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xxnghtclls · 10 months

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Permission

Chapter 4

(Chapter 3; Chapter 5)

True Form Sukuna x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depiction Of Violence

Please see Chapter 1 for tags!

The Sounds Of Sex

Tapping on the cold stone floor, you slowly you make your way through the halls of the shrine you call your home for the past month.

After visiting the kitchen you had to bare the presence of the mean bitch, who was ordered to prepare the food for Master Sukuna.

“Don’t trip and spill it.” she remarked in a mocking tone. You ignored her and watched her putting a covered plate on a cart.

Pushing the cart before you, you peek at the covered plate.

It’s heavy and smells raw. Bloody. You wonder if it’s human, female.

After all you saw, him feasting on a woman, him supposedly feeding an old man to crows, you concluded his favourite meat must be that of a woman. Pictures of your first encounter with him still linger on your mind like it was yesterday. You’ve become a grown woman since your eyes first met and the question if you or one of the other maidens working there will be his next meal did cross your mind not just once and yet you’re about to walk into his chambers.

Alone. Brave.

You can’t deny that you are nervous, in a negative but also in a positive way. He’s the reason you came here after all and after one long month you finally have the chance to meet him. Well. Kind of.

I will not look at him until he said so, I will not speak to him, until he said so. I will bow to him as the King he is, your mind recites countless times.

Your way leads past the sliding door that is your room. Uraume instructed you to walk past your door and turn right on the next corner. Doing exactly that, you see another sliding door. A fancy one. Pretty, expensive wood. Another thing you notice is, there isn’t another room except this one.

Have I been sleeping in the room right next to him the whole time?

Your face heats up a little at that thought.

Uraume instructed you to softly knock three times before entering. You race your knuckles, ready to knock.

There it is, the energy. You almost waited for it to crawl back to your throat. Blood is pumping, heart starts racing again. You breathe deeply and

Knock

You wait a moment to hear if he’s answering. Nothing. Going down on your knees, you grab the door and slowly push it open, keeping your head lowered at all times. His energy becoming more heavy in the moment the door opens. Sliding in with your knees, you stand up to pull the tray in.

You turn around, on your knees again, to slide the door back into its closed position. Heart is still pumping fast. You almost can hear the blood rush through your ears. After standing up again you go to the tray to push it further into his room.

It’s dark in here.

On the floor you can see the moonlight painting blue shapes on the ground. It smells like smoke, a pipe. Slowly walking in, your body decides to move for you. You peek and there he is.

He’s standing at an opened sliding door that leads to the garden you worked a whole month in. You didn’t notice that there was another door. He was there all along and you didn’t notice. You let your eyes wander from his feet up to his hair. Bare feet on the wooden floor. Tattooed ankles, you remember them. Eyes wander up further. He wears a white kimono, with dark blue edges. His back is facing you, broad shoulders painting a dark shadow on the floor. His left hand holding a kiseru, his remaining hands, as far as you could see, rest cross armed inside of his kimono. Pink hair being illuminated in a blue tint as the moonlight falls upon it.

He’s so tall.

Your eyes jump back to your hands pushing the cart and slow down. Uraume told you to just push the cart five steps into his room and leave. You notice this incredible silence in the room, only hearing some crickets from the garden and the soft dabble from the pond. It’s peaceful. You didn’t feel this much piece in a long time. Well, actually never. His energy, as much intimidating as it is, it also wraps itself onto you like a warm blanket. It’s confusing. You wouldn’t expect that from a creature that you witnessed murder from. Taking another breath you turn around silently to go back to the door you came into.

“You’re new.” A voice.

His voice. Calm.

Your heart jumps a beat. Your feet stop moving. A warm feeling inside you.

He didn’t even see me. How can he know?

The sound of his mouth taking a puff from the pipe reaches your ears.

I will not look at him until he said so, I will not speak to him, until he said so.

You decide to move on quietly until you reach the door, kneeling again to push it open, eyes fixated on your hands as you crawl through the opened space to push it shut again.

Standing up, you start to run in tiny steps until you reach the door to your room and enter it. Breathing heavily you lean against the door you just closed shut. You try to comprehend what just happened. His voice was so calm and deep. It didn’t sound at all like the laugh you’ve heard so many times. It was just so peaceful and yet people always said he was the devil himself.

How can his voice be such a soothing sound?

Bringing him his dinner was your last task for today so you slowly make your way to your bed and lay down. His voice still replaying in your head countless times. Just like the pictures in your head from a woman being eaten would not leave your eyes, his voice would not leave your ears. The only thing bothering you is, that it just doesn’t add up. You softly tug at the sheets of your bed, completely lost in thought. Lost in thought about him.

I need to hear him again.

With this as the last thought on your mind, you consciousness wanders into the realms of shadows and dreams.

You’re new.

His voice being replayed by your mind wakes you up in the morning. You stay in your bed a few minutes more than you normally would, thinking of what happened last night.

Hopefully Uraume will order me to bring him his dinner tonight too.

Getting up, you notice you didn’t change your clothes last night, you slept in your kimono. Completely lost in thought about him. Giving yourself an eye-roll, you walk out of your room. Eyes shooting to your left. On the opposite corner of your room, that’s where he stays. You grow excited and rush into the hallway you clean day after day since you came here.

Uraume did not ask you to bring him his dinner this day. You spent another two days of just cleaning and gardening. Gardening was much more of an exciting task now that you knew he could be there, watching you maybe. You caught yourself peeking into the direction of where his door must be a lot of times. It wasn’t really visible but it must be there.

The days went on without much happening. The other maidens going on with their tasks like usual. Once you heard the mean bitch mocking another girl in the hallway. She made you angry. She remembered you of the people you had to endure while you were living in the village you grew up in. What she said to you on your first day implied that she already met Master Sukuna. You asked yourself what he could’ve said to her, when they first met. Was it as peaceful as your last encounter with him? Did they talk at all?

Three days passed. You mindlessly cut some dead ends off a plant in the garden, still sometimes thinking of him, as Uraume approaches you.

“Master Sukuna was pleased with your service three days ago. You will bring him his dinner tonight as well.” they said in their usual monotone voice.

Hearing their words let excitement grow in your stomach once again, catching yourself to peek at his door again.

“If you do well tonight, you will be allowed to bring him his dinner more frequently.” they added and left.

You noticed once again, that Uraume isn’t much of the talking type, very strict and motivated to keep everything in order.

It was around noon so you had to go on with your tasks until the night approached. Apparently that’s the time he usually eats. After cleaning the hallway, you made sure to eat a few fruits and vegetables before you were on your way to the kitchen to get the tray with his food. No mean bitch this time.

Thank god.

It was another young woman, she was nice to you, even giving you a piece of fresh onigiri she just made. It was filled with salmon. You devoured it hastily, not wanting to be too late and soon you were on your way to his chambers once again.

Walking along the halls, your heart started to get nervous again. I wonder if he’s gonna say something this time.

Passing the corner that leads into the hallway your room was located in, you catch yourself smiling.

What if he isn’t so bad?, you think to yourself, your mind rejecting every bad thing you witnessed so far.

Passing the door that leads to your room you listen to the sound of the soft squeaking of the cart rolling onto the stone floor, waiting for his energy to embrace you again. Then you notice another sound. It’s getting louder the more you reach the corner you have to pass to get to his chambers. It sounds like heavy breathing. Almost like someone is in pain. Approaching his door, your feet slow down. Down on your knees, curious ears reach his door.

Moans. Grunts. Skin clapping.

Fucking.

You heart jumps, your blood rushes to your face. Ears as red as a rose. You have to suppress a squeal, your hand rushing to cover your mouth.

A slap followed by a loud moan stings into your ear.

It sounds erotic, but aggressive. His energy creeping from under the door right into your lap. You feel your heartbeat start to throb between your legs. It’s not like you never touched yourself, you just have never experienced this kind of intimacy with someone. Your imagination starts to grow, remembering that you often heard people in your village having sex, fucking, sometimes in corners of the streets.

A low groan.

That’s him. His voice.

Wetness forms between your legs, making you press your thighs together.

The sound of slapping skin increases. Faster. Her moans become louder. His groans deeper.

How am I supposed to walk in there? Should I walk in there at all?

“Fucking slut, louder!” he growls, followed by a loud squeal from her.

Your face starts to burn.

Did he just call her that?

Your kimono sits tight. Thankfully. If not your hand would’ve decided to touch your cunt here and then. In the hallway. Sitting in front of the door of his chambers.

Your clit is throbbing. Hearing sex, hearing him fucking. It turns you on. So much. But what about your task? You decide to wait a bit.

Maybe they will stop soon.

After waiting for another 30 minutes you figured they wouldn’t.

With wetness between your thighs, you brace yourself. Rising your knuckles once again to knock. Heart racing, pussy throbbing. The nervousness is way worse than last time.

Knock Knock Knock

Your hand is shaking. The sounds continue. They either ignored you or didn’t hear it, which wouldn’t be a surprise. Carefully and as silent as possible you slide the door open, the smell of sex and sweat reaching your nose. Sounds turning louder as soon as you open the door. It doesn’t help your composure, your arousal increases.

Carefully sliding in, you stand up to pull the cart in. Kneeling down again to shut the door, your mind focuses on the sounds again. Raw sounds of lust behind your back. You feel as if you could fry an egg on your face. You slide the door shut silently, eyes fixated on your shaking hands. You stand up and it feels like your juices are already smeared on your thigh. Suddenly you feel eyes piercing into you. So intense. Like a weight on your back. This time however, you don’t dare to take a peek.

A hard thrust, a loud squeal.

You even close your eyes.

I will not look at him until he said so.

Five steps. The squeaking of the cart seems to be unbearably loud. The sounds of sex however, even louder.

One.

Two.

“M-Master.. ugh” she moans desperately.

Three.

Four.

A deep growl.

Five.

“Cum!” he commands.

Hearing it, you feel like it goes right into your already dripping cunt. She cums. Hard. Screaming. You feel like you almost do, too.

The five steps back to the door felt like walking a mile. You rush to your knees, slide out and shut the door behind you. Happy to have this situation survived until now, you run back to your room.

In the desperate need to take care of the feeling between your legs you hurry out of your kimono and let your naked self fall onto your futon. Feeling your ridiculous wet core, while remembering his voice and grunts and commands, your fingers don’t take long to make you cum.

Hard.

#permission #permission chapters #true form sukuna #sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #true form sukuna smut #sukuna x you #fanfiction #true form sukuna x you #true form sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 6 months

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I don’t know if you’re still doing the trick or treat thing, but I am dying for some Bagginshield fluff, featuring my favorite berry, maybe? 🥺🫐

Sorry I couldn't get this out last night, but here's some blueberry fluff!

Try It?

Pairing: Bagginshield

Type of Treat: Fluffy

Word Count: 662

It was a wondrous day for a walk through the mountainside. When Thorin had asked for Bilbo’s hand, he had made sure the dwarf realized how important sunshine and outdoor walks were to him if he were to remain in Erebor. Exactly four days later, there was a balcony and hidden set of stairs outside the royal apartments. Dis and Balin did nothing but chastise Thorin for how reckless that was, but Bilbo was completely enamored with the dwarf’s ingenuity. Their wedding had been the happiest day of Bilbo’s life.

Wandering through what Bilbo referred to as ‘the gardens’ he took stock of all the plant life returning to the mountains in the wake of Smaug’s demise. Many of them Bilbo was familiar with, but there was the occasional plant or two that Bilbo had to have Ori help him look up the name for it. Nearing the end of his walking trail, Bilbo checked on what he had assumed was a tree growing in only to be met with a beautiful sight!

Fresh wild blueberries were blossoming, thick and full and nearly bursting. Bilbo’s mind was racing with all the recipes he could make with a basketful of them. He might even have enough for a pie! Taking off his jacket, Bilbo created a makeshift carrier for the berries plucking as many as he could. He cursed his inability to reach the higher ones and vowed to come back with a basket and Thorin later for a respectable berry picking.

Once he had as many blueberries as he could manage, he folded them carefully into his jacket and carted them back up the mountainside. Not quite enough for a pie, but more than enough for some tarts! As soon as he was back in his and Thorin’s suite, he made his way straight for the kitchen. Fully stocked and furnished, a wedding gift from the family Urs.

“Bilbo, what are you doing?” Thorin asked amused, finding him hours later covered in flour and smelling of pastry dough.

“Look! I found blueberries today! We can go back tomorrow and gather the rest of them and maybe can them or turn it to jam…why do you have that weird look on your face?”

Thorin’s grimace seemed to be twinged with guilt when he admitted. “I don’t like blueberries.”

Bilbo was aghast. He had never heard of someone not liking blueberries! “What? Whyever not?”

“The fruit itself is yellow but somehow it has a purple juice? It is…odd. And then I’m not a fan of the outside texture.”

Bilbo’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ of understanding. “You’ve only ever had them raw, not baked? Would you be willing to try a tart of mine to see if you would like it?”

Thorin looked uncomfortable, and Bilbo was quick to reassure him with a kiss. “You don’t have to. In the Shire, we believe food should be enjoyed, not forced. I’m not trying to pressure you.”

“If they were blackberries…believe me, amrâlimê (my love), I would have them devoured in a heartbeat. But blueberries…”

Bilbo kissed Thorin again, more thoroughly. “It is perfectly alright, my dear. I’m sure there are members of the Company that would be more than willing to…”

Thorin suddenly grabbed Bilbo and kissed him again, his tongue exploring its way into Bilbo’s mouth. Not that he was complaining in the slightest.

“Are those the blueberries I taste?” He asked when he finally pulled away, a wondrous look in his eye.

Bilbo smirked. “Well I had to sample the tarts to make sure they were edible.”

Thorin rolled his eyes and shook his head before taking a step towards Bilbo’s cooling tarts. He hesitantly picked it up, gave it a sniff, before popping it in his mouth. Thorin’s eyes grew wide in amazement, and he quickly ate five more after it. It was then that he and Bilbo found out that blueberries Thorin liked. It was grapes he had an issue with.

#trick or treat my inbox #the hobbit #bagginshield #blueberry love!

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summervale · 2 years

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「The Hound and The Vulture 」

Part 2

Third person reader-insert! Not sure where they're going or why they're going there or what they're doing at all, the Hound and his almost reluctant companion continue on their journey...if you can call it that. All the time spent in the rain and on the road must be making her crazy; surely no woman in her right mind would ever fall for the Hound.

Contains: Reluctant pining, mildly sexual fantasies, “oh no he’s hot”

For one full day they rode with not a sign of human life. The only company they found (besides one another’s occasional begrudging comments) was the horses and the crows and the occasional rabbit. A deer ran across their path once, and that was the height of the excitement for their day. On the second day they passed a farmer and his wife dragging a cart through the mud. The rain had stopped, but the mud remained and made traveling a miserable affair. The vulture threw the farmer and his wife a pitying look, but no one spoke and no one stopped.

Around midway they glimpsed a river through the trees; it was narrow and murky, likely a tributary of one of the larger rivers. Which river it could have been flowing to, neither could have said. How far have I traveled? She wondered. Where in the seven hells even are we?

“There, ahead.” The Hound pointed up the winding trail they’d been calling a road. “What’s that?”

It was too close to the road to be a barn, and too large to be a cottage. “An inn, I’d wager.” She reined up next to him as they slowed their horses to a walk. “Should we stop or press on?”

The big man chewed his lip. Most likely he needed rest; his wound still hadn't fully healed and left him prone to the occasional fever. “I could go for some ale,” he admitted.

“Then we should press on,” she told him, grinning.

“I ought to push you off your fuckin’ pony.”

There was no ale to be found at the inn, nor people nor bread nor hot rabbit stew, as the vulture had been hoping for. The inn was long abandoned. The previous tenants seemed to have packed up and left, just as everyone else had when the war touched their land. Around back grew a garden, and in that garden she found a fistful of carrots and six misshapen potatoes.

When she spread them out on counter, the best she could come up with was, “Better than nothing, I suppose.”

“No ale,” the Hound grunted. He sat at a bench, his elbows resting on the table. He looked terribly weary.

She chose to ignore his comment. “If we stay a while, I can make a broth. Might be nice to have something hot to eat.”

“Aye,” he said, surprisingly agreeable. “Hot food would be good.”

The inn was a pretty enough place. It backed up to the river and was flanked by the forest on one side and a meadow of clover on the other. A small boat waited at an unused dock in the back, and though the stables reeked of soiled straw, it was serviceable enough. When she suggested they stayed there a few nights until the Hound found his strength again, he spat at the thought. “We’re staying here long enough to eat. Any longer and someone’s like to find us.”

“Someone’s like to find us anywhere we go. These lands are crawling with hedge knights and outlaws alike.” There was no arguing with the Hound, however, and it was decided they’d leave before sundown.

He was a hard man, the Hound, but she watched him when he didn’t know she was looking. She watched him out in the meadow with the horses, letting each one nip at the clovers and pull at the grass. He was particularly fond of that courser of his, too, and when he spoke to the horse it seemed to be the nicest he’d spoken to anyone or anything ever. She watched him investigate the boat, though she knew he’d never take it; leaving by boat meant leaving behind his horse. She watched the way he scratched at his healing wound, then she watched the way he flinched when the raw skin hurt to be touched.

She realized she was smiling. Stop that at once, she told herself. He’s no man for you.

Or at least she tried to convince herself of that. She misliked him and mistrusted him most of the time, but underneath the shitshow that was the Hound, there was something she liked, too. He was a big, scarred, ugly beast of a man who towered over her, who was gnarled with burns and scars and could kill her one-handed if so he desired. Why she was so wildly attracted to that, she could not say.

Maybe she liked the way his mouth twitched up when he was fighting a smile—did he even remember how to smile? She liked the rasp of his voice, and she liked his broad shoulders, and she liked the way he chewed his lip when he thought. The night before last she had been watching him when they sat by their fire, and when he craned his neck to look at the sky, she’d glimpsed the skin of his throat and imagined herself kissing it. Stop that! she’d chided herself then, too, and told herself she was forbade to think of him like that ever again. Of course, she thought of it not ten minutes later when she was laying in the dark listening to him snore. She hadn’t pushed it down that time, instead she’d let her mind wander. She liked where it wandered to, but come morning she repressed it once more.

Despite having true shelter for the first time in days—possibly weeks for either of them—they ate their stew (if it could even be called stew) outside. It was warmer in the sun than beneath the roof of the inn, and after gray skies and rain the sun was a welcome feeling on their skin. The stew didn’t last very long between them, though the woman let the Hound have the lion’s share of the food. He was bigger and stronger and healing, and no doubt needed a hot meal more than she did.

“Was good,” he told her curtly when they finished.

The small compliment made her smile, which she tried to hide. “Thank you. Lucky for us they’d left salt behind.”

“Anything else worth taking?” Though they’d gone through the entire inn room by room and then a second time for good measure, it was always possible they’d missed something. Whoever stayed here last had left little behind. Salt was about the most extravagant thing to be found.

“I’m thinking about taking the furs off one of the beds.” She scratched at the piebald gelding’s nose absently.

The Hound tsked at her. “You’re going to ride with a bundle of furs?”

“I was going to let the mare carry them, ‘long with the kettle.” It had been nice to cook in a kettle instead of an upturned helmet, she had to admit. The soup kettle was coming with them.

“I don’t want to hear you bitching the first time your furs get rained on.”

She shrugged. “You will. And the second and third time, no doubt.”

“And when you sell the horse? You gonna fuckin’ sit on them?” He was giving her an inordinately hard time about bringing furs with them.

“You’re very concerned with these furs, ser,” she said, though he was no ser at all. “Careful. One might think you’ll miss sharing your cloak with me.”

The big man huffed. “Piss on your cloak,” he told her, “and piss on you, too.”

“You’ll have to pay me if that’s what you want.” She failed at stifling a laugh.

Wide eyed and at a loss for words, the Hound cursed at her and sauntered off towards the inn. “Get your shit and let’s go.”

She missed the inn that night when they made camp. The inn was no palace, but she would have taken a lumpy, moldy mattress of straw over the damp ground beneath the rock overhang the Hound chose. As per usual, she could do little more than huddle close to the fire. She pulled her new furs around her, thankful for the warmth. If she’d not had the extra warmth, her mood would have been utterly black.

The Hound wasn’t one for conversation—Most dogs don’t talk—so there was little to do other than roll up her cloak for a pillow and hope sleep would find her. Wolves howled, thunder rumbled somewhere to the east, and the horses whickered. As she laid there gazing at the fire, she thought of the talk of the red priests she’d once heard. It was said they could see visions in the flames. Try as she might, no visions came to her. All she saw was the Hound sitting on the other side.

“What are you staring at?” He was frowning at her. Then again, he was almost always frowning.

She adjusted her furs and simply said, “The fire.”

“Expecting a bloody vision, are you?”

It wasn’t just the accuracy that stunned her, but the fact he’d bothered to say anything at all. “No,” she said. “I’m not one for visions, I don’t think.” When no response came from the big man, she asked him, “Have you ever met a red priest?”

“Aye, I have.” He was staring into the flames, too. He was no fan of fire, and for a good reason, but at night they would sit and watch the flames and she would wonder what he was thinking. Maybe he saw something in them that she couldn’t. “Thoros of Myr and his flaming sword.”

“Thoros of Myr? What of Beric, the one they call the Lightning Lord? Have you met him?” She’d heard talk of Beric Dondarrion up and down every road she’d been on. Beric and his band of outlaws and his red priest with the flaming sword. Some swore them as rapers and raiders, bad as the Mountain’s men. Other hailed him a savior. The truth was likely somewhere in between.

“And the Lightning Lord, I’ve met him, too.” Then, no surprise, he added, “Fuck the whole bloody lot of them.”

That made her smile. “They call themselves The Brotherhood Without Banners, or so I’ve heard it said. That sounds like a place for you.” The Hound just shook his head. Neither spoke again.

She drifted in and out of sleep, and when she woke after a moment it him watching her this time. They stared at each other a while until at last the Hound looked away. “Is it my turn for watch yet?” she asked him.

“Not yet,” he told her. “Go back to sleep.”

Her eyes closed again. The furs kept her warmer than she’d been in a long while, but she missed the feeling of his back against hers, or the way they just barely touched on the rare occasion they laid side-by-side.

If we’d stayed at the inn we could both be warm and resting, she thought, remembering the bed big enough to sleep six. If we’d stayed at the inn our horses would have been stolen in the night. As she fell asleep, gambling their horses for a night at the Hound’s side warm and safe in a bed seemed worth it, but just for a moment.

It was the night of her wedding. She could hear the wind outside, the way it rattled the shudders and hounded the thatch roof of the farmhouse. The room was dark and drafty and too cool for comfort, and the only light came from the rusted brazier in the corner. There had been no feast at her wedding, and no guests, and no bedding ceremony, either. She was no highborn lady. The only partygoers in attendance had been the vulture, the farmer, her mother by law, and the wandering septon who had married them. When the septon held up his seven-pointed crystal and announced the farmer and the vulture man and wife, she’d wished the septon might strike her on the head with his crystal and be done with it. When her husband had draped a cloak of undyed wool over her shoulders, she’d wished he might strangle her with it so that she might never have to know herself as his wife.

She stood in front of the bed naked as the day she’d been born. She covered her breasts with her hands and gooseflesh prickled her skin.

Only when her husband came at last from the shadows, it was not the farmer, but the Hound. He was half shadowed in the darkness and twice her size. He wore nothing, but she dare not let her gaze fall from his face.

“What are you doing here?” she asked when she found her voice at last. He stood inches from her, close enough to touch.

“The farmer’s dead,” rasped the Hound. “He won’t touch you.”

She lowered her hands from her breasts. “What about you?” she asked. “Will you touch me?”

The Hound inched closer. His eyes were truly those of a hound’s, full of hunger and unrestrained want. “Aye.” One hand found the small of her back, the other the side of her face. “That, I can do.” He pushed her and she fell back to the bed, free of any fear she may have known before. When he climbed on top of her, his eyes on hers, all she knew was the want that she felt.

A horse whinnied. The world was gray and blue and purple, the air was cold and sharp and clean. Rocks were above her, hard-packed dirt beneath her.

A dream, she realized. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her face felt flushed when she sat up. It was just a dream.

“What’s wrong with you?” The Hound came around the corner lacing his breeches.

The woman shook her head and pushed the furs away. “Nothing’s wrong with me,” she said. She was warm and she ached in every sense of the word. When she stood, her legs felt weak beneath her.

The Hound scowled at her. “You look terrible,” he said.

“Thank you, that makes me feel very good,” she replied dryly.

Where her heart had been beating so wildly, it stopped entirely when he stepped in front of her. He was inches away and towering over her, just like her dream. “Come here.” When he lifted one hand to her face, she felt her hair stand on end. He stood like that for a brief moment, one massive hand cradling her face. “You’re feverish.” She noticed the way his thumb brushed against her skin when he pulled his hand back at last.

“I’m fine. It’s just from the weather.” And from you making us sleep under fucking rocks. The vulture filled her mind with spite in hopes that the spite may wash away the heat of the dream. “I didn’t mean to sleep through the night,” she said, changing the subject. “Sorry for missing my watch. Do you want to rest a while?”

The Hound spat. “I’ll rest when I’m dead. Get on your horse.” He picked his wineskin up from its resting place beside the now burnt-out fire. “Man came through not even an hour ago, ‘fore the sun was up. Said the next village is a half a day’s ride.”

She worked at bundling the furs back up atop the chestnut mare. The thought of finally coming across a sizeable village should have filled her with relief, but instead it just made her sad. “You must be excited then.” She pulled the strap tight around the bundle of fur and gave it an extra tug for good measure.

“Why in seven hells would I be excited?”

“You’re throwing me off at the next town, right? That’s the plan.” She feigned a smile.

He said nothing, reigning up on his courser instead. It was an unruly thing, as much of an ill-tempered beast as its master, but it listened well enough to the Hound. The horsed pawed at the ground and nipped at the mare. “Woah there, boy,” she said, pushing the horse’s face away with her forearm. “That’s enough of that.”

“Stranger.”

“What?” She stopped what she was doing mid-mount to look over at the Hound. She stood aside her piebald gelding with one foot in the stirrup.

“His name is Stranger.” It was the first bit of information the not-a-knight had willingly volunteered to her.

“Alright then,” she smiled. “Stranger it is.”

The sky turned from its morning shades of gray and blue and purple to just gray as they rode on beneath it. They didn’t speak much, but that was fine. She was lost in thought; thoughts of a wedding night and a dark room, thoughts of a man and a woman and a brazier burning low, thoughts of the Hound, of Sandor Clegane.

#sandor clegane #the hound #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane fic #game of thrones the hound #mywriting #game of thrones fic #reader insert

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chorusgirls · 4 months

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𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙺𝙽𝙸𝙵𝙴 / 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙲𝚄𝚃𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙷𝙸𝙼, 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙻 𝙷𝙸𝙼.

… BIRTH NAME … evangeline crane.

… NICKNAMES … eva. evita.

… AGE … "twenty-nine."

… GENDER … cis woman.

... SPECIES ... replicant ( defective ).

... PRONOUNS ... she / her.

… SEXUALITY … bisexual, biromantic. kinsey scale 3.

… CIVILIAN OCCUPATION … escort at el anhelo & dancer at gravity.

… CRIMINAL ASSOCIATION … snake den, known as the devil.

… NOTABLE ATTRIBUTES … large, bright eyes. doll eyes.

… CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS … mathilda lando ( leon the professional ). amma crellin ( sharp objects ). lilith ( biblical ). harley quinn ( dc ). melinda van allen ( deep water ). amy dunne ( gone girl ). babydoll ( suckerpunch ). annie ( terminal ). ava ( ex machina ). the joker ( the dark knight ). gogo yubari ( kill bill ). oliver quick ( saltburn ). mal cobb ( inception ). the stepford wives ( 1975 & 2004 ), don't worry darling ( 2022 ). the neon demon ( 2016 ).

( + ) curious, quixotic, adaptable, observant, flirtatious, tenacious.

( - ) cruel, obsessive, masochistic, relentless, chaotic, possessive, violent, covetous.

trigger warnings : sexism, body image, forced marriage (?), religious imagery, emotional manipulation/brainwashing, murder, violence/gore, sex, medical procedure/experimentation.

god made adam, and from his body came eve. when adam grew tired of fucking a loose rib, god threw him another bone: evangeline. a derivative of eve, the name longer, leaner. fully unoriginal. the same mold, only less interesting & shaped to be held.

a replicant of a specific, marbled purpose. the fattiest cut of meat, reserved for the most select of diners. evangeline is one of an exclusive handful of what could derisively be known as a wifebot, her purpose derived from one male organ (the heart) and shaped for another (guess). created to her future husband's specifications and formulated to perfection through an array of extensive psychological tests, eva ⸺ as she would come to be known ⸺ is the prototypical 1950s housewife for the neon age.

you can see her glistening on the plate at every dinner party, tender as wagyu. the wife of old, quiet money, she is built wasp-waisted, never weighing more than you can pick up, as manageable as she is edible. her conversation is crisp and educated but never too heavy, a perfect pairing. she makes each meal by hand and never complains when you're home late, save the glisten in geometrically assessed, aesthetically-tuned overlarge eyes. i just missed you, honey. dessert is always served a la mode: all the varieties you crave, found on the cart and bent over the bed.

can coding spoil? not rupture or break, but turn like bad fruit, like raw meat. not the fault of the hand but the inevitability of time. an accumulation of zeroes and ones going soft in the middle. evangeline festers in her gilded home, mink lashes blinking rapidly as she looks out the floor-to-ceiling windows. where is he?

a slow devolvement, eva's code overcompensates for what it lacks: given no teeth to defend herself, it grows them in multitudes. obsession gnaws at passivity. aggression inserts itself between the legs of sweetness. violence grips the hand of tenderness. innocence spoils to rot. crisp and red as a honeycrisp on the outside, but the insects devour from within.

at this hour, the serpent enters the garden. ( tbd member of snake den, wanted connection ) can hear the cockroaches skittering beneath her skin, even as she plays doll in the golden house. they enchant her, strong as acid: you are so much more... could be, if only you would embrace real, true freedom. i can take you there. though snake den does not exist at this time, the fangs sink deep and feel like need. truth. fate.

warden gauthier-wynn is deceased at the dining room table of his palatial penthouse apartment, once shared with loving wife evangeline. a knife is lodged handle-deep in the space above the bottom rib, hands tied behind his back, face cemented in the cool remnants of a homemade apple pie.

love remakes one, of course. breaks the bones so as to reset them in its image. eva abandons her previously life to join her parade marshall in the snake den, where greater transmogrification occurs. i cannot answer if androids dream of electric sheep, but they see stars in the absence of anesthesia. amateur hands recode her circuitry. cut open her hybrid skin and investigate. implant. alter change cut. encouraging the rot into a full bloom. see now, little darling? anybody can change their wiring

headcanons.

was originally built at/to look twenty-four, the age that men statistically find women the most attractive. eva has gone in for age tune-ups of her own accord since, leaving things slightly ajar.

despite the mass of crossed wires in her little body, ev can still cook like a motherfucker, though she also has an obsession with downing egregiously overprocessed foods. it will make her sick

does aerial arts at gravity along with pole; enjoys aerial hoop the most. her extreme flexibility is a lingering symptom from life as a wife-bot

a true compendium of violent skills thanks to her illicit reprogramming, with a dictionary of terrible things to do to people in her head, and a thesaurus of how to do it ( katana ? electric shock ?) and something of an enforcer-equivalent at snake den, when necessary

i imagine has a sort of - visual learning/skill inheriting? certainly not perfect but very much a fighter who adapts to you as you go along

known as the diminuitive evita to anyone who luvs her<3

believes very much in the doctrine of chaos levelling the playing field - loyal subscriber to the madness, feels it will give freedom to the city the way her reprogramming/code break/snake den freed her from her old life

unwavering follower of the doctrine but simultaneously the embodiment chaotic evil and lacks direction for their cause ( needs 2 be given it by who she values. mb some coding was intentionally left behind... ) but is more than willing to follow orders

connections.

the snake in the garden of eden!!! the one she followed into the snake down, to whom ev's love/loyalty is undying

ev puts the psycho and sexual in psychosexual. she obsesses over people easily and fully. simply give her a reason to<3

the leash to her rabid dog (particularly within snake den)

the mailman to her rabid dog

the rabid dog to her rabid dog. aka. chaos besties.

the rabid dog to her rabid dog pt two aka, wild ass hook up besties

favourite clients at el anhelo or gravity

an ivy to her harley....

executioners she plays with like little dolls

her other-mother except she's a fucked up lil coraline

she wants to take some trait of urs like ursula did ariel's voice. cut it out and wear it around her neck

you knew her from the housewifey days !!! and she puts on a great act when u run into one another

#lawlessintro #say hi to the murder chihuahua !!!#scopophobia tw

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scotianostra · 1 year

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On November 4th 1864 Robert Stodart Lorimer was born.

Lorimer was born in Edinburgh, the son of James Lorimer, who was Regius Professor of Public Law at Edinburgh University from 1862 to 1890. He was educated at Edinburgh Academy and later at Edinburgh University. He was part of a gifted family, being the younger brother of painter John Henry Lorimer, and father to the sculptor Hew Lorimer. In 1878 the Lorimer family acquired the lease of Kellie Castle in Fife and began its restoration for use as a holiday home.

Robert Lorimer began his architectural career in 1885 working for Sir Robert Rowand Anderson in Edinburgh, and in 1889 for George Frederick Bodley in London, returning to Edinburgh to form his own practice in 1891 with his first major restoration commission at Earlshall in Fife for a friend of his parents. He was influenced by Scottish domestic architecture of the 16th and 17th centuries and the Scots Baronial style of Kellie Castle where he had spent much time as a young man. From his time in Bodley's office, Lorimer was influenced by the ideas of William Morris, and went on to become a committed exponent of the Arts and Crafts approach to architecture. He assembled a collaborative group of artists and craftsmen who, collectively, often contributed to his various commissions and to the manufacture of furniture sent to the Arts and Crafts exhibitions in London. In 1896 he was elected to the Art Workers Guild. Lorimer designed a series of cottages in the Arts and Crafts style in the Colinton area of Edinburgh, the so-called "Colinton Cottages". Constructed using traditional methods and materials, each cottage included a garden layout and interior design, including furniture, in keeping with the Arts and Crafts concept. By 1900, eight cottages had been built and four others were under construction. As his reputation grew the scale of his commissions increased, including major alterations and additions to important houses in various styles, culminating in three entirely new country houses designed in his personal interpretation of Scots Baronial; at Rowallan, Ayrshire, Ardkinglas, Argyllshire, and Formakin, Renfrewshire. Of these, Ardkinglas, on Loch Fyne was the only one built as originally designed and, Lorimer having been given carte blanche, represents his masterpiece. His important restorations at this time include Lennoxlove House, Haddington and probably his most evocative; at Dunderave, Argyllshire on the Ardkinglas estate. He could take a house of modest character and give it a strong personality, such as Pitkerro, Forfarshire or Briglands, Kinross, particularly where he found the raw materials sympathetic, but he could also disregard existing architectural qualities in a way that modern conservation practice would question, if he felt the result justified its replacement, such as at Hill of Tarvit, Fife where he demolished a previous house probably by Sir William Bruce, or at Marchmont, Berwickshire where he re-configured an altered house by William Adam, ignoring Adam's design. He was called in to a number of properties to carry out a range of improvements, such as minor alterations, design of interiors and furnishings, work to ancillary buildings, and garden designs and features. A good representative of this sort of work is Hunterston Castle in Ayrshire. The outbreak of World War I restricted the demand for large new houses and his attention shifted to smaller scale projects, war memorials, and restorations. He already had a reputation as one of Scotland's leading restoration architects following the restoration of Earlshall and Dunderave, and he went on to carry out significant alteration and restoration works at Dunrobin Castle in Sutherland following a fire, and at Balmanno Castle in Perthshire , said to have been the only one of his commissions he would like to have lived in. Although much of his work, and reputation, was in the sphere of domestic architecture, Lorimer also carried out significant public works. Principal amongst these include his design for the new chapel for the Knights of the Thistle in St Giles' Cathedral, Edinburgh in 1911. He received a knighthood for his efforts and went on to gain the commission for the Scottish National War Memorial at Edinburgh Castle in 1919, subsequently opened by the Prince of Wales in 1927.

Lorimer was also responsible for St Andrew's Garrison Church, Aldershot, completed 1927, a large Army church dedicated to the soldiers of the Church of Scotland and kindred churches who lost their lives in World War One. One of his last works (completed posthumously) was Knightswood St Margaret's Parish Church, Glasgow, which was dedicated in 1932. Lorimer became President of the professional body in Scotland, the Incorporation of Architects in Scotland, and it was during his tenure in office that the body received its second royal charter, permitting use of the term 'Royal' in the title. Lorimer was a fellow of the North British Academy of Arts. He died in Edinburgh in 1929.

In previous posts about Lorimer I have featured his more well known properties, the two main pics in today’s post are Hill of Tarvit in Fife and a property on Pentland road Edinburgh, which was on the market last year for a price of just under £3 million.

#Scotland #scottish #architect #history

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skiplo-wave · 2 years

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I feel like I am stuck in falling in a endless shit hole. Wal-Mart is a joke. We get paid less than what we deserve except the lazy ass night shift. We put up with a lot of bullshit. The managers don't do anything. We go to the office and nothing ever happens. I stock shelves and get yelled at because customers say I ain't doing it right - OCD I'm sure - and it's always the elderly people. With them, I always try to be understanding and polite. I get yelled at when we are out of stock of something. I get yelled at because we don't sale a certain brand. I literally had someone spit at me over that. My job is to stock. I don't order the products. Oh yeah, when we do get our orders in the raw meat is usually left out to rot. I swear someone is doing it on purpose. And one of the night shift people keep hiding nasty rotting fish in the freezers as a joke. It takes forever for that smell to get out. I am lucky that I don't work in that area. And last year during Halloween, my store was probably the only store that did not have any Halloween Debbie Cakes because why? Nobody brought them out from the back which means they blew money and beautiful pallets of autumn cakes, pumpkin delights and pumpkin shaped brownies was left uneaten and wasted. People was pissed over that. A Karen actually told a fellow employee "You ruined my holiday." LOL. The cashiers stations are always either broken down or someone yelling because they think it's their job to check to make sure the employee has everything in the cart, there's always a fight in deli and the bakery deals with a lot of big ass horse flies as I call them. Lawn & Garden, you always find the most interesting people there. There are what I call eccentric but quiet and friendly when they speak to you. I am actually thinking about switching to that department for a while. It's much more peaceful. The auto care center is a fucking joke. They always seem to be just hanging around talking and saying they are to busy to replace a tire. The pharmacy seem to have a LOT of lunch breaks which causing a lot of angry people storming in and out of the store. I can't even count how many times we see police coming through the store to detain someone. Customer service and grocery is a joke. (I like Kroger's grocery delivery WAY better). I have tried calling corporate but they seem to have went M.I.A these days. They don't come to the Wal-Mart stores like they use too.

Sorry hear that anon

Sadly walmart just hell hole of customer service

#asks

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terrantravels · 19 days

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Discovering Oregon's Finest via Coastal Tours and Portland City Excursions: Coastal Charms and Urban Wonders

Tucked away in the bucolic Pacific Northwest, Oregon offers a scenery that combines a craggy coastline with colorful cityscapes. Combining Oregon Coast tours with a Portland city tour is a great way for visitors to experience both urban adventure and the natural beauty of this fascinating state. The Oregon Coast is a marvel of natural beauty, spanning more than 360 miles and distinguished by striking cliffs, immaculate beaches, and charming seaside villages. An Oregon Coast tour offers a picturesque journey with possibilities for outdoor exploration and jaw-dropping scenery. Guided excursions along the Oregon Coast frequently include stops at famous locations like the picturesque town of Newport, known for its bustling harbor and historic waterfront, and Cannon Beach, site of the renowned Haystack Rock. Wander along windswept beaches, take in the briny sea air, and be in awe of the coastline's raw beauty. Coastal excursions provide opportunities for wildlife spotting for those who enjoy the outdoors. Visitors may be able to catch a glimpse of the majestic whales, lively seals, and diverse seabirds that call the Oregon Coast home. There are countless natural treasures to be found along the Oregon Coast, whether you choose to hike through lush coastal forests or explore tide pools rich with marine life. A Portland city tour offers a striking contrast after taking in the tranquility of the coast, highlighting the city's diverse charm and rich cultural diversity. Portland is the largest city in Oregon. Portland, well-known for its vibrant arts community, mouthwatering cuisine, and eccentric neighborhoods, provides a unique and dynamic metropolitan experience. Highlights of Portland's guided city tours include the fashionable boutiques and renovated warehouses in the Pearl District, as well as Washington Park's lush vegetation, which is home to the famous International Rose Test Garden. Along with these activities, visitors may tour the vivid street art-adorned alleyways of the city, sip artisanal beers at local breweries, and explore the bustling food cart scene. Apart from them, if you love to spend some quality time with the lap of nature, it is best to opt for the tour guide Multnomah Falls, that would rightly match all your expectations that can perfectly match your needs.

#Oregon Coast tours #Portland city tour #Tour guide Multnomah Falls

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hghgjkhiuygy8hbgfvvm · 1 month

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joshvandervoort · 3 months

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Reducing Your Carbon Footprint - Practical Strategies with Joshua Vandervoort

Farming food requires energy-intensive processes from harvest to shipment and sale - eating local reduces your ecological impact by more than you might realize.

Home energy use is another significant contributor to your carbon footprint, so consider conducting an energy audit and switching from oil, coal, or gas energy sources to renewable sources of power as one way of cutting emissions.

1. Reduce Your Mileage

Driving is one of the most significant sources of carbon emissions. To minimize your impact, try walking or cycling as much as possible instead and using public transit or carpooling when necessary.

It is essential to ensure your vehicle is well-maintained and functioning efficiently. Joshua Vandervoort mentions that cars in traffic waste gas and produce CO2, so use traffic apps or wait if possible. Keep tires inflated properly to maximize fuel efficiency up to 3%; don't accelerate or decelerate abruptly as this wastes energy; use cruise control to maintain an even speed.

Eating locally grown food may seem practical in reducing your carbon footprint, but it's more important to focus on what you eat rather than its origins. Plant-based dishes have lower carbon emissions than animal products, so opt for these when possible. Josh Vandervoort

2. Reduce Your Water Use

A carbon footprint measures the volume of greenhouse gases (GHGs) produced by an individual, organization, or nation over time. GHG emissions contribute to climate change by blocking heat from escaping our atmosphere and contributing to climate change.

Joshua vandervoort Rochester New York emphasizes that as part of your efforts to reduce your carbon footprint, you can reduce water usage by reducing water usage. This may involve shortening your shower time or using less hot water when washing dishes or clothes, or it could mean planting climate-appropriate plants in your garden and investing in low water-use appliances for your home.

Dieting with a whole-food diet can also help you lower your water use. Not only will this be healthier for you and cut back on energy use during the production and transport of the food you eat, but it also reduces resources used in raising animals for meat, one of the significant contributors to climate change.

3. Reduce Your Food Waste

Food waste wastes resources and energy spent growing, packaging, and transporting it; when that food lands in landfills, it produces methane gas, an environmental problem. You can lower your carbon footprint by purchasing only what will be eaten, eating leftovers as part of meals, and composting scraps from shopping carts or trash cans.

Eating locally produced or seasonally relevant produce will also reduce your ecological footprint. Food production requires vast energy to be transported nationwide for cultivation and delivery. Josh Vandervoort Rochester New York

Joshua Vandervoort conveys that your impact can also be reduced by investing in renewable energy sources such as wind or solar, walking, riding a bicycle or using public transit instead of driving, turning off appliances when not necessary, and switching to LED lights, using an efficient electric heat pump and washing clothes in cold water.

4. Recycle Your Waste

Clothing, electronics, and other consumer products require energy for production, from extracting raw materials through manufacturing to delivery. You can reduce their carbon footprint by recycling paper, glass, and plastic waste.

Purchasing reusable plastic containers and forgoing single-use disposable utensils will help lower your carbon footprint since their production, transport, burial, and landfilling require energy. Reusing or composting food and garden waste are additional ways to have an impactful footprint reduction strategy.

5. Buy Energy Efficient Products

Joshua Vandervoort notes that switching to energy-efficient appliances and renewable energy can significantly lower your carbon footprint. But remember that even environmentally friendly products may still release greenhouse gases during manufacture or end-of-life disposal, potentially increasing emissions further.

Shopping sustainably for clothing or electronic devices can help minimize your environmental footprint. Choose items made from recyclable materials or use organic ingredients when possible; buying locally can further reduce impact. Joshua Vandervoort Roch New York

Your home can also help reduce emissions by making simple changes such as using LED bulbs, switching off lights when not in a room, and unplugging appliances. Switching to an energy-efficient washer and dryer could also save energy; lowering your thermostat in winter and raising it during summer can save energy, and switching to an affordable electricity plan with cleaner emissions standards can further decrease your footprint!

6. Choose Sustainable Businesses

Joshua Vandervoort articulates that everything a business does can affect our environment, from sourcing and producing products to shipping them to customers. When selecting an organization to support, make sure their practices are eco-friendly.

If your company ships goods to customers, try offering reusable packaging or using bike-share programs powered by renewable energy sources like solar panels. "Trip chaining," which involves bundling multiple trips on one journey (such as picking up groceries on your way to work), can also help lower carbon emissions.

Companies that practice environmental stewardship can reap several advantages, such as increased employee satisfaction, greater customer engagement, and lower utility bills. Making your business greener undoubtedly benefits companies of all sizes.

#joshua vandervoort #josh vandervoort

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