#but who cares if its saturated or not

[eggs-can-draw]

hey I discovered your art and it's amazing and it inspired this weird idea so could ya please draw a bill cipher Kyoko Kirigiri fusion please?

Dorito Detective! Dori-tective? Dori-ctive?? Dor-ective??? Det-ito??? Kyoko Devito. Make a deal with her and she'll give you the answer sheet for the class trial ⁠— for a price ⁠ofc ;)

#eggs can art #eggs can answer #danganronpa #gravity falls #this was so much fun ngl #I havent drawn tumblr sexy man billiam cipher since like 2018 so it was kinda fun to go back to #her fit is kinda basic but I like it so I dont care lol #she solves crimes but she also commits crimes #does this make ford Naegi?? who knows lol #kyoko kirigiri #bill cipher #posts that out me as a lesbian #considered changing her hair color but then I went yknow what fuck you its color theory fucking with your brain time #aka I had to saturate her skin a ton because she was starting to look like a vampire lol #art #artist on tumblr

[gurorori]

i will talk ab source. part 1 is prolly childhood? I REACHED TAG LIMIT

#idk wat 2 preface this with except 4 da fact idk which parts r canon divergent n which r nawt beyond the obvious trauma stuff dat definitely #gawt mjxed in with it. also a thing ab memories is dat its nawt one super chronologically consistent timeline its kinda chunks #either way. there was still nothin known abt my supposed family & from the moment i remember myself i lived at the orphanage #i unrerstood wat it lik 2 b alone n fend 4 myself very early. yud think an institution providin care 4 children wud negate dat but i think #it only saturated it in many ways. orphanages r notoriously underfunded & the lives of those kids disregarded. ya can imagine. early on i wa #s definitely goin thru a rebel stage of not wantin 2 accept things how they wer n tried 2 run away a number of times (comin back each time) #2bf i dn think i ever came at peace with this bein my life. but growin up along the others made me feel a sense of responsibility n belongin #dat i cudn push aside. especially when no1 cared 4 me So no one wud care 4 them. ppl think of orphanages as a fixit but realy they only #create more issues for the children & ours was no different. it was both strict n neglectful? tere wer clear time tables set in day2day life #but anyone who wasn able 2 keep up wud quickly fall outta it which is where i came in #but its nawt likr dat was met with gratitude from the carers Cuz i was a problem child thru n thru in they eyes #also next 2 nothin was done 2 prevent conflict between children an the grown ups wud pin punishments onto both parties #nawt 2 mention when the carers wer part of da problem like. when it came 2 gettin physical or. otherwise abusive i don wanna say But is also #sumthin i experienced. n in part why i attempted 2 runaway many times b4 givin up. #i don remembr when i strted workin but it began with beggin in da streets n rummagin thru dumpsters aha. the typical mikaness? #i cringe rememberin it but id cling onto the passerbys n pity em into givin me money. it wasn even 4 myself most times. #gettin things of yr own was incredibly hard especially when ut was sumthin ya needed n it wasn provided as a necessity #various things com 2 mine but les b honest as a lonelu kid most ya want is company #idk i w growin up asocial up 2 a certain point. resorted 2 pickin up old toys from the garbage? i always had an affinity 4 objects strangely #id wash em in the sink n patch em up best i cud & eventually the others wanted em too s id kinda give a lot away which i didn mind in da end #i dunno jus. lots of sharin stuff round. clothes n toys n anythin ya can think of ehe #we didn have beds & we slept on the floor? had BEDDIN but it was like a one big spread for all the kids. a sumthin dat still warm my heart s #thinkin of a lot of da lil ones clingin 2 me in their sleep as they clutchd onto a plushie #STAWP i started cryin. anyway. it was so far from perfect n it was intensely traumatisin nawt 2 mention the lack of. well. any upbringin dat #kids usually get growin up. we r pretty much left 2 our own devices. #but once i was old enuff 2 work i grasped at any straws whjch i... don wanna get into? #but work is work is all i will say. also a part i think i didn mention is in my memories ofc i am more bodily in accordance with our body so #i was recognised as afab/a girl while bein a bit.. different #i don remembr how many times i cut my own hair but i did let it grow out later on. talkin shoulderblade length or so. jus as messy n unruly #as our hair is www

[secretmellowblog]

On the subject of the Titanic ‘submersible’ that was lost in the deep with all its wealthy tourists— it’s so insane/eerie in hindsight to read this article from the Smithsonian that interviews the CEO Stockton Rush long before the disaster.

Despite the Smithsonian supposedly being an organization that cares about science and truth, and the fact that there were SO MANY obvious red flags from the beginning and so many people criticizing the company…..the article is a puff piece uncritically glorifying the CEO’s obviously terrible submersible project. It compares him in glowing terms to Elon Musk. It is an article about how private ventures like those of Stockton Rush and Elon Musk can and should be the future of the world.

We’ve obviously learned now that there were whistleblowers at the company who were warning for a long time that Stockton Rush’s submersible was unsafe— only to be fired and then sued. It makes sense the submersible was so unsafe, because the CEO in this interview is open about how he has no background in underwater engineering and is annoyed by quote “regulations that needlessly prioritize passenger safety.”

Soon after, the private [submersible] market died too, Rush found, for two reasons that were “understandable but illogical.” First, subs gained a reputation for danger. Working on offshore rigs in harsh locations like the North Sea, saturation divers, who breathe gas mixtures to avoid diving sicknesses, would be taken in subs to work at great depths. It was the world’s most perilous job, with frequent fatalities. (“It wasn’t the sub’s fault,” says Rush.) To save lives, the industries moved toward using underwater robots to perform the same work.

Second, tourist subs, which could once be skippered by anyone with a U.S. Coast Guard captain’s license, were regulated by the Passenger Vessel Safety Act of 1993, which imposed rigorous new manufacturing and inspection requirements and prohibited dives below 150 feet. The law was well-meaning, Rush says, but he believes it needlessly prioritized passenger safety over commercial innovation (a position a less adventurous submariner might find open to debate). “There hasn’t been an injury in the commercial sub industry in over 35 years. It’s obscenely safe, because they have all these regulations. But it also hasn’t innovated or grown—because they have all these regulations.”

The fact that Stockton Rush (who was piloting the submarine when the disaster happened) is on record complaining about the evils of regulations that prioritize people’s safety, and the Smithsonian uncritically regurgitated that rhetoric in their glowing puff piece about how rich tycoons like Elon Musk and Stockton Rush are going to save the world is just…..in hindsight of how everything ended it’s just so much horrible black comedy? It’s like a satire about the dangers of uncritically worshipping the rich.

It is mentioned in the article that Rush chose to make his submersible in a different shape, and with a different (cheaper) material than is usually used for submersibles. The article frames this as a result of daring innovation, and not of negligence/ignorance. This passage in particular, which in context is supposed to portray Rush’s critics as joyless naysayers who were proven wrong by the noble tycoon, is pretty foreboding in hindsight:

Rush planned to pilot the sub himself, which critics said was an unnecessary risk: Under pressure, the experimental carbon fiber hull might, in the jargon of the sub world, “collapse catastrophically.”

And then!!

The exact problem that happened to Titan this weekend, happened on Titan’s very first test voyage to the Titanic! The experimental carbon fiber hull had an issue and it caused communications to break down!

The dive was going according to plan until about 10,000 feet, when the descent unexpectedly halted, possibly, Rush says, because the density of the salt water added extra buoyancy to the carbon fiber hull. He now used thrusters to drive Titan deeper, which interfered with the communications system, and he lost contact with the support crew. He recalls the next hour in hallucinogenic terms. “It was like being on the Starship Enterprise,” he says. “There were these particles going by, like stars. Every so often a jellyfish would go whipping by. It was the childhood dream.”

Both Rush and the article writer treat this as a fun quirky story, instead of a serious safety failure and red flag with his experimental macgyvered regulation-flaunting submersible.

Other highlights from the article include:

Stockton rush saying that if 3/4 of the planet is water, why haven’t we monetized it?

Stockton saying we will “colonize the ocean long before we colonize space”

Lots of weird pro colonialism stuff in general??? This article loves colonialism and thinks it’s cool

Rush saying he plans for this to eventually help find more underwater resources for the US to exploit and profit from

Elon musk comparisons. The article writer does not mention that Elon Musk’s rockets explode and therefore it would be a bad idea to get in one of them, because that would imply it’s a bad idea to get into the submersible

Stockton rush seeing himself as Captain Kirk

The article writer comparing the tourists who plan to join Rush to Englishmen who went on colonialist journeys to Africa as if that’s like, a good thing. So much pro colonialism stuff in this article

So many sentences about Stockton Rush being handsome when he literally just looks like some guy

The article beginning with an editor’s note from years later disclaiming that the extraordinary submersible they’re advertising in this article is uh. It’s now uhhhh

But yeah it really does just bring home how so many organizations that supposedly care about scientific truth or journalistic integrity are willing to uncritically platform propaganda for wealthy CEOS. It’s frustrating how easily people fall for the fake myths that careless wealthy people invent for themselves, and even more frustrating that supposedly respectable institutions will platform irresponsible lies that end up getting people killed.

Rush is such an obvious and simple example of this, and his negligence is “only” killing five people including himself. But to me it feels like a cautionary tale to bear in mind when it comes to uncritical puff piece media coverage of similar “daring tycoon innovations” by people like Bezos or Musk.

#titanic #oceangate #titanic submersible #sorry this is just so fascinating to me #it’s like a parody or piece of satire #if it were in a novel it would feel like the symbolism was too obvious and on the nose

[hiveswap]

Summary of The Cat of The Year poll atrocities of 2023/2024

I'm sure that most people on this side of tumblr have seen the Jellie vs. Nefarious Anglerfish poll going around with like 60k votes at this point, and I'd really like clear up some of what happened since I was around for the whole thing.

Url blocked out for op's privacy. They have already left but don't look for it if you haven't seen it/don't harrass them if you already have.

1. The previous round (preparation)

I discovered the poll in its previous round, needless to say she beat Jort's ass severely. This was around the 3rd of january, meaning that this round finished before jellie's passing with only about 7k votes. Op did add their own piece of propaganda from their main:

...which was FINE. (except for stuff we'll see later) Of course running a poll while biased isn't ideal but I for one didn't even know they were the op until much later. I also added my own piece in a separate thread, and they didn't interact with it at all. There was no drama.

2. The Finale

Jellie unfortunately passed away right before the starting of this poll, which was the catalyst for what happened next. Op did exactly as last time and added a slightly more mean spirited encouragement to vote for the other contestant. This is the point where I believe that i fucked up personally.

I added this thinkpiece accusing op of associating all mcyters with Dream (who we all hate for the record) despite them not alluding to him at all. This is because tumblr has a history of disimissing all mcyters as... everything that dream was been accused of. Op did allude to not caring for mcyt. but they didn't say what i accused them of. This is important to point out because this reblog of mine is still being spread. Jellie was in the lead at the time, but not by the time i woke up next morning.

I won't be including anyone else's additions because I don't want to put blame on any specific person. Just felt like clearing up mine.

3. The Fuckening

Some time later op made this post to their personal blog:

which is insanely shitty because, as other people have pointed out, the "lame ass youtube cat" didn't die to inconvinience op or ruin their fun, and people would have probably voted for her anyway because jelly is universally beloved in the mcyt community. This isn't anti democratic. This post was added to the poll with a caption saying op should not be running this poll, and it took off. Op later went on to say that this was a joke:

This apology was not taken well by people, (including me) because "you were not meant to see it" isn't an apology and they still very much made fun of someone's pet dying. Safe to say this did not make the drama stop and only added fuel to the flame. I believe this was the point where the conversation of mcyt fans being unjustly sent hate to was reignited.

We should discuss that! it's a real thing that happens often and is equal to childish bullying. However, in this case, OP was the only one getting sent hate to my knowledge. The notes were mostly saturated by mcyt fans, and even now i can only find one or two hateful stance towards us under the whole 20k notes post.

4. Conclusions

Op posted a second apology to the catoftheyear blog to try and calm people down (i believe this is comprehensive and a lot better than the previous one) The blog was deactivated shortly after, so i only have my phone screenshots of it that i also added to the poll itself at some point:

(Edit) Here's proof that op did not write the justification they got criticised for, from the notes of the original poll:

This apology didn't get seen, or get accepted by enough people, so op made this statement on their personal:

Needless to say I am deeply dissapointed (and guilty) that it's come to this. Yes, op said tasteless things that made us all angry, but telling a human being to commit suicide is worse than being insensitive about a stranger's pet dying. Even after I posted about the blog being decatived i had someone come into my notes to wish that "they never find happiness" i mean wtf. This isn't like shipping where we can do whatever without the content creator's input. this is fucking harrowing and i can't imagine how i'd feel if this was done in my/my pet's name especially after losing them as recently as a week ago.

I hope no one from hermitcraft who is on here (let alone scar holy shit) learns about this like they did with previous lighthearted tournaments. If you truly respect the creators you claim to be a fan of as people, you do not tell people to kill themselves over them. And finally, let Jellie fucking rest, guys. she had a long, good life. I hope op can come back and also avoids behaving like this if they ever wish to do so. I'm angrier at mcytblr, though.

#catoftheyear #jellie #tw animal death #tw suicide bait #hermitcraft #goodtimeswithscar #adding to main tags so people see this instead of the poll itself with no context on how it ended #If this breaches containment and gets used as a reason to hurt mcyt fans i am going zo eat whoever is doing that #catoftheyeartournament #jellie the cat

[nonasuch]

Did you ever write more to the "vader finds out that leia I'd his daughter" story?

No but it’s been percolating in my head for a while so let’s go

(continuing from this)

The first thing Vader does is cover his tracks. Wipes the security cameras for the whole cell block, wipes the prisoner logs, makes sure that no trace of Leia’s capture or escape will be in the files synced daily with Imperial Center. Puts in transfer orders for that nervous junior officer to somewhere very far away and very quiet. Saves only one short vid clip, to the secret hard drive hidden in his own respirator.

I’m Luke Skywalker. I’m here to rescue you.

While he’s doing this, his children (children! plural!) are getting themselves into trouble, and out again. Apparently the trash compactor was involved. He will have more footage to scrub. Somehow they’ve acquired a Wookie.

Kenobi is with them.

Vader should have foreseen this. Of course, Kenobi.

His presence saturates the Force, nearly drowning out Luke— and Leia, too, now that Vader knows to look. It’s enough to break Vader free from the chill of shock, his rightful fury seen as through a window right up until it shatters, and engulfs him again.

But he forces it back. He wants answers, before he kills Kenobi.

(I’m Luke Skywalker. I’m here to rescue you.)

He hasn’t played the clip again, but it echoes in his ears nonetheless.

When he faces Kenobi, Vader is still off-balance. Kenobi seems as calm, as unruffled as he ever did, though he’s far too obvious in buying time for Leia and Luke to attempt an escape.

Vader asks him: “Do they know?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Kenobi says, light and unconvincing.

“You kept them from me,” Vader says, and that is a thought that feeds the Dark, that lets him hammer at Kenobi’s saber until he’s nearly past his guard—

“I kept them from your master,” Kenobi says, his voice still even and pleasant and false, hardly betraying his exertion.

“I’ll kill you for this,” Vader vows.

“I expect so,” says Kenobi. “I swore I’d die before I let Palpatine harm another child in my care. If dying will keep them from him, it’s well worth the cost.”

(I’m Luke Skywalker. I’m here to rescue you.)

By the end of this speech Kenobi recovers a little of his old skill, turning Vader’s blows aside instead of merely bearing up under their weight. Too soon, Vader falters, losing the momentum of rage. They both fall back to defensive positions. Any living troopers have long since cleared the area; the whole deck is a ruin of saber gouges and shattered armor.

Vader rarely speaks without thinking. The nature of his breathing apparatus makes this a necessity, more often than not. But the words escape him anyway.

“Who named them?”

And now Kenobi is the one who falters. It is satisfying, if short-lived. “Their mother,” he says. “With her last breaths.”

A long time ago — a lifetime away — there was a list of names. Two lists, really, to start with, and then another of the names held in common to both. No record of it survives, not even on the hard drive hidden next to Vader’s heart.

On Naboo, children are often named for virtues. A child might be called Aluuk, for kindness, or Alié, for wisdom.

On Tatooine, a child’s name is the parent’s hope for its future. Perhaps Lukka would grow to be free; perhaps Leyah would grow to be fierce.

And perhaps they have. Vader does not know. Kenobi took that from him.

Vader won’t kill him yet, though. He still has questions.

#asked and answered #star wars #i wrote a thing

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

Preludes and Nocturnes - Part 2

Paring: Rafe Cameron x InnocentPogue!reader

Summary: Rafe discovers your hidden talent and now he has seen it, you have his full attention.

PART 1 is here if you haven't read it

Warnings:  18+ Smut. Darkish!Rafe. Virgin!Reader. Romance, Angst, Dub-Con, Fingering. Not Proof-Read so mistakes are my own.

Word Count: 8.3k words (Rafe has released the writing beast in me)

Author Note: Hello lovelies! So happy you enjoyed the first part.  Here's the second. I thought it would just be just a second part but the more I wrote the story just kept unfolding and I really want to do it justice. (I think part 1 and 2 together is the longest I've written for any fic character) So in order to really get into the angst and it not be too long its going to have to be 3 perhaps 4 parts (not sure yet) Anyway I'm currently writing part 3 so it won't be too long before posting. One thing - there's only one piece of music with this part and I would suggest playing it and leaving it running while you read the rest of the chapter.

Thank you for reading and sticking with the story and if you enjoyed it please reblog. It helps to spread the love.  Much love and take care. ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

The soft glow of your phone, quietly vibrating beside you, nudged you out of your peaceful slumber. Still shrouded in a groggy haze, you instinctively turned away from it. Without even a glance, you knew who the messenger was, and the mere thought that he had sent another text caused a weary sigh to escape your lips.

Rafe's persistent attempts to connect since that unforgettable night had been unrelenting. Ignoring his calls was relatively easy (you had silenced his number), but his text messages proved more difficult to dismiss. Simple words like "Hey," "Hi," and "Talk to me" consistently lit up your phone at all hours, serving as a gentle yet persistent plea for your response—a response you couldn't bring yourself to give, yet somehow couldn't bring yourself to block him outright either. Ultimately, you opted for what seemed the only rational strategy, although in hindsight, it may not have been the wisest: complete avoidance.

But, in truth, none of that mattered. Not when your waking thoughts and dreams were dominated by memories of Rafe, endlessly replaying the night you shared. The feeling of being completely overwhelmed that night, your pleading words that it was all too much, that you needed to stop, were still fresh in your mind. How Rafe merely smiled in response and declared it was only the beginning, sealing his promise with a kiss.

And as he kissed you slow and deep, Rafe was true to his word. His middle finger wormed its way back between your legs. He found your sensitive clit already swollen and slippery with your slick and rubbed the nub in gentle circles in sync with his languid kiss. Slow and steady, minutes ticked by as Rafe dragged out your pleasure, watching you patiently, drawing back his finger whenever he felt you were close, his tongue lazily circling yours, as you both breathed as one. Until finally, finally, he allowed you to cum.

Your body exploded for him, blinding white pleasure saturated your senses leaving you crying and shaking while Rafe whispered soothingly against the shell of your ear "That's a good girl. That's a good girl."

Your unforgettable night with Rafe was unparalleled, surpassing all previous experiences, including those with your first and only boyfriend, Jake. Granted, you had not given Jake the same liberties, but even with the awkward kisses and over-the-clothes groping that marked your brief relationship, Jake had never elicited emotions remotely comparable to what Rafe managed in just one evening. What Rafe stirred effortlessly within you was a different beast entirely — something desperate, needy, and vulnerable. The sensation was so powerful that even three weeks later, it remained, smoldering like a steadfast ember, ready to reignite under the right conditions.

This realization filled you with absolute dread. The sudden understanding that it was Rafe- Rafe Cameron that held the power to shape your desires, ignite unknown cravings, and provoke illicit responses from your body that you couldn't control, was utterly terrifying.

You had often heard tales of girls falling for the proverbial 'bad boy,' forsaking their better judgment for some reckless charmer, and had always scoffed at such narratives. The thought of you succumbing to such feelings or desires was, until recently, beyond the realm of your wildest dreams. It seemed, however, that you were not as immune as you had once believed. All it took was the right—or perhaps, in this case, the wrong—person to stir those latent desires to the surface.

The sheets felt like an unwelcome weighted blanket on your body, pressing you down as you twisted and turned, desperately trying for sleep to come. But it remained stubbornly out of reach. Instead, you found yourself overwhelmed by a flood of polarising emotions.

Chief among them was a sharp sting of shame from that night with Rafe—a shame born from the startling responsiveness of your own body to his, and a gnawing guilt that it was Rafe, of all people, who had elicited such a reaction.

Yet, beneath the layers of guilt and shame, another emotion stirred, one you fervently sought to squash: a thrill of excitement at how utterly alive you felt being dominated by him and the confusing, even more, inescapable undeniable truth—you had loved every single intoxicating minute of it.

In a small town of no more than 7000 souls, you had turned avoiding Rafe into something of an art form. It wasn't difficult, really. Your comfort zones were galaxies away from the crowded, noisy spots that seemed to magnetize him. Bars, clubs, and bonfires weren't your scene anyway.  Your day-to-day orbit included exam prep and college applications, mostly done at the library for a change of scenery, relentless babysitting shifts, and quiet trips to the edges of the out sticks with your cousin to catch crawfish —far from the exclusive circles of Figure 8. 

Life was, if not exactly smooth sailing, at least predictably turbulent. Everything seemed under control, except for one tiny, nagging detail: Rafe. And your near-pathological commitment to avoid him.

On an average day that seemed to blend seamlessly with the rest, you were navigating your way through a series of errands for your dad. The North Carolina sun was blazing overhead casting sharp shadows. As you rounded a corner bathed in this bright, unforgiving light, a figure suddenly materialized. At first, it seemed like a trick of the heat, an illusion stirred up by the sweltering atmosphere. But as your eyes adjusted, recognition dawned. It was Rafe, but he looked... different.

Your gaze drank in the details, lingering over the notable changes—the buzzcut that gave him an even more dangerous edge, the way he stood taller, seeming to tower over the world, the newfound confidence that rolled off him in waves, a palpable energy that dared anyone to challenge him.  But the transformation wasn't just physical. An undercurrent of danger clung to him like a second skin.  He looked like he had seen things. Done bad things.

Reality came rushing back, slamming into you like a tidal wave, you tried to reverse course, turning on your heels to disappear from his line of sight. Yet, your reaction came a second too late. Rafe had spotted you, and maybe if you hadn't just blown most of your cash on groceries, you would've dropped them and run.

Rafe's speed was unrivaled. With just a few long strides, he effortlessly caught up to you. Firmly grasping your arm, he swiftly spun you around to face him, and there, you saw your own reflection in his Ray-Bans. He slid the sunglasses onto his head, revealing his piercing blue eyes. He made no attempt to hide the whirlpool of emotions swirling within them.

"That's not very neighborly of you," he said. His words were clipped and tinged with anger, yet something in his expression softened slightly as he gazed at you. Was it relief? Disappointment? It was difficult to determine, but one thing was clear—his emotions were just as tumultuous as yours.

"I forgot something—"

"Oh, you forgot something?" His grip tightened, decreasing the space between you.

"Yes, from the supermarket—"

"What, the one over there?" he asked, casually gesturing over his shoulder in the opposite direction.

"A different store."

"Right, right. Well, I'll walk you there."

"No! I've changed my mind," you protested, shaking your head. Your feet instinctively shuffled backward as you attempted to free yourself from his grip. His laughter was low and dry, his hold on you tightening.

"I need to go, Rafe. Let me go. I have to get home," you pleaded, desperation edging your voice.

"You heard her, country club. She said 'Let go'." The forceful tug-of-war between you and Rafe abruptly seized as both of you turned to see Barry approaching. You'd never directly interacted with Barry, but tales of his local thuggery and drug dealing were well-known to you. He greeted Rafe with a familiarity that, given Rafe's reputation, was not surprising.

"This doesn't concern you, man. Keep moving," Rafe commanded, his gaze fixed on Barry.

"Well, I did hear her say 'let her go'," Barry remarked, positioning himself beside you.

"Yeah well, she doesn’t know what she wants," Rafe retorted, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he pulled you closer, positioning himself between you and Barry.

"Just let her go, man—"

"Fuck off," Rafe spat.

Unfazed, Barry squinted and leaned in closer. "You realize how this looks, right? Out here in broad daylight?" he warned.

“Keep walking,” Rafe's jaw clenched as he squared off against Barry.

"Do you not realize what you are doing, bro?"

"I said keep walking," Rafe said icily, maintaining eye contact.

An unspoken exchange passed between the two men, concluding with Barry retreating, hands lifted in a gesture of surrender. “Alright then,” he conceded. “You do you, country club. You do you. But don't come crying to me when this shit backfires. I warned your J.Crew lookin' ass.”

After Barry's departure, Rafe scanned the surroundings before returning his focus to you.

"Where's your car?" His question hung heavily in the air as you looked up at him, fear evident in your eyes.

“Hey, I asked you a question,” Rafe's voice softened, his hand gently shaking your arm. “Where's your car?”

"It's...it's not working,” you whispered.

“You walked here?”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

A smirk crept across his lips. "Well, aren't you in luck? I'll give you a ride."

"No, that's... I can walk. I planned to walk—"

"Don't. Don't do that. Don’t act dumb, alright? It's nearly a hundred degrees out. What- you planning on collapsing on the side of the road?" His tone was surprisingly gentle, even as he grabbed the grocery bag from your hands. "Let's not make a mountain out of a molehill, yeah? Barry's already acting like a fool. We don't need a full circus," he stated, heading towards his truck and leaving you with no choice but to trail after him.

Rafe held the door open for you, assisting you as you climbed onto the plush leather seat. After handing you the grocery bag, he closed the door and walked around to the driver's side. In a subtle move to put some distance between the two of you, you placed the grocery bag in the middle.

Rafe started the truck, rolled up the windows, and activated the air conditioning. The truck pulled out of the parking lot, beginning a mostly silent ride.

Apart from the occasional glances Rafe threw your way, the journey remained relatively quiet. He made no attempt to hide his attention, his thumb rhythmically tapping on the steering wheel. The intensity of his gaze was unnerving, and you felt like you were suffocating despite the AC. You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"You look good..." Rafe stated, punctuating his words with an approving nod. The compliment stirred a flurry of emotions within you, leaving you feeling disoriented. As your heart pounded like a war drum, the silence seemed to morph, becoming dense and strangling.

"Thank you," you muttered trying to fill it. Your gaze firmly on the road ahead.

"How's your dad?" He asked, initiating a light conversation about your dad's well-being. You answered his questions with measured caution, unsure of his intentions. You informed him that your dad was coming home tonight and you intended to cook him a meal since he practically survived on sandwiches during the week in Burnsville. Rafe's thoughtful nods suggested he was listening, but there was an undercurrent of ambiguity that left you uneasy.

"What are you planning on making for him?" he asked with a semblance of innocence.

Your voice wavered as you listed the dishes, each word revealing your growing vulnerability. Anticipating his next move or comment, your heart raced and you braced yourself for what felt like an inevitable confrontation. You kept thinking he'd ask about the unanswered calls, about his ignored messages.

"Wow, you’re a real cook, not just a 'barely-can-boil-water' cook."

“I manage,” you replied.

Rafe hummed in agreement, his thumb still tapping the steering wheel albeit slower; more measured. “You know, Wheeze misses you.”

“I miss her too. How is she?”

“Good. She’s got exams coming up, so she’s been focusing on that. She's also got herself a little girlfriend."

"You seem to approve. Let me guess, Kook?" you asked absentmindedly.

"Nah, Pogue," he corrected, emphasizing the 'P'. "I guess we like what we like, huh?" he said, eyes raking over you.

Silence followed as Rafe steered away from the main road, venturing down an isolated street lined with beech trees. Decaying houses dotted the landscape, separated by wild stretches of tall bluestems and switchgrass.

"You should, you know… come by the house. See her sometime. I know she’d like that."

“Oh- I.. I would but I can't," you stammered, shaking your head "I have college applications to finish. Maybe sometime after."

“Right, right… college... applications... where are you applying?”

"Um… Kildare Community, Piedmont, Sun Valley, Crystal Coast Community--"

"What about Juilliard or Berklee? You applying to any of those?”

His question caught you off guard, and you turned your gaze towards him. Under the sunlight, his handsome profile seemed almost otherworldly.

"I hadn't really given it much thought," you confessed, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

His eyes fixed on yours, curiosity flickering in them. "Why not?"

Your answer was simple, albeit hard to articulate. "I can't afford it," you said with a shrug. Your eyes back on the unfolding road ahead when his gaze became too much.

"Don't they offer scholarships?"

"Yeah, they do. But the competition among applicants would be intense-"

"So? You're talented. Apply." he said matter of factly. "There are folks on the cut dreaming of an escape, with squat to show for it. You? You have options..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. "Don't squander it. Not here and definitely not at some shitty community college."

Taken aback, you struggled to find a response, and it didn't help that you could feel his eyes on you, evaluating your reaction. The remaining ride passed in silence, and by the time he pulled up outside your house, you were more than relieved.

"Thank you, Rafe," you said, quickly reaching for your grocery bag, but Rafe stopped you.

"So, that's it? Just 'thank you, Rafe?'" he asked, his jaw shifting restlessly from side to side, as though words were on the edge of his tongue, fighting to break free.

"Oh— I'm sorry, I should've offered to cover the gas. I don't have much on me, but I can--" Your words were cut short by Rafe shaking his head.

"I don't want your money."

Fear prickled your skin, "Then what—what do you want?" Swallowing nervously, you awaited his response.

Rafe's gaze flitted to your lips then back to your eyes "A kiss." he said.

Your head jerked back, unsure you'd heard him correctly.

"A kiss?" you echoed, attempting to digest his sudden proposal.

"Yeah, just a kiss," he replied. His voice was so steady, so devoid of emotion, it was as if he was merely commenting on the weather or asking if you had the time.

Your query rang out once more, uncertainty creeping into your voice, "A kiss?"

"Just one. One kiss and we call it even." Rafe's lean-in was deliberate, his index finger lightly grazing your jaw, igniting a trail of warmth along your skin and unsubconsciously you leaned into it.

"A kiss," you whispered back, your eyes locked onto his. Perhaps you didn't want things to escalate into a fight, but maybe, just maybe, a part of you wanted to kiss him. Taking a breath to steel yourself, you leaned in, brushing a swift kiss against his cheek. Almost instinctively, his lips followed, seeking yours.

"That's, that's not a kiss," Rafe breathed, his eyes growing progressively darker with each word he spoke.

Gently, Rafe curled his fingers around the back of your neck, drawing you closer. His attention was solely focused on your lips. As if under a spell, you relented, delivering a brief, innocent kiss onto his lips. But just as you began to pull away, Rafe halted you, his fingers remaining intertwined at the nape of your neck.

"Nah, that doesn't count."

"I kissed you, Rafe—" you began, your voice trembling.

"No, no. You owe me a real kiss for all the unanswered texts and the missed calls..." His words triggered a surge of panic within you and you tried to pull away, but Rafe held you firm, his gaze burning into your own. "I was worried about you. Did you know that?" he asked, his eyebrows creasing in confusion.

"We had fun. I made you feel good and then you just...." He paused, collecting his thoughts, his eyes darting between your lips and your startled expression. "I thought something had happened to you. But then, I woke the fuck up and realised you were safe - you just ghosted me. You know, I even contemplated driving over to your house? But I knew your dad wouldn't appreciate that. I thought I might never see you again, and then...there you were."

Rafe's words gushed forth like a sudden revelation. "There you were, shopping for groceries to cook for your dad, playing the dutiful daughter, blissfully content in your little world, while mine was hell." He spat out the words with venom, his fingers tensing at the nape of your neck, pulling you so close that his lips were mere millimeters from yours. His eyes, swirling with turmoil, locked intensely onto your eyes, which were now brimming with unshed tears.

"So, while I'm relieved you're okay," he started, his lips curving into a slight pout as he painstakingly enunciated each word, "You owe me. You owe me for thinking about you. You owe me for worrying about you. Now, open your mouth."

"Rafe," you whispered, tears beginning to cascade down your cheeks.

"I said, open. Your. Mouth." His voice hardened, his command leaving no room for doubt.

Your broken sob was all it took for Rafe to swoop in, kissing you passionately. His tongue probed the depths of your mouth, and you willingly complied, feeling the unmistakable force in his movements - raw, desperate, determined.

With each passing moment, Rafe deepened the kiss, leaning into you even further. He poured in his passion, demanding that you returned it with equal intensity, leaving your head spinning and your heart aching. The sheer intensity of the moment left you gasping for breath, and as Rafe's lips left yours to press desperate, kisses against your cheek and down the column of your throat you felt like you couldn't breathe at all.

"Please, I have to go, I have to," you managed to muster, pulling his fingers away and pushing him back. With a surge of determination, you grabbed your grocery bag and yanked on the passenger door, only for Rafe to swiftly reach over and slam it shut.

You turned to face him, struggling to catch your breath and see him through your teary haze. Rafe's face portrayed a picture of calm, cold calculation, with only the harsh puffs of air escaping his lips marring that composure. "You're making this difficult," he uttered, his voice echoing the icy chill of his demeanor. "It doesn't have to be."

Rafe relinquished his hold on the door, and you seized the opportunity, yanking it open. You nearly lost your balance in the process but managed to catch yourself just in time. Without daring to look back, you bolted towards your porch. Only when you heard the grating sound of his truck pulling away and tires screeching against the gravel did you risk a glance back.

The rhythmic splash of water against the wooden planks of the dinghy was the only sound as you and your cousin worked in tandem, freeing the crawfish from their nets and emptying them into plastic buckets filled with fresh water.

The usual serene ambiance of your shared task was disrupted by the thickening tension in the air, both from the approaching storm and from the heavy silence your cousin seemed eager to shatter.

"You know," she began, her voice deliberately casual, "Konnie's been running her mouth again."

You looked up from the net you were shaking above the bucket of cold water, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, yeah? What crazy story has she cooked up this time?"

She hesitated, then said with faux nonchalance, "Something about seeing Rafe with a girl yesterday. Says she looked a lot like you."

"What?" You froze mid-shake, a flicker of surprise crossing your face.

"Wild, right?”

Forcing a laugh, you attempted to balance surprise with casual dismissal. "Konnie's always been good at making stuff up."

She glanced sharply at you, her gaze assessing. "It's not ‘making stuff up’ if Barry was there to corroborate it."

The weight of the revelation pulled at your focus.

“This sounds like something out of a K-drama," you whispered, your focus back on your trap.

"Isn't it just? Our Kook King looking down on half the town like we're nothing but shit beneath his shoes, is with a Pogue. An actual born and bred Pogue. I don’t know if that’s rich in irony or if it makes him a hypocrite?" She laughed bitterly.

"Both, probably, if it were true. But it’s not.”

She nodded slowly. "Right well, Konnie said Barry tried to stop Rafe from making a scene. Why would Rafe be making a scene?” she asked, her eyes locked onto you.

Your fingers tightened around the net, your heart beating in your throat. "I don't know. It's Outer Banks. People talk. They get things wrong and--"

She sighed, leaning closer. "Is there something going on between you and Rafe?”

“No, there isn't—"

“Because if there is, I need to know. Like, are you sleeping with him-“

“No!”

“Then are you dating him?”

“No- it’s not like that." You said shaking your head profusely.

"Then what's it like?"

"I babysit his sister you know that—" you faltered under your cousin's intense gaze. "He just happened to be in town when I was grocery shopping and he gave me a ride home. Nothing happened.”

Your cousin gave out a bitter laugh and shook her head. "A minute ago you were acting like it was some baseless rumour—”

"Because you were freaking me out! What else was I supposed to say? You just came at me with a bunch of questions like I did something wrong" You said, your face hot.

You couldn’t help but notice your cousin’s frustrated sigh.

“Look, I’ve got your back, regardless of whatever is going on here. And I can’t tell you how to live your life, that's for you to decide. But, Rafe-- Rafe is not the type of guy you want to be involved with in any capacity. I thought you knew that.” The distant growl of thunder underscored the urgency of her words.

“I do, and I’m not,” you said, licking your lips.

“Good. Because Rafe would never risk being seen in public with a Pogue, let alone put his reputation on the line for one. If you get involved with him, you'll be the one who ends up getting hurt."

"I know," you murmured in agreement.

She nodded and looked up at the darkening sky. "Good. Just making sure we're on the same page is all."

"We are," You nodded, barely able to meet her eyes. "We should hurry," you said quietly. "A storm's coming."

During the subsequent week, Rafe had surfaced in your life more times than in the previous three weeks of no contact. Initially, you brushed it off as mere coincidence. You saw him at the market, then again at the docks, immersed in intense conversation with his friends, and once again at the wreck when you went to pick up food. Each encounter was brief, like an encounter with a spectre and each time you slipped away, thankfully, unseen.

With your heart hammering in your chest, you assured yourself that he wasn't intentionally seeking you out. You dismissed these run-ins as sheer coincidence. That's what you convinced yourself, at least.

Until the Library.

Your heart stuttered as you spotted him through the double doors just as you were about to exit. There he was, nonchalantly leaning against his truck, eyes concealed behind Ray-Bans and his arms folded.

Despite the casual stance, his presence radiated terrifying, intimidating energy. His posture, his unwavering gaze, his patient vigil - it all pointed towards one intention. It felt like you had been doused with cold water when realization struck-

Rafe was waiting.

For you.

Two choices lay before you. Either you could escape through the back door or find a window to climb out of. But deep down, you knew these would only delay the inevitable. It was time to confront the situation. Harnessing every ounce of courage, you resolved to put an end to this.

Usually, you'd carry only a handful of books, but today you had filled your tote. The thought of smacking Rafe in the head with it seemed like a good option. Adjusting the strap on your shoulder and gripping the bag firmly, you pulled the brass handle, flung open the door, and strode down the library’s stone steps, your chin lifted high.

A grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat split Rafe's face, his teeth flashing with amusement as he watched you. But you didn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence. You breezed past him, leaving him behind in your determined stride.

Not long after, Rafe slipped into his truck and drove alongside you, his arm hanging out of the window, eyes flicking between you and the road.

"It's gonna rain, you know." he said. His voice, smooth as silk, echoed around you. You kept walking, acting as if his words had fallen on deaf ears, yet they hung ominously in the air.

"It's gonna rain, you know," Rafe repeated, amusement tingeing his tone.

"I heard you the first time," you snapped, your voice sharper than you had intended.

Rafe whistled in surprise. His grin only widened, “Come on, don't be like that. Get in. I'll give you a ride."

You faltered for a moment at his offer, but quickly regained your stride. "I don't need anything from you, Rafe."

"Sure about that?" He drawled, his truck moving at the same steady pace as you.

The thrum of your heartbeat in your ears underscored your steely resolve, refusing to meet his gaze. The truck's engine growled ominously at your side.

"You know, a ride with me wouldn't be so bad. In fact, you might enjoy it”

"I'd rather get hit by lightning," you fired back, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead.

Rafe removed his sunglasses and lightly tossed them on the dash. His silence was heavy, bearing witness to your defiance before his voice returned, a touch of impatience coating his words. "So how much longer are you planning to keep this up?"

“What do you mean? Keeping what up?”

“Running...pretending like you don’t give a shit—”

"Who said anything about running? I'm walking away. There's a difference."

"Oh, is that what this is? Right. Right." He drawled, the truck maintaining its constant presence by your side. "Well, it looks more like running to me."

"You can think whatever you want, Rafe. I really don’t care" Your words were as icy as a protective shield, distancing you from his unnerving scrutiny.

"You know," he spoke after another pause, his voice melting into a softer, intimate cadence, "You'd think I'd be bored by now but nah, I like these little interactions of ours. I look forward to them, actually…”

"Don't," you managed to whisper.

"Don't what?" He questioned, feigned innocence in his tone. You could hear the smirk in his voice, a symbol of triumph despite your rebuffs.

"Just leave me alone, Rafe."

"You know I can't do that," he declared with unshakeable certainty.

"Why not?" You shot back, halting to confront him and Rafe hit the brakes. As you turned to face him, the first drops of rain began to fall, soaking your skin and hair. You surrendered to the sensation, letting the rain blur your surroundings into an indistinct haze. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

A fleeting wave of vulnerability crossed Rafe's face, causing his confident smile to momentarily falter. "You know why..." He began, licking his lips, as if the weight of his next words were a challenge to articulate.

"No, I don’t. Aren't there plenty of Kooks you should be chasing after? Isn't that supposed to be your speed, anyway?" Your voice was laced with a mix of frustration and genuine curiosity.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes unwavering, locked onto yours. "Okay, you want me to spell it out? Fine." Leaning in just slightly, ensuring every word landed with intent, he said, "I like you, yeah? Not some Kook or a Touron. You." And then, softer, almost a whisper against the backdrop of the rain, "You know I do." The quiet intensity of his affirmation sent shivers down your spine. It was a truth both of you had danced around, a truth as terrifying as it was undeniable. Time seemed to stretch in that moment, punctuated only by the drumming rain and the frantic pace of your heart.

You swallowed hard, battling the storm of emotions threatening to spill out. "Well, you have a peculiar way of showing it," you managed to say, your voice quivering with a mix of vulnerability and defiance. His unexpected honesty had pulled the rug out from under your feet, leaving you reeling. "You've been stalking me, trying to intimidate me, forcing me to do things I don't want to--"

"Forcing you?" Rafe’s gaze hardened as he studied your face. "Forcing you? I’m forcing you?”

“Yes, Rafe. Forcing me,” you protested, the words tinged with desperation, a last-ditch attempt to create distance between you two.

Rafe chuckled under his breath as he shook his head. “I'm forcing you, but you came harder than you've ever done in your entire life just from my fingers. I'm forcing you, but you came so many times you could barely remember your own name--"

"I never wanted any of that! I didn't ask for any of that—" You tried to reason only for Rafe to silence you with a frustrated roar, his hand banging on the steering wheel.

"Get in the fucking truck!!"

"No!" you laughed shakily “No. in fact, I'm perfectly fine. Right. Here." you declared defiantly, tilting your head back to let the rain wash over you. A temporary respite came with your eyes squeezed shut. When you dared to open them again, Rafe was still there, an unwavering, persistent figure.

With another heavy sigh, Rafe surrendered. "Alright." he nodded bitterly "Alright, You're really gonna make me do this, huh?"

"Do what?" you retorted, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Before you could decipher his next move, Rafe abruptly killed the engine, flung open the door and stepped out into the torrential downpour. The heavens seemed intent on soaking him through. Droplets of rain lashed down, darkening his shirt until it clung to his chiseled torso, revealing the muscular contours beneath.

"What the fuck," you whispered under your breath, your heart racing from his unexpected action. There he stood, defiant against the torrential rain, every drop sliding down his chiseled features, his piercing eyes never wavering from yours.

Time seemed to stand still until, driven by some invisible force, Rafe lunged forward pulling you into his embrace, his lips fiercely meeting yours.

His lips was soft. Not demanding and you found yourself responding instinctively. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest as your hands moved to grip the wet fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. You could taste the rain on his lips, mingled with the hint of sweetness from the soda he had been drinking earlier. The world disappeared.

There was only him.

The kiss deepened, Rafe's hand moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your rain-soaked hair, while his other arm snaked around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. His touch sent a shiver of anticipation running down your spine, setting your nerves alight. The rain beating down on you both seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the thunderous pounding of your heart.

His lips moved with a fervor that left you breathless, each stroke of his tongue against yours an echo of the underlying passion and yearning that had been simmering beneath the surface. Every sensation, every emotion was amplified tenfold in the shared intimacy of the kiss. You surrendered completely to the moment, losing yourself in the touch of his skin, the strength of his hold, and the intoxicating taste of his lips.

Eventually, the kiss slowed, the initial fervor simmering into something softer, sweeter. Rafe broke away, his breath shaky. His eyes held yours captive, and a flush crept onto his face. His fingers traced a path down your cheek, before he finally stepped back.

"We can do this two ways," Rafe murmured over the steady patter of rain on the truck's roof. Pure mischief danced in his eyes as he stated, "I can drag you kicking and screaming and trust me, I’ll enjoy every minute of it, or you can walk and get in on your own. But either way - you're getting in the truck. Your call."

Wordlessly, you pivoted and moved towards the truck, your boots crunching against the rain-dampened gravel.

"That's what I thought," Rafe replied, a victorious grin splitting his rain-speckled face as he caught your fleeting glare. Unruffled, he stretched out his hand, popping open the weather-beaten door with a familiar creak lost in the drumming rain. His hand was warm and steady as he helped you up into the seat, the fabric of your clothes already beginning to stick to the leather.

In one fluid movement, Rafe navigated around the truck, momentarily swallowed by the spray of the falling rain before reappearing on the driver's side. With a clunk, the door closed behind him, sealing out the chill and sound of the heavy rain. His wrist flicked, the ignition turning over and the engine’s steady rumble intertwining with the rhythmic tapping of raindrops on the roof.

Leaning over the seat, Rafe's momentarily searched around the back. When he reappeared, he held a well-used, grey fleece jacket, its fabric softened by countless washes.

"Here," he offered, his voice barely louder than the muted patter of the rain against the windows. He extended it towards you, his fingers brushing against yours in exchange.

"Thank you," you replied, accepting the jacket. The fleece was surprisingly warm, a welcome contrast to the chill spreading through your rain-soaked clothes.

Rafe maneuvered the truck through the storm your house barely discernible in the relentless deluge. He parked close to your porch, an unspoken gesture to spare you from the worst of the rain. When he switched off the engine, the absence of its rumble made the cab feel suddenly small. The silence that enveloped you both was thick, charged with unsaid words and emotions neither of you didn't know how to share.

Rafe turned to face you, the dim glow from the dashboard lights casting a soft luminescence on his features. Rain droplets traced shimmering paths down his face, catching on his eyelashes and hanging at the tips. His gaze held yours, searching, longing, a question lingering in his eyes.

Swallowing hard, you broke the silence. "Want to come in?" The words hung in the air, tender and tentative. "Maybe dry off a little before hitting the road?"

"Make yourself at home" you said.

With a click, you turned on the side lamp, illuminating the cozy sitting room in a warm glow. You excused yourself, leaving Rafe momentarily to fetch some things for him. From the hallway closet, you grabbed a clean towel, and after a brief rummage through your dad's wardrobe, you found a red plaid shirt that might fit him. Deciding to change yourself, you quickly slipped into a comfortable, loose faded shirt and denim shorts.

Upon your return, you found Rafe intently examining the family photos that adorned your walls. The captured moments were a mix of joyful events and everyday life: you proudly holding up your first caught fish, a close-up with you and a school friend age seven with your front teeth missing, an affectionate snapshot of your parents in a tender embrace, and a cherished image of baby you, seated on your dad's lap at the piano. Each photo was a silent testament to days that were simpler, happier.

Rafe, towering in your small living room, shifted his gaze to the old piano settled in one corner. The instrument, though aged, held a simple grace.

“It’s not as grand as the one at your place,” you remarked gently, catching his attention. As his gaze shifted to you, there was a perceptible pause as his eyes traveled down to your legs and then resettled on your face.

"But it still has its charm, right?"

“I guess,” you shrugged, closing the distance between you two and handing him the towel and shirt.

Your fingers brushed with the exchange, sending a thrill through you. With a grateful nod, Rafe dried his head and face. He began to unbutton his shirt, pulling the wet fabric from his slacks, peeling it off his body. As he revealed inch after inch of lean muscle and beautifully tanned, unmarked skin, you couldn't help but admire the flawless appearance—a testament to his privileged Kook life.

“Can't take your eyes off, can you? Want a guided tour?” He teased.

“Dream on, Cameron,” you shot back, attempting to sound casual, but the playful glint in his eyes suggested he knew exactly the effect he was having on you. The sound of his confident chuckle filled the room with warmth.

“How long have you had it?” he inquired, head tilting towards the piano.

“You mean Betsy?”

Rafe smiled “It has a name?”

“Of course. We've had her as long as I can remember. My dad got her before I was born. She’s older than I am,” you confessed with a fond smile.

"Go on, play for me," Rafe murmured, the timbre of his voice making it feel less like a request and more like an intimate invite.

The memory of the last time you played for him, and what had ensued, made you take a deep breath. But you shook off the feeling, reminding yourself that your bench was, luckily, a one-seater. "I'll play," you said with a small smile, "but you've got to promise to behave."

Rafe chuckled, leaning back on the couch, wearing your dad's shirt but leaving it unbuttoned. His smirk was wicked and teasing, the very embodiment of temptation itself. "No promises."

Rolling your eyes. You took a seat on the bench and began to play, allowing the music to flow through your fingers. Each note resonated with the room, reflecting the myriad emotions swirling within you. The gentle glow of the room's lighting seemed to dance in tune with the melody, casting warm and shifting shadows. The scent of the rain outside mingled with the familiar smells of your home, creating an atmosphere of nostalgia and present moments intertwining. As the final note lingered in the air, caressing the silence that followed, you turned to find Rafe's gaze fixed intently on you. His eyes, laden with intensity and yearning.

“Come here,” he said softly, his voice filled with something deeper, something unspoken. He leaned back against the sofa, extending his hand to you.

With a deep breath, and a flutter in your chest, you walked towards him, finally straddling him, feeling the warmth and strength of him beneath you, knowing that this moment was a milestone, a turning point in whatever it was that was unfolding between you two.

Rafe's fingers delicately trailed along your thighs, taking in every curve and contour. He lingered for a moment on a mole on your left leg, brushing his thumb over its slightly elevated surface. Every touch ignited a fire on your skin, an intimate dance of warmth and desire. As his hands continued their exploration, they ascended up your sides and Rafe sat up.

Suddenly his hands wrapped around your neck, tipping your head back with a possessiveness that made you gasp. The raw strength in his grip was undeniable; he held the power to hurt you. But somewhere deep down, amidst the swirling mix of emotions, you felt an unwavering trust that he wouldn't.

With your head tilted back, you found yourself drowning in Rafe's gaze. He examined your features, delicately turning your face this way and that, softly illuminated by the nearby lamp. Every aspect of your countenance seemed to fascinate him, but it was his own features — the small scar above his right eyebrow, the striking high cheekbones, thick lashes, and those mesmerizing blue eyes — that captivated you in return. When those very eyes briefly lingered on your lips, and his thumb gently brushed against them a sharp inhale caught in your throat.

"So fuckin' pretty," Rafe breathed, the weight of his words heavy in the brief silence that followed. Then, with an urgency that stole your breath away, he captured your lips with his. His kiss was both tender and powerful, a dance of tongues and unspoken passion.

His hands moved from your neck, sliding beneath your shirt finally touching bare skin to wrap around you. The world seemed to tilt as he expertly turned, positioning you beneath him without breaking the kiss.

Rafe's fingers found the buttons of your shirt. Each one he undid was like unwrapping a gift, each sliver of exposed skin driving him further into a fervor kissing you deeper until he pulled away from your lips altogether to look down and savour your breasts.

“I knew it…” he whispered “You’re gorgeous...” and wasted no time in swirling his tongue around your pert nipple before sucking it into his mouth. His other hand kneading the tender flesh of your other breast oh so softly.

Rafe's touch sent waves of electricity coursing through your body, each sensation igniting the desire between your thighs. With every gentle tug, every teasing bite, you surrendered to your longing, your moans a symphony of need. While dampness formed at your core, evidence of your escalating arousal.

Leaving your nipple, his lips sought your cheek, his fingers deftly finding the button of your shorts, effortlessly undoing it. "I couldn't stop thinking about the way you squirted for me." he smiled, his voice a soft murmur in your ear.

"Ugh- Rafe, don't-" You couldn't help but groan, your hands instinctively covering your face in a mix of bashfulness and embarrassment.

"Come on, babe don't hide from me now," he urged, gently moving your hands away from your face. His unwavering gaze bore into you, with a magnetic intensity that held you captive. "It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen," he continued, his words wrapping around you like a sensual embrace. You responded with a mix of eye-rolling and a self-conscious laugh, but Rafe's touch on your jaw stilled your reaction.

"I'm serious," he insisted, his eyes locked onto yours. "Watching you moan for me all desperate and sweet. Feeling your pretty little pussy swallow my fingers... and then knowing I made you feel so fucking good you couldn't help but squirt…” Rafe groaned “Baby, I jerked off to the thought so many times I'm surprised my dick hasn't fallen off." he chuckled. "All I could think about these last few weeks was watching you cum. I wanna watch you cum." Rafe's words were a soft murmur, his unwavering gaze locked onto yours.

Adjusting his position slightly, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans shorts, a deliberate slowness in his movements as he eased them down your body. His breath quickened, his eyes devouring the sight of you in your white panties, damp with the evidence of your arousal.

Moistening his lips, he carefully tugged down your panties, guiding your legs free from their confines. He stared at your pussy taking his fill.

"Pretty as a picture," he whispered. Settling in beside you, he rested his head on his palm, his gaze fixed upon you. "I want to watch you cum, but this time..." Rafe tenderly parted your legs, cradling your knees and exposing you fully to the room's golden light. "This time, I want to see everything," he murmured.

His fingers traced the contours of your mound, the subtle hills and valleys of your skin. A light dusting of pubic hair added to the texture he was exploring. There, at your slit, a glistening collection of your arousal had formed. With a gentle touch, he collected a bead of it on his fingertip, his eyes locked onto your face. Bringing his finger to his lips, he sensually tasted you, an intense hunger gleaming in his gaze.

"I’ll need to eat this pussy too..." he murmured, nodding as if confirming an important task on his list of things to do. "But let's take it one step at a time, yeah? Don't want you running away from me anytime soon." His words held a trace of humor, a playful acknowledgment of the strained heated desires between you two. You were about to chastise him but his lips captured yours in a hungry kiss. While your mouths entwined, Rafe's finger moved back to your clit, his gentle movements coaxing a moan from your lips.

Just as you were sinking into his heavenly touch, Rafe broke the kiss and gently pulled his finger away from your clit. The absence of his touch almost prompted a whine from you, but Rafe quickly quieted you with a gentle shush. With a practiced finesse that revealed a glimpse of his dexterity, he employed his teeth to deftly remove the signet ring that encircled his finger. The ring glided off smoothly, lingering briefly within his mouth before finding its place in his pants pocket. His voice, laced with desire, broke the silence in a husky murmur, "Can’t go deep with a ring in the way, can we?” With deliberate intent, he returned his two fingers between your folds and wormed them inside you.

"Oh god, oh shit-" The fabric of Rafe's (or rather, your dad’s) shirt twisted beneath the force of your grip, your fingers curling and clenching as a flood of both pleasure and pain surged through your core. He was not lying when he said he was going to go deep.

Admitting comfort at this moment wouldn't be honest, not with the way his fingers were delving inside you, pushing against your tight channel. The fine line between discomfort and pleasure was being treaded, a line that teased just on the cusp of crossing into one or the other. Strangely, there was an undeniable allure in feeling so exquisitely full and it dawned on you that even with the mingling pain you liked being full.

With a mix of awe and submission, you embraced the realization that this was indeed what your body was designed for—an intricate dance of taking and being taken. The recognition of your body's innate capacity to accept him, to welcome him so completely, was a mesmerizing revelation that you couldn't help but marvel at.

As your gaze drifted downward, you couldn't help but raise an intrigued eyebrow at the sight that greeted you. His long, skillful fingers moved sinfully, withdrawing and reentering, each motion leaving them glistening with the evidence of your arousal. The sight and sound was hypnotic, and as a drawn-out moan escaped your lips, you couldn't help but notice Rafe's gaze following suit, his own reaction mirrored in the form of a needy groan.

"God, look at you. Taking it all the way to my palm... making a pretty mess." he quipped, his voice trembling with desire as a shaky chuckle escaped him. "Does it hurt?"

You gasped in response, the honesty ringing true in your voice, "A little."

A low, almost guttural groan escaped Rafe's lips, his tongue darting out to moisten his suddenly dry lips. "Yeah, but you like it, don't you? That slight twinge of pain. Hurts good, doesn't it?"

A slow, almost reverent nod escaped you as your eyes rolled backward, caught in the riptide of sensation. Your hand joined Rafe's at his wrist, a desperate yearning to connect more deeply with the source of your pleasure and the exquisite ache that accompanied it. You craved the sensation of his every stroke, each movement a testament to his mastery over your desire. Your hips began to sway, an instinctual response, seeking more friction, a little extra pressure to tip the scale just a bit further into pleasure. When you started to pluck and gently pull on your nipple you had finally reached it.

"Shit. That's it. Take what you need, baby.” He whispered. His tongue made its way back to your other nipple sucking on the tender flesh while he stared up at you. His gentle tongue swirling and firm hard fingers relentlessly drilling and your own hand gently plucking had you seeing stars and then some. You could feel his cock, thick and stiff brushing against your side as he rutted slowly against you seeking friction and for the first time you began to whine in sheer desperation, wishing he had fucked you with his cock instead.

"Use your words, baby," Rafe's voice held an almost teasing quality. "I want to know how good it feels—for next time when you accuse me of forcing you..."

You should have been mad, outraged even, by his audacity. But there was a magnetic pull in his words, a spell that rendered your protests powerless against the tide of pleasure that had you firmly in its grasp. The chorus of moans that spilled from your lips was a testament to your surrender "Don't stop- feels so good. Oh god, ‘m close. So close. Please Rafe-- please.. please... please.." Your words quivered with a mixture of urgency and need, punctuated by the ragged rhythm of your breath as your body shook.

As if on cue, Rafe applied a cork-screw motion, his fingers expertly stroking your G-spot with fervor. Your orgasm surged forth, violent and all-consuming. Waves of ecstacy coursed through your body, compelling your abdomen to convulse, and your leg to kick, a response to Rafe speeding up his efforts, fingers plunging deep while his thumb orchestrated rapid blissful circles on your clit.

"OH, FUCK-- OH RAFE!!!" Your voice filled the room as you were swept away in the throes of your orgasm. You couldn’t help but soak his fingers, and like a breached dam, overflowing and cascading, so too did your juices overflow as it trickled down to the cleft of your ass.

"Fuck—" Rafe hissed, his voice strained. "Ah, shit!" he sneered through clenched teeth. Overwhelmed at the sight, feel and sound of you screaming his name, his hips involuntarily jerked as he came. An untouched release that left him gasping for breath. His moans blended with yours, a beautiful song of shared pleasure that only ended when he leaned in for a messy kiss.

His gaze never wavered; it feasted on every second of your reaction and revelled in the glorious aftermath. You were glowing, skin flushed and alive from the intensity of your climax. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat glistening off of your exposed breasts. Legs still spread, revealing the slippery mess with his fingers buried deep in you.

If you weren't so strung out from your orgasm, the opportunity to catch a glimpse of something more in his expression might have presented itself. A fleeting flicker of his unwavering fixation taking root, a mere hint of the deeper obsession he harbored for you. But instead your eyes closed, your lips forming a satisfied, lopsided grin. You couldn’t think. In fact, you couldn't care about anything at all.

Feedback is always appreciated. Lots of love until next time and thanks for reading.

UPDATES - PART 3 / MASTERLIST

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe x you #rafe fic #rafe fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x fem!reader #18+ read #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron x female reader #dirtytomatoedwrites

[azinemagazine]

Jus doin' sum random scrollin'. 📱 - r3al' 🐉 #mambamentality🐍

Call it mindless, yet we all (in some sorta way) do it. It'd been a minute since anything had been posted for Azine. Supposing it appeared as though only reviews about Ye, Drake, Billie, or Taylor were worthwhile, it still felt integral to take my time. I'd go as far as to say that my creative nuances were both amusingly and unapologetically unafraid of patience. Cut to what one could curate as chancing upon the profile for Canadian singer, songwriter, and dancer Kallitechnis's Ardene interview on YouTube. While snuggly lotus sedentary in a lounge chair Kassandra (a.k.a Kallitechnis) sorted words on some pretty deep stuff. (See, I'm the type to keen in what artists fr say alongside of winnowing amid whatever it is they craft.) All her talk about authenticity, longevity, and even therapy, backdrops her latest Single releases, to delicately while devoutly dream weave some of the most sensational late night Trap Alt. Soul/R&B that I'd ever heard. After hours of zoning out on Spotify & Apple Music, I'd seemingly stumbled upon a mound of sound designs showcasing that Kallitechnis latest releases, "KALEDISCOPE LOVE" & "SOFT LIFE, are sonic gems worthy of ethereal shine. 

"KALEDIOSCOPE LOVE" is the most recent release by Kallietechnis.  Lyrically it's the lift off elements of romance dazzled in the depth of the "bedsheet ballets'" that hopefully accompany it. If you tap script Kallie's verses here, it'll literally take your breathe away. This 2024 Soul Over Ego Single release paints a sensual sonata, saturated in the palates of lovemaking by the likes of a Jhene Aiko, Victoria Monet, & fav Kehlani. My cherished over the two songs is the latter 2023 released, "SOFT LIFE", where the copulation carved crooning by Kallitechnics feels more assured in its contour.  Lyrics like, "Cocoa butter kisses on the back of your neck...No ones around, go and say it with your chest." sets up a between the sheet session, where direction details desire and more importantly: pleasures for both parties. The hedonism hails heavy here, and when ya place that alongside of Kassnadra's visceral vocal layerings, you're insatiably sedated into this ‘sensational style of life’ she's sojourning. 

Both releases mode just a mere of the music you can muse through courtesy of Kallitechnis. For me it's the completeness interwoven in the listening experience of these two tracks. Detailing what it takes to call yourself professional in this or any realm is something I valued early on. The attention to detail, care, production, and most importantly the passion, tentpole sound designing success for any act whether indie or not. On that note, Kassandra does something else, almost effortlessly. She ate, and fanged deep into the fact that there are stars who are not signed. Stars: real artists who are crafting carefree of what seemingly fates, what often lacerates acts who sign with labels. Definitively, I'm the late night type. I'm good either playing the pull while out, or layinlow at the cribbo, playlsitin' on the MacBook with Apple TV or YouTube dressing the backdrop. Either in or out, this pair of indie soul sounds soothe both the mind, as well as those other places the sensations may align.😉 

♾️

🔥🔥🔥🔥

∆³

#azrelazitgetz #music review #billboard #musicians #newmusic #writers #music #azinemagazine

[epigstolary]

Real Talk

TW: Medical fatphobia, health issues, fat shaming, toxic masculinity

Dude, you say you want me to help you, but you’re going to have to get serious if you really want to start losing weight. I’m a trainer, not a miracle worker. I mean, look at you; you know your body’s fucking disgusting, right? You let yourself get so huge that even your fat guy clothes can’t hide your belly anymore. Every inch of you is covered in blubber. Everywhere you look. And you have to push all that fat around every time you want to walk or move. It’s so gross watching you try to go anywhere. You’re just waddling around under hundreds of pounds of fat, wheezing like you just ran a marathon. Like… people aren’t supposed to get to the size that you have. And don’t give me that “health at any size” bullshit. You’ve got to have some serious problems to get this big and think it’s ok. Nobody your size is healthy. Your body’s a fucking disgrace, tubbo.

You gotta realize just how bad being this fat is for you, right? Think about it. All that fat’s wrapping around your organs. Either they work harder, or they just quit working. Your joints are getting annihilated having to move all that extra weight around. Your heart’s having to work so much harder just to do its thing because you’re so fucking big. Your body’s not supposed to work like that. It feels like it’s under attack 24/7 — because it is — so you’ve got anxiety, you’ve got inflammation, your hormones are all out of wack. Your body chemistry is basically fucked once you get fat. And fucking forget about it when you weigh as much as three normal people, like your flabby ass does.

Not that you seem to care, since you pay zero attention to your diet. It’s just fucking scary, bro. I’ve seen you pound an entire pizza or a bag of burgers and be ready for more. And that’s just, like, a regular lunch for you. There’s so much saturated fat and sugar in all the shit you eat for every meal, it blows my mind that you’re even able to function. Where do you think that shit goes after you cram it down your throat, meal after meal? It’s blowing up your body even fatter. It’s clogging up those arteries to make that overworked heart work even harder. It’s running through all the insulin your body tries to pump out so that it can deal with the abuse you put it through. I bet if I went through your kitchen right now, I couldn’t find one goddamn vegetable — all sweets, and takeout, and chips, and junk food, am I right? Yeah, you love kicking back on the sofa and working through a big pile of garbage like that, don’t you, fatass? I bet you sit there just belly out, crumbs and shit all over your tits, like a big fucking blob, huh?

Keep eating like that, and you don’t have a fucking chance. You’re just gonna keep blowing up until you finally have the fucking big one. That shit is so, SO bad for you. You want to not be a total embarrassment, fatty? You’re gonna have to throw the snack cakes in the garbage. You’re gonna have to cook stuff that’s not loaded with butter or grease or sugar. You’re gonna have to eat something green that grows in the ground every once in a while. And yeah, you’re probably going to feel like shit for a while because your body’s used to getting fed lard nonstop all the fucking time. But you gotta get a little self-control. The whole reason why you look like a fucking enormous cow, why you’ve got that belly packed full of fat fucking garbage, is that you’ve never had any.

I guess what I can’t figure out is, why the fuck did you do this to yourself? It’s so much harder to make it through life when you’re this fucking heavy. You can’t even go anywhere or do anything because you’re too fat to leave the house. Everyone you meet has to be shocked at what a lardass you are. Nobody who sees your disgustingly obese body is gonna want to fuck you, except the fucking weirdos who get off on that shit. Maybe that’s who you have to settle for, since there’s no way you’re reaching your dick with all that fat in the way. God, I can’t even imagine letting myself get too fat to be able to fuck. That’s so fucking gross, bro.

Like, look at me. Look at this rock-hard bicep next to that big flabby fucking water wing of an arm you have. Look at these abs next to you and that belly hanging down to your knees. It doesn’t even have a fucking shape. Look at these tight glutes next to that wide, wobbling, fat ass you’ve gotten from sitting in front of the tv stuffing your fat face for years. With a body like this, I can fuck anyone I want. How do you think that same hookup’s gonna go for you, huh? Nobody out there’s going home with a pile of jello like you You’re going home, alone, to try and figure out a way to get yourself off.

And dude, I’m not saying all this just to shit on you. I’m worried about you. It sucks to see my bro blow up into a fucking whale and get all mopey ‘cause he can’t get any ass. But you need someone to be real with you. Someone’s gotta tell you how much of a fatass you are, and how much of a fatass you’re gonna be until you get to the gym and shut this fast food and shit down. You can’t blame anyone but yourself for how you got this way. Keep complaining, and you’re going to keep being a gross fatty. You’re gonna have to go out, get some fucking exercise, and deal with being embarrassed at being the fattest guy at the gym until you’ve put in the work to fix it.

Trust me, bro, you’ll thank me later.

#feeder fiction #gainerfiction #ssbhm #weight gain fiction #wg fiction #extreme weight gain #wg story #gaining #gainer stories

[trainer-sean]

DCxDP Prompt: Vast Supernatural Au

What If, The Infinite Realms Was More Then Ectoplasm? What If The Fenton's Only Acknowledged Ectoplasm And Obsessively Denied The Existence Of All The Other Types Of Energy And Material In The 'Ghost Zone'? What If Danny Wasn't Just Exposed To Ectoplasm, But Mana, Yoki, Spiritual Energy, Etc. What If He Started Cycling Out The Ectoplasm, And The Other Energys Became More Dominant? What If.... Danny Became A Deity?

Basically this is just a Au where the Ghost zone, is really the Infinite Realms, which encompasses multiple dimensions, Cosmic Forces, and Energys. So Danny got Flooded with and Fused with Mana, Developing a Magical Core, Yoki, effectively becoming a Yokai, Spiritual energy, becoming effectively a Nature Spirit. Due to his actions and being a hero, people start looking up to him, much praise and gratitude is shown to him. Due to this, the Yoki and Mana in his body effectively pick it up and steadily start shifting him from a simple Yokai, to a Kami.

But of course, he lacks a Shrine, and therego, cant fully transition, which is a Irritating process..

The few Gods and Kami that sense Danny's developing Divinity and actually care that its happening. (Look, there are always new gods and deitys forming, both from the living who have passed away, and from the imaginations of the living and dead. The Shinto, Norse, and Greeks are prime examples due to having them be made up of populations of God's and goddesses, who have children with each other. The few that Due, come to see the situation, on why a Kami was developing in America, and find a human with Ectoplasm, Yoki, Mana, and Spiritual energy saturating his body, practically a Partially dead Hanyo whos possessed his own dead body. The Ectoplasm is deteriorating and the Yoki is becoming more dominant. He lacks a Shrine. There are a pair of human Scientists who are clearly his parents who seem to obsessively believe that not only is he a ghost, but that ghosts are emotionless and evil, yet dont seem to acknowledge that the one they are shooting at is their son. Kami from Japan reach out to Princess Diana to help with the situation, something Athena and Artemis also want.

Clockwork is Kronos, but he's left his mortal flesh. He tells Danny of what he truly is and what he's becoming, revealing that Ghosts are barely a 10th of what exists in the infinite realms. He tells Danny how he needs a Shrine to properly ascend to Kamihood, but also that he needn't worry about losing his Humanity when he does. Danny himself can't make the Shrine, but Sam and Tucker can!

His appearance as a 'ghost' has changed, his Hazmat suit has shifted to a somewhat Shinto outfit thats a mix with his previous Hazmat suit, and a deterorated Hagoromo on his shoulders, showing he's reaching the rank of Kami. People see his changes and do research, and learn of Shinto and Buddhism practices, and Spiritualism in general. This leads to a good few in the community of Amity to making Phantom a small Shinto style Shrine. Cujo, who isn't a ghost dog, but is a Inugami here, ends up taking Residence at the Shrine, which steadily makes him change into a Komainu. Also, multiple Cats start showing up and living at the Shrine, something Danny actually likes alot, to the point that he, as Phantom, starts building some cat houses around his Shrine.

Over time, as Jack and Maddie start struggling to figure out what Phantom is now, as before he showed up on their ghost equipment, but now he doesn't. Jack starts seeing the bigger picture, looking and analyzing the different energys in the Infinite Realms that he previously refused to believe were there. He realized, why were they trying to apply the rules of their dimension on a dimension clearly completely different from theirs? Why were they refusing to apply the theory that the interaction of two or more different realitys would require a completely foreign set of laws to try and analyze it all. Why were they trying to apply the laws of Physics to explain magic? And like that, his obsession was resolved, he didn't have the insane impulse to blame ghosts for odd things or to shoot at anything abnormal the second he saw it, suddenly, his issues were resolved in an instant. The ectoplasm, they were so contaminated in it that their obsessions had bound to it and formed into a core that made them impulsively driven by them. And with his Obsession resolved, the ectoplasm had dissolved. Jack could now clearly see the near identical appearance between Danny and Phantom, there voices and Mannerisms, the similar time frame from the incident with the Portal with Danny and the appearance of Phantom.

Danny has also been developing Cat-like traits from his act of building cat homes around his Shrine, effectively making the cats worship him.

The ghosts that originally appeared have slowly begun to stop, the few that still do being those that lived in Amity before they died.

Danny has a number of Divine Affinity due to how he formed. He is a Kami of Cats, Protection, kindness, winter, safety, and Star gazing.

When he properly becomes a Kami, its a rather public event, some ancient ghost attacks, sensing a Kami forming in America. The Fentons are scanning through out the fight, Jack actually switches on the scanners for the other typs of energy, which angers Maddie because she is still in Aggressive denial about them. Phantoms Ectoplasm Readings are fluctuating, as if trying to keep itself active as its being burned away. While Two of the other reading show spikes and growing while the Ancient talks down to him as it pummels him, things like 'YOU THINK YOU CAN PROTECT THEM?!' 'I'LL BE SURE TO MAKE THEM SUFFER AS WELL FOR MAKING YOU FORM!'. While everyone is watching helplessly, they pray and hope for him to win, to protect them. Suddenly, everything stops, and Phantom, Screams! In a burst of power, all Ectoplasm readings die on Phantom, while one of the others, rises and stabilizes, becoming the dominant energy. Hovering in a Crater, stands Phantom, now dressed in Traditional male Kimono, a Hagoromo proudly floating on his shoulders, at his feet, a pair of red painted wooden wheels with what appear to be clouds flowing from the axel holes. In his left hand, a Glave. His hair a foot longer, snowflakes gently appearing and falling around him.

He then pummels the ancient, and destroys it with ease. Maddie is having a panic attacks and is struggling to understand the situation. Phantom is standing there looking over himself, trying to understand himself what just happened. Maddie sees a chance, she grabs the Fenton Fermos, runs up on Phantom, opens it, activates it, and- doesn't suck up Phantom, only the remaining ectoplasm from the Ancient. It doesn't work of Phantom, he doesn't have ectoplasm anymore, hes not, in anyway, a ghost anymore.

@stealingyourbones @im-totally-not-an-alien-2

#danny phantom #dp x dc #danny fenton #dc x dp #wonder woman #dp x dc prompt #dcxdp #dpxdc prompts #Kami!danny au #sean's fanfiction idea prompts

[miracledarling]

make it a game

yes, literally make all this manifesting stuff a game.

i think some of us put way too much pressure on manifesting our desires and the 3d results that it becomes stressful. some people even would go as far as to pause their responsibilities and tasks in life just for the sake of manifesting(aka neglecting the 3d and outer world).

yes, 4d and fulfilling inner world is important, u gotta do this do that blah blah blah, etc. but whatever u doing, stop making manifesting such a big stress. please focus on life and ur daily tasks and enjoying ur life and caring for urself

one way to make it less stressful is to treat manifesting like a game. because if it's a game, it would not be such a big deal if ur doing it right, if the 3d showing it, etc. it would not matter that much. you're just doing it for the fun and enjoyment.

for example, if im gonna manfiest bigger lips, and i decide that i'm gonna use robotic affirming as my way of manifesting it, i'll just make it a game by making my goal to just saturating my mind by affirming as many times as i can without wavering. i know u dont have to saturate ur mind to manifest but this is just an example i'm giving. and yes, robotic affirming and repetition works if u assume so. also repetition reprograms ur brain either way and makes it into an assumption BUT if u dont like affirming just replace that with however else u prefer to manifest. because you don't have to do anything its just whatever works for you y'know.

so in this case, i'll just focus on telling myself that "my lips are so big" over and over again without wavering aka persisting and dwelling in the new story and desired state. and if i start to get doubts or "negative" thoughts, i'll just not identify with those thoughts such as by letting them pass away without reacting to them, or by flipping them and just repeating affirmations. the goal is to affirm as many time as i can without giving up to the old story. i don't care about the 3d or whatever. i just care about the main goal of this game.

the point is to stay consistent. its completely fine to have negative thoughts. it's probably not gonna be natural at first bc if u first start out playing a game ur probably not a pro at it yet. but still don't give in. stand firm with the new story. don't waver back and forth. the mindset is very important. just keep persisting and keep the mental diet. keep returning to and dwelling in the desired state where your desire is already fulfilled.

it's kinda like that dino game when u have no internet. ur making ur score as high as u can. those cactuses thingys are bits of the old story and ur negative thoughts etc. but ur gonna jump over them by not wavering but being persistent in already being the person who has the desire. by fulfilling urself. whatever ur doing to do so, do it whether its repeating affirmations, etc. just do it and persist.

but yeah just play the game. the 3d don't play much of a role here. it's just some extra prize in the end of the game lmao.

once u keep playing this game, and become a pro at it, its gonna make an assumption and the assumption is persisted in. what happens when an assumption is persisted in? it hardens into fact !! so basically thats when it becomes more natural when you are now feeling fullfilled within and it cause the outside 3d to conform. and bam you got big lips without getting lip filler. congrats you beat the game 💞💞

so try this purely for fun, just for entertainment for whatever desire u wanna manifest and see what happens~

#law of assumption #loa #loassumption #manifesting #manifesation #self concept #neville goddard #affirmations #void state #manifesting tips #law of attraction #loablr #loa blog #affirm and persist #10k affirmations #law of assumption blog

[historiaxvanserra]

2 and 5 with feyre x rhys x reader please :)

ask and you shall receive, my love!

it's just fluff with some sexual overtones. might do a part 2 of the smut? its also totally unedited so be kind to me.

synopsis: When Feyre and Rhysand invite you to Starfall you bring an unexpected date. When he doesn't get the warm welcome you had hoped for you find that the High Lord and Lady had something else in mind for you.

The sky is saturated in the colors of dusk, streaks of lavender, amethyst and rose that melt into the darkness of the rapidly approaching night. Silver starlight lines the dark horizon like unshed tears and the night sky glitters in response-- it seems almost sentient as the first stars begin to fall. 

The music from the party drifts down into the lower levels of the house, casting it in a lyrical calm that feels almost hypnotizing as you continue your ascent to the roof. 

In the mirror you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection and for a moment you feel as though you are seeing outside yourself. The woman staring back at you looks strange, somehow unlike yourself. Long gone are the simple black dresses you usually wear. In their place, an exquisite sapphire gown that looks like liquid sky; indigo tulle that melts into the sheer overskirt, embroidered with pearls and diamonds that frame the silk bodice. 

“You look lovely,” A voice says, cutting through the silence and you meet steely eyes in the reflection. 

“Thank you, Edric.” you say pleasantly, making a considerable effort to smile at him as his eyes meet yours again. 

It’s not that Edric was unpleasant by any means-- he’s kind enough and rather keen. But the whole thing is rather complicated.

“There you are, love,” Rhysand’s voice is like velvet night as he approaches. 

And therein lies the complication. 

He’s dressed in a midnight black suit, -- you imagine his suit jacket had since been shed as he comes into full view-- and a silk shirt, half unbuttoned baring his muscled chest to the balmy air.

You send him a shy smile as you begin your ascent up the stairs with Edric trailing behind you dutifully. 

Rhysand’s lean figure looms like a taunt at the top of the staircase as his violet gaze falls on you again, before acknowledging the male behind you.

“And I see you brought company,” he says tersely. 

Edric pushes past you lightly to offer his outstretched hand to The High Lord but Rhysand simply turns on his heel and retreats to the rooftop. 

You smile reassuringly at Edric who stands stunned and crestfallen on the landing. You place a comforting hand on his shoulder muttering your apology before following Rhysand out into the open air. 

The rooftop of The House of Wind is adorned and decorated beautifully for the occasion. String lights hung with care and garlands of moonflowers and jasmine shading the air with their delicate fragrance. 

As you approach the group you introduce your date to your friends. 

“Lovely to meet you.” Mor says pleasantly casting a glance over her shoulder to the High Lord and Lady who are loitering by the balcony. 

Edric mutters his greetings in returns and takes a swig of his wine. 

“Yeah, it’s about time this one got some action.” Cassian jests affectionately, pulling you into a sidelong hug and you turn away embarrassed. 

You’re about to apologize to Edric for Cassian’s behavior when something draws you attention. 

The High-Lady smells like lilacs and pears as she approaches you. She doesn’t hesitate as she wraps you in her embrace, pacing a chaste kiss to your temple in greeting. 

Feyre is dressed in a lavender silk gown adorned with crystals; she looks like the embodiment of the sky at dusk as she steps back from you. Framed by the dark horizon and the falling stars. 

“You look beautiful.” You say softly to her and the crease in her forehead smooths and her face softens again. 

All the air is taken from you then when she retreats into her Mates arms, her cool gaze still on you. There is something dark and promising in her stormy eyes as she moves from you to the stranger drinking with Cassian. 

“Who is that?,” She asks, turning to Rhys for a moment in silent conversation.

Your tongue feels foreign in your mouth and for some reason the words are sticky on your tongue. Before you can embarrass yourself further Edric’s voice cuts through the silence. 

“I’m Edric, High Lady,” He says enthusiastically, holding out a trembling hand for her to take. 

Feyre eyes him momentarily and takes his hand firmly offering one tense shake before dropping it again and tearing her gaze from him. 

“Feyre darling, It appears love has a date.” Rhysand muses lightly, pulling Feyre tighter into his embrace. 

“A date.” Feyre repeats firmly and you nod lightly as she regards you again. Her face once soft and youthful hardens and her eyes darken. 

A strange feeling of anxiety and shame washes over you as Rhysand and Feyre resume their silent conversation and you swear you feel the ground tremble beneath you as a wave of power ripples through the air.

Cassian’s voice pulls you back to reality when he shouts “It’s starting.!”

The sky glitters and shimmers a brilliant mosaic of technicolor light as the stars bleed across the sky in droves-- a silver celestial army. 

All the tension in the air dissolves into joy as the silver streaks paint the sky. You notice how the group seems to spilt off into pairs as the romantic and celebratory atmosphere takes hold as the hours draw on and the sky grows darkner. 

Cassian and Nesta are both pressed against the railings, his large hand on the small of her back and her head on his shoulder as they sink into their own world. Mor, Amren and Varian are gathered round the firepit sharing a bottle of wine as the starlight rains down on them. You notice how Amren seems at home in the silvery light of the moon.

The weight of Edric shifts as he approaches and you feel his cautious hand holding yours. You turn to him and find him looking at you already. His face is painted in awe and before you can protest he presses his lips to yours.

The kiss itself is not entirely unwelcome. Though nor is it something you embrace.

It’s aloof, apathetic almost as your lips move over his. 

Perhaps it is cruel to use him like this-- knowing that he is only a means to an end.  A distraction to tear your mind from the true objects of your desire. 

Edric kisses you with a carefully attentiveness and as his tongue moves over yours you find you mind drifting somewhere far away. 

You abandon yourself to the thought of you High-Lady and her Mate-- how her lips would feel against your own, how his hands feel in the cradle of your hips-- and how she would taste.

Edric pulls and smiles lightly, wrapping you loosely in his arms and you find yourself retreating back into your daydream as his hand falls to your hip.

It’s wrong; that much you understand.

How woefully and terribly wrong it is. To have fallen so irrevocably for a mated pair. Your High Lord and Lady-- to make matters more unbearably sordid. 

Shame creeps up on you like hunger and settles in your bones.

Your cheeks are warm and rosy. Shaded the colour of a spring bloom as your eyes find them in the crowd. 

What you find is a storm of violet and gray.

They’re both already looking at you so intently that you think you might break apart in Edric’s arms and like the stars themselves become nought but dust and light. 

Rhysand looks between you and his beautiful mate with a calculated ease and offers you a curt nod and a false smile, which you return easily-- though more genuine than anything he offers you. 

Feyre, however, can’t seem to bring herself to offer you any sort of pleasantry as she visibly grimaces before turning her back on you. 

Disappointment blooms in you followed by anger. What could cause them to be so hot and cold with you tonight? You think perhaps jealousy but the thought itself is comical and you brush it off. 

Perhaps they fear they might be losing you to Edric. You’d never invited any of your previous bedfellows to family gatherings. Maybe that is why Edric received such a frosty welcome. 

You sigh to yourself, leaning into Edric’s touch. Searching for some semblance of comfort.

Though you find none when you turn to see that Rhysand and Feyre have fled to their private rooms and you are left cold and alone.

The rest of the night passes in a misty haze as the drink takes hold of you, offering you what no one else can. Solace in your solitude. 

The morning comes swiftly and you awake as you had slept, cold and alone. The vacancy of your bed is like a ghost that haunts your waking moments-- a tangible reminder of your true loneliness. 

The sounds of your friends beyond your door are loud enough to rouse you to wake as they all gather in the dining room for breakfast. 

You’re still wearing last night’s make-up when you emerge from the darkness of your room and into the pale morning light. You’re dressed in a stolen sweater and simple pants as you pad barefoot into the room where everyone is already gathered around the long table. 

“Morning,” You say groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you take your seat between Feyre and Azriel. 

Azriel offers you a quiet greeting though Feyre appears deep in thought and hardly acknowledges you as you sit down to eat. 

Despite the hangover breakfast is pleasant and everyone falls into easy conversation. Though Feyre hardly seems to engage with you outside of polite conversation despite trying to lighten her dour mood. 

You cast Rhysand a questioning glace to which he speaks gently into your mind. 

She’s okay, love. Only a little sour. Rhysand’s voice is smooth and honeyed as he tries to make light of his mate’s foul mood. Though you note the concern in his eyes as he regards her again. 

Breakfast comes and goes and Feyre excuses herself to the kitchen while everyone else goes about their business. 

Her silence doesn’t sit well with you and there’s this feeling-- a dull agony in your chest when you think of the possible cause of her pain. 

You debate following Azriel to the library and leaving Feyre to Rhys-- he is her mate after all. But the thought of her face, brow furrowed, the deep sulk of her lip and the milky glaze in her eyes has you marching into the kitchen after her. 

You find her gazing out of the window with a dirty dish in hand as she half-heartedly scrubs it.

“Fey, is everything alright?” you ask gently, approaching her and offering a comforting hand on her strong shoulder. 

Feyre turns to you quickly and her eyes once dark often a little before she stands straighter as you approach her. 

“I’m fine,” She says slowly, trying her hardest to smile through gritted teeth. 

You cast her a dubious look. Not entirely convinced. Even when she pushes away from the counter top to meet you at the kitchen island. 

“Fey-- you’re obviously not fine at all.” You say softly, taking her hand in yours. When she doesn’t pull away you take it as a good sign. 

“I am fine.” Feyre laughs bitterly. 

She’s obviously not fine. Rhysand speaks into your mind, mildly amused as you recoil in surprise when you find him slumped lazily against the doorframe with a hand in his pocket. 

“You’re mad.” You turn to Feyre, knitting your brows together in confusion as realization begins to hit you. “Why are you mad?” you plead with her.

Feyre is silent and you turn to Rhys for some gentle coaxing but all he does is smirk and leave you to fend for yourself.

“I’m not mad,” Feyre says emphatically, her eyes a blue storm as they bore into your own. 

She is so beautiful when she’s mad.

“Please, Feyre,” You implore her, taking her hands once again in yours, pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles as you feel your bottom lip begin to wobble with anxiety, “tell me what I did.”

“I’m not mad,” Her face softens immediately and her eyes clear to a classy cobalt as she brings your hand to her lips now and kisses featherlight. “I just-”

The words die in her throat.

You feel Rhysand’s magnetic presence behind you and he approaches with caution as his mate looks at you again. Her eyes are full of hope and something akin to reverence. 

“You just what, Feyre darling?” Rhys asks coaxingly giving her a soft encouraging smile and a comforting hand on her hip.

“I just think you can choose better people to kiss.” 

Any breath that might have had is long gone as the words leave her mouth and you can’t help but smile at the realization that blooms in your chest. She was jealous.

A ripple of dark power, light shaded night, rises and swells like a wave on the Sidra as Rhysand kisses the side of her face and smiles.

They both were.

You gather your wits and regard the pair as they turn their gaze upon you again waiting for your reply.

“And who is better?” You muse lightly, head still spinning as you let your rapidly beating heart flutter to a plateau. 

“Me.” 

It’s all she says before breaking free from her mate's tender embrace and striding over to you. Her body collides with yours with such passion and fervor that it feels almost fated-- all most cataclysmic. 

And when her lips meet yours in a spell-binding, earth-shattering kiss you all but whine into her mouth. “Oh, fuck. Do that again.” It’s Rhysand who speaks, voice hoarse and low as you feel his hand carding through your hair at the base of your skull as you expose your throat to his High Lady.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #feyre x rhysand #feyre x reader #rhysand x feyre #rhysand x reader #feysand fic #feysand x reader #poly!feysand x reader

[moris-auri]

Time is but a paper moon

Summary: 

Never step into the forest. That was the first lesson. Taught to all the village children as soon as they were old enough to learn and listen at the feet of the Elders. Most of them did, too frightened by the whispered tales of those who dwelled amongst the trees and called the forest home. 

Some did not.  

A/N; nothing really, and I hope you like this :) I'm sorry this has taken so long too!

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: mature themes, somewhat dark!Aemond, pining, angst, p in v sex, fey/fair folk references, use of she/her pronouns.

Taglist:

@aemondx​ @sylasthegrim​ @bottlesandbarricades​ @helaelaemond​ @arcielee​ @bel-bottoms​ @lexwolfhale @orcaunionleader @barbieaemond

The forest around her was as silent as death, the ground saturated from the rain that had fallen the night before in fat, heavy drops that had beat into the dirt, leaving behind both the rich earthy scent and the promise of more.  

At this time, when the sun had not even risen yet and tendrils of fog weaved in between the ferns and other plants like serpents, it was still, so quiet one could hear a pin drop, the only audible sound the leaves underfoot as she weaved through the dense thick brush, wincing every time a bramble or a thorn caught at her cloak or scratched over her skin.  

There was a danger here. She could feel it in her bones, like an animal lurking in the underbrush hunting its prey. But it was one she cared little about, not when this was the only place the plants she needed like sage and mint and St. John's Wort grew in abundance. 

And so she brushed off the concerns of the elders, promising to stay away with only one thought on her mind. 

What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. 

Her fingers have barely brushed the edge of a leaf when the crack and snap of someone stepping on a branch came from a distance behind her, cutting loudly through the early morning quiet. She stiffened, letting her fingers fall to her sides as she stood up, wary and alert as she turned around to face whatever was behind her. 

Her eyes widened when it was not an animal like she expected, but a man. 

Tall and lean, he stood beside one of the trees, monochromatic and dark against the earthy colors, his face half cloaked in shadow as he stood with his back to her. Pushing down her growing unease, she squared her shoulders, letting her voice carry over the distance. "Who are you?" 

He twisted at the sound of her voice, surprise briefly flashing across his face before his expression shuttered, shifting into something haughty and cold and foreboding. 

She was more than thankful for the distance, barely hiding the brief widening of her eye and the low gasp she let out at the sight of the dark square of leather on the left side of his face. 

Her eyes moved over him from head to toe and back, lingering on the pretty, angular curve of his face. Wraith-like shadows seemed to cling to him like a second skin, hiding something dangerous carefully concealed behind the sharp lines of his face. 

His eye narrowed, almost as if he had heard her, an icy coldness settling over his expression the longer he held her gaze, making the hairs on the back of her neck rise. "Who are you?" he returned, looking like he wanted to devour her whole as he stared down at her. 

The hem of his coat brushed his legs as he moved, keeping her within his line of sight as he paced back and forth in front of her warily, prowling around her in a circle like a fox hunting for its next meal. 

She shifted on her feet, following his movement as the wetness of the grass began to seep onto her feet through the worn straps of her sandals as something deep inside her reared its head, the nagging fear that she should run and not look back. 

Yet she didn’t, as if something kept her feet frozen to the ground beneath her. She knew this place like the back of her hand, knew every twisting path and yet she had never seen him before, this silver haired stranger in front of her.

He folded his hands behind his back as he stilled, leveling an impassive look at her. “Tell me,” he said suddenly, tilting his head to the side like a wolf. “What reason do you have for stepping foot into my forest?" he stopped, digging the heels of his boots into the dirt, gaze sharp as he watched her. 

Indignation and fury welled white hot in her chest at his words as she scowled at him, forcibly biting the inside of her cheek to keep her anger at bay. “Your forest?” She bit out, shifting again as the quietness of the clearing was broken in sporadic bursts of wind carding through the trees. 

“Last I was aware this forest belonged to no one.”  

“Yes, my forest.” He didn’t sound amused as he lifted a brow, an almost cruel smile dancing across his lips. His hair, as pale as moonlight, slipped over his shoulders, some of the strands woven into thin braids. “Well?”

"I need herbs,” she said as she gestured behind her. “My supply has run low."

His brow dropped, the sharp look in his eye diminishing slightly as he took in the plant behind her. "You are a healer." He observed, the tension in his shoulders lessening a hairsbreadth.

“I am,” she said cautiously as fear rolled in her stomach, heady and thick, nearly saturating her insides. “And who are you?”

All at once, his demeanor changed as the tension returned to him. "Foolish girl," he murmured, clicking his tongue. "Tis not a question you should ask." He crooned, shafts of light glinting off the pale, pointed ends of his ears. 

"You're one of them," she breathed, the beating of her heart thunderously loud as it pounded in her ears. "A Fair Folk." Her fear returned, dredging up the old memories of her youth, spent with the other village children at the foot of the elders and the words of her mother. 

Never trust the fae, child. 

He made a low noise in the back of his throat before he spoke. "In simple terms, yes," his voice was soft, a contrast to the sharp cut lines of his face. He moved closer, the smell of leather and smoke and rain enveloping her completely. It was yet another detail setting him apart from her world and the scents she smelled daily and it was a more than welcome change from the harsh smells of the forge and the markets filled with spices. 

She bit her lip before speaking again, her curiosity overpowering her. "What do they call you?" 

“My name is not meant for the ears of a mortal,” he murmured quietly, mere inches from her now, so close where his breath fanned over her face as his knuckle brushed over the curve of her cheek. She shivered, the hairs on the back of her neck rising as his finger trailed lower, its path stilled by the plain clasp of her rough woolen cloak before he withdrew, letting his hand drop to his side again. "Lovely as you might be."

The skin at the back of her neck prickled, hairs rising at the way he dragged the words out, curling his tongue around the syllables. He leaned forward again, this time to brush a strand of hair back behind her ear. He seemed to take delight in her silence, toying with her like this was nothing but a source of amusement for him. 

Between one breath and the next, he slipped behind her, lips brushing her ear. "What will you give me? If I let you go?" She sucked in a breath, heart thudding behind her ribs. She shuddered, more than aware of the almost inferno-like heat of him at her back. Her fingers twitched under the cloak, smothering the urge to reach for the blunt edged knife at her waist.  

"I..." her tongue stuck dryly in her mouth, the sweet, bitter tang of the tarragon she’d eaten before she had ventured out lingering in the back of her mouth. 

Nothing. 

Anything. 

He circled around her again, stopping in front of her again. “Foolish girl,” he began to laugh, a low cruel sound, shoulders shaking. “Learn to be more careful with what you say, mortal,” he rasped, a muscle twitching in his jaw as his gaze focused on her fisted hands, “There are monsters here. Ones who will not hesitate to hurt you.”

Fury welled in her chest at the mocking, almost insufferable way he said it, followed by an angry, indignant noise slipping from her mouth. A faint almost cruel half-smile lingered in the corners of his thin, pretty mouth. 

Her teeth clacked together as her mouth closed. “You said-”

“I know what I said, and yet you were foolish enough to believe me.” A shiver crawled up her spine as ice flooded her veins, cursing herself for foolishly brushing aside all the warnings of the elders to never trust a Fae. 

How foolish she’d been in thinking that he would be different. For as beautiful as they were, their nature would never change and they would always stay the same. Otherworldly and spiteful. Treacherous and cruel.

And he was no exception.

He is the farthest thing on her mind when the harvest comes a moon’s turn later, her days filled with clouds and rain and even less sun as the pale yellow green of the tree leaves darkened as summer came, bringing with it the yearly harvest and baskets filled to the brim with an assortment of fruit that had hung heavily from tree branches only days before, weighing them down so much the tips almost brushed the grass below. 

"You came back." 

"Of course I did." He stood hesitantly in the doorframe of her cottage, shoulders stooped slightly as his eye slid from corner to corner, taking scope of the sparsely furnished dwelling. He moved forward, sinking down as stiff as a board onto one of the chairs in front of the hearth. 

She remembered their last interaction so clearly, how he had appeared in the same place again and again, like she was a beacon. How he had seemed to sense every time she set a foot just past the treeline. How she had been startled the next time he had slid from behind a tree with a smirk on his lips. 

And as the days and weeks blurred by, she had grown used to his presence. To the low tones of his voice in her ear as he opened up to her as best he could, surrounded by nothing but the rustle of trees and the sounds of birds singing, still clinging to that same cold, aloof demeanor. He was as still as cruel and vicious as she remembered, but the more time that passed, seeing the undercurrent of something that was almost vulnerable. 

“Might I see you again?” He’d stood stiffly, his arms folded behind his back. That same frigid icy stoicism was on his face, his eye focused on her with an intensity that was both solemn and enthralling.

The feelings that had begun to course through her veins the longer she held his gaze. “Of course.”

She twisted her hands together as she hovered on the side where he could see her. “I’ve missed you.”

He merely hummed as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his lips quirking upwards. She let out a shriek when one of his hands darted out to wrap around her wrist as he pulled her onto him, arm curling around her waist. 

“Be still,” he grunted hoarsely, sounding more than a little strung out, his arm tightening around her waist. Her eyes flicked downwards, gaze stopping on where his other hand gripped the arm of the chair with whitened knuckles, hard enough to snap the aged wood. 

The proximity to him was dizzying as the smoke and the almost earthy herbal note that clung to his clothes flowed over her. Seconds passed before she shifted, moving to stand, only to freeze again when he hissed under his breath, the sound reverberating against the side flush against him. 

He didn’t let go of her as he stood, twisting a hand in the hair at the back of her neck as his mouth sought hers, his teeth nipping at her lip, the pads of his fingers digging into her sides. 

She shuddered, moaning against his mouth as she dug her nails into the back of his neck, gripping his shoulder with the other. 

His kisses weren't anything like the brief ones she had exchanged in the past with the boys in her village, heated to the point where the imprint of his touch was seared into her flesh. His fingers skirted up under her tunic, moving higher and higher.

“We should not- '' he groaned against her jaw, the low, tormented noise sending desire pooling down between her thighs. “Your lifespan is naught more than a mere blink of an eye for my kind,” he rasped as he pulled back to let her breathe, panting. 

“I don’t care,” she breathed, biting the inside of her cheek at the loss of his touch. “I want you. At least this once...” 

He wavered at that, his eye flicking from her face to the door and back again. 

She pressed herself against him harder, curling her hand around the back of his neck, consumed by a wild, desperate need inside her. She would gladly let him swallow her whole like some beast of old. Let him slice her from throat to navel and crawl inside her, burrowing his way into her bones and her blood and her heart. “Please.” 

He swallowed hoarsely, fingertips skirting down the curve of her back, feeling each and every bump of her spine beneath her skin. “Turn around.” His pupil dilated and contracted rapidly as he watched the pile of fabric at her feet grow. 

“You’re beautiful,” he swallowed, tongue darting out to wet his lip as he took in the sight of her. The expression on his face was dazed, his eye clouded and darkened by a lust that was unfamiliar to both of them. 

She flushed at the words, bright patches of red painting her cheeks, self-conscious now as she folded her arms across her chest, the chill of the night hitting her breasts as it seeped in through the cracks in her window, wishing desperately she'd patched them over ages ago. 

“May I?” her fingers hovered just above the belt cinching his waist, feeling bolder than she ever had. His eye darkened, the strange violet color slowly bleeding to black. 

He eyed her with a hunger, that same wildness that had been in his eye all those months ago as tension seemed to spark between them, building and building until it reached a breaking point, snapping like a torn string. 

Her body trembled, whether with desire or anticipation or something else, she didn’t know, but whatever the feeling was, knew she never wanted it to end as he kissed her again, deeper this time, slanting his mouth against hers as his hand came up to cradle the back of her head.She moaned against his mouth, each kiss harsher and more biting than the last. Insatiable now, his hands moved over every part of her. Her pulse jumped beneath her skin as the pad of his thumb swiped across the thin skin of her throat. 

"There is a spot," he rasped, reaching down between them. "Here," he croaked, eye half-lidded. She moaned, grasping his wrist loosely as the tips of his fingers brushed something between her thighs, sending a flare of pleasure up her spine. 

“Touch me,” he exhaled raggedly under his breath, burying his face in the crook of her neck as her fingers brushed the outline of his cock, the muscles of his stomach jumping beneath his skin. His fingers tangled in her hair, tugging lightly on the strands as he breathed something else against her skin. 

The chuckle he let out reverberated against her back as he pressed closer, his hold on her bruising and harsh, and the longer she thinks, the fuzzier her head got, that it was painful in a way she didn’t mind. 

"Greedy little thing, aren't you?" From his mouth, the words sounded almost like a mocking term of endearment. “So desperate for me,” he murmurs under his breath as his lips drag up over her throat, hovering just over the spot where her pulse hammered wildly beneath her skin. 

She twisted underneath his weight, panting as her fingers twisted against the coarse spun bedding, the tightly wound coil of her desire for him increasing with each deliberately slow drag of his fingers, sending her hurtling closer and closer to her peak. 

“Tell me this is mine,” he growled as the sinew of his arms twisted around her, lowering his head as he nipped at the skin, soothing the skin with kisses. “That you are mine.” 

“Say it,” he repeated roughly, pulling his fingers back. Her back arched, lifting upwards as she tensed under him, her hands clawing at his back and her ankles crossing one over the other, her heel digging into his lower back, taking the pleasure he gave her freely. 

The braid her hair had been woven into had long since come undone, curling over her shoulders in damp, sweaty strands, no thanks to the rough tugs of his fingers. She knew that come morning, bruises would mar her skin as purposefully left remnants that she was his and his alone. 

The rapid thudding beat of her heart had only barely calmed when the chilling sound of howling sounded from beyond her door. 

His head jerked, the arm he had draped across her stomach falling to the side as he shot up. “Stay here,” he demanded, not looking at her as he dressed feverishly, lastly flipping a cloak over his head. 

“Sister.”

He stalked towards where she stood, ignoring the hulking black faehound that bared its teeth at him from behind her. 

“Brother.” Helaena's voice was low and quiet, watching the candlelight flicker from behind dirty window panes. Clad in velvet and silk in jeweled tones of blue and ivory and gold, his sister was ethereal. 

"Aegon knows." She spoke plainly, not bothering to embellish her words.

“Why are you here, sister?” 

His face hardened, lips tightening like a shard of glass. "How?” he demanded, whirling on her. 

“He sees, brother. Not to mention mother, grandsire and the Clubfoot all whisper into his ear," she murmured, every inch a queen as she folded her hands together in front of her in an echo of their mother. 

“The Clubfoot should have been exiled decades ago,” he said, scoffing. "He drips poison into his ear more like. I don’t know how our brother can stand his foul simpering." 

A fawn came closer, sniffing the air as it stilled a few feet from her, legs locked. Helaena clucked her tongue softly, turning away from him as she bent down, curling her fingers in a come hither gesture at the creature. It stared at her, wide dark eyes unblinking, before inching close enough to sniff at her extended fingers warily. 

“Why are you here?” he repeated, flexing his fingers at his sides. 

"Because Mother wants you to return home. She misses you." A pang hit him at the mention of their mother. Kind and gentle, she had been staunch and stalwart in her affection for all four of her children. He remembered it so clearly, the pained look on her face when he stormed from Aegon's halls in a fit of rage nearly a century past. "No, she doesn't. She has Daeron." He said, bitterness a sour tang on his tongue. "Her favorite boy." 

Her hand dropped from the fawn’s head, giving the little thing the chance to bolt away from her on silent hooves, spotted hide swallowed by the darkness. "Don't be cruel, brother." She chastised, making him feel like a boy again. Wind began to pick up around them almost immediately after it had disappeared, the howling sound of it lashing through the tree branches grating in his ears. 

His expression darkened, desperately wanting to scowl at her, the iron salty taste of blood flooding his mouth as he bit the inside of his cheek. The wind died, the quivering tree limbs stilling as the eerie calm settled once again over the forest. 

“And because I see how you've grown attached to her. Your human." Her gaze was sharper than he remembered, her ability to be able to read him like no one else was more than off-putting. “Brother…” she murmured, voice laden with a pity he didn’t want.

“Don’t,” he snapped, the word coming out harsher than he meant it too. 

She didn’t so much as blink, the only tell the slight raising of her brow, her expression as still and as calm as a lake. “She will die, brother. That is the way of things. She will die and we will carry on. As we've done for centuries."

"You think I don't know that?" He croaked, gaze sweeping over her willowy frame. “I know her fate, sister. I know that she, like all mortals, will wither and fade as time passes, whether of old age or some other happenstance...”

“And yet you know what will happen if you choose to stay here with her,” she warned, reaching up to grasp his chin in her hand. He could almost feel the power thrumming under her skin, heady and addictive. “He will not like it, brother.”

He curled his lip savagely in a twisted mocking grin. “I don’t care what he likes.” 

She hummed, letting go of his face as she stepped backwards. “You know what he will do.” 

She was gone when he opened his eye again, leaving nothing but the remnant of the flowers on her head brushing his skin and the echo of her words in his ear. It’s time you came home, brother mine. 

"I cannot stay long," he murmured, pushing the hood of his cloak back once her door had latched behind him. 

There was something different about him, something not even her healer’s intuition could name. She had watched, seeing him and the figure of another, almost be shoulder to shoulder. As well as the red eyes of the animal prowling around them in a circle. 

“Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”

“Yes.” He was pale, almost ghostly so, with faint shadows darkening the pale skin under his eye, the pupil of his eye dilated and filled with a fear so unlike him. 

She ached to touch him, dread coiling in her belly as she took in the look on his face. “What is it?” 

He tipped his head back, not meeting her eyes as he exhaled, his breath shuddering its way past his lungs. “My brother has commanded that I return home. Permanently.” he murmured finally, bringing his head forward as he met her gaze. He kept his face blank even as her own went ashen and colorless. 

And there was nothing she could do but watch as he seemed to withdraw and fold back into himself like a garden snail retreating into its shell, turning into a stranger once again. 

"I knew you'd come back, one last time. Felt it in my bones."

He lingered in the doorframe, a solemn, silent creature of blood and bone and shadows with moonglow in his hair. He was still as beautiful as she remembered, the lingering echo of his touch still sharp even after all the years went by. 

"I did."​

#aemond targaryen fic #aemond smut #hotd fics #aemond x oc #my fics

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Who is Mew Anyway?

I realized we are over halfway through Only Friends now, and that I have only talked about Mew once in my write ups. Which…makes sense for me, all things considered, until now he’s kind of been a blah character in my eyes. And I am leaning in to and really appreciating how intentional that is beginning to feel on behalf of Jojo and co. 

When you think about it, until literally halfway through the show we have known almost nothing about Mew besides the fact that he is the table keeper for his friends, he is a hotel management student, and he’s a virgin. If you asked me to list any other facts about Mew’s life or his role in life, I would not have been able to answer much of anything. 

And that’s because Mew isn’t really anything. Personally, I feel like Mew thinks he has a strong sense of self and the second that something comes along to question that, all those illusions he has of himself start crumbling. When I look at Mew’s character, and I mean start getting in to the nitty gritty of Mew’s character, I don’t think Mew has any idea who he is. Which, for a show about college students is fucking brilliant. I thought I knew who I was in college, and then I graduated and promptly became queer and trans. I thought I knew what career I wanted, and then I ended up going to grad school for something outside of my initial plans. I know @waitmyturtles mentioned something similar about trying on different personalities in college in her Episode 7 Review. 

Think about Mew’s apartment, it was his mother’s old place. He took it over after she moved out. He didn’t choose this place, we can’t be certain this is the type of apartment or the location that Mew would actively decide to be in. When he brings Top home the first night they meet, Top comments on the place:

“Your room is nice, it suits you” 

To which Mew replies ‘It’s my Mom’s old room. I decorated it using ideas from the internet” 

Which says to me that Mew’s own personality, his own interests weren’t even involved in the creation of his own personal space. He decorated it based on inspiration from what other people had done to their own places. And Mew’s apartment fascinates me further, as a color-coder in BL kinda person. Because Mew’s apartment is all over the place in its decoration. 

On one wall we have striped wallpaper, in orange hues.

On another we have light blue walls with white and golden patterning. A yellow couch, a blue bookshelf. 

In his room he has a wall that is painted a solid green

And I can’t quite get a good image of it, but the opposite wall in his room is painted a dark turquoise with white patterning, which is different from Ray’s house, but still evokes a similar visual point of comparison.

Even Mew himself, when we first meet him is alllllll over the place with his colors. He has lines all over his shirt, with squares of different colors. His second look of the show is a solid light blue shirt over top of a striped shirt with orange, green, yellow.

His bed sheets are similarly stripes with dark gray, green, yellow, and orange.

Which is to say, at the beginning of our time with Mew, it is hard to pin down who he is as a person. He doesn’t have a color, he doesn’t have a pattern, to associate with his character. He fluctuates between rich, saturated colors and light, washed out pastels. 

When I think of Mew, I think of all the outfits he’s worn that have a strong green tint to them, but honestly, looking back through his wardrobe, Mew has a broad range of colors he chooses from. 

(Now, I recognize that all of this could be because the costuming department does not actually care about color coding, and that the eclectic styling of Mew’s apartment was just how it already was. And that’s fine, but I’m here so I’m gonna overanalyze it.)

All this to say that, Mew’s colors, Mews home, Mew’s pattern choices are all very disparate. All this to say that as a result I am now assuming that Mew does not know who he is, and neither do we. He could go any number of ways. Mew could go orange, yellow, green, blue. He could be complicated (with complex patterns) or straight forward (with solid colors). But none of us know at the beginning of this show quite where he will go. 

Truthfully, the only aspect of Mew that I have seen be steadfast throughout the show, is Mew’s moral superiority complex. Everything else is mutable. Mew has throughout most of the show, regarded himself as a good person. He doesn’t drink much, he doesn’t dance much, he doesn’t sleep around at all, and that somehow in his mind, grants Mew the opportunity to talk down to his friends. 

He’s not an alcoholic like Ray who he has no problem lecturing in the bathroom about how he is  going to be dead by 30, despite knowing that Ray is/was suicidal. He’s not a slut like Boston, who is far too obsessed with Mew’s virginity, etc. etc. etc. Mew fucks with Top, deciding that he is going to wait to have sex with him for awhile. And that is his right, but Mew doesn’t say he’s waiting because he isn’t comfortable with sex. He tells Boston and Cheum that he is waiting to have sex with Top to make sure that Top is serious about their relationship. Because if Top is serious about dating Mew without sex being involved, that means that Mew is worthy of the top tier because he is top tier, and not because he is an easy lay that Top can use for bragging rights (bagging a virgin). 

And I would have previously entertained a conversation around whether or not that is true, but unfortunately for any dissenters to my read of Mew, now that Mew has decided to #embracethenasty, there is no convincing me out of my observation that Mew does not know who he is. 

Why? Because the second that Mew starts retaliating against Top, the second he decides to ruin Top’s life, to stoop low, to be the lesser person…Mew starts dressing like Ray. I am certainly not the first person to notice this, it has been circulating in multiple different forms across my tumblr page, but.

Gif from @firstmix

Mew doesn’t know who he is, Mew doesn’t know how he fits in to the world now that he has decided to make Top’s life a living hell. I am not convinced Mew is capable of seeing himself as a bad person, because he isn’t a slut or an addict or a cheater. [As an aside here, this is Mew’s thinking, not my own personal beliefs on what makes someone a good or bad person]. So, of course, if he wanted to become a bad person. If he wanted to play at being as toxic and terrible as the people around him, it makes sense Mew would don the wardrobe of his “best friend”, Ray. Ray, who Mew looks down on for being an alcoholic, for not valuing his life. Who Mew has told time and time again to love himself, and to quit drinking and doing drugs, as if that is going to cure Ray’s addiction. And who in under five minutes just took a blowtorch to everyone’s relationships. 

Why? Because Mew is so self-righteous that he looks down on others around him. Mew isn’t ready or willing to look at and acknowledge the nasty, flawed parts of himself, so he adorns the nasty, flawed parts of others, to abstract himself from his own behavior. He uses Ray’s clothing, Nick’s methodology, and Boston’s personality to retaliate at the people he feels wronged by. 

Mew uses Boston against himself, wielding Boston’s sexual prowess, his willingness to fuck, his Hunter charm to get himself in to Gap’s apartment. He uses Nick’s methodology to steal the video of Boston and lords the knowledge over Boston’s head (like Nick did to Top), and again, he is wearing Ray’s clothing. But while Mew is trying to be a chameleon in his behavior, his appearance, his strategy to get back at Top, Mew’s own flavor of flaw starts becoming ever more clear. 

Mew has a superiority complex.

It is absolutely, unbelievable shitty and vile to threaten to out Boston to his father. To treat Boston’s privacy and safety with such disdain. Boston records others and he keeps those images as evidence, so Mew steals Boston’s MO. Mew takes the recording of Boston, looks Boston in the eye, and makes Boston think that he is going to hold on to that for evidence.

Now, right before this, Mew does actually draw a comparison point between himself and Boston. 

“You and I have something in common.” he says

“We’re both gullible” 

Mew makes Boston beg. And after he has made Boston sweat sufficiently, he throws the flashdrive on the ground. He says: “I’m kidding. No matter how much I hate you, I won’t do it. Because I don’t betray my friend like you did. 

“Then I’d be just as filthy as you are.”

While Mew is able to identify a potential flaw of his own, being gullible isn’t a fundamental aspect of Mew’s personality or character, being gullible isn’t who Mew is. It’s a flaw that he is pointing out only because he is still reeling from allowing himself to be fooled by Top and Boston. It’s a flaw that he is point out so that he can weaponize his superiority complex. 

In other words: “You and I have something in common, but I am better than you because I don’t betray my friends”  As if he didn’t just threaten to publicize Boston’s sex life to his father, the implications of which could have a national impact.

And while it is ultimately unsurprising that Mew channels Ray in doing all of this, it is interesting. Interesting because Mew is using Ray. Mew not only knows that Ray is capable of fucking up his own life, and the lives of the people around him, he also knows that Ray is the least liked by both Boston and Top. Boston’s distaste for Ray is subtle, as his obsession with Top and Mew has been more at the forefront of his interactions with his friends. But we have seen from the very beginning of this show that Boston does nothing to care for Ray. Boston is assigned to take care of Ray and make sure he is safe when he’s been drinking too much. Boston literally never once helps Ray when he’s drunk. Boston sees Ray and Sand crossed, cuddling, and generally having a good time, and Boston goes and airs Ray’s dirty laundry. Ray is the first person to confront Boston about cuckolding Mew. 

So wearing clothing that is reminiscent of Ray when Mew goes to Boston’s house to threaten him is a flavorful undertone for how Mew is hoping Boston will see him. 

At the points in which Top and Mew interact during the episode, Mew is not dressed like Ray, but he sure as shit does lord Ray over Top just to fuck with him. When Top comes to apologize to Mew, Mew asks Ray to find a new designer, literally asking Ray to replace Top. When Ray helps treat Mew’s injury after the group fight, Mew decides to use Ray as a rebound. To use Ray’s feelings for him as a way to experiment, once again, with the type of person he wants to be and the type of person he wants to be with. We end the episode with Ray and Mew dancing together at the bar, Mew dressed in a very Ray style

Because Mew is trying Ray on for size, trying his fashion, his company, his lifestyle (as we see from the promo for next week) and that is prone to make RayMew crash and burn, because Ray is self-destructive enough as is, and I don’t think Mew is going to do well with treating himself with Ray’s level of self-care.

Mew doesn’t know who he is, Mew doesn’t know what he wants, the only thing Mew knows is that he’s better than everyone around him, and he can only stoop as low as them is by pretending he is them, rather than facing the fact that he's just as terribly human as the rest of the group.

#only friends the series #ofts #only friends #raymew #topmew #forcebook #book kasidet #khaotung thanawat #neo trai #force jiratchapong #ofts meta #ofts analysis #only friends analysis #only friends meta

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Trey, Leona: The Cat's Meow

Ooooh, I see the vision now... Maybe?? It looks like each member of the same dorm might have a similar default image in the bottom frame of their initial art? Both Ace and Trey have the Queen of Hearts… I guess we’ll have to wait until Cater’s birthday to see if the pattern keeps up?

nfdbwjccwbxgak How fitting to see Trey posed alongside a painting of the Cheshire Cat considering who he’s childhood friends with… and also that Trey’s VA also goices Lucius www (Side note: they fr always gotta have Trey claim he’s “normal” right before he pulls the sussy face which is most certainly NOT normal 😭)

A Tale as Old as Time.

A rotund feline stood on hind legs in a platinum frame, one paw curled under its round chin and resting on its fluffy tail, the other flicked out in a devil-may-care gesture. Purple, pink, purple, pink—its fur was striped in a repeating pattern. Eyes raised upward, the cat looked inquisitive among the gnarled trees, as if posing a riddle to the viewer. Why is a raven like a writing desk?, perhaps.

Huh, I wonder what he's wondering about. Trey rested his chin in one hand as he pondered the painting—and the question.

The longer he gazed at the cat, the more familiar its silly smile seemed to be. How difficult he was to read. A thought crept up on him, one lazy stride at a time.

"... Reminds me of a certain guy," he muttered.

"I hope you’re not talking about me," came a sarcastic drawl from beside him. It, too, was cat-like in its own right, a different flavor of feline: more languid than whimsical. “Because I won’t be laughing like a hyena at jokes made in poor taste.”

"Leona." Trey immediately made to step back, making space for the dorm leader. Leona's immense presence practically demanded it. "No, of course not. I was thinking about a childhood friend.“

“Hmph. You’ve got a childhood friend like this?” He made a face at the Cheshire Cat. A frown to challenge its foolhardy grin. “… Now I almost feel sorry for you, having to put up with a guy like that.”

“Oh, Chenya’s not that bad,” Trey said dismissively. “He’s a troublemaker, sure—but he’s got a good heart beneath all of that, and he wouldn’t hurt a fly. The worst is gets up to is playing a trick or two and stealing snacks.”

“What an exciting life,” Leona snorted, clearly not convinced. “He sounds like a real rascal for his age.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Sometimes it feels like he never really grew up from the times him, Riddle, and I were rolling around in clover fields and stuffing our faces with cake. Still, he’s our friend—even if we’re far apart for schooling.”

“It was already hard enough to believe you’d be friends with him, but Riddle too?” A smirk rose on Leona’s lips. “Life works in mysterious ways.”

There was a chuckle from Trey. “Ahahah… Does it surprise you? We all come from the same hometown. The community there’s very welcoming. I guess that’s why we ended up reaching out to Riddle one day and… I’m sure you know how the rest of that story goes.”

He didn’t—and nor did he care to know, so he said nothing. Instead, Leona inclined his head. In the dimness of the museum, his eyes glinted a bright green.

He gave a command.

“… Oi, herbivore. Tell me more about this hometown of yours. Tell me what it’s like.”

Trey blinked, slightly flabbergasted at what he was hearing. Leona stared at him expectantly. He clicked his tongue.

“Well? Don’t keep me waiting.“

Huh, I didn’t think of Leona as the curious type. If that’s what he wants though, who am I to deny it?

“Okay. so…”

Trey returned a hand to his chin. His words, he considered. How to best arrange them to paint the most flattering photo?

Green, so much green. A scattering of red dotting the landscape. Saturation, cheer. Something warm and fuzzy whenever he imagined those scenes—like the sun upon his face.

“Imagine a place bursting with flowers. Every color, every shape, every smell. Some remind you of cotton candy that rots your teeth, others of old shoes and skunk."

Leona's sensitive nose wrinkled at the suggestion. "Real poetic there."

Trey continued. "Everyone knows each other not because the community is small--I'd say it's a decent size?--but because people see each other and talk. They ask how you are, how your family and business are doing. They come over with a platter of cookies to welcome new neighbors, ask if your kids want to come over and play with theirs."

Fond memories played out in his head: the time he had eaten a whole bottle of mustard to prove a point, messing up his signature spell and imparting a loaf of bread with a bad flavor, his first cake at four years old. Everyone had told him he had such talent for baking--but looking back on it, hadn't his "cake" been a lumpy, gooey mess?

"You could screw up pretty badly and they'd still pat you on the head and tell you it's fine, it's just an honest mistake or what a good job you did. My parents are like that too. It must come with the territory."

Leona listened and nodded to every piece of information Trey presented. He appeared bemused as he watched the vice dorm leader, a fleck of sunlight caught in his emerald eyes. Like that of a silent predator stalking innocent prey.

“How picturesque. No wonder you’re so well-adjusted and normal,” Leona purred, his gaze half-lidded. “It must be the power of true love at work.”

“You could say that. The community I grew up in was very loving and supportive. I’m thankful for that.” Trey smirked so briefly that onlookers could have easily missed it. "... It lets me get away with a whole lot more."

"You don't strike me as the kind of guy to act out."

"Not often," Trey corrected. "Only little acts when it's deserved."

"You and your bleeding heart." Leona's scoff gave way to an eerie quiet. From it came a soft, contemplative sigh. "... Must be nice, being able to afford to live so contentedly."

"Ah, you probably didn't have that kind of luxury," Trey recognized. "The life of a prince is different from us common folk."

"There’s pressure to perform and social politics to navigate. Complicated webs that span several circles, grace and relations to uphold, airs to wear. Aaaah, it’s such a drag," the lion beastman groaned.

"Yeah, I can imagine that." Trey smiled sympathetically. "But even though we come from very different places, I'm sure that you also had loving and supportive people in your life, Leona. Everyone does."

"Hah. Are you listening to yourself? You sound as mad as him." Leona jabbed at thumb at the Cheshire Cat. "It's the first-born prince--the one destined to be king--that they all adore."

“… That’s not completely true, is it?” Trey adjusted his glasses. A stray beam of light reflected off the face of them, casting the glass in pure white for a fraction of a second.

The reason Leona was asking about my hometown... It must be genuine curiosity. He's never known something like it. But the fact that he asked must mean he wants to learn, right?

The prince's eyes were angry, suspicious slivers now. "What are you suggesting?"

“I heard from Ace and Deuce that you have a cute little nephew that adores you. A lot of the Savanaclaw underclassman as well. And from Lilia—there’s a grand chamberlain you used to be close with as a kid. Playing chess and getting you out of trouble. Your brother too, he must care for..."

Leona bared his teeth, raised his voice. "Don't act like you know--"

Me. What I've been through, what I've suffered.

"Whoa, whoa!" Trey held up both hands. "Sorry. I said too much. I shouldn't have let my own curiosity get the better of me."

A growl--colored with residual anger--emanated from Leona's throat. "If you understand that, then don't stick your hand into a lion's den a second time."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Trey pulled back, the fingers of one hand curling into a loose first. The other hand found its way to perching at his waist as he leaned his body forward. He attempted an apologetic confession--but instead produced something slightly sinister.

"What are you doing now?"

"Cat to cat communication," Trey said, deadly serious. "You know, like 'nyah'!"

A pause.

"... Is that good enough of an apology?" Trey inquired.

"Don't screw with me," Leona muttered, batting away at his peer's poised "paw". "In the first place, your posture's all wrong. Are you trying to piss me off?"

"Looks like I failed to lighten the mood."

"You're really terrible at it," Leona grumbled under his breath. "You sure that childhood friend of yours is the troublemaker of the group? Cuz to me, I see another troublemaker in the trio."

"I'm a normal high school boy. You even said it yourself."

"And which one of us started meowing at the other out of the blue?" Leona expertly countered.

Trey stifled his voice, which had started to work its way up into an awkward laugh. "Pfft, alright. Point taken."

"Here I was, thinking you were 'normal'," Leona simpered. "The red young master sure has a way with picking the company he keeps. You're all odd to balance out his rationale."

"That's the role a card soldier plays for his queen. Friend, baker, cat, trump card--I'm here to be them all."

#twst imagines #Trey Clover #Leona Kingscholar #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #Trey birthday takeover #spoilers #something no one asked for #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #this time I basically only referenced the Groovy painting #I didn't find anything super interesting to incorporate from the other paintings mentioned in the vignettes rip #Cheshire Cat

[ms-demeanor]

I went diabetic earlier this year, since then I've had far more serious health concerns to really focus on it. I've listened to my primary care and reduced my average a1c from 13 to 7. I've recently been looking into diets and what not that are the best. Currently, I'm trying to cut out all carbs, on my doctor's orders. What I'm seeing though is that a plant based diet is best. It looks like a ketogenic diet is what my doctor wants me to follow? I've watched videos on both diets and I don't know, I agree with you that keto is evil. What are your thoughts about this?

I am not a medical professional so i can't give you medical advice, but I'd say that you should ask your doctor for a referral to a dietician (an RD or an RDN, NOT a "nutritionist" - RD/RDN are protected terms that mean they have completed specific training and have specific board certification) and ask the dietician for advice on your specific dietary needs for your specific medical conditions.

What I can say is that trying to cut all carbs is pretty dangerous - not only is it a macronutrient that our body uses as the most available fuel for your body processes (we *can* get fuel from protein and fat, and ketones can *theoretically* replace sugars for energy but nobody is actually sure how long our bodies can do that and we know it's a LOT less efficient, it's supposed to be less efficient, and what that means is it makes a lot of people feel exhausted when they try it because they literally have less available energy) but also there are certain nutrients that are fortified in the US that are going to be hard to get if you're cutting carbs completely. The example that I always use is folate, because when I had to cut wheat out of my diet (i have grain allergies and celiac disease) I didn't know to supplement it and ended up with a form of anemia and stuff like "fainting" and "dizziness" and "low oxygen saturation."

Which is part of why massive diet changes should be undertaken with the assistance of a dietician! That's why I started studying nutrition! Because nobody supervised my medically necessary diet changes and it went very poorly!

Your GP very likely doesn't have a ton of training on nutrition, and is even less likely to have training on nutrition specific to your condition. If your GP is telling you to cut all carbs, they are telling you to do something dangerous and not nutritionally sound (even really restrictive keto diets call for 20g of carbs a day). Ask either them or your endocrinologist for a referral to a dietician (again, you are looking for a Registered Dietician or a Registered Dietician Nutritionist, RD or RDN, NOT just 'nutritionist') who is familiar with helping diabetics manage their nutrition.

Now, all of that said, in the choice between two fairly restrictive diets I will always say to try the one that requires less effort. It is much easier to eat a plant-based diet long term than a keto diet, and it is vanishingly unlikely that you are going to end up protein deficient (the primary concern for most people who are starting plant based diets, and it's just not all that likely - we need a lot less protein than a lot of people seem to think; though if you're going completely vegan you do need to be careful to supplement your B vitamins and to ensure that you're getting plenty of omega fats)

Because the thing is, for a diet to "work" you have to be on that diet forever. If you stop being on that diet, and stop adhering to its restrictions, whatever benefits exist for that diet go away. So the best diet for *anybody* is one that will provide them with the nutrients they need in a way that they can access regularly and affordably, that they enjoy eating and can comfortably maintain for long periods of time, and that includes a variety of fruits and vegetables because the only diet advice that is nearly universally applicable is that people should be eating more fruits and vegetables and they should be eating a wider variety of them.

I am not a fan of "diets" as a concept and I think that people should think of nutrition in terms of "my diet" not "the diet that is meant to be one-size-fits-all for millions of people that I am attempting." Your diet is what you eat and drink, and that is what you should be looking at adjusting. If you want to reduce carbs in your diet it's better to tweak your consumption than it is totally replace your diet with a one size fits all keto diet. If you want to increase fat in your diet it is better to tweak your consumption than it is to replace your diet with a one size fits all atkins diet. If you want to go plant based I think it is better to start by adjusting your diet to include more plants and to slowly replace animal based products than by trying a one size fits all vegan diet right out of the gate. You can always (and should!) make adjustments to what you eat as circumstances change and you may end up at a vegan diet or a low carb high fat diet and find that that works for you, but part of the reason that I think nutrition studies on diets are so screwy and hard to pin down is because your body is going to *flip the fuck out* when you change from, say, an average american diet to a study-provided Mediterranean diet for a 12 week experiment. If you drastically change your diet all at once and get good results immediately it's very hard to say if those results will be lasting because your body may just adjust to the "new normal" of your diet six months down the line.

But like seriously if your GP is telling you to cut all carbs you need to see a person who specializes in nutrition, and to prepare for your appointment with that person you should make a list of your goals (for you it sounds like you want to manage your blood sugar levels, reduce a1c, and *ask about* low carbs if that is something that interests you), a list of things you think that you'll have trouble with or that you want to include in your diet because they're important to you (if you really like nuts but have to be on a low fat diet, ask if there's a way to work around that with your needs, for example; if there is a cultural staple that you will find difficult to cut from family meals, TELL THEM THAT), a list of questions that you have about different types of diets, and *VERY IMPORTANTLY* information about your food budget and cooking skills. Be clear about it if you can't cook. Be clear about it if you can't afford certain ingredients.

Anyway. Once again, not medical advice, please speak to a medical professional, good luck.

#tw diet talk #food tw

[hoofpeet]

popping in to say a few kind words about your art because i never viewed your art as cutesy pretty much ever? i never saw your style is just. cute. and p much anyone who says that has a very shallow way of defining art styles

i admire your style of art so much because of the unapologetic saturation and vibrancy in color, the way you utilize them has so clearly been practiced and curated careful even when you might just have been fuckin around. your sense of color has come to a point where im pretty sure its just instinctual, but even then the attention to detail of how light bounces and how they interact with other colors is nothing less of a very talented skill.

this isnt even mentioning your understanding of form makes me want to Gnaw On My Furniture, you make it look so Easy with your linework. its so gestural but also so compact at the same time-- theres this narrow line you tend to do there there is so much clarity in a silhouette but at the same time it doesnt feel like a posed model, its just a photograph taken. the naturalism is so fantastic, i FEEL like im seeing a snapshot into a world that does not involve me and thats good.

honestly its very upsetting that people chalk up your work valuing nothing more than fanart because there is so much MORE youre clearly doing with style study, color and photo study, research into animal behaviors/biology/interpreting realism into stylized shape and form. frankly, it is a Disservice to you that people think you arent... i dont know deserving to express your goddamn feelings????

anyway this is a long way to say i hope people will stop being shitheads to you n you can find those shitheads to block fully and entirely bc they clearly arent the attentive appreciating target audience they think theyre being

HEEHEE... thank you ...... I love 2 hear detailed thoughts on my silly ocs and such .. glad you're enjoying them 👍

#mailbox #really do appreciate it heehoo.. i'm printing this out to put on my wall #+also- no worries i'm not super upset about shitheads.. it's at least a predictable type of annoying #part of being an niche micro-community internet celebrity (?) is people feeling ownership over your work i guess #ig you gotta accept. people will cherrypick the parts of your life/personality they want to see #and feel that it's your responsibility to be quiet about the parts they want to ignore