his heavy hand slid across her lap. “You OK?” His voice was thick with sleep and he cracked one eye open.

“Just a dream,” she told him, slinking back down next to him. His arm moved up to her middle and he locked her there, half beneath him, safe in his arms.

“Anything good?” he asked, quickly slipping back to sleep.

The dream lingered. She could almost feel the damp earth beneath her back, smell the airy woods, feel the wind. Her tongue was heavy and the taste of blood came back for an instant before she shoved it away.

“No. Nothing good.”

Dean sighed and shifted closer, nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck. “I got you, princess,” he whispered. “Always.”

It wasn’t long before Dean was out cold once more, but Y/N was afraid to close her eyes. The dream had felt so real, so strong, that she was afraid to be sent back if she relaxed. She lay with her eyes fixed on the plaster ceiling, trying to push away the fear and conjure up a new dream.

She let her mind wander, pretending like she used to do as a child. She imagined a little house in the country with a few acres of emerald grass and dogs playing in the front yard. She put herself in the old fashioned kitchen, making fresh lemonade and watching out of the window as Dean worked on the tractor engine. Sweat was glistening on his brow and a line of dirt streaked across his cheek.

She sighed happily and let herself melt into the mattress.

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@aditimukul @agirlwithdemonblood @amanda-teaches @akshi8278 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @b3autyfuldisast3r @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @because-imma-lady-assface @bloodline1632 @charred-angelwings @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @djs8891 @deanwinchesterswitch @deansyahtzee @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @idreamofdeanie @ilsawasanacrobat @impalaspixie @jawritter @justcallmeasmodeus @kazsrm67 @kittenofdoomage @lovealways-j @lyarr24 @mariekoukie6661 @mistressofallthingsgeeky @pandaxo79 @peachy-vans @roseblue373 @samwellwinchesterthebrave @sexyvixen7 @spideysimpossiblegirl @the-wounded-healer05 @thoughts-and-funnies @vulgar-library  

#spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean angst #dean x reader #dean x y/n #series #c1 #everlong

[mythandral]

Mythandral Raas

B A S I C S

Name: Mythandral Raas

Nickname(s): Myth, Captain (former fishing crew, or to tease)

Age: 27 - ARR, 37 - EW (including 5 and a bit extra years from the First)

Nameday: 22nd Sun, 5th Astral Moon

Race: Duskwight Elezen

Gender: Male, but occassionally some other things

Orientation: Gay

Profession: Former fisherman, current machinist and Hydaelyn's Special Guy

P H Y S I C A L     A S P E C T S

Hair: Long and grey, and getting longer as time goes on. Naturally wavy, but turns into an unhappy-looking mess without good care. It's pulled back into a bun when he's at work, but otherwise he wears it down, perhaps with a braid keeping it away from his eyes.

Eyes: Gold, and with a glow ever since a bad case of light poisoning. However, it's subtle most of the time - a faint glow in the dark.

Skin: Dark blue-grey. His hands are calloused from working on and around boats growing up.

Tattoos/scars: For tattoos, he has a knotted rope around his right wrist, an anchor on his left calf, and a compass on his right ankle.

For scars, he has an old cut on his face (from getting caught by a snapped rope), vast light scarring across his chest that looks like a crack in glass, and a large scar on his right elbow from a very nasty break.

F A M I L Y

Parents: Lucianne Raas, former Gridanian conjurer, now a community healer. Athwyn Raas, carpenter turned shipwright.

Siblings: Iolanthe Raas, storybook author

Grandparents: I've not got as far grandparents, but his paternal great-grandpa was a sea wolf Roe, hence the unusual names for the men in his family.

In-laws and Other: He got married to Stephanivien midway through 6.0, but that was mainly to avoid Count Haillenarte from resorting to an arranged match to try and marry off his heir. They both wear their rings, though. He's also in a relationship with Joda as of the end of Endwalker.

Pets: No animal pets... but he does have a robot (and he adores his Queen).

S K I L L S

Abilities: His echo grants glimpses of unnatural perception, which combined with his training to operate with limited vision (as part of his hometown's style of combat dance) grants him uncanny sharpness in combat. Combined with a cool head and steady hand, he's a brilliant marksman.

Outside of combat, he's a competent & detail focused engineer with a background in traditional crafting (goldsmith/blacksmith).

Hobbies: he's a tinkerer at heart and it's how he spends most of his free time. He's also very enthusiastic about his hometown and its traditions and involves these in his crafting.

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Calm, gentle steadfastness.

Most Negative Trait: He thinks he is both invincible and right and gets so, so close to getting himself killed as a result (more than once).

L I K E S

Colors: Deep red, black, gold

Smells: Workshops - solder, wood shavings, forge fire. The sea. Gunpowder.

Textures: Rope, worked metal, sea-worn wood, warm skin.

Drinks: Sugary black coffee, mulled cider - anything sweet, really.

O T H E R    D E T A I L S

Smokes: probably tried a cigarette once and didn't like it, didn't care to try again.

Drinks: Socially. When drinking, he holds his alcohol well - or appears to, but is often drunker than people realise.

Drugs: would do milder stuff casually if offered by a friend, not something he seeks out.

Mount Issuance: Perfectly competant chocobo rider, though he usually favours airships/ship ships when he can, or a mount of a more mechanical nature.

Been Arrested: no. He's not much of a troublemaker himself but takes advantage of the fact he usually comes across as the responsible, reasonable one to authority figures to get his friends out of trouble.

Tagged by @elf-simp, thank you!

Tagging @azure-dragonsinger, @tallbluelady & @abyssalmermaiden - and anyone else who wishes to!

#ask meme #about myth #decided the other day that he takes his coffee bosnian-style - strong as shit with the sugarcube #(i always use the HoH horse mount for him but really don't think that's canon lol)

[the-firebird69]

Conor McGregor Shows Off $3,500,000 Lambo Yacht

There's a lot of this unending mostly cars trying to rub it into our son that you're keeping him poor I don't think you people are aware of your actions and what is doing to you you've anger didn't frustrated him a lot of times and what we're doing is taking over the planet I'll be it slowly but it's working I guess you don't care most of you don't care if you live or die so we understand that mentality and we'll take advantage of it and you're soon going to be the losers that you say you are

Thor Freya

Olympus

What the hell are you going to do with this stupid stuff cuz he started making so we can rub it in his face because he's a brilliant tactician and we're stupid and he's a baby of his race this is embarrassing

Kim Kardashian you're humiliating the poor guy every few minutes because your idiots and I don't like any of you at all you do it to me for no reason at all you're walking by hissing and saying stupid s*** and pissing me off it doesn't mean anything and you're doing it to him and you're not going after us or taking anything or just a bunch of windbag b****** it's like a bunch of kackling women and he said it was I can't believe your reaction you're all mad but that's what you sound like. It's just frankly very weird you're like on the attack on this one person who's valuable and you won't leave him alone and he's stuck here with two of your idiots your wienerschnitzels and really they're they're gone and this is a weird scene here and it said in the door song strange scenes from the gold mine and people are strange when you're a stranger it is just bizarre he says there's a lot of TBI and senility and people who are sickly and the senility really they're old and they've been drinking poop and they're dumb but this is in California and if he's in the water everywhere is contaminated if you don't boil it and take it from the top you're going to get sick unless you buy bottled water that is purified and all of the water that's in the wells is contaminated and if you go swimming in the ocean or lakes or rivers or nuts and these things are all off minutes to me and my friends we don't do any of it we don't even swim in the pool anymore and chlorine didn't bleached a terrible for you there's a way to take it out he says and it's not a bad way to treat things but you need to take it out you can treat it with salt and the sun afterwards and filter it it's way to clean a lot of water and I do understand what you're saying we need to make micro plants and clean water everywhere everybody is nuts this is stupid what you're doing here and we can't stop you and you're playing spaceships around trying to take big ones and there's this lunatic who's may have set us all up from a huge planet and he's a giant and his brother is trying to stop him that's a weird story I've never heard of a story like that yes I have but this is bizarre who the hell I've never heard of a story in history about a giant trying to stop his giant brother it's really good it's going beyond what the hell okay this is craziness and you all belong to mental hospital not him there's too many of you know I'm one of your race it's just garbage what you're doing a lot of women can't stand you insane there's something different what you're doing is making you nuts he says Lily is nuts too and he thinks it might be the skillet that makes a lot of sense but really they were conspired against there at that spot you all have those chip on your shoulder about something I mean all of you here are nuts about bothering him like he messed Florida up and he had nothing to do with it I want you people to stop doing that to him and leave you alone is nothing I can do for you you're all a bunch of whining losers you want to change your life start to fix the place and fix your life otherwise you're going to go downhill problems you'll probably drag all of us with you

This is what we've been seeing there's some people that don't want to put up with it and they can't do anything and this kid is tortured these people are at him all day and all night Mac Daddy too and we're starting to see it he can't help with the same sometimes it's ridiculous so many people bothering him and it's these idiots who are sitting here it's not other people we don't know what the damn problem is no we do it's just that they're stupid as hell he can't go to both islands and you're a bunch of f****** losers about it wouldn't say he loved me again and all this other crap he hates you all the time you're just a moron I do know what we're saying you have to be careful and stop them careful way but wow do you people suck

Macs

Off Target and angry is what their comments are and we are going to stop them it is repulsive and we really need to have another meeting this place sucks so bad everywhere you go it stinks like s*** everywhere you go to the door is closing his face and this all night long with these cars because they want him to bother garth and feel poor for some reason it's it's not even fair he's a poor guy he has to do a damn thing right and have you here we're trying to get him in jobs now you don't want to do anything but bother him like a bunch of idiots from Calcutta I've had enough of this s*** you're so damn dumb

This calls for much stiffer action plan and he's been saying it for years and we're not listening his suffering for no reason he thinks and that's a problem but then again it says we're using this cover and he is and we just have to increase the severity of the maintenance plan and to make sure it works you get in here and you try and get it the way you want if you can't you know what it is it will start doing that now

Thor Freya

Olympus

[worldtravellersstuff]

Pondicherry — Next solo trip Destination

Solo excursion to Pondicherry, the spot which gladly maintains French history while proceeding to work in the Tamilian culture. Known as the ‘French Riviera of the East’, Pondicherry’s history has a blend of both Hindu realms and European rule. Known as the ‘French Capital of India’, Pondicherry radiates the beguile of frontier times with remainders of periods gone by. The novel thing about Pondicherry is its varied blend of old and new, where history meets advancement, and sentimentality waits in each alcove and corner.

An outing for a long time for two individuals costs ₨62,714 in Pondicherry. An outing for a long time for two individuals costs ₨62,714 in Pondicherry. Two individuals voyaging together for one month in Pondicherry can frequently have a lower day-to-day spending plan per individual than one individual travelling solo for multi weeks.

Getting around

Pondicherry The travel industry Advancement Company (PTDC) works nearby transport visits that cover significant attractions in the city. Additionally, inside the city, there are various auto carts accessible available, yet they quote heavy rates. Each day costs begins at INR40 (around USD0.56) for bikes and goes up to INR350 (roughly USD4.90) for bikes.

Convenience inside the French Quarters

Remaining in White Town lets you hit home the genuine embodiment of the French Riviera in a unique manner. Whether you’re a legacy sweetheart or an extravagance searcher, the extraordinary blend of lodgings and hotels in Pondicherry with swimming pool in White Town have something for everybody, with a considerable lot of them French pilgrim houses transformed into legacy inns. In the interim, Beach rabbits ought to think about a stay at The Promenade or Le Pondy.

Figuring out the way of life of the French Riviera

The double character of Pondicherry is the after effect of the French and the Tamil Quarters. Subsequently, its way of life is a consistent mix of two personas, and the city’s cosmopolitan air with provincial engineering is sprinkled by local practices. They carry on with a straightforward existence, and for the most part communicate in Tamil, English, and French. This mixture of French and Indian culture should be visible in the best resorts in Pondicherry and as different celebrations that are praised in this curious, little city. The Global Yoga Celebration is additionally praised consistently on the grounds of the Sri Aurobindo Ashram. Aside from these celebrations, Pondicherry additionally observes Sri Aurobindo Ghosh’s introduction to the world commemoration on fifteenth of August, alongside Freedom Day.

Absorbing otherworldliness and inward harmony

This city supports the profound calling of explorers who look for inward harmony through yoga and contemplation. For a spirit looking through experience, visit the Sri Aurobindo Ashram and Auroville. Sri Aurobindo Ashram is a local area that teaches Sri Aurobindo’s lessons on ‘Indispensable Yoga’. This ashram reveals insight into the existences of Sri Aurobindo Ghosh and Mirra Alfassa whose vision was Auroville. Matrimandir is the soul of Auroville. It seems to be an enormous brilliant vault in the midst of lavish environmental factors, and Matrimandir is the spot to look for internal harmony and track down cognizance.

Luxuriating in the magnificence of sun-kissed sea shores

The ‘French Capital of India’ flaunts a few charming sea shores. Unwind and respect the sights, mess around with exciting water exercises, or take a long walk. Pondicherry’s sea shores have everything.

A 1.2-kilometer stretch along the Sound of Bengal, Promenade Beach is the most famous Beach in Pondicherry. Almost certainly, Promenade Beach is one of those places that calms the eyes as well as the spirit.

Heaven Beach

Heaven Beach is a gold mine for nature darlings. It seems to be the stuff of dreams, and is one of the cleanest sea shores in South India. Heaven Beach isn’t yet marketed and is just open by boat — the premise of its allure.

Peacefulness Beach

You’ll be flabbergasted by the loveliness of Peacefulness Beach. Embraced by influencing palms and shrouded in perfect sand, arriving at this Beach is must. Tranquility Beach likewise gives guest’s a brief look into the hard existences of neighborhood anglers who procure their day to day bread from the ocean.

Auro Beach

Auro Beach is an immaculate delight of nature away from the hurrying around of the city. The shallow waters make this Beach ideal for the individuals who appreciate swimming.

Shopping areas of interest

Pondicherry is a customer’s heaven with a variety of shops, departmental stores, and road slows down. In this way, scouring the lively business sectors is an unquestionable requirement while you’re visiting the area. The city embraces manageability and offers eco-cognizant shopping choices. From pretty gifts to crafted works, article of clothing materials to pottery, and cowhide items to collectibles, you’ll track down assorted types here

· Casablanca · Kalki · Studio Coal black · Anokhi · Auro Wood Work · Hidesign Leader Store · Goubert Market · Tranquility Beach Market

The vast bistros and eateries are about heavenly food with a combination of flavors from two unmistakable societies — Indian and French. A large portion of the top notch eateries here are a piece of legacy properties that have an outdated tasteful with a contemporary viewpoint. Here, your sense of taste will have a lot of culinary charge to browse, similar to South Indian, French, Mainland, and Chinese food to give some examples

· Manor Shanti, White Town · Cove of Buddha, The Promenade · Le Dupleix · Coromandel Bistro · Break In · Bistro Xtasi, · Bistro Des Expressions · Bread and Chocolate, Auroville · Zuka, MG Street · Gelateria Montecatini Terme (GMT), White Town for dessert

Pondicherry is alright for female explorers when contrasted with different urban communities in India.

Notwithstanding, visiting a spot without having a profound knowledge of it very well may be overwhelming, particularly as a non-local.

· The way of life of Pondicherry is direct and not so open as Goa. Be that as it may, being a seaside town with a French impact, wearing some shorts won’t be disapproved of.

In any case, it’s ideal to convey a multi-reason took in your pack.

Assuming you’re visiting close by towns, it’s prudent to humbly dress.

· As Pondicherry is a waterfront city, enjoy ocean-facing places to stay in Pondicherry but the environment is sticky.

Wearing cotton textures are the coolest method for beating the late spring heat.

A couple of shades, sunscreen, and a cap is likewise suggested for insurance from the sun’s cruel beams.

· In the event that you’re wanting to recruit a bike, make a point to convey legitimate personality and you permit.

· Pondicherry doesn’t host dynamic get-together scenes like Goa. The greater part of the roads are vacant around evening time, and meandering around is a major no except if you’re in a gathering

#pondicherryhotels

[wonderingwhereileftreality]

Times between original games and remakes:

Red & Green (1996) to Firered & Leafgreen (2004) = 8 years

Gold & Silver (1999) to Heartgold & Soulsilver (2009) = 10 years

Ruby & Sapphire (2002) to Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire (2014) = 12 years

Firered & Leafgreen (2004) to Let's Go Pikachu & Let's Go Eevee (2018) = 14 years

Diamond & Pearl (2006) to Brilliant Diamond & Shining Pearl (2021) = 15 years

So it seems like they started at an 8 year separation for the original vs the remake, and then they would add 2 years to that separation for each remake. Remakes of remakes follow this rule but dont add additional years. BD&SP breaks the cycle by adding 3 years instead of 2.

Here's my estimates for when they'll make the other remakes:

Heartgold & Soulsilver (2009): 16/18 years (2025/2027)

Black & White (2010): 16/18 years (2026/2028)

Alternatively, if they put B&W and B&W 2 together (2012): 16/18 years (2028/2030)

X & Y (2013): 18/21 years (2031/2034)

Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire (2014): 20/24 years (2034/2038)

Sun & Moon (2016): 20/24 years (2036/2040)

Let's Go Pikachu & Let's Go Eevee (2018): 22/27 years (2040/2045)

Sword & Shield (2019): 22/27 years (2041/2046)

Brilliant Diamond & Shining Pearl (2021): 24/30 years (2045/2051)

Scarlet & Violet (2022): 24/30 years (2046/2052)

Additionally, the separation rate of new original games in years is as follows:

3, 3, 4, 4,

2 , 1, (if we count B&W2)

3, (if we don't count B&W2)

3, 3, 3

So there's like an average of 3-4 years per original game, so we'll probably get a new game 2025/2026

#pokemon #my post #pokemon theory

[sehested66sehested]

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[lunding24baldwin]

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[felinefractious]

Greta Brilliant Gold Sun

🐱 Bengal

📸 Koshchina [Brilliant Gold Sun]

🎨 Black Rosetted Tabby

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[ultraericthered]

REPOST: My Pokemon core game tier ranking

The ones I’d put in the God-Tier S rank would be the Yellow Version of Gen 1, the Gold/Silver and Crystal versions of Gen 2, the Black/White and Black 2/White 2 versions (should’ve been the Grey version!) in Gen 5, and Pokemon Legends: Arcues in Gen 8. These are the ones I have the most fun playing to the point where I can re-play them over and over and never tire of them, and they contain the regions and Pokemon that are my all-time favorite in the franchise. The Gen 2 games were the most revolutionary in what they did for the series, the Gen 5 games had some of the best story content, and Arceus carries a little bit of both those strengths in a single big, epic, expansive package. But Yellow is mainly here out of bias, I admit it.

A is for the Exceptionally Good/Great games, which goes the Emerald version of Gen 3, the Platinum version of Gen 4, and the Gen 7 games, Sun/Moon and Ultra Sun/Ultra Moon versions. All of these games have wonderful aspects to the region, the Pokemon, the gameplay, the graphics, the soundtrack, and especially the story and characters that really enrapture me on first playthrough…but there are also some glaring problems here and there that keep me from embracing them on the same level as the S Tier games, particularly their notably limited replay value.

B is for the Good But Falls Short Of Being Fully Solid games, which goes to the the Sword/Shield versions of Gen 8 and the Scarlet/Violet versions of Gen 9. I think most of us can agree on what strengths and weaknesses these games have.

C is for the Moderately Good Or OK games, which goes to the Red/Blue versions of Gen 1, the Fire Red/Leaf Green versions of Gen 3, the Heart Gold/Soul Silver versions of Gen 4, and the Let’s Go, Pikachu and Eevee! games of Gen 7. Basically, all games with the Kanto region in them that aren’t the Yellow version and the Gen 2 games are just alright in comparison.

D is for the Average, Below Average Or Poor games, which goes to the Ruby/Sapphire versions of Gen 3 and the Diamond/Pearl versions of Gen 4. The first is what I’d call Average on almost all fronts, the second is more Below Average due to being so slow moving and having HUGE missed story and lore opportunities in spite of being so overwrought. Compared to launch titles before them and after them, they’re honestly not that great.

E is for the Bad games. Yeah, I didn’t like Gen 6. I’ve made no secret of it. Both the X/Y versions and the Omega Ruby/Alpha Sapphire versions in that generation are products that I’d personally call weaksauce games even in spite of any legitimately good points they contain. And the Brilliant Diamond/Shining Pearl versions from two generations later are unarguably THE weakest, cheapest and most disapointing core entries in the franchise’s history.

The F rank is nonexistent for this one - there’s never been an abysmal core Pokemon game.

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[heartsofbeskar]

the red wolf

chapter five: the laws of gods and men

oberyn martell x named fem!reader

warnings — language, discussion of death and violence (canon typical), 18+ only

words — 3.8K

a/n — so sorry for the long wait, but thank you all for your patience! im hoping im back into some kind of groove now, and i do feel very inspired for this fic at the moment so ill keep on going! hope this chapter was worth the wait!

series masterlist — writing masterlist

prev — next

🐍

A butterfly landed on a nearby piece of greenery, the leaf drooping under the added weight, pulling the stem forward out of the neat line of arranged florals. The insect’s wings stroked downwards, exposing brilliant patterns of blue and gold adorning the back of them, before coming together once again. It padded over the surface of the foliage, head down as it searched for any sources of sustenance. Finding none, it took flight again, the colours of its wings flashing in and out of view as it carried itself on the gentle winds cascading through the garden. You watched it go, transfixed.

“Raya,” Oberyn’s soft voice broke through your concentration. He looked at you from across the small table, concern swimming in the depths of his warm eyes and one hand resting on the wood surface lightly. The rings that adorned his fingers glinted in the late morning sun as it crept higher into the clear blue sky. The trellis that was suspended over the both of you served to break up the intensity of the rays, casting a pattern of slanting shadows over the ground. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

It was true, the plate sitting in front of you filled with fruits and fine cheeses — the likes of which you’d have been scolded for not eating as a child, by your mother or your keeper — had only been touched periodically by you, to taste but a few of its precious morsels. Lately it felt as if anything you ate fell deep into a black abyss rather than your stomach.

You rolled a grape between your fingers.

“I want to leave this place, Oberyn.” You fought to keep a tremble out of your voice, avoiding his heavy gaze. With a fingernail, you gouged a scratch into the skin of the grape, revealing the supple flesh underneath.

“And where would you go, little wolf?” You raised your eyes to meet his as he continued. “If all of Westeros, the Seven Kingdoms, and even Essos was at your feet, where would your path lead? I am curious.” He was trying to keep the tone light, steering the conversation away from problems you knew he felt as if he could not solve, but you channelled it back onto its original track.

“Dorne,” you said softly, not missing the minute twitch of one of his strong brows. “I want to go to Dorne, Oberyn. I want you to take me there.”

“Little wolf,” he began. His words sounded cautious, and it was as if they danced through the air around you, trying to wrap you and coddle you into some form of contentment. You shook your head before he could speak more.

“I want to see those sandy shores you speak so warmly of,” you continued. Placing the grape back down, you leaned forward with insistence. “To feel the grains between my toes, the water lapping around my ankles. To feel … the peace in the air.”

Uncharacteristically, Oberyn’s eyes dropped from you, cast downward to the table. You watched as he examined his own hand, fingers flexing and relaxing against the wood grain beneath them.

“It is difficult for me when you beg,” he replied, his voice quiet. Restrained. As if he was weighing each word against the weight of the Seven Kingdoms on his shoulders. You felt a short lived pang of guilt, low in your middle. “There are pivotal wheels turning in King’s Landing as we speak. Lord Tyrion’s trial—”

“But why, Oberyn?” You interrupted him again, leaning across the table to take his hand in yours. “Why should we attend a trial for the murder of a King we never cared for? For a man who was needlessly cruel? For a family who has hurt us both so deeply?”

He looked back up to you again. The air was still as it framed the both of you, the sea below quiet as a monster taking a long slumber after it razed armies of thousands to the ground. If you listened closely, you could swear to the Gods themselves you heard a subtle snore filtering up from the water. It was apt, you thought, for a monster to be surrounding the pit that was King’s Landing. The tension that always lingered in the streets, souring your mouth and twisting your senses, was but the mere manifestation of the fear that at any moment, that monster could rear its ugly head and swallow the city whole.

“Lord Tyrion is my friend— and your brother-in-law.” When you rolled your eyes, he continued on, undeterred. “I have been given a most important duty by Lord Tywin, as a judge for his trial. If I do well, there is a position for me on King Tommen’s small council. This is an opportunity to assert Dorne’s influence in the capital once again.”

Despite the shine in Oberyn’s eyes — the scene of him moving the chess pieces in King’s Landing unfolding before him so plainly you could almost see it yourself — you felt tears threaten to well up in your own. You squeezed his hand.

“That’s what Tywin wants,” you lowered your voice, despite the only other living beings in the garden being the plentiful flower beds. “He wants to keep you here, under his own thumb. And now that Sansa’s gone … he won’t ever let me leave this place. Not of my own accord, Oberyn. I will die here. I will marry Jaime Lannister and I will die alone in this wretched place.”

Oberyn’s brow furrowed deeply as he looked at you. Slowly, as if he was afraid your skin would crack at the slightest contact, he raised his free hand to your face, cupping your cheek with the gentleness you used to reserve for your siblings when they were only babes. Everything came into sharp focus. The rapid rise and fall of your chest, the warmth of his golden toned skin on yours, and the single tear that had broken free and rolled down your face, to be swept away by Oberyn’s thumb.

“You will not die in this place, and you will not die alone.” He spoke with such devout seriousness you had no choice but to believe his words. “That is my promise to you, Raya Stark.”

—

“May the warrior grant him courage and protect him in these perilous times.”

You stood with your back straight, as countless hours of posture lessons had asserted into your muscle’s memory, your hands clasped firmly but delicately in front of your skirts. You were grateful now for the proper form of posture, as your hands would inevitably be shaking otherwise.

“May the Smith grant him strength that he might bear this heavy burden.”

Jaime Lannister patrolled in the rear of the chambers, his golden armour glinting in the sunlight that streamed generously in through the tall windows, framing both sides of the aisle. Only moments ago the youngest of Cersei’s children, little Tommen Baratheon, had walked down it, eyes from around the entire room upon him as he approached the Iron Throne. His own expression had been blank, as if his sole focus was counting the pace of his footsteps.

“And may the Crone, she that knows the fate of all men, show him the path he must walk and guide him through the dark places that lie ahead.”

Left. Right. Left. Right. He had approached the High Septon, turning to face the crowds, who were jammed into the chamber comically like a prepared package of sardine fish. Tommen Baratheon’s eyes were wide as he looked out — over his soon to be subjects — and you could visibly see a lump in his throat rise and fall as he swallowed deeply. Those same eyes had mere hours before laid upon the corpse of his eldest sibling, his skin paled and purpled in death.

Your own father’s head came unbidden to your mind’s eye. Mounted grotesquely, a sight for all to gawk and jest at, the head of a traitor successfully slain by a heroic ruler. A shiver crept its way down your spine.

“In the light of the Seven, I now proclaim Tommen of the House Baratheon First of His Name.”

From the depths of your memory came a scene of the godswood of Winterfell. The presence of the Old Gods filling the air, carrying into your lungs with every breath you took. Unnamed and innumerable, they had always seemed so much more than the pantheon of Seven that bled through the faith of Southerners. Laying your hand on the heart tree, you could feel their very essence thumping through your body. We’re here, in every lamb and every lion. In every rock and every leaf, every grain of sand beneath your feet. We are here.

“King of the Andals and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.”

The crown, a moulded figure of sticks and antlers in deep bronze, looked unfit for Tommen’s blonde head of hair, still light in childhood. His eyes cast to the side, where Margaery Tyrell stood, still dressed in the traditional widow’s black.

“Long may he reign!”

“Long may he reign!”

You did not speak.

—

In the stillness of night, the gardens felt as if they were a different realm entirely. The colours of the flowers were washed by the darkness, reduced to simple hues of bright or dark in pattern with their neighbours. They all swayed gently in the subtle midnight breeze.

Cool air wafted from the cobblestones, the sun that heated them during the day long retracted to its home beneath the line of the horizon. The stars held its place in the meantime, a blanket of impossibly small lights set against a backdrop of pure ink. Long had they been studied, and you strained your eyes in an attempt to make out one of the many creatures some scholar or another had mapped between their points.

You leaned your elbows on the stone wall, the rough surface biting into your skin and anchoring you to earth. The sea rumbled below, tides high upon the shore as it washed the bottom of the rocky cliff. One boat drifted gently over the surface of the water, far off in the distance, and you wondered if they were smugglers, or simply those who were unlucky enough to pull the night run of a trade route.

Here, you thought, you didn’t have to be Raya Stark, daughter and heir of Winterfell. Here, as the rest of King’s Landing slept, you could just … be.

Until you heard another step of footsteps slice into the silence.

Your spine straightened, elbows dropping to your sides, bent delicately at the waist, as the footsteps and the conclusion of your peace drew closer. It was with a deep breath that you dared a glance behind you.

With a furrow of confusion maring your brow, you saw Cersei Lannister striding through the garden, her golden hair awash as the flowers were in the moonlight. She was dressed as she had been earlier in the day, as if the hour was still young, black robes over a black gown, any features of the fabric indistinguishable. She brought no guards that you could see behind her. Her face appeared neutral, but you were not to be fooled by that.

“My lady,” you greeted her, awkwardly bending into half of a curtsey. What was the etiquette for the Queen Regent meeting you in the gardens in the middle of the night, where neither of you should have been?

“You need not bother with pleasantries, child.” She waved a dismissive hand in your direction, stopping beside you. You righted yourself once more, feeling a distinct layer of sweat begin to form over your skin. You pressed your palms into the front of your robe, pushing down on the fabric. “It is only the two of us here.”

Swallowing thickly, your eyes travelled to a faraway point on the horizon where Cersei seemed to be looking intently.

“I want one thing to be very clear.” Her voice was crisp, and curt. Still, she did not look over to you. “The Boltons hold the North, they occupy your former home. You will not marry my brother, as the North already belongs to us. We do not need another insolent girl in our family, especially after what your sister has done.”

When she paused for breath, you spoke lowly. “It is your father who would see us wed, not I.”

“My father is old and trapped in his bygone ways.” Venom seeped into her tone. “You need not worry about him. I am the Queen.”

You held your tongue at her words, pushing back on the temptation to remind her of her youngest child’s coronation that very afternoon. Since you did not have a wish for imminent death, you remained silent.

Abruptly, Cersei turned on one heel, her stance opposite to you now. She met your gaze. You flinched when she grasped your chin in one hand, squeezing hard enough for your eyes to begin to water in moments.

“Tomorrow the trial for my brother begins, and then I will finally have his head, as I have longed for since the day he killed my mother.” Her eyes, near black in the night, searched your own, and you weren’t sure what she would find in them. “If we ever find your sister, her fate will match his. And if I have any inkling you had any hand in the death of my son … I’ll remove your head from your neck myself.”

As she left you in the deserted garden, you felt the noose tighten around your neck.

—

The air of the throne room differed from the day of King Tommen’s coronation, although the appearance of the room was quite the same. People sat, row upon row, atop hastily constructed scaffolding that the castle servants had rushed to put together. They all seemed abuzz with energy, hoping to see a man strung by his ankles for the death of their King.

Did you even like King Joffrey? You longed to ask them. Or was this simply another opportunity for them to watch the bloodsports of a noble family? They had been mercilessly deprived since Ned Stark’s execution, and they clearly were salivating at the prospect.

“Kingslayer!”

At the man’s jeer, you raised your eyes to see Jaime Lannister stride down the aisle, followed shortly by his younger and smaller brother, Tyrion. The latter’s hands were bound in front of him, his clothes — the same as he’d been wearing at Joffrey’s wedding — dirtied and tattered. You’d never seen a Lannister in such a sorry state, and you struggled to find the sympathy within yourself for him. You still remembered Sansa’s sobs upon the news of their betrothal.

He was led to one raised dais, that which was reserved for the accused, and his wrists were unshackled once he stepped upon its surface. Its partner sat empty, a matching rounded platform made of the darkest wood, raised and directed inwards towards the throne. It seemed to taunt you where you sat on the witness's bench, flanked by Grand Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys. The older man gave off a distinct odour. The latter gave you a small smile that you were sure was meant to be reassuring, but it only served to make your gut twist further.

The King rose, and you followed hastily to your feet.

“I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of my Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, do hereby recuse myself from this trial. Tywin of the House Lannister, Hand of the King, Protector of the Realm, will sit as judge in my stead. And with him Prince Oberyn of the House Martell and Lord Mace of the House Tyrell. And if found guilty … may the gods punish the accused.” Tommen’s voice shook on his last words. His gaze was long, avoiding the sight of his uncle before him.

You felt no surprise that Tywin would lead the persecution of his own son. An outsider may look on with horror, but years spent with the Lannister family had jaded you to the effects. And Tywin Lannister was a man who, above all else, hungered for control.

The room sat. You tried to catch Oberyn’s eye from his seat on the judge’s platform, but you were given the distinct impression he was avoiding that very same thing. His expression, however, was otherwise serene as he peered down curiously at Tyrion.

Tywin’s unmistakable tone rang out through the room. Its strength washed away the softness of his grandson’s voice from mere moments before.

“Tyrion of House Lannister, you stand accused by the Queen Regent of regicide.” A measured pause. “Did you kill King Joffrey?”

“No.”

“Did your wife, Lady Sansa?”

You felt the weight of stares lay upon you, but you steadfastly ignored them.

“Not that I know of.”

“How would you say he died, then?” Tywin quipped.

“Choked on his pigeon pie.”

A rippling of mutters weaved through the crowd. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the Grand Maester beside you sit up a bit straighter.

“So you would blame the bakers?”

“Or the pigeons. Just leave me out of it.”

Tywin neglected to respond to this statement. “The crown may call its first witness.”

—

As the trial dragged on through the afternoon, Grand Maester Pycelle was called as a witness. He looked frail and pathetic in comparison to Meryn Trent — who had been in his place minutes previously — leaning against the front of the dias. His chains smacked gently against the wood. One wrinkled hand was raised as he counted upon his fingers.

“... Basilisk venom, widow’s blood, wolfsbane, essence of nightshade, sweetsleep, tears of Lys, demon’s dance … blind eye–”

“I think you have made your point, Grand Maester.” If you had not known otherwise, you would have sworn Oberyn was anywhere else but at a trial for regicide. He lounged in his seat, a singular leg thrown over the side, foot swinging idly. His robe was spread open at the neck, revealing a hint of the expanse of his chest, of the forest of thick and dark chest hair beneath. A golden sun medallion sat comfortably around his elongated neck. You wondered if anyone else in the throne room could see the subtle clench of his jaw, the tight fist of his left hand. “You have a lot of poison in your store.”

“Had, Prince Oberyn. My stores were plundered.”

“By whom?” Tywin asked, feigning surprise, as if he hadn’t spoken this through with the elder man hours earlier in the day.

“By the accused, Tyrion Lannister, after he had me wrongfully imprisoned.”

Tywin stood. “Grand Maester, you examined King Joffrey’s corpse. Was it without question poison that killed him?”

“Without question.” Murmurs permeated through the crowd once more, as they sucked in a collective breath at the drama the Grand Maester was quite skilled at delivering. With a shaky hand, he pulled a necklace from his sleeve. It had a golden chain, from which hung multiple dark stones, cut exquisitely. Notably, a single stone of the arrangement was missing, the empty space shining brighter than all of the surrounding gems. “This was found on the body of Dontos Hollard, the king’s fool. He was last seen spiriting Sansa Stark, the wife of the accused, away from the feast. She wore this necklace the day of the wedding. Residue of a most rare poison was found inside.”

You smoothed over the front of Sansa’s skirts, despite her hands shooing you away. Shae stood awkwardly to your side. Your eyes lingered at her neckline, where dark and heavy jewels sat between her pale collarbones.

“That’s a beautiful necklace. Is it new?”

“Was this one of the poisons stolen from your store?”

“It was. The Strangler.”

A wisp of red hair, through the bramble bushes at the edges of the garden.

“A poison few in the Seven Kingdoms possess. And used to strike down the most noble child the gods ever put on this earth.”

—

The dias felt like a cage around you, despite the open back and low sides which would enable an easy escape. It was as if your feet were cemented to the spot in which you stood, and you struggled to keep your breathing at an even and predictable pace. Don’t make yourself look guilty. This is Tyrion’s trial, not yours.

Oberyn was looking at you, for the first time during the day.

“Raya of the House Stark,” Tywin began. You swallowed through the cotton in your throat. “You are the last known surviving and accounted for Stark in the Seven Kingdoms.”

He paused, and even though it wasn’t a question, you responded, “Yes, my Lord.”

“You are, in fact, betrothed to my eldest son and Tyrion’s brother, Ser Jaime of the House Lannister.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“But you were close with your sister, Sansa?”

You hesitated. Daring a quick glance to Oberyn, a question posed in your eyes. His face was carved from stone, a cold marble statue of the man who you’d known to be so soft.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“As many sisters are, naturally,” Tywin continued. His tone was light but you felt the weight of the purposeful implications of his words. “Make no mistake, Lady Stark, you are not the one on trial on this day.” He took a longer pause, as if pondering his next words, though you were sure he had the exact ones already in his mind. “You must be lonely here.”

It was not what you had expected. “I … my Lord, I’m not quite sure how to respond.”

“It would be quite natural,” Tywin went on as if you hadn’t spoken. “So it is not surprising, given the abandonment of your family, to seek comfort in another. You’ve been seen many days in the gardens with our own esteemed judge, Prince Oberyn, have you not?”

You blanched, hands wringing nervously around one another behind the wooden dais. Oberyn sat forward in his seat now, his own hands clasped in front of him. He still tried to put off an air of nonchalance, but it was slipping like raindrops down stone walls.

“We … yes, my Lord. It’s nice to enjoy the gardens with another like minded person.”

Tywin sat, and his gaze felt all encompassing as it bore into you. The throne room seemed to narrow in your vision, a chasm opening and swallowing only the two of you whole, into a deep gorge where he would surely rip you limb from limb for his own gains.

“I am going to be most blunt with you, Lady Stark. Have you and the Prince been intimate?”

🐍

who wants to kill me? anyone? be honest

taglist: @radiowallet @pedros-mustache @magpie-to-the-morning @heavenseed76 @dazedrhapsody @highsviolets @sherala007 @adancedivasmom @tuskens-mando @xsadderdazeforeverx @iamskyereads @mswarriorbabe80 @prettylilhalforc @elinedjarin @spoopyredacted @frannyzooey @fan-of-encouragement @djarinsbeskar @asta-lily @fucktheforce @leannawithacapitala @anaaaispunk @starla1979

join my taglist here!

#game of thrones fanfic #oberyn martell x original character #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell #game of thrones #oberyn x reader #oberyn x you #mywriting

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

*Please heed warnings at the beginning of each fic*

Key- 🕸smut, 🥀angst, 🖤fluff, 🔪dark, 🦇A/B/O, S (series), MS (mini series), R (requests)

⋆∘₊Halsin⋆∘₊

Let Me Be Your Bear🖤

An accident involving a fiery touch and your beloved stuffed teddy leads you to something wonderful. Any reader

⋆∘₊Naib Stilgar⋆∘₊

Oasis🥀

When the sand is still and the sun has set, you reflect on what has become of your life but there is someone unexpected who wishes to show you how valued you truly are. Female reader

⋆∘₊Gale Dekarios⋆∘₊

Home By The Sea🖤R

He’s found his home, he’s found his person and now, Gale has finally found his peace. Female reader

⋆∘₊Ransom Drysdale⋆∘₊

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Hot🕸

What do you do when you learn that your asshole boyfriend has been cheating on you your entire relationship? You become his step-mom. Female reader

⋆∘₊Thomas Shelby⋆∘₊

No Is All🥀

No is a full sentence and maybe you need someone to remind you of that. Female reader

⋆∘₊Leonard McCoy⋆∘₊

Dilemma of Love🥀🖤

A sweet new engineer captures the affections of the Enterprise’s CMO but she’s holding onto a big secret, the Captain is her big brother and he doesn’t want her dating anyone. Female reader

⋆∘₊Will Turner⋆∘₊

A Pirate’s Life for Me🥀

The story of Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann’s love is a brilliant one, but there is a part that is often forgotten. The girl that saved Elizabeth’s life, the girl that died on a hill of gold, the girl that burned for Will. She never got her happy ending. Female reader

⋆∘₊Sherlock Holmes⋆∘₊

A Lesson In Perseverance🕸

The day has come where Sherlock finally takes you, even if he is far too big. Female reader

What Happens After Death🖤

Sherlock comes home after faking his death and finds an extra person in his house, but they aren’t entirely unwelcome. Female reader

#other masterlist

[mother-daly]

have you read any good football fics lately? :) if you wouldn't mind sharing?

of course!! sadly football fanfics are like gold dust atm, particularly the pairings i like, but here are a couple of shout-outs of fics i've read recently:

i'm currently making my way through awkwardsorta's work, loads amazing deledier stuff there if that's your thing, but they've written shedloads of pairings

chrestomathic also has some brilliant fics and such a poetic way of writing, their kaneson is a work of art

i had 'winter is long; it takes too much of me' recommended to me, i haven't had chance to read it yet but i gather it's some ty/conor greatness so i'm excited to start!!

One Man Is The Parachute, The Other Is The Knife That Cuts The Brakes by InTheFicOfIt is an insanely detailed and amazing john/jack piece that matches what's going on in real life so well i genuinely think they're a fly on the wall at man city, it's big and chunky and stunningly written

i've loved chatting to Fanficburner about his fics lately! if you're into a/b/o stuff i'm sure you'll love these, joa has the most amazing world building skills i've ever seen

ride by the mind-blowingly talented anya (atavists) is sending me absolutely feral if you want a bit of john/leroy period drama realness in your life (anya is a true queen and is currently writing her dissertation so i imagine this is on the back burner a little atm, but rest assured when i see her tomorrow i'm gonna scream at her about this fic)

anything by my baby alex (evildead2) bc i cannot comprehend how one person can have SO MUCH writing talent, but PARTICULARLY so we back in the mine, absolutely insanely stunning john/ruben piece, come for the cute romantic banter and stay for the emotional flaying alive of your entire pandemic self

sun city by the beautiful miss allana (Bellelaide) is the stonesford holiday romance we all need right now, like omg if you need transporting to an all inclusive in turkey then read this because it's amazing

and finally my darling hannah (fruityfootballers) is pumping out some brilliant real-life snippets at a rate of knots!! they're mostly john/jack atm but i know there's some john/ruben in the works too - they're spectacular, the perfect little nuggets to go alongside real moments

hope these recs help, lovely!! feel free to send anymore my way! <3

#ask #anon

[beauideals]

Cale Far-Greer

The Supplier | [he/they] | 27

Lau Lyssa’s allure was too much for any young, self-seeking Mun to resist.

Having arrived with nothing but his name and a robe of fine silk, Cale did not hesitate to jump into the depths of the marketplace. With a perceptive eye with a penchant for perusing the path less traveled, Cale is not beyond turning a blind eye towards the illicit and underhanded so long as it moves him closer to his goals.

But underneath the air of sophistication that clings to Cale’s sun-blanched robe is an animal desperate to claw its way back to the peak it was cast from.

Essential definitions of "Bear"

1. Animal, large and heavy animals with thick hair and sharp claws

Jaizy the Bear was a gift for Cale’s third birthday. Stuffed with imported cotton, it’s round snout and embroidered cream belly were far more plush than its real-life counterpart, the Wu’Con bear, a terrifying 300kg beast capable of out-running, out-climbing, out-swimming, and out-killing every average, above-average, and exceptional citizen of the Wu’Con Ret Empire.

Jaizy is capable of none of those things of course. Jaizy is a fragile art piece with gold-silk weave stitching, grade-B corhium eyes, and hand-dyed cashmere. She sat solemnly between a 5-pound seal made of pure gold and a set of smuggled black pearls arranged to look like a heavenly centipede.

Cale thought it to be the finest piece of art gifted to the Far-Greer family.

“It’s so metaphorical,” he would say.

And in some ways he was right. Up until his 14th birthday, Cale would look upon Jaizy everyday with great fondness because, past the craftsmanship and exorbitance of what was essentially a toy, Jaizy was an important reminder, a symbol of the difference between him and all the other citizens of the Wu’Con Ret Empire.

Cale was the Far-Greer of his generation. Singular in every way, the possibility of actually facing down a living, breathing, Wu’Con bear, did not exist in his world.

2. finance: A person expecting the worst and dumps inventory to avoid losing money

“Oh! What a satisfying sight!”

Mongoo gawked at the stampede below, a crush of gentlepeople plucking the hems of their richly dyed silk off the ground and hustling down the street. Innae, Innarie, and Jabs join them, completing the picture. A ragtag bunch from the lower wards the four of them stood in stark contrast to the richness of the upper wards that surrounded them; imported plants, carved figurines, a freshly painted patio, and not a sliver of corhidite in sight.

Cale, by contrast, donning a robe of taffeta silk embroidered with mulberry leaves, seemed one with the backdrop.

“Enough with the gawking,” Cale claps for their attention, “I believe it’s time for you fine citizens of the Empire to get a move on.”

He earns a mock salute.

“Ready for some scrounging.”

“Brilliant plan all this is.”

“We’re going to make a fortune out of it this time.”

The quartett files out with great, beaming smiles. This petty change is a fortune to them, Cale muses. Perhaps he’s actually managed to do some good in the few months he’s been around, leading this farce. It’s been an investment of time he never intended to make so important. Shame the return for him hasn’t been particularly good.

3. informal: Something that is difficult to do or deal with

Cale did not know how to swim but it didn’t matter in the shallow water of the fountain. He flounders for a moment, waterlogged silk laminated against his slim figure, before diving back down, fingers blindly sliding over years of wishes.

Cale was never one to give into impulses. As a child he was applauded for his impeccable self-control and rational, adult-like reasoning skill. Rarely did he succumb to the fanciful turns of childish emotions but that was before and this is now.

A pile of coins grows at the edge of the fountain, the sounds of their efforts added to the usually tasteful babbling of the fountain. At the edges of the soundscape, they hear the guards agitated trek towards the University square. It didn’t matter, the temptations of the fountain water were too much to bear. Cale takes a deep breath, and dives again.

#lau lyssa #beau ideals #character introduction #cale #cale far-greer #introduction #in development #visual novel #interactive fiction

[heliads]

Being Miss Misery

Based on this request: “a fic with newt based off mr perfectly fine by taylor swift”

masterlist

If you were going to describe the one thing you looked forward to each morning, the one person who made you want to fight your whole life to escape the Maze, you would say it was Newt. How could you not? You love him, after all. Or, you loved him. There are days when you wish you could go back in time and tell yourself that you had gotten it all wrong, that some dreams were just meant to stay dreams and never become real. Then again, if you had never let yourself jump this time you’d spend the rest of your life thinking about the fall you could have had.

In the end, you suppose there was no way you could have ever chosen differently. No matter what happened, no matter what words were said, you could never quite forget how happy you were before, even when you were stuck in the Maze. That was the best thing about Newt, after all- he made you smile like no one else ever could. There’s always a second side to every coin, though, and that means that he has hurt you in a way so unique to him that no one else could ever hope to mimic it. No matter how many times Janson or WICKED tried to hurt you, nothing would ever cut quite as deep as this.

With every story, there’s a start. A reason why things ended up the way they did. Yours begins with the Box, the same way every other Glader remembers their first day. There is no before, not in the Maze. Just the Box, and what comes after. Everything else has been wiped from your mind, cleared away like fog from a glass. Gone, never to be found again.

You had been pulled from the metal box and stood, squinting, letting your eyes adjust to the sudden bright sunlight. You had looked around, taking in the sight of the massive stone walls surrounding you and felt your pulse start to skyrocket. Before you could really start to panic, though, a voice sounded out from behind you. It was quiet, peaceful, and you knew from that second that you would be alright.

“That’s the Maze.” You had turned to face a blond boy, one with a limp and a slight accent that tinged his words the same stilted gold as a piece of bronze. “The Maze?” The boy had nodded sagely. “You’re in the Glade now, greenie. The Maze keeps us stuck in here.” You had nodded again, and the boy apparently took pity on you, softening his tone even more, folding it up into a more peaceable sound. “I’m Newt, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

You had started for the usual greeting, the fine, thank you, and I’m- but the problem was that you couldn’t remember your own name. No place, no history, no name. It’s like you were a blank canvas, but one that had once held the most brilliant of landscapes if you could only remember it. Newt had clicked his tongue softly. “You won’t remember it, love. It’ll take a while before your name comes back to you. Don’t worry, everyone forgets.” You had stared at him. “Where are we? I know it’s the Glade, but where is it?”

Newt had shrugged. “Nobody knows. We all just showed up here, one at a time, with no memory or anything except the shirt on our backs. You can ask all the questions you want, but we won’t have any answers.” He had looked at you sideways then. “Actually, don’t ask all the questions. We told that to Chuck-” he points to a young boy with a mop of curly brown hair, “-and he took us too literally. Don’t think we slept for a week. All we heard was questions.”

You bite back a laugh. “Sounds good, Newt. I’ll keep my questions in the single digits.” Newt flashes you a smile that seems as bright as the sun. “I like you already. I think we’re going to get along very well.” If only he had known how true that would be. If only you had known, so that you could stay away.

You’re not sure you can remember quite when you realized you loved him. In the end, the exact date doesn’t really matter. It happened, you couldn’t shake it, and it felt like the most beautiful mistake you might ever make. In the Glade, you couldn’t count on anything- not the weather, not the people, not even the Maze, which changed each night. When Newt had told you how he felt one night by the campfire, you were sure that it would haunt you for the rest of your life, that it was too good to be true or too good to last.

You had started to stand up, ready to hurry away and pretend like you hadn’t heard a word. Newt had stood up too, taking your hand and keeping you by his side. “I’m not going to break your heart, Y/N. I promise. I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’ve been waiting for you all my life, and I want to be here with you. Right by your side, until the end.” You had smiled at him then, finally letting the last of your walls down. When he kissed you, even the whoops of the other Gladers weren’t enough to dissuade you.

There was nobody like him, that much was true. He made the Glade better, made even the stormiest days feel like a cloudless blue. You came to trust him, to depend on him. You believed that he wouldn’t leave. It was like he said, right? He looked you in the eye and told you he would never go away. You two were practically inseparable, and it was the best feeling on the entire planet.

When Thomas arrived, bringing with him the destruction of the Glade and promises that he could get everyone out, you thought it was the best thing you’d heard in a while. You had held Newt’s hand while you ran through the Maze, dodging Grievers and doing everything in your power to keep the other alive. That was what you did best, after all- loving each other, staying together. You can still remember that one night before you left, when fires had been burning the homesteads down and the shrieks of dying Gladers echoed through the night. It drives you to run faster, to move farther away from everything that had happened and all the horrors you had seen.

Newt had taken your hand in his, pulling you close in the dark of the night. “We’re getting out of here, alright? Promise. I love you, Y/N, and we can finally have a life outside of all this.” You had smiled at him, letting him press a kiss to your cheek. It sounded perfect, that was the problem. Perfectly fine, and none of it was true, although you’d have no way of knowing it then.

That day seemed to pass in a blur, and the next day, and the next. You made it out of the Maze, out of the nest of Grievers, and into a pressed-clean WICKED facility. They promised you safety, shepherding you into groups of other boys and girls who’d managed to make it out of their respective Mazes. When Newt gestured for you to talk to him separately, away from the other boys from your Maze, you had assumed nothing of it. How wrong you had been.

His voice was quiet, eyes darting over to the other boys as if wanting to make sure that they didn’t hear. “I want to break up with you, Y/N.” You had stared at him, not able to understand. “What?” He swallowed, then repeated himself. “I want to break up with you. I’m really sorry, Y/N, but I don’t think this is going to work out. I just- I stayed with you for longer than I should have in the Maze, because I thought we were going to die, but-”

You cut him off, feeling your tone turn icy. “You’re done now because our lives aren’t at risk anymore? You don’t have to feel guilty about it?” Newt winces. “It’s not like that, Y/N. Honest. You’re a great girl and all that, I just don’t think it’s working out anymore. Sorry.” With one last insincere apology, he turns and walks towards the rest of the boys, his step considerably lighter as if a sudden burden has been relieved from his shoulders. You’re left to stand there, alone and mute and utterly heartbroken.

There’s nothing left to do except pick up your broken pieces and go back to the table with the others. Even this brief moment of weakness, this one last hesitation by the door, has drawn looks of confusion from the Gladers. You force a smile, a spring in your step, and sit down next to them. If you make sure not to sit next to the backstabbing blond boy, well, that’s nobody’s business but your own.

The days blend together, one into the next. You didn’t realize how much you depended on seeing Newt, talking to him, saying something clever and warranting a smile, until it was all gone. You were still a Glader, and that meant that when everyone escaped the WICKED compound he made sure you stayed alive like the others, but for once, there are no more strings attached. No promises to make it out, no lies told to make it through the night. This is what it was like in the beginning, you remind yourself, and you have to learn to deal with it once more. If only it was as easy to do it as it is to say it.

Now you sit alone at a campfire in the Scorch, watching white-hot sparks cascade into the open air. Your friends from the Glade have met up with the girls from Group B and some members of the Right Arm, meaning that you’re in a crowd for the first time in a while ever since entering the Scorch. All around you, people are taking advantage of the sudden numbers to mingle and chatter with the din of a flock of birds, but not you. No, you use the overwhelming mass of people to hide away, blending into another silhouette in the desert.

It appears you’re not to be alone forever, though. Someone slumps down into the seat next to you. You smile ruefully at the expression on her face- the same heartsick, stupidly trusting look that you have no doubt has been on your own. Brenda, it appears, is not doing well with the sight of Thomas parading back and forth with Teresa. 

“Having a good night, Brenda?” She gives you a look. “About as well as you, I think. How are you, by the way? I heard you were dating Newt in the Maze but if looks could kill I think he’d be worse off than the Cranks.” You sigh. “We were dating, that much is true. He broke up with me out of the blue, broke my heart for no reason other than the fact that he didn’t feel like he had to protect me anymore as we were out of the Maze.”

Brenda stares at you, all thoughts of Thomas banished. “He didn’t say that. Tell me he didn’t say that.” You nod, smiling bittersweetly. “He did indeed. Mr. Casually Cruel, that’s his new name from now on.” Brenda looks over at you. “If he’s Mr. Casually Cruel, what does that make you?” You prop your chin up on your hands, staring with unseeing eyes at the throngs of people around you. “Miss Misery, I guess. He’s perfectly fine, I’m falling apart.”

Your eyes find a familiar figure in the crowd, one you’ve been doing your best to avoid but always seeming to return to. “The worst part is that he moved on so quickly. You’d think he’d forgotten he’d ever heard my name. I mean, look at him.” You jerk your chin towards a pair of figures on the opposite side of the roaring campfire: a blond boy, arms wrapped around Harriet. He smiles at her, lingering traces of his face disappearing into a haze of heat from the flames in between you. 

“I’ve been picking up the pieces of my heart, he’s been picking up her. I’m starting to think that I never meant anything to him at all.” Brenda clicks her tongue indignantly. “That jerk. Hey, if you ever need someone to accidentally push him off a cliff-” You cut her off, laughing. “I’ll look to you first. Don’t think we’ll need that quite yet, though.” Brenda folds her arms across her chest. “You don’t need him, though. Honestly. He wants to promenade around here like he’s Mr. Always Wins, fine. He just walked out on the best thing in his life and he doesn’t even realize it.”

You smile at your friend, a true smile this time. “Thanks, Brenda. Now, if you could keep your same advice around Thomas-” Brenda holds up her hands, starting to laugh. “We’re not talking about that! I changed my mind, let’s go back to Newt.” If you’re so distracted by the conversation and laughter with your friend that you don’t notice a certain blond boy looking your way, eyes drawn to you again and again even if he does his best to pretend otherwise, maybe it’s for the best.

The night is late, stars hung in the sky as if by some absentminded hand. The fire has died away to ash and coals, tendrils of smoke starting to creep up to the horizon. The din of the gathering has proved a little too much for you, and you’ve chosen to fade away into the night, your feet carrying you further and further from the center of the group. You lean against a rough rock face, letting your eyes trace the curves and stars of the night sky. You’re distracted enough by the sights that you don’t hear the uneven footsteps coming up behind you, the telltale lurch of a boy with a limp.

“You always liked looking at the stars, didn’t you?” You startle at Newt’s voice, appearing out of nowhere. You shake yourself, forcing your shoulders to sink and relax once more. “They’re beautiful. Always have been.” Newt’s smile is as sure as a running river, always strategized, always well-placed. There’s a confidence there, too, an edge. Proof that he’s so far above you in every sense, above feeling anything at all. “Just like you.”

You raise an eyebrow. After everything he’s put you through, after everything that destroyed you but never fazed him, you’ve learned to doubt a careless compliment like this. That may be all you’ve learned, but it is enough. Newt takes your silence as an invitation to keep speaking. “I think I’ve made a mistake, Y/N. You’ve always been so good to me, you know? Always here to stay, always at the right place at the right time. I hate to speak too quickly, but would you consider giving me another chance?”

You’ve thought about this moment for a long time. Mr. Perfectly Fine, Mr. Casually Cruel, finally seeing you in new eyes and realizing that by leaving you he was giving up everything you might have had together. But you’ve seen this moment through a hundred times in your head, and for once your head is clear, eyes bright and looking forward instead of on what might have happened. You know your answer, once and for all.

#newt #newt imagines #newt x reader #newt oneshot #tmr #tmr imagines #tmr x reader #tmr oneshot #tmr newt #tmr newt imagines #tmr newt x reader #tmr newt oneshot #the maze runner #the maze runner imagines #the maze runner x reader #the maze runner oneshot #death cure #scorch trials