#this got long and unwieldy

[thevillagequeer]

Please don't think just because Destiny's Children turned into a cult of personality, they didn't follow the typical counterculture talking points of that era. Spirituality, sexual freedom, civil rights, women's equality, definitely liberal drug use on the followers' part, and you better believe Dave wasn't the only one who heard Klaus' warnings about the Vietnam war -- he had those statistics right at the top of his head. Also keep in mind the first major protests didn't start until 1964.

Oh honey darling sweatheart, no no no, i am so sorry its your ask that is going to be on the recieving end of this onslaught you've just walked into the intersection of everything that makes my brain go brrrrrrr 

First of all, if we are going with the rule that klaus can't take part in things that hadn't at the time he was dropped into the past, he certainly cannot be starting a hippy dippy cult. Hell, he shouldn't be strutting around looking like a hippie either! 

If the beatles are still in liverpool, don't even think about the age of aquarius, you get what i'm saying?.  

Hippie culture was so heavily tied to the anti war movement for a multitude of reasons, you can't have the culture of one without the other. Its the same with music, its the same with the rise of cults in this era, it all ties back back to each other and none of these things were as we know them today until the mid to late 60s, certainly not prior to 1964 and definitely not 1960

So if its historically inaccurate to have Klaus fighting against the war in Vietnam in 1961, it's just as inaccurate for him to have started up a cult. 

But, for me at least, that doesn't matter one bit.  Because Klaus isn't a person of the 60s.  He was born nearly 3 decades after the fact. Everything he knows about this time, save for his ten months in the war itself, is how the rest of us learned.  Books, movies, music, the odd recollection from someone who lived through it, perhaps.

When you take someone with ideals influenced by a time or movement and put them into that time before those beliefs were created, it's nigh impossible to keep them from bringing those ideas in too early.

Its a common trope in time-travel fiction, but it's because characters are human. 

Most of them, at least, want to make the world a better place, and being put in the past feels like a key to that, because for once, you have a cheat sheet. No one knows what's going to happen in life, but now you do.  

Humans also love to impress.  They will play Chuck Berry at their parents prom years before it's released.  They will show someone the palm sized computer they can keep in their pocket that has more technology in it than what sent man to the moon.

And do we really think Klaus would be taking note of historical accuracy? The love of his life has less than a decade to live before dying tragically, he's just seen the world end, and for all he knows, he's the only one of his family who made it. If he knows there was a movement to stop the war, why the hell would he care if he joins it a couple years too early? 

Though, to be fair to the point, I will dive in a little bit to how the cults of the 60s functioned with the aesthetic Klaus and his followers adopted as well as with the anti war movement.

As you mentioned, all of this falls under what we now call the counterculture of the 1960s. It was called this because quite literally, it was *countering* the culture of the time.

the world the flower children of the 60s were born into was tight laced, kept up appearances, and abided by strict social rules.  they danced the foxtrot, they starched their shirts and sent their boys off to die.  

everything they did from then on was to fight against that. it was all an act of rebellion, an act of rejection. the status quo they were dying for needed to know they were not abiding

That's why the aesthetics of stereotypical cults and hippies were and honestly still often are used interchangeably, because a lot of cult leaders would use theseaesthetics and buzzwords to draw young, passionate folks in.

now, given how Klaus has an almost reverse view of all this, entering the decade with the knowledge of how it ends, this is how I can see him accidentally attracting a following by just bringing forth what the 60s were getting to, only sooner.

Because, honestly, if we are talking about cultural shifts and all that jazz and how that spurred these touchstones forward, if especially in line with season 2 of tua, the shift started when Kennedy was shot. That;s the turning point.

(As a history goof, i would argue that the real linchpin was the assassination of Robert Kennedy, not JFK, but we're not really talking about history history rn lol even though this is incredibly long already and I do apologize I just loveeeee this shit)

So, if Klaus wouldn't have been allowed to be an anti war activist prior to 1964, he couldn't be a cult leader in the way he was either. Because technically, historically, the true unrest of the 60s that spurred the attraction to cults, that got these social movements into unruly high gear, doesn't happen until the Hargreeves are all back together and Klaus has abandoned Destiny's Children. 

Charlie Manson wasn't getting shit into gear until around 1967 and the other well know American cult of the time that *did* run at the same time as Destiny's Children, the People's Temple (Jonestown ring any bells?) was specifically run as a Christian community under the guise of being marxist liberation. And they weren't even doing traditional cult shit until the mid-60s either. 

Now, onto Klaus. In s2, the cult is not much more than set dressing. It gives them a cool place to stay and a handful of characters to interact with. Either way you slice it, it was an underused aspect of the season.

But more importantly, what was the role the cult was supposed to fill in the story?

in my opinion it boils down to these points:

Klaus is a charismatic little bitch and he can attract all sorts of people to him with insane ease

Klaus is not good at dealing with things and instead throws his energy out to externalities, obsessions even

He needed to be infamous

Lets take stock of Klaus within the first days of arriving in Dallas, 1960

he is 59 years in the past with only his ghost brother 

they have just come an earth literal seconds away from total annihilation

days before his sibling ended the world, he was actually much closer to the time he is in now.  he's just spent 10 months in Vietnam, 1968

the last days in the war, he lost the love of his life to a gunshot wound to the chest.  he bled out in his arms.  

he's wearing bowling shoes

Literally, though, from Klaus' own words, we know he has never loved anyone like he loved Dave.  And now, he has nearly a decade to prevent his death.  

As viewers, we can see starting Destiny's Children as a distraction on Klaus' part, and that's understandable.  Who wouldn't want a lighthearted distraction to the tune of the summer of love? (which, again, wasn't until 1967 but..)

But, if we're to believe Klaus' goal of keeping Dave alive, shouldn't we also be inclined to think that maybe, even if it wasn't his intent, he was a bit too passionate about the cause to be read as anything but an anti war activist? That even if he tried to just blend in, he'd end up getting a little too heated in conversation? A little too pointed in what he said to kids debating on enlisting? Things that when overheard time and time again, would make certain people think he had a certain agenda?

Because really, what about Klaus in season 2 makes him a cult leader? The throngs of people? Fine, but why are they following him? The wild outfits? Sure, but that's just Klaus, isn't it? Even his followers seem to have taken more from him than he ever led them.  The whole time, it seems like Klaus attracted people with no intention of spreading shit.  He needed food and a place to stay, so he groveled.  It grew from there.  He got in over his head.  Because Klaus is smarter than he realizes.  Who the hell can accidentally start a cult? 

Anyway, its a disservice to the character.  because yes, its impressive, but what did it really do to further the character? we don't even get to see how it affected his relationship with substances! we are just told he's sober.  sober in the 1960s. in a supposedly hippie cult.  okkkkk. 

the plotline and concept on the whole just doesn't check any boxes and it doesn't add any depth.  that's why I am so critical of it.  I don't care if Klaus had a go at being an asshole cultist that he'd have to atone for, just if it's done well.  And it wasn't.  And I honestly do not believe it is in Klaus' character to act in that way.  That's why I think it would have made more sense for him to have ended up as an accidental activist rather than an accidental cult leader.  Because it'd be just as selfish– he'd be in it for one person and one person only. But maybe it wouldn't stay that way.  It'd lead to the same reach and infamy, without the blurriness and crude steterotyping and reliance on cheap humor.  

This got verryyyyy long and I bet it also makes 0 sense, but I do not have the braincells to try and make it more lucid, I'm sorry.  I just love both these topics very much sooooo a lot of words.  

If anyone ends up actually reading this you are amazing and I love you and we should probably be mutuals and talk 

#oof sorry #this got long and unwieldy #thats what she said ;) #ok sorry fr hope some of this made sense #all my special interests combining at once oooo #klaus hargreeves #tua #the umbrella academy #tua meta

[ratgirlcopia]

if i start posting about my one copia-coded oc. well. be ready for that.

#thinking about her so much lately. she kills people for her dad who pretends he's not her dad. she's autistic. she's never been truly loved. #she loves ants and has an ant farm and leaves old food all over her bedroom so more ants will come over. #she has a ridiculous makeup routine she has to do every day or she'll die. she eats string cheese and cold boiled eggs and energy drinks. #she has a younger half-brother who's a marine biologist and hates her. #her entire character arc is her wanting to get fucked so bad she orchestrates a coup. #she's jesus coded (dies age 33 and comes back). #somehow i made her long before i ever knew copia existed. but i'm sure you can see now why he appeals to me so much. #anyway i wrote one egregiously long book about her but it ended up in my backlog. and got kinda unwieldy. #so i'm gonna pick it for scraps + write another one and just. focus on what really matters this time (all of the above things). #she's probably my favorite oc like i for real have written something in the range of 250k words of content about her. #anyway. ANYWAY.

[dashuisofanubis]

Me, already watching 3 or so shows: I'm gonna rewatch HoA s2

#this is my way of saying expect a live blog starting in the coming days 😅 #i havent even finished watching s4 of hha yet and i need to watch de vijf #but i havent rewatched s2 since i made this blog and i want to get a better grasp of the characters for seven sins #bc somehow its been a year since i did my s3 rewatch so im just losing perspective on characters like Amber and Nins #plus ive been rewatching @yackers once said videos and i forgot how chaotic the show is i miss it so much #i do want to finish hha but i also dont bc s4's become sort of mythologised in my mind so i dont want to find out the truth and finish it #on the other hand i really want to see what marijke's all about #so i'll get there eventually 😂 #im also determined to finish watching Voyager before i move out of this flat so ive got 3 weeks to do that 😂 #in seven sins news: they've finally set foot on the path but thats as far as i got bc i got distracted trying to describe fabians outfit #hes the first one as well so this is gonna be fun #im also nearly at 4000 words already so this chapter is gonna be long bc i know where i want this one to end #that being said i think i could find a place to split it if it gets too unwieldy #anyway this is very off topic and i need to sleep #XD #i just realised i said @yackers once said videos and i meant @charlie-pippin-faraday sorry!!

[jeongharine]

a sea of tangerines

⚝ mingyu x reader

⚝ angst, romance, established couple, smut

⚝ notes: i really can't get out of my mind that postcard so i had to use it in the story to get it out of my system. i think it has become one of my favourite written letters by an anonymous on the web.

anyways, happy early holidays to you reading. hope this period treats you well x

christmas eve, in a metropolis somewhere in the world.

"we used to live here together. i’m walking down the streets with a bag of tangerines in this city that we liked to call home. this is the only address that i could think of. happy holidays"

x

it was a hectic busy evening of december. the subway was full and mingyu really just wanted to rest. to lay on his comfy sofa and laze for the last days before the christmas crazyness. but he was stuck in a stupid metallic transport that had the resemblance of an infinite tunnel, with what seemed like the rest of the whole city.

something poked his tired left foot. then another, and another one. tangerines. a dozens of them. a wave of tangerines coming up at his feet.

he raised his head, and that’s when he spotted a ripped shopping bag held with all its might by slender fingers.

that’s when you spotted strong hands coming at you with your tangerines, a whispered sorry coming out of your mouth.

“it’s absurd really, a sea of tangerines coming up at my feet as if i had been the seashore. i thought i had hallucinations or something,”

that made you smile. “if only the supermarket shopping bags were not so shitty and-” “it was only a bag of tangerines rolling down the subway, though.”

right. it was only that.

“where you stopping by the way? maybe you do need a hand now,”

a puzzled look on your face. but then a smile. “right, me and my unwieldy tangerines need some help,”

that made him smile, though it was only a bag of tangerines rolling down the subway.

x

you left the natural tangerines onto the kitchen counter. the market with the fresh products wasn’t that far from your apartment and you waited for the rain to stop to go and do some grocery, wetting yourself nonetheless because the rain started again on your way back. 

busy streets had stopped their chant and the citylights brightly lit around when mingyu stopped by.

“hey,” he ruffled his black hair back with a smile, stepping inside.

“you made it home early,” the heavy door creaking a little while closing it. “it was a bit hectic but yeah,”

“you did well,” you complimented. you looked at him fondly, making sure he took in the praise. it was never easy for him, and you knew it well. “join me on the sofa after you showered?” pointing at his sweaty tshirt.

mingyu hummed, pleased. “got something in mind?” you chuckled.

“actually, i just would like to spend some cozy time with my boyfriend if you mind,” you answered. mingyu couldn’t hide his disappointment, looking sullen like he’d wish for another answer. “i was kidding gyu, if you want to keep your girlfriend occupied in some other way it’s fine as well.”

it was one in the morning, the lamp dimly lit the room against the bingling lights of the street outside. mingyu shut the tv before slouching on the cushions next to you. he curled behind you, the smell of fabric softener and vanilla shampoo all around you. 

he sighed deeply, nose buried in the crook of his loved one. the suspire beard in itself all the tiredness and weariness of the long day. “how long can you stay this time?”

“about ten days more or less,” you replied. after college you made it into the marketing world, and managed to get a good position job for a firm in the city. it was a source of proudness for you, for your parents and mingyu. but everything always comes with a burden. and travelling for work wasn’t that simple anymore.

distance was never easy, constantly keeping that in mind and making time to never skip anniversaries and holidays. you settled for that, and knew it would be challenging but this would have done for now.

“tired?”

“mmh,” he mumbled, leaving a trail of kisses on your neck. “it was very busy tonight in the restaurant. lots of dishes to prepare.” he placed his hand on your belly, slowly following the rising of your breaths. he took them in. mingyu would always be ready to take everything that’s bothering you. 

there was a scratch on your watch, mingyu dropped it on the pavement last time you went away. he gently pulled you in, making you turn to face him.

his rough hand met your cheek, thumb stroking it gently to draw your mouth closer to his. his tongue eager, tiredness was not so present anymore. and so he kissed you like all the stars in the sky above would have exploded. 

“i like this couch though,” mingyu whispered, lips damp from the kiss. “what do you mean?”

“that your boyfriend has something else in mind,” mingyu answered.

“bed’s waiting then.” you intertwined your fingers with his, leaving a peck on his nose.

the city lights danced slowly outside the window, a siren breaking the silence of the night when you went to the bedroom. everyone was asleep in the nearby apartments and you moved around like new lovers, when taking the risk of getting caught. but the night was gentle to you, keeping your secrecy like an oath.

being extra cautious when you brought mingyu in, the latter trying not to knock you over the drawer of your room when stripping you. you tumbled onto the white sheets, legs forever intertwined. 

“i want to marry you.” mingyu whispered, kissing you gently on the shoulder. “i found the perfect house for us, not too far from the subway for the airport and the restaurant.” 

the bed squeaked, and you smiled. you wanted that, as badly as mingyu wanted it. but it was not in your nature to rush things. mingyu looked at you fondly, the moon was brighter and he could see your soul.

“that sounds nice gyu, maybe we can look at it with purpose in a few months.” 

“yeah? y/n, you’re not fooling with me right?”

“no, i just need a few months to adjust some things at work then we can start to really think about it,” you replied, heart beating like it never had before. “come here and kiss me,” you caressed his black locks of hair. but mingyu didn’t. 

he started to trail kisses lower down your neck, breasts, stomach and slipped your undies down kissing your pubic bone and you were not prepared for it. “gyu–”

“i missed you, let me treat you as you deserve..”

mingyu got you wrapped around his finger with his sweet mouth and hand intertwined with yours. “oh,” you sighed when he suckled a little bit harder. “i don’t think i can last.”

“should i stop then?” mingyu asked, after pulling off with a pop.

“n–no, keep going baby,” you whined. the heat of the moment and your slick making you sticky, you were desperately thrusting up your hips in his face, which wasn’t easy but you tried nonetheless. mingyu responded to you with low groans, leaving your pussy unkissed like a punishment. 

“you’re so annoying.” “stop whining like a baby,” he kissed you, galaxies exploding far away but the chanting of the subway trains covered it into the night. “you taste like tangerines,” 

“ate them before,” “you’re the sweetest.” mingyu meant it literally, but you smiled like it was said just to please you. your head tilted into the soft pillow when his lips met yours with another kiss, tongue muffling all the noises.

he grabbed your back, twisting you over with the tug of his hand down his thigh. you had your leg splayed over mingyu’s waist, heavy breaths, you studied him with a perplexed cast. “want to make love to me like this?” 

“honey, for i do really love giving you a good pound into the bed i don’t have it in me right now.” you laughed, sliding off mingyu’s underwear fast. “you still have that oil there?” 

“yep,” you emphasized on the p while mingyu reached to your bedside table. his slicked up dick teased along your pussy’s lips just to hear you sigh before he slid in. a moan buried in his sweaty neck. “f-fuck .”

mingyu growled lowly. hands on your ass so the grinding was smoother on the push down. your eyes rolling back stupidly. “feels so good baby, fuck.” 

the praise made you quiver. heavy panting, desperate breathing, slippery fair skin on tan skin, tits and pecs knocking against each other because you were that close. 

mingyu rutted up another inch, your gut twisted. “y-yeah , i like that–” mingyu gasped loudly, inhaling fast. “if you keep talking i might pound into you.”

“guess you’re not tired anymore then.” “i always work hard for you.” you did not fight him when he laid you flat on the mattress under himself. you choked on a breath when mingyu couldn’t keep it to himself from fucking you that hard, especially when you were lain pliant like this. all exposed just for him and no-one else. fuck if it will never stop to drive him stupid.

the bed creaked under mingyu’s ministrations, his hips snapped rapidly and the sheets were bunched up tight in your fists. you couldn’t say you were not into it either. 

you didn’t push away mingyu’s fingers when he placed it on your delicate nub and started to circle on it. “you have to come first,” and it was not hard for him to accomplish that, you gave it to him shortly after. burning hot along your nerves, you felt the sweet unraveling you never could control, and mingyu felt it as well when your hot spurts spilled onto his abdomen, grabbing onto his bulky arms as if they were your personal lifeline.

you breathed in satisfaction, and mingyu was desperate for his high then, pumping fast for an orgasm he waited all day for and spilling over your stomach. he pumped slowly then, tiredness hitting him. “dirty.”

he chuckled when you locked him in an embrace. “i want to marry you now, tonight even.” 

you bubbled with a laugh. “i know, but give me at least three months.”

“one month.”

“no baby, i’m serious.” he replied, impatience slowly started building its home in the back of his mind. “do you want to go out and take a stroll around the city tomorrow?”

“yes, i would love to. i worked so hard today.” “i know.”

mingyu sighed. “but i will always work harder for you.” he promised kissing your nose, christmas lights sparkling the night sky hiding his promise.

you hummed into his damp hair. you would only take one month. mingyu had worked hard enough.

#mingyu x reader #kim mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #mingyu smut #seventeen fic #mingyu fic #svt fic #mingyu x y/n #seventeen smut #mingyu scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines

[teyamsatan]

This one is a bit smutty...Just a little lol. But !

Okay ! Imagine Neteyam being passed the title as the new olo'eyktan (Just to say that I have no idea when it is done. Like at a certain age or if mate is preg ? I don't know :P)

Him being very very stressed and all. So... they haven't been doing it for a moment (He's not really it the mood). And like one time, in the middle of the night he wakes up with a huge and hard one (He tries to ignore it but of course it doesn't work). He's like really needy and desperate to relief himself but for some reason he refuses to do it alone. Shortly after his mate wakes up because she feels him moving on the mat and hears muffled breathings (panting). And the rest is up to you !

It's kinda kinky haha :× Some slight subby Nete and maybe soft dom in the end :3

Anyways have sweet dreams tonight 💕🌌😴🌙And love your writing ! Muah*

this kinda got away from me hahahah

thank you bby, i really loved this actually! hope you enjoy x

wc: 1.8k words

warnings: smut (p in v, oral - m receiving, squirting, switch!Neteyam, overstimulation, choking) 18+ minors DNI

After some 20 years of incredible rule, it was finally time for Jake to step down as Olo'eyktan. It wasn't that he wasn't capable of going on, it was that it was more and more obvious by the day that Neteyam was ready. He was ready to step in his father's shoes, he was ready to fulfil the destiny that he was born into, that he had worked for tirelessly, every day of his 20 year long life. His father had no doubt in his mind that he would be the best clan leader the Omatikaya had ever seen, a sentiment shared among most of the villagers.

You were incredibly proud of your mate. He was the youngest Olo'eyktan the Omatikaya ever had, and he was more than raising to the challenge. It was an honour to be his mate, it was a privilege watching him be the person you always knew he was, the leader everyone had reason to look up to, the man of your dreams.

Unfortunately, the praise, the title and the status also came with so much burden, so much stress and responsibility, it was hard for either of you to keep up, hard for him to navigate, to find a balance. So recently, Neteyam has been distant and withdrawn, burying himself in work and strategies, being the first one to rise and the last one to sleep. He wanted to be a good leader, and he believed that a good leader should be an example for his people, should be the one that works the hardest, should be the one that continuously strives to be better and do better for his clan.

You barely saw him anymore, much less spent time with him, felt him, touched him, had him. You refused to intervene, though. Neteyam was a well of depth sometimes even you weren't capable enough to swim in, and you knew that when he was ready to talk to you, to let you in, he would. He always did, eventually. He just needed time.

Neteyam was exhausted. Turns out he owed his dad a million apologies for all the times he thought him cold, or unwieldy, or detached from reality or his family. Turns out he was just worried, and stressed and feeling the overbearing weight of so many lives depending on him to lead, to choose, to make the best decisions, and that was no easy task. Neteyam missed you. He felt guilt and sadness enwrap him tightly at the thought. He's always had time for you. You were his priority always, and yet he knew he didn't make good on that recently.

You have always been so in love with each other, so obsessed with each other, so into each other that the rest of the world felt middling and insignificant by comparison. Neteyam could pinpoint the stars in the sky in your eyes, the thrill of tumultuous waters in the colour of your skin, the bioluminescent beauty of Pandora in your eyes, the transcending comfort of the earth in the colour and feel of your hair. You were his world. You encapsulated everything he loved about it, about life, and he loved you, he needed you, he craved you more than he'd ever be able to describe.

The thought of you as he drifted off to sleep led him to dream about you, his mind transposing him to a reality he desired desperately, but which time didn't allow at the moment. He felt you, your taut, lean body writhing underneath him as his hands trailed it hungrily, as his lips claimed your mouth, as he took orgasm after orgasm, the lewd sounds escaping you music to his ears. The dream dissipated slowly, much to his disappointment, leaving him a panting mess, his cock twitching, hurting against his now too-tight loincloth.

"Fuck."

You were fast asleep in Neteyam's arms, your soft, steady breaths the only thing that could be heard in your shared tent. Your ass was pressed snugly against Neteyam's groin, furthering his pain and incessant need to just take you and fuck you until you both passed out in exhaustion, blissfully spent.

The sound of quiet moans woke you up from your dream-filled slumber, wet dreams haunting your mind recently, the only way you got to experience the release you needed desperately. Your eyes widened slightly when you realised the dream spilled onto your reality, and the sounds came from your mate, who seemed like he was in pain. You turned around hurriedly, only to find him sprawled on his back, long slender fingers wrapped around his thick length. The heat you felt within your womb spread like wildfire all within you, awakening your senses and focusing them on him, on his beautiful face contorted in pain, on his pheromones that inundated your nostrils, on the way the pronounced veins running down his arm were more accentuated with the grip he had on his cock, and God, what an incredible sight that was. Your mouth filled with saliva taking it all in, at the memories of all the times his dick made you see stars, at the thought of how he would again tonight, after so long of being without it. He was a god among men, and you had him. You owned him. Maybe it was time he was reminded of it.

"Neteyam... if you needed help, all you had to do was ask."

His moans increased in volume as you wrapped your fingers around him and started pumping him with slow, languid motions. He was rock hard under your touch, white liquid pooling at the tip, and you couldn't help but accept the silent invitation, bringing your lips to it and kissing him softly, throbbing deep inside of you at the way he was coming apart at the seams around you.

"Baby, please..."

"Patience, my love."

You took as much of his impressive length in your mouth as you could, feeling him deep in your throat, eyes watering as the pressure made you gag slightly. You started a slow, purposeful bob of your head, taking your time, feeling every vein, every ridge, every striation of his cock, learning him by heart, imprinting him in your mind. You loved this man, and as much as you loved when he rutted into you like an animal in heat, there was nothing that compared to the thrill of the power that came with seeing him putty in your hands, in your mouth, in you. As the ache you felt continued to rear its ugly head, you let go of him with a small pop and straddled his thighs, aligning yourself easily and rubbing his tip in between your soaked folds, moaning at the contact, craving the way he filled you up in the way only he ever could.

Your synced gasps made your cunt clench around him as you lowered yourself slowly, until you bottomed out, until you could feel him deep in you, so deep that a small bump was formed in your abdomen, that you revelled at, that you wanted him to. You took his hand in yours and placed his palm on the spot, moaning at you started grinding on him leisurely.

"Feel that, my love? Feel how deep in me you are, how good you fill me up? I feel your cock in my guts, baby."

You felt the growl he released deep in your soul, its intensity leaving you breathless, and you allowed the feeling to overtake you, as the atmosphere in the room changed suddenly, and so did his demeanour. Your words snapped something in him, because his eyes darkened so much, you could barely see any discernable yellow in them anymore, and you barely registered the way he grabbed you roughly and flipped you until you were on your back, his cock still buried inside you. You gasped loudly at the way your body made contact with the ground and at his look, feral and untamed, and it would have scared you if it wasn't so fucking hot, so primal and raw, so erotic and so, so necessary. His hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed until there was no air in your lungs anymore, until your head went dizzy, until your insides churned in need.

"You make me fucking crazy. How did I go so long without your tight little cunt wrapped around my cock, huh?"

Without warning, he starts a ruthless pace, knocking you back with every animalistic thrust, keeping you in place roughly by your throat, until your cervix was battered and bruised, until you came around him once, twice, three times. You were crying from overstimulation, from the high of the intermittent asphyxiation, from how his brutal actions were antithetic to his gentle caress of your cheek or the occasional peck on the forehead in between orgasms.

"Neteyam, I can't anymore -"

"Yes, you can, my love. One more. Just one more and then you can sleep. You're doing so well for me, baby."

He brought a hand to your thighs, bringing them over his shoulders and the new angle was allowing him to drag his cock on your G-spot repeatedly, making your vision blurry and your core throb yet again, the familiar feeling pooling in you once more, more acute than any of the previous. His thumb was circling your clit, and the pressure was too much, it was so good, it was heaven and hell, it was everything and not enough.

"There you go, baby, I can feel you squeezing my cock again. You gonna milk me? You gonna be a good girl and take my cum, let me fill this pretty pussy up? Gonna smell like me for a whole week, huh?"

"Y-yes, fuck yeah!"

"You like having my cum drip down your thighs for all the village to see, huh? Like everybody knowing you're getting fucked by the Olo'eyktan?"

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head at his words and you squirted all over your mate as the most intense orgasm you've ever had in your life washed over you, leaving you convulsing around him until your body was limp and your mind blank. He came with a moan, ropes of thick cum painting your pink walls and spilling down your ass and onto the fabric of your mat. He didn't pull out, not for a long time, collapsing on top of you instead, kissing your face and down your neck softly, like a whisper or warm hug. You loved how he was the best of both worlds, how he cherished you, how he always made sure you were ok, how he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, about how amazing you were, about how well you did for him, how you were his world and his brightest star, the love of his life, the best thing that has ever happened to him.

You were both spent and on the brink of sleep when you spoke serenely.

"So... did you only want to become Olo'eyktan so you can use that line on me or...?"

#༊*·˚ andra's works #neteyam #neteyam x human!reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam fanfic #neteyam reader #neteyam sully #avatar #avatar twow #avatar fanfic #neteyam x avatar!reader #neteyam sully fanfiction #neteyam angst #awow #awow neteyam #neteyam smut #neteyam x y/n #avatar way of water #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam x you #neteyam fluff #neteyam drabble #avatar drabble #avatar x reader

[thavron]

I was writing a meta post about the final fifteen and honestly it got so long an unwieldy that I gave up and just decided to live in denial land for a bit. But there is one piece of the puzzle I want to put out there, and that's how the flashbacks are edited, or one in particular.

I've seen a couple of great posts about how the flashback minisodes are edited in season two to be from Aziraphale's POV and not the Objective View, and if I was a better meta writer I'd have links for you, but I'm not, sorry. I've also seen a few posts discussing whether Aziraphale is a reliable narrator. That is definitely something we ought to consider when dealing with this sort of POV storytelling, but not entirely relevant to my post, but worth reading about if you have the time.

What I want to discuss is how the Metatron conversation is edited. We see Aziraphale go outside with the Metatron, this is the usual objective viewpoint. It then cuts to the scene inside the shop. We don't see the Metatron conversation again until Aziraphale is talking to Crowley. The way it is edited makes it very clear that this is not just a flashback but also Aziraphale recounting the tale. The use of "He said-" cut to scene, and "I said" cut to scene makes it as clear as the editor possibly can make it. It is a technique often used in editing to reduce exposition monologuing. Whether this is an accurate depiction of the Metatron conversation, we don't know but not actually relevant to my point (though worth thinking about).

What I want to point out is that Aziraphale chose to give Crowley four important pieces of information.

I don't want to go back to heaven.

There are enormous projects afoot. (consider that they have already discussed the possibility of a second Armageddon, though only Crowley knows about the Second Coming.)

They know about the Arrangement.

We could go together as angels.

He says all this in such a way that suggests he's fully drank the cool aid, but if we review the information without the dramatics it sounds more like a warning.

The use of double signalling ("it'll be like the old times, but even nicer" whilst shaking his head no) which occurs throughout the scene, this post and this video got me thinking about how deceptive Aziraphale is being. But he's not trying to deceive Crowley. He is trying to pass on the above information, hinting that he has a plan, whilst putting on a show for whoever is watching. He assumes Crowley is on the same page, and then it all falls apart when it becomes apparent that Crowley is really not. This is when he changes tack, and begins to panic.

He's left with the horrible task of trying to respond to Crowley's declaration positively, whilst not breaking the illusion. Which is why we get lines like "We can be together... as angels."

He also obviously sees them as a unit already (our car, our shop) and so it may not have he occurred to him that Crowley wouldn't just trust him and follow him into heaven. It's insensitive yes, but also not out of character for Aziraphale. I think this is the real kicker here, Aziraphale feels rejected because Crowley doesn't trust him enough to follow, and Crowley feels rejected because he doesn't feel good enough. Yet they are both clearly saying they want to be together.

I think the final few moments with Aziraphale and the Metatron is really what sells this idea to me. He is left undecided. He has the choice, abort mission and follow Crowley, or go ahead alone. He's devastated and you can see him wavering. If this was truly about him being excited to go back to heaven, I don't think we would see this indecision.

I can not decide just what is motivating Aziraphale to leave, whether he sees a sliver of hope to fix things in heaven, or whether he has decided to take on the role of hornet in a bees nest, but what is abundantly clear to me is that he has a plan and he wanted Crowley to help him, and Crowley said no. Or maybe he didn't. He was waiting by the car after all. Maybe this moment is what allowed him to move forward with a smile?

#good omens #good omens meta #my meta

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Tonality [3]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: more creepy dream fuel, Geralt being slimy and having ulterior motives, and a little more tension with reader and her mother. all in all, i think you guys will enjoy this latest addition. as always, please mind the warnings, and enjoy!😊🥰 divider by @firefly-graphics​

The doe’s coat is as yellow as spun gold, and she blinks at you nervously as you approach. You cannot hide your childish squeal of delight, though it vexes her further. She nickers, shifting from hoof to hoof as she blinks at you with wide eyes. 

 “Papa, is she really mine?” You ask, your quiet voice heavy with awe. “She’s beautiful.” You hold out a hand, and her nostrils flare at your scent. Her long ears flick back, laying flat against her head behind her horns. They’re small—she’s young, barely a year old, perhaps less—and still covered with soft, velvety baby fur that you know will shed as she ages. 

 “Careful,” your father’s voice is ripe with caution. “She is new. Young, still, and a bit unwieldy.” You cluck your tongue at her, producing the sugar cubes you’d stolen from your mother’s tea tray from the sleeves of your dress. “I said careful—!” The doe leans forward, pressing her muzzle into your outstretched hand. You raise an eyebrow at your father, who shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh puffing out from between his lips. You stroke her head, running your fingers gently between her antlers and softly flicking ears. 

 “She about took Gaspard’s hand off this morning, she was so wild,” he says, shaking his head. “And yet she eats from your own as if you had weaned her yourself.” 

 “Did Gaspard try sugar?” You ask, giggling as her lips tickle your palm. “Perhaps she mightn’t have tried to amputate his fingers had he kept some of his salt to himself.” The wind shifts, and beneath the doe’s thick animal scent, there is something else.

 Something like sulphur and rotting meat.

 Your hand passes down the doe’s head, and her skin sloughs off beneath your fingers, leaving shiny, white bone behind. You gag, clapping a bloody hand over your mouth as fat flies buzz lazily out of her empty eye sockets. Wrong. This is wrong, it doesn’t happen like this—

 How does it go, again?

 Your father gifts you the doe, the golden doe, you are eighteen, you are a woman now, you will ride with him on the hunt, you will—

 “Su—gar swe—et,” Your father’s voice is the buzzing of a thousand glistening black flies, his tongue is made from them, wriggling in his wide open mouth. His eyes are children’s scribbles, black and writhing, and tears like ink drip from their corners. “It tasted like sugar—”

 It is then that you remember your father is dead.

 He is dead. He is dead here, because he is dead everywhere, dead and rotting and gone but not gone and you mustn’t listen, you mustn’t—

 You wake with a sharp gasp. 

 “—Princess?” The words dissolve into a static, meaningless drone as you are thrust suddenly back into consciousness. For a moment, the dream is still overlaid over the waking world like runny watercolor as you blink groggily in the dark. Beneath your trembling fingers, you can still feel the doe’s soft, golden coat—and the sharp, polished bone of her skull. With a sweaty palm against the wall, you retch, doubling over as you heave. 

 Nothing comes up. 

 The air around you is stale, stagnant, and the taste of dust and decay blankets your tongue as you swallow down lungful after panicked lungful. One thing is abysmally clear to you as you dizzily rest a hand on the cold stone to keep yourself upright—

 You are not in your rooms. 

 Where am I?

 “Princess.” The voice sounds again, and your head snaps about wildly, your eyes wide as you stare into the dark. The dream is still there, sticking the fringes of your waking thoughts like tar, and for a moment there are two voices, one made of dark black honey, sickly sweet, and the other the insectile buzz of a thousand glassy wings all beating in unison—

 “Wh-who goes there?” You ask, dragging the back of your hand across your quivering mouth. There is a sound like the sharp rushing of air, and all at once the room is lit with warm yellow light. You suppress a scream as your father’s withered, sunken face appears before you, his eyes like children’s scribble—you shut your eyes, closing them tightly as you whimper. 

 “A dream, this is a dream, a dream—” A cool, bare hand wraps about your wrist and you scream, pulling and fighting as fiercely as you can manage. “No! No! You’re dead—!” You cry, hysterical tears creeping out of the corners of your closed eyes. 

 “I regret to inform you, little sister, that I am very much alive.” It is not your father’s voice—not the dead—but your step-brother’s. “Despite your best attempts to dispatch me.” Slowly, you open your eyes, sniffling as you meet his gaze. He nods up at your balled fists, still trembling in his grip. You can feel the heat of him through his own loose night-shirt and your thin cotton shift, and your skin prickles as he licks his lips. 

 “Release me.” You say it with more confidence than you feel. For a moment, you feel your step-brother drag his thumb across your pulse point and cock his head, as though he is considering it. 

 “Will you strike me again, little princess?” He asks, a mocking smile curling at the corners of his mouth. You scowl. “I did not plan for a midnight brawl.” You shake your head, your cheeks flaming. Geralt stares at you for a moment, like his golden eyes see something yours do not. As you prepare to make the demand again, he frees your wrists. You clutch your hands to your chest, eyeing him warily. The torch he has lit casts the long room in dim orange light, the flames dancing in his irises, turning them molten. It is the firelight, you think, that makes him look so menacing, so…

 Hungry. 

 You shiver, turning your gaze instead to your surroundings, squinting at the long stone hall in the flickering light. The cool, stagnant air is disturbed only by the sound of your quiet breath, which catches in your throat as your eyes widen.

 “Where…are we?” You ask, though you fear you know the answer already. 

 The walls are lines with alcoves bearing countless candles, stuck into the melted pools of wax left by their predecessors rather than into proper candelabras. And in neat rows in front of them… 

 Graves. Made of the same gray stone as the castle. Highly polished and clean, they are each adorned with ornate carvings of their occupants. You stare grimly at the rows and rows of polished stone, and wonder at how you might have possibly found your way here through the dark labyrinth of the castle. You think again of the dream, and gooseflesh rises again on your skin. 

 ”Did you bring me here?” You round on the prince, your brow furrowed. He chuckles in response, and the sound of it grates against you. 

 “Me? I merely followed you. In truth I had wondered why you would visit the catacombs at this hour. I thought perhaps,” his eyes narrow as a crude grin plays at the corners of his mouth. “A secret paramour, or—”

 “Do not confuse me with yourself!” You snap, wrapping your arms around your body as you shiver. The prince clucks his tongue at your ire.

 “Come now, don’t be cross, little sister,” Geralt purrs. “It wouldn’t have been proper to leave you wandering the hallways in your state of undress, muttering to yourself like a madwoman.” Your cheeks warm at his crude words, and you feel angry, embarrassed tears flush hotly into the space behind your eyes. You blink them back. 

 “I… have not walked in my sleep since I was a child,” you admit, looking down at the space between your bare feet. Geralt hums in response. Old Madge, in her half-blind wisdom had always muttered fearfully to your father about your nightly escapades. 

 A soul shouldn’t walk about at night, she would say, her thin, knobby fingers twisting strands of honeysuckle and dried lavender together into a long chain, one she would wind around your bed’s posts every night for a year until finally you stayed in it. A soul shouldn’t walk about at night. What’s it lookin’ for?

 “I fear I…” You shake your head, swallowing your concerns—they are not for him to hear.  “No matter.” For an instant, a look of disappointment crosses his face before it is gone again, leaving you to wonder if you had even seen it at all. “Thank you.” Your reluctance is palpable. “For waking me.” 

 “You’ve no need to thank me. Not yet.” His eyes glitter darkly. You swallow thickly, and they follow the movement, sweeping almost lazily down the line of your throat. “Let us go.” They flick back up to yours. “Unless you wish to spend the night here?” He gestures behind you, and you shiver again, shaking your head quickly. 

 “Please.” 

 You are grateful to leave the eerie silence of the royal catacombs behind you, following as closely as you dare behind the prince. His torch throws up strange shapes on the walls of the narrow, spiraling stairwell. You can feel the dream sitting at the edges of your thoughts, waiting eagerly to settle back over you like fog. You were not predisposed to bad dreams, and yet they seemed to be the only ones you have had since you arrived. You have been beset with dark thoughts, nipping at your heels like hungry dogs, no—

 Wolves. 

 The two of you emerge from the narrow stairwell into the empty chapel, and the vast hall echoes with your entry. The sconces are dark, and the robed, painted priests nowhere to be seen. The chapel is far less intimidating at night, the sharp features of the northern gods softened by shadow. Cold moonlight filters down softly through the domed ceiling, the colors pale and muted. For a moment, the perfectly round moon is framed perfectly by the pane of red glass containing Father Wolf, shining bright crimson above his head as you pass beneath it. 

 The choking scent of the incense is gone now, and only a trace of it remains in the still air. It is overpowered by a thick, musky animal scent that reminds you of wet fur. As the two of you cross the center of the room, Geralt hooks left, towards the wide, dark archway on the other side of the room. It gapes open like a toothless mouth, the stone floor sloping downward steeply into the dark. 

 You stop at the top of it, the warm air stirring the loose hair about your shoulders. Geralt turns to look back at you, raising a brow and cocking his head p as he lifts  the torch higher. There is a question in the tilt of his head, unspoken on the curve of his lips.

 Are you afraid?

 You are. The dank, pungent animal scent washes over you again, and you shudder. It reminds you of your father’s hunting dogs.

 “Come, little Doe.” His voice feels like cold fingers drawn across the back of your neck. “You need not fear the kennels this night.” 

 “I am not afraid.” You jut your chin out stubbornly, even as gooseflesh erupts along your arms. 

 “Good,” he purrs, licking his lips. “They can smell it.” Geralt descends down into the dark maw, and you reluctantly follow. Like most, you are no stranger to the rumors that leak steadily from King Vesemir’s halls; fantastical tales of furred beasts whose jaws were wide enough to swallow a horse whole. You clutch yourself, inching closer to the prince as the sloped path straightens out, opening into a massive cavern. 

 Geralt’s torch is little more than a pinprick of light in in the vast, unyielding dark. The warm glow only manages to dimly outline the shapes of natural stone pillars, throwing up misshapen shadows. There are still more passageways, little more than tunnels, littering the walls like pockmarks. For a moment, the light of Geralt’s torch throws a long arm across the chamber. 

 Reflected in it’s light are two, glowing orbs. Eyes, the size of dinner plates, their color impossible to describe. It was as if the eyes themselves were ablaze, glowing brightly, breaking the darkness. Over the rush of your own labored breath, you can make out the quiet scratch of claws on stone. It’s coming closer. The thought tightens your throat.

 You are powerless, paralyzed before it like prey. Are you prey? You suppress a whimper. There is warmth at your back, and you realize belatedly that it is  Geralt, so close his breath brushes the back of your neck. 

 “No fear, little princess. No fear.” 

 In less than an instant, the creature stands just beyond the ring of light cast by the prince’s torch. Faintly, you can make out the hulking shape of it; larger by far than any horse. Shaggy white fur, stained a rusty red around its muzzle, it’s ears pricked up and forward as it listens to the sound of your breath.

 “Hold out your hand.” You do, lifting a trembling palm in front of you as if to stop the wolf from coming any closer. The wolf’s lip curls, exposing the wickedly sharp tip of a fang. It sniffs at your hand, and for a moment, you fear you will draw back nothing but a bloody stump. Your shock is palpable when it presses the tip of its snout against your hand, whiskers tickling your palm. 

 “Incredible.” The word escapes with the release of your held breath. You stroke the warm, bristly hair on its muzzle slowly, your eyes still wide with disbelief. The dire-wolf snorts, claws tapping against the stone as it turns from you. As quickly as the wolf appeared, it is gone again, disappearing back into the dark. You remain as you were for a moment more, your arm still outstretched as you watch its retreating back with terrified wonder. 

 “Yrsil.” Geralt’s voice drags you back to the present, and suddenly you are aware of how close he is to you, the way his warm breath ghosts against the shell of your ear.  “The she-wolf. Her name is Yrsil.” You jump away from him, smoothing your hands down your shift as you eye him warily. 

 “Why did you bring me here?” The accusatory note in your voice appears to amuse him, further stoking your ire. “To frighten me?” 

 “If I wanted you fearful, I would not have needed the kennels to do it.” You clench your fists, glaring hatefully at him as he resumes his casual pace across the cavern floor. “Come, now. This is the quickest way back to the eastern wing of the castle. I would not lie to you.” You glare at him, your eyes narrowed.

 “Would you not?” You reply dryly. 

 “I am many things, Princess.” Geralt’s voice drips into your ears like snake oil. “But liar is not one I am eager to add to the list.” 

 True to his word, the two of you emerge from the kennel entrance in the throne room, the hot musk of below sticking uncomfortably to your skin and hair. You half expect the prince to take his leave, now that you are back in familiar territory, but he doesn’t. He keeps pace with you all the way back to your chambers. The heavy door is still slightly ajar, no doubt from your midnight venture. The prince places the lit torch in one of the empty wall sconces before leaning expectantly against the wall, his body partially blocking the doorway. 

 “Excuse me.” 

 He slowly tilts his head, fixing you with a questioning look. “I do believe there is something you are forgetting, my Lady.” He parrots Kassandra’s tone with irritating accuracy. “I know Redania keeps to the old customs as well as they can, however here in Rivia we do require a certain level of decorum.”

 You clench your fists in your nightgown. “What do you want, Geralt?” You ask, exasperated.

 “A kiss should suffice, little Doe.” He purrs. His golden eyes burn the same way they did in the gardens the night of your mother’s coronation. You shake your head in disbelief as you stare at him, your lips parted. 

 “Y-you cannot ask this of me!” Your repudiation is a shrill squeak. “T-tis  indecent, w-we cannot—!” You shake your head again. “The king will not allow—”

 “I think you will find, little sister,” he reaches forward to trace the pad of his forefinger along your jaw-line, “that it matters not what the king will allow if he is not present. Do you see him?”He pushes your head to the side, forcing you to look down the hallway. “I don’t.” This is the closest Geralt has ever been to you, practically pressing you against the wall, caging you in with his massive arms. You understand now, the message relayed beneath his words—you are in no position to negotiate. 

 “You are my brother!” You plead, but he is unmoved. 

 “In name only.” He leans down, twining a lock of hair between his fingers, tugging it gently. “My father’s sham of a marriage has remarkably little to do with me.” You press yourself against the stone as he leans closer. “Come now, little Doe. Let us speak truth.” He tugs gently at the satin ribbon at the neck of your shift and it falls open. 

 “What you saw in the gardens intrigued you,” Geralt traces a path from your chin to your collarbone, his fingers feather-light, “did it not?”

 “No!” His open amusement at your conviction is like cold water down your back. 

 “I saw, Sweetling,” he says lowly. “The look on your face—”

 “Fine!” You shrill, tearing yourself away from him. It is not true, it cannot be—and yet, your blood rushes through your veins, a thin tendril of that same shameful longing uncurling in your belly. The dark curiosity that had driven you to peer around the hedge all those nights ago surges with sinful familiarity, even as you try to stamp it out.

 You lean forward with a grimace, rolling onto the tips of your toes. The prince cups your chin, smoothing a finger along your lower lip. He is unprepared for you to turn your head sharply, your lips brushing against his stubbled cheek. It is only the quickness of your movement and Prince Geralt’s own surprise that allows your malicious compliance, and you dart away, ducking under his arm and through the slim gap in the door. 

 He snarls, reaching for you, but you slam the it shut, sliding the bolt into place with speed that surprises you. Your heart hammers against your chest as for a brief moment, there is silence on the other side of the door. 

 “Aren’t you clever,” he sneers, his voice muffled through the wood.  He tries the handle before letting out a muted curse. “Open the door.” Your silence earns you a dark growl. “Open it!”

  You jump back from the door, muffling the sound of your scream with the palms of your hands as Geralt throws himself against it. It shudders in its frame, and for a terrifying moment you fear it will burst open, revealing the enraged prince on the other side—but it does not.

 “Open it!” You shrink against the wall as he seethes, his threats echoing in your ears. The sturdy wood holds against his assault, and when he finally stops, you can hear the sound of his labored breathing on the other side. That too, gradually fades into silence, and cautiously, you approach the door. Somehow, though you cannot see him, you know he remains there, waiting. 

 “You will regret this night.” There is grim promise in his words. “Little sister.” The sound of Geralt’s retreating footsteps makes your shoulders sag with relief, and you collapse against the wall, your breath labored. Though you doubt he is still there, waiting to ambush you in the hall, you do not dare open the door again until morning—

 Just in case. 

 —

 “It is a beautiful day, is it not?” Your mother flutters her fan daintily as she basks in the warm end-of-summer sun. To her right, Lady Amelia, red-faced and sweating beneath her pale face paint, forces a smile through her obvious discomfort.

 “Oh yes, Highness.” She blinks as a cloudy bead of sweat slides down into her eye. “Lovely.”

 You know the noblewomen fawning over your mother would much rather be inside, sheltered from the hot sun by the cold stone of the castle. It was where you would have been, if not for the summons from your mother. You had spent the majority of the past week or so in your chambers, reluctantly leaving them only when strictly necessary in your attempts to avoid the prince.

 The Prince.

 At the thought of him, you cast a wary glance at your surroundings, looking for the telltale gleam of his golden eyes, or the shock of his snow white hair. Thankfully, you find neither. Crossing the patch of soft, green grass toward your mother, you perch impatiently on the end of the carved stone bench as you wait for her to notice you. You make idle conversation with her ladies as you wait, twisting your fingers nervously in the fabric of your skirts while you try to parse out your request.

 I want to go home. 

 “Ah, daughter,” she greets you, and you drop your head respectfully as she addresses you. “Come to enjoy the weather?” She gestures around her at the blooming garden. “I daresay we shall miss it soon enough.”  She stretches, the jewels adorning her fingers and throat shining brilliantly in the sun.

 “It is lovely,” you say, nodding agreeably. “It does remind me of home.” You curse yourself as the word slips from your lips. Instantly, your eyes fly to your mother’s face, watching for the displeasure you know you will see written in the stiffness of her smile or the narrowed slant of her eyes. 

 “Of Redania, you mean.” The soft curve of her lips belie the dagger sharp edges of her words. The smile you force in return is weak, trembling at the edges of your mouth. 

 “Y-yes. That is… what I meant to say.” You do not miss the way her ladies lean in amongst themselves, whispering. “D-did you wish to speak with me?” Though the day is unseasonably warm, and you yourself are surrounded by people, you feel small and cold and alone. Adrift. 

 “Must a mother need a reason to see her child?” She asks, rising gracefully from her seat. One of the servants rushes over with a parasol, but she waves him away, shaking her head. “If a reason must be given, I suppose mine might be that I have missed you.”  She loops her arm through one of yours securely, steering you off the patch of cool grass and back onto the garden path proper.  The whispers of her ladies follow behind you, biting at your heels they fade. 

 “I am your mother, and yet I cannot recall when last we broke bread together.” 

 “I have found myself quite exhausted, of late,” You mumble the half truth. “I fear the journey weighs heavily upon me still.” You suppress a shudder as you remember the dream, your father’s rotting face bloated with fat maggots—“I have not slept well.” 

 “Late night escapades do tend to be quite exhausting.” Her lips curve into a cold, knowing smile, and your belly fills with hot lead. Shame turns the blood in your veins to ice as your mother inspects her sleeve. A terrible fury rages beneath the placid surface of her pleasantries, and you cower in the face of it. 

 “M-mother, I—” The words will not come, leaving you floundering as your mouth opens and closes in silence. “H-he—”

 “Did you think I would not see it?” She spits. Disgust drips from the words.    “Would not notice his...” She pauses, her eyes narrowing as her mouth twists with displeasure. “Interest.” You swallow against the lump in your throat, knowing it matters not but still wondering who might have seen, who might have witnessed Prince Geralt raging at your door. 

 “Mother, I-I swear to you, I have done nothing—! H-he, I—I walked in my sleep, a-and he found me, I—nothing happened!” You hate the look on her face, like your pleas of innocence have only confirmed your guilt. “Nothing—”

 “Nothing?” Her lip curls. “You must know these games you play, all they have done is pique his interest.” She speaks as though somehow, you should have known better. “Men are stupid, willful creatures, desirous of what they cannot have.” She clucks her tongue at you. “Your father coddled you far too long—you are a woman grown! It is long past time you act like it!” 

 “Father would believe me!” You sob. Hot, angry tears spill down your cheeks.   “I am innocent!” Your mother stares at you coldly, before reaching forward to cup your chin. 

 “It is not your innocence I question.” Your mother’s voice is deceptively soft.   “It is your sense.” You blink at her through your tears, trembling. “My sweet, naive girl.” She wipes roughly at your tears with the pad of her thumb. The cold distance in her eyes splits you cleanly down the middle like a sharp blade. There is part of you that wants to fawn, to deliver honeyed words on a platter until her love shines down on you again like the sun—

 And part that wants nothing more than to flee. You want to ask—no, beg—for her to send you home, to return you to the walls you knew better than the lines on your own palms. Your mother embraces you, her lips brushing your cheek even as your own work silently. The words won’t come, like they are stuck in your throat. 

 “There should be only honesty between us.” Your mother says. “Understand?”

 I want to go home.

 Send me home.

 Please.

 “Yes.” You hang your head in defeat, the words retreating from your tongue.  

 “Good.” She chirps as she leans away. She is herself again, smiling affectionately as she brushes imaginary dirt from your dress, tucking loose strands of hair back into your fraying braid. “And you’ll tidy up for supper, won’t you? We have missed you at the table these past nights.” You clasp your hands together so tightly that your palms sting as you force a smile.

 “Of course.” 

 For a moment, just a moment, the warm breeze carries with it the smell of rot and earth, and you remember the doe, your father’s gift dead and bloated in the patch of hexweed in the woods. 

 It smells like sugarcane, but it isn’t, your father had taught you young. It smells sweet, but it’s not, understand? 

 Perhaps, you think, as you reluctantly follow your mother’s retreating back, people can be hexweed too.

to be continued…

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Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

#henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfiction #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x ofc #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #geralt x reader #geralt imagine #geralt smut #geralt fanfic #AU #medieval!au #medieval au #royal!au #royal au #dark fantasy au #GoT AU #darkfic #boxofbonesfic #Tonality fic

[lonepower]

ok you know what i need more bodysharing/brain roommates. malevolent got me feeling some kind of way and I need MORE. tvtropes has like 15 different categories that are all sort-of-but-not-really under the umbrella of what I'm looking for, and sorting through all of that is a little too unwieldy, so I'm turning to you guys. 

key factors of the specific flavor of "multiple consciousnesses stuck in the same meat suit" that I'm looking for are:

any variation of, a human (or this universe's equivalent [so like, an elf where elves are commonplace would count]) has another, nonhuman consciousness attached to them and only them in such a way that the two can communicate, and subsequently

they Banter Constantly

^that^ is probably the most important qualifier here tbh

second most important qualifier is that they are not separated at the end (this obv. doesn't apply if the thing is still ongoing). it's okay if the passenger gets a new body (cf. subnautica) or is freed from their binding (cf. baldur's gate), as long as the partnership isn't broken.

Related: they don't actually have to SHARE a body (so enchanted objects, an AI implant, a Mysterious Disembodied Voice, an imaginary friend, etc., also count). they just have to be tethered to each other such that the passenger cannot move around or function on their own without a host. (I think this is part of why it's hard to narrow down on tvtropes: it's more about the dynamic than about the specific mechanism of "possession".)

Third most important qualifier is that only the current host can hear/communicate with the passenger, even if other people around them are aware of the passenger's existence.

two humans stuck in the same body is okay as long as the other criteria are met, but I would prefer it if the host is human(/equivalent) and the passenger is not (or vice versa if the passenger/possessor is the one with control of the body, as with things like the yeerks, most demonic possession, etc).

it doesn't have to be romantic. they don't even have to like each other. conversely, it absolutely can be romantic too.

They DO have to be the POV character/s for a significant majority (like, at least 60-75%) of the work, because the internal back-and-forth is the entire point.

Bonus points if: they do actually share a body; they are either never physically separated either, or are rejoined at the end (voluntarily or otherwise); passenger has lots of setting-relevant knowledge/an alien or fantastical perspective, while host shows passenger what it's like to be Alive™; despite constantly butting heads, host and passenger work patently better as a team; super extra bonus points for all of the above 

My favorite examples of what I am looking for:

Malevolent podcast (super extra bonus points x10000000000000000)

Venom movies (this is probably the codifier for most people here tbh) (super extra bonus points)

Subnautica: Below Zero (AL-AN gets their own body but stays with Robin, and it hits all of the others)

Forspoken (super extra bonus points)

the "a bagel. two bagels." vine

(I know there's a couple others that I'm just blanking on. If I remember them, I'll add them.)

other things that have moments or flavors of this, but aren't focused on it/don't quite hit all of them:

the Bartimaeus trilogy had it at the end a little, but, well. it didn't last very long. (i STILL haven't recovered from that ending and i was, what? 15 or something? g o d)

the emperor in bg3 kiiiinda counts since they're magically bound to the player/party and can't exist outside their prison, but they do have their own body and are not nearly as chatty as I'm  looking for. also, while only the holders of the prism can hear them, All of the holders of the prism can hear them and I'd really prefer one-on-one.

I think Death Note would also count? I read it in like 6th grade and never finished it so my memory is patchy At Best, but since nobody else can interact with Ryuk, he's bound to whoever holds the notebook, and he's the supplier of the holder's powers, it's close enough that I would accept something similar.

Slay the Princess has the bickering in spades and fulfills the "do not separate" criterion depending on your ending, although the jury's out on whether the voices are Actually their own entities or just symptoms of you losing it. Also, nobody in it is human. The bickering is definitely good enough to make up for it though. (The fact that it's Jonny Sims clearly having a grand old time might have something to do with it...)

with the caveat that I have not watched any of it, i think jadzia (and?) dax from ds9 miiight count, but they're part of an ensemble cast and thus fail the "pov characters for a majority of the work" and "we get to hear their constant internal banter" criteria.

things I tried that fit at least some criteria, but didn't like for various reasons:

the good demon by jimmy cajoleas. promising concept, but 1) the protagonist smokes, which is an instant and unnegotiable dealbreaker (seriously, who makes their protagonist do that in The Year Of Our Lord Anything Later Than 1950?? and to a child? DEATH. ONE MILLION YEARS DUNGEON.), and 2) I looked it up and they separate at the end anyways, so there's even LESS of a point. 

the venom comics. honestly I just... really dislike superhero comics, there's always way too many of them to keep track of + I'm very shallow and they're usually unbearably ugly to me (and also having started with the movies I just found comics!eddie really unpleasant tbh) 

parasyte manga. perfect concept, great dynamic, but its particular brand of body horror was... not great for me and I had to put it down. (horror in and of itself isn't a dealbreaker, though, so if you've got something similar that doesn't involve lots of hands bent at nauseating angles, I'll gladly take it.)

Cyberpunk 77 has the two-humans flavor of this and hits almost all of the other criteria, but i viscerally hated literally everything about j*hnny s*lverhand with every fiber of my being and the rest of the game was so mediocre already that i just gave up

....I know it's a highly specific/potentially niche dynamic, but if anyone has any recs, PUHLEEASE hmu!!! I'm looking for original work rather than fanfiction, but apart from that, format doesn't matter at all (although if it's some like super difficult indie game or something, I probably won't get very far lol). the MAIN points are 1) bickering and 2) host-and-passenger, so if you have something that hits those but not the others, feel free to share it anyway!

#rec request #i'm not really sure how else to tag this? i don't want to tag adjacent fandoms bc i find it really annoying when people do that. #anyway please let me know... #long post

[tackytigerfic]

Tagged by @wolfpants and @oknowkiss , read their truly excellent lists here and here!

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Mornings After - 2.5k, Dron

This is trickier as this was a collab and @sweet-s0rr0w wrote the start, so my first line isn't the opener. Still I'll post it here, I think it was this one.

“She was alright about it,” Ron continued, matter-of-fact, hooking a finger into the elastic waistband of Draco’s underwear, “all things considered.”

Wield Me - Drarry, 10k

“You’re not an easy man to track down,” Harry said from the doorway, where he was leaning like he was meant to be there.

Fledgling - 2.7k, pre-Drarry

Harry hadn’t thought the sling thing through before he left the house, and now his whole back is aching and he keeps whacking people with the unwieldy changing bag that won’t stop slipping off his shoulder.

I Fall on Grass - 3.1k, Drarry

Harry has a garden.

Let Be, Let Be - 10k, Dronarry

The international portkey to Svishtov deposited them right beside the Danube, under the squatting legs of a cargo crane.

Howl - 9k, Drarry

Draco woke up on a Friday morning in a field hospital in Grasmere, without a single memory of how he had got there.

Take the Moon - 15k, Drarry

“I’ll do it, of course I’ll fucking do it,” Draco was saying, which didn’t make any sense, because he was supposed to be at work; maybe Harry was hallucinating him.

The Edge of Something - 1.4k, Drarry

“Well, the good news is that I’m not dead,” Malfoy said, the voice so very much his that it brought Harry out of bed and to his knees.

Far Side - 1k, Drarry

Harry has a photo on his desk; he says it’s his favourite.

Snow on Snow - 1.1k, Drarry

On the first night in the safe house, Harry was woken every hour by church bells.

Conclusion: hmmm I'm not in love with some of these tbh. I have been trying different things in the last year as my main focus is on a long WIP. So no real stylistic coherence. I'm reasonably happy with most of these fics (though not all, i say, eyeing one or two resentfully) but not sure that any of that necessarily translates into the first lines.

Tagging anyone who wants a go! And @boxboxlewis @elskanellis @fluxweeed @maesterchill @mintawasalreadytaken @myrtlefics @skeptiquewrites @sleepstxtic @stationintern @sweet-s0rr0w @teledild0nix if you fancy it?

#drarry #first line tag game #rowing and chatting #pls tag me i never see anything on tumblr

[seat-safety-switch]

Things have gotten so bad in North American life that sea shanties have become popular again. That’s right, the music sung by folks dying of scurvy in a cantankerous wooden bathtub about to plunge to the bottom of the ocean. The reason why is pretty simple. Everyone wants to have cool adventures, and make friends, and not be at a fucking desk. I ask: have you considered bus collecting?

A bus is basically the same thing as a tall sailing ship. You’ve got the large, unwieldy bulk, the single pilot, and the group of people vomiting in the back, doing every drug in sight, and wondering if a seagull tastes good. The only difference is that a used long-distance hauling bus is cheap; less than the cost of your average shitbox sedan. And look at what you get with it! Lots of big tires, lots of seats, a very large engine full of things to fiddle with, an extremely long runs of wiring for the packrats to eat. Is it broken? Even better! You can live in it, far more comfortably than your average decrepit Plymouth Fury or half-in-the-bag Asuna Sunfire.

Sure, there are downsides to bus ownership. For one thing, everyone you know is going to want you to give them a lift along with 60 of their closest friends. You won’t be able to merge onto the highway very quickly, or find parking downtown. The fascists in law enforcement will often want you to have ridiculous things like “an inspection,” “working lights,” or “a drivers’ license,” and fixate on it because you’re big, shiny, and can’t pull away from their cruisers very quickly even if you are a halfway decent driver. Small problems compared to the ability to wear a dorky bus-driver hat and open and close the passenger entry door with that cool lever thing.

All this is to say that you should join me down at the industrial equipment auction this weekend coming up. There’s a lot of low-mileage prison buses hitting the block, and I think if we work the crowd together, we can really convince the other bidders that there was a grisly murder in one of them. While they’re busy bidding up that one, we can scoop up the others super cheap, or at least cheaper than a seaworthy boat made out of fucking trees.

[snek-panini]

It's been a month since Binderary ended but I've still got books to share! This is @worse0mens's (hi!) wonderful Good Omens series, The Blossom Realm, which starts with Omens of Another Kind. This is very much a longtime favorite of mine, an AU with a really compelling combo of worldbuilding and characterization. This is a believable grand romance that's also a court drama and a fairy tale, and it's really long (the full series is about 220k words) so it will keep you reading for a long time. This is one of the fics I learned bookbinding for, and it was the first really long fic that I typeset (and redid once I learned more about typesetting). It's been a long road but it was so worth it.

More photos under the cut!

Couple of photos of the spines. The series doesn't divide easily, with one very long work, one medium-length one, and several shorter pieces. The main story is nearly 200k on its own, the longest single volume I've ever made (about 500 pages), and I was worried about it getting too unwieldy, so I put all the other works into their own volume of about 100 pages. They make a disparate set but I love them. The cover is done in skiver green faux leather from Hollander's; I've never worked with this brand before but I loved it, and one sheet was big enough to do both books. The titles are done in cricut brand gold foil htv. There were some issues with that, as I'd bought a multi-pack with a few different colors and only found out after applying the front cover graphics on both books that one, I didn't have enough to do the backs and spines; two, that the gold in that pack is a totally different color than the gold they sell on its own; and three, that no one in my area stocked it anymore and I had to order it from Europe. Here's what the back looks like:

It's the same graphic as the front but without the title in the center, and it's one of the fanciest backs I've ever done and it took forever to weed all those little cutouts. The graphic was free to use on rawpixel. The font I used on the spines and front is a basic Microsoft font called Harrington that worked incredibly well on the cricut, even at small sizes; a lot of basic fonts are too thin, especially fancy ones, so this was a delightful surprise.

Photo of the top, with ribbon bookmark and handmade double core endbands. The endbands didn't come out as well as I'd have liked; they're a little uneven and the color changes aren't that evenly spaced. Double core ones are harder than I expected and I need more practice. The endpapers are chocolate silk moire, and I chose them because there's a very important massive tree in the fic and I thought they looked like wood grain. I did a little experimenting with the shorter volume that's visible around the edges of the endpaper. I wanted gilded edges but the longer book had to be rounded, and I thought I'd try paint instead of foil since I don't know how to foil a curved edge. But I did my experiments on the smaller volume and I couldn't get good coverage, so the edge had to be trimmed off. The watered-down paint had leaked into the edge of the silk moire too far for me to trim, so it's still there. But it's kind of pretty, so I'm going to call it an aesthetic choice.

The title pages are the same, with free graphics from rawpixel. I got lucky and found a similar set of roses that I used for the chapter headers:

These had to be positioned by hand for each chapter so they'd fit around the text properly. It was a pain but they look so pretty. The final photo contains a story spoiler, so proceed with caution if you don't want that:

The scene break image in both volumes is this tiny snake. This was one of the first aesthetic choices I made for the books. A lot of the plot is centered around a prophecy about a monster snake that everyone thinks will destroy the kingdom, and of course in the manner of Good Omens fic it's a wildly inaccurate misinterpretation and not a threat at all. I wanted something like this because the snake is not only non-threatening but it's been here the entire time and there was never any reason to freak out about it. It was surprisingly difficult to find a snake image that was both simple enough to still be clear at this size and also didn't look dangerous or like a cartoon character. I looked at so many snakes before I found this one, it's ridiculous.

And that's it! I hope the author likes it (and remembers me since I asked to do this almost a year ago). There are three more binderary posts forthcoming, though I don't know how long it'll take me to get to them. It was a busy month.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #snek makes books #good omens #fic rec #everyone look at my books they are so pretty #and then go read the fic it's so good omg

[etz-ashashiyot]

About Me/FAQs

This is a new blog for a new chapter of my life. Starting over is both a little bittersweet and very freeing.

You can call me Avital. I am a non-binary traditional egalitarian Jew living in the US. Any pronouns except they/them are fine. (!היא/את בעברית, בבקשה. תודה)

I really appreciate human interaction. That being the case, if you follow me and I don't already follow you, please send me a DM with the following:

What you want me to call you (internet name, username, nickname, whatever)

What brought you here and made you want to follow me

Something random about you that you feel comfortable sharing (pet pics are always welcome too <3)

I had a whole lot of other rules on my previous blog to weed out the faint of heart, but I genuinely don't know how well that worked, so instead I will simply put roughly the same information below as resources and recommended reading. Fair warning: I will operate from a baseline assumption that you've done the reading and therefore will not be explaining anything in them.

I also had a listing of my firm opinions and other miscellaneous information. That got long and unwieldy, but a lot of people seemed to appreciate it, so I will post roughly the same list under the cut.

The current username refers to my current symbol of a tree of lanterns in the starlight. This is related to my desire to create self-symbolism, old school style (like I really want to create a family crest, a flag, a seal, and other heraldic nonsense. Why? Because it delights me, of course.)

This page is under construction and subject to change at any time.

B'vracha,

Avital

Recommend Reading

For followers who are Christian, were Christian, are non-Jews who grew up in a Christian culture and/or have only learned about Judaism through Christianity, these links are very helpful in unpacking some of the antisemitism you were taught:

Better Parables (specifically the article about Pharisees, but read the rest of the site too, it's great)

Antisemitic readings of the Temple table-flipping incident in the New Testament

The current Israel-Hamas war and just המצב discourse in general require a lot of background knowledge to discuss intelligently, and not just propaganda. There is a LOT of antisemitism in the public around this topic and it is having serious real-world consequences for Jews all over the world. The mis- and disinformation is causing problems for everyone involved. Islamophobia in the West has increased as well. If you're going to engage in this discussion, I am respectfully but forcefully asking you to read the following sources. They are useful regardless of where you fall on that political scale.

There Is No Magic Peace Fairy

Ways to help: [1], [2], [3]

Is your pro-Palestine activism hurting innocent people? Here's how to avoid that

A non-exhaustive list of antisemitic incidents, attacks, and pogroms during [OP's] lifetime

An exceptionally long and thorough explanation of antisemitism and antisemitic violence throughout history

Why The Most Educated People in America Fall for Antisemitic Lies by Dara Horn (tumblr link in case the article link gets broken)

An excellent overview of the basics

This is nowhere near complete information, but it's an important start. I will very likely continue to add resources as they become available and would love to create a primer on this topic more generally.

About the blog:

I’m going to try my best to keep this blog to primarily Judaism, comparative religion and theology, with the occasional side sprinkling of queer & trans stuff, BUT it is absolutely a personal blog at the end of the day.

I talked about Israel and המצב stuff a lot on my previous blog and will likely continue a bit over here too. I welcome a broad swath of opinions, so long as they objectively treat all parties involved as human and deserving of safety, stability, freedom, dignity, and peace. That is apparently a large ask these days, and a not-small part of why I keep talking about this issue. Please be part of the voices that give me hope for the future, okay?

Minors can follow and interact but please keep in mind that I’m probably closer to your parents' age than yours if you do want to interact with me directly.

Interactions:

Rude asks will be deleted. Harassing blogs will be blocked and probably reported.

I consider anything even remotely in the vicinity of trying to proselytize to me to be “harassing,” or at a minimum, rude. Just FYI.

Otherwise, nice interactions are welcomed.

Banter is encouraged; trolling will be ignored

If I don't respond to your interaction, there's a strong chance that I (a) have no idea what to say and am thinking about it, (2) totally meant to respond and just forgot after the notif disappeared, and/or (3) got incredibly busy. It's not personal! Please don't be shy about following up with me if you like. I promise that if we have a problem that is fixable, you'll know. If we have a problem that is not fixable, you'll be blocked.

I am currently learning Ivrit and am delighted to have interactions in Hebrew. Please feel free to message me, reply to posts or reblog, submit asks, etc. in Hebrew and I will do my best to read and respond to it. (Responses will be slower, but not for lack of appreciation of your thoughts!)

Anything else, just ask.

Hard stances:

You're not going to change my mind on these things; I've looked at the evidence, my personal experiences, and thought about them long and hard, and I am not going to be swayed by an internet rando. I can (often, but not always) co-exist just fine with people who I disagree with, but if seeing my posts about this is going to upset you, just do us both a favor and block me now please.

I am deeply distressed at how many people are choosing to live in a "post-factual society" where the truth is based on truthiness vibes and the politics are based on the quippiest of slogans. I don't care who's doing it, misinfo, disinfo, propaganda, atrocity denial, and gaslighting are BAD. There is no nuance here; these are bad things. They are bad if they go against your cause and they are bad if they "support" your cause. No cause is better than the truth.

If we cannot have a discussion where we are operating from the same baseline reality of verifiable facts, we cannot have a productive conversation and I will not engage with you. We can agree or disagree on a lot and that is fine, but facts matter.

If you cannot be reasoned with in accepting verifiable facts as reality, you need help. I'm serious. That is cult behavior. Get off tumblr and get help.

I don't know how to tell you that you should care about other people. If you don't see the inherent worth in other human beings' lives, I can't fix that. Go take that struggle to G-d and heal your soul.

Queer might be a slur in the mouths of some people, but my identity isn't. Don't reblog my posts if you're going to tag it with "q slur" or "q word" or censored in some way. I'm not Gay as in "I prioritize cis men over the entire rest of the community" but Queer as in "my personal labels are none of your business but my political stance on queer liberation sure as fuck will be."

I support the right of the Jewish people to self-determination in our ancestral homeland of Israel, the same way that I support other indigenous groups' right to self-determination in their ancestral homelands. If you don't, I'm going to need you to examine why Jews should be singled out of every other group to be denied this right or denied support in seeking it. That said, I definitely do not agree with many of the decisions made by the Israeli government, especially (but far from exclusively) regarding their treatment of Palestinians. I think both Jews and Palestinians deserve to live in peace, safety, freedom, dignity, and self-determination for both. No one is going anywhere; any real solution must recognize that.

I waver between calling myself a liberal Zionist and rejecting the Zionist/anti-Zionist dichotomy altogether because it inherently puts the validity of an existing state up for debate rather than looking at real solutions for the future. Bottom line: I'm a humanitarian and a pragmatist, and I care about all the people who call that part of the world home.

Abortion is a human right and should be safe, legal, available on demand, and shameless. It's a necessary medical procedure and it's completely barbaric that we're still talking about it as anything else.

🌻 I stand with Ukraine 🇺🇦

Free Iran from the Islamic Republic // Women Life Freedom

Birth control, abortion, and no-fault divorce are actively positive parts of society and building healthy families.

Transition care is healthcare and also a human right. Allowing people to transition prevents self-harm and suicide, and has an extremely high efficacy rate with an exceptionally low level of risk or regret. We now have well over a century of data on this.

That said, detransitioners who are still supportive of trans people/aren't transphobic are more than welcome here, as any exploratory process deserves the right to say, "Interesting! But nope!"

Transunity, ace/aro positivity, and just inclusionism in general, 100%. Fuck off with anything else.

If you don't vaccinate yourself and your kids for any reason other than medical necessity, and especially if you promote anti-vaxxer views and the associated pseudoscience, you are actively harming the most vulnerable members of society for entirely selfish reasons and that makes you a bad person. I hope your kids bypass you to get vaccinated.

Wear a mask 😷

[sits-bound]

Bound: A Fair Return by thingswithwings

I wanted to bind a fic for a friend, and I decided on this iconic Schitt's Creek fic that was the first podfic they recorded. It is also my longest bind so far, and maybe as long as I'd put in one volume? I don't think it's too unwieldy, though.

Everything was going smoothly - almost too smoothly - when I got impatient and ironed on the vinyl before the glue was completely dry. I suspect that's why the original cover (in "Patrick Brewer button up shirt blue", thank you very much) got all splotchy. Or maybe the fabric was too thin. I dunno.

So I decided to remake the cover in "Patrick Brewer's tight jeans denim" instead. And I think it all worked out for the best. I adore how it looks.

And the holographic HTV? I love how it changes color depending on the light and it behaved quite nicely for me. (Again, patience is key with HTV.)

Gold? Blue? Copper? Depends on the light!

The text block didn't give me nearly as many problems. It all went together smoothly, whew! And my new sewing frame did help when it came to stitching this behemoth together.

Fonts used: Body: Vendetta OT Chapter headings: Didot LT Pro (IYKYK) Title: Gazzetta

Final details... (endpapers came from the Craft Consortium Ink Drops-Ocean pad.)

Incidentally, this is the third gift bind I've made, but due to various factors, sometimes involving the USPS and keeping a package in Miami for TWO WEEKS, this is the first one to make it to its recipient. I am so excited to share the other two!

#ficbinding #fanbinding #schitt's creek fic #david x patrick #a fair return #thingswithwings #sits bound

[catsharky]

It looks like her horns are much bugger and more devil like than tiefling naturally. Would her horns grow back to that shape if sue let them, or is it more like docking a tail and permanent? Would she become more comfortable with her original horns being around tieflings more if they could grow back? Why did she trim them initially?

Ehehe I'm glad you caught that, cause yeah you're right her horns are very much meant to be more devil than tiefling!

I figured if a devil is going to screw someone over by giving them a stolen child, why wouldn't they aim to pick one who would bring as much chaos and misery to that person as possible? Ember has no idea who her bio parents are, but she's definitely no ordinary Tiefling.

I put the rest under a read more because it got a bit long:

To try and kind of match the other companions, I wanted her to have the capacity to be incredibly powerful, but limited for game/story reasons. So for Ember, at least one of her parents is someone Powerful and Important in the hells, and that parent is where her sorcery comes from.

It means she's capable of crazy strong magic (like, on par with Gale before he got nerfed strong) but a combination of being self-taught and a lack of motivation means that she's never had a reason to find out what she's actually capable of. She also grew up very isolated, so until she met Gale she was under the impression that magic was just like that for everyone. And tied to all that, one of the most obvious tells that there's something else going on with her is her horns.

I like to think that for most Tieflings, their horns do grow throughout their lives, but hit what's considered 'full sized' by around puberty- at which point the growth slows to a crawl. I also have to assume based on Karlach's broken horn that if the horn breaks? It's gone for good, though they will still maintain that slow growth so long as the core at the base of the horn remains intact.

For Ember however, her horns are just enormous. At age 4 it's expected a Tiefling will have started growing their horns but that they'll still be blunt, nubby things like a baby goat. Ember's were the size they are in the age chart, and continued to grow even larger as she got older.

She likely would have trimmed them no matter what, because not being used to having horns in the first place made dealing with them frustrating, but they're really just unreasonably huge. She trims them down pretty much as far as she comfortably can, the blue tips being where the darker outer layers were cut away.

To her annoyance, they also grow back and do so remarkably fast, which is where the jewelry she has wrapped around them comes from. Those gold embellishments are actually enchanted so they'll stay the size she wants them! (They also keep them from catching on fire when her emotions are high, but that's a whole other thing) So she could actually let them grow back to their full size if she wanted to, she just doesn't because they'd be way too unwieldy and annoying to deal with.

And while I can see some of this stuff becoming relevant after the events of the game, for the duration of BG3's plot this is all just more or less flavour text. The magic stuff is the only part that would have a notable impact.

Also fun fact, this whole part of her backstory is just because I needed an excuse to make her immortal. I didn't have the strength to give Astarion a companion who he'd have to lose in less than 100 years. My heart can't take that 😭 So fuck it, she's the daughter of some big powerful demon or whatever so Astarion can have one nice thing that won't be taken from him!!!

#agent-jaselin #I do have one fun idea about Karlach having to clarify what is and is not Just Normal Tiefling Things™ #but we'll see if I ever get around to it #sharky speaks #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #my tav #sharky's tav #tav: ember #oc: ember #Ember lore drop #not sharky art

[achubbydumpling]

The Struggles of Being Too Fat for Fat Camp

This was inspired by an incredible video by @lardfill. Sadly, I can't find a current link to the video and I only have it as an mp4. But basically the entire second part in the kitchen is inspired by that.

Rating: Explicit Words: 2387 Relationship: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Additional Tags: Weight Gain, Teasing, Name-Calling, pig, Bucky calls himself a pig, Belly Kink, No Lube, ...dish soap, it's inspired by a real video!, Fat Bucky Barnes, literally getting off from his own fat, Extreme Weight Gain, Mobility Struggles, out of breath, modern AU, Established Relationship

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Read the series on AO3

The inevitable conversation about moving in together came up earlier than Bucky had expected. Just after he’d entered cabin 13 Steve had already stood in the doorway, knocked on the door frame and wrung his hands.

“I’ve got a flat in town. Just until the end of summer, but, you know, you could move in. If you wanted to.”

Of course, Bucky had agreed to spend the rest of the summer there. No useless dieting rules that he wasn’t going to follow anyway, no annoying team sports and activities, and no one that expects him to lose any weight.

When they finally lived together, it didn’t take long for them to settle into a comfortable routine living together.

Steve would get up early to go for a run and to make breakfast. While Bucky spent another hour just lounging in bed with the sun shining on his face, slowly waking up to the quiet sounds of Steve moving around the kitchen.

However, today Bucky woke up to the soft press of Steve’s lips to his temple and his hand gently squeezing his plush side.

“Morning, sleepy head.” Steve could barely hide his amusement at Bucky’s wide-eyed look around. When he noticed Steve wearing his counsellor uniform already, Bucky tried to sit up. His efforts were hindered by the heavy weight of his belly.

“What time is it?” Bucky had to build up a bit of momentum first and Steve ultimately helped him scoot back to rest against the headboard.

“Almost half nine.”

Bucky sighed, “Wanted to eat breakfast with you.”

Steve’s expression softened and he tucked a stray strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear.

"I didn't want to wake you up if I didn't have to."

Bucky couldn’t stop the warmth that bubbled up inside him. It built into a fond smile that pulled at his lips.

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

“Tomorrow.” Steve pulled a serious expression before he broke out into a smile again. “Do you want to stay in bed a bit longer or some help getting up before I leave?”

The sleep-warm duvet tempted Bucky to stay a bit longer, but he could feel the beginnings of hunger coil in his stomach. So, he stretched his arms out towards Steve, who gripped his hands tightly. Together they got Bucky on his feet and out of the bedroom in no time. Alone Bucky would’ve probably taken twice as long just to get up, but he needed fewer breaks when he could lean some of his weight on Steve.

Still, just the few weeks he had spent living with Steve had resulted in even more weight piling onto his already morbidly obese body. While Bucky didn’t feel much heavier, his doughy belly had gotten wider and softer and increasingly unwieldy. Where he used to be able to grab a good roll, now the fat was so pliable it almost slid out of his grip of its own volition.

This new development also led to his belly working more and more against him when Bucky tried to walk. It weighed on his thighs and swayed between his thighs with every step. The heavy swing always in opposition to the leg he needed to bring forward. His breathing was laboured from the moment he heaved himself out of bed and the sofa creaked dangerously beneath him he plopped down on it.

Steve placed the small folding table in front of Bucky and started loading it with a veritable breakfast buffet until it bowed under the weight of all the plates. Sweet and savoury, a stack of pancakes soaked in maple syrup, thick cut slices of bread with margarine melting into it and sprinkled with garden cress, two cinnamon rolls the size of Bucky’s palm and a bowl of thick, oatmeal topped with spoonfuls of peanut butter and halved plums.

“Here.” Steve handed Bucky a piece of grapefruit. “It’s really good. I had some for breakfast.” Steve smiled at the ground and shuffled his feet. ”Wanted to share.”

Bucky waited until Steve looked back up to say, “Thank you.”

“I’ll make dinner tonight, ok?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back. Fury planned some competition for the campers that could take until the evening,” Steve paused and grinned when he remembered the last year Bucky spent at camp,“or just a few minutes.”

With a kiss and a promise to call before the end of his shift Steve left the flat. Bucky could finally dig into the food Steve had prepared for him.

It didn’t take long for him to feel full, but Bucky didn’t get to his current size by stopping when he was full. With the bread and oatmeal gone, he started on the pancakes. The carbs were laying heavily in his stomach, he felt the familiar bloat settle in.

So, he set about eating the thick slices of freshly baked bread. His initial plan was to force them down quickly so he would be finished before the bloating really caught up to him, but when he bit into the first slice, he couldn’t help himself slowing down to savour it.

The crust crackled between his teeth and the soft middle was soaked through from the thick spread of margarine. On his first bite he noticed the faint taste of other herbs as well. The tang of the sourdough bread spread on his tongue and Bucky couldn’t hold back the content hum at the combination of the taste and texture of the still hand-warm bread.

Bucky warmed up the cinnamon rolls in the microwave and ate them as a late morning snack. Yesterday’s leftovers served as lunch to keep him comfortably full into the afternoon.The hours of stuffing slowly transitioned into himwatching TV, burping his way through the bloat and rubbing away the tightness in his stomach

After nursing away most of the pain, Bucky finally pulled out his laptop to work on some of his course assignments for after the semester break, but the contentment of a lazy morning and a still-full belly had him falling asleep on the couch without meaning to.

The late afternoon sun warmed Bucky’s face as he blearily opened his eyes. He groaned when he saw the low battery warning on his laptop. Bucky checked the clock — almost five — and then his phone for any messages from Steve. Even though a lazy sort of hunger curled at the back of Bucky’s mind when he looked down at himself he could still see the bloat from his extended breakfast. He could still feel the heavy weight of the food in his stomach.

Not for the first time Bucky was surprised just by how fat he was — how much fatter he was getting every day. He pulled his shirt up and splayed his hands over his upper belly, he couldn’t even cover half of it. Then he trailed lower, grabbed onto his sides and hefted his belly up to let it drop down again. It rippled through the fat all over his body and his dick gave an interested twitch.

I’m getting so fat, was all Bucky could think when he saw his belly continuing to move on its own like this. The smallest movement making it shake and jiggle, his fat moving in waves across his body. He grabbed the sides of his belly again and let it drop into his lap. Then he tried to reach over it, he reached his belly button and about a handbreadth beneath it, but he couldn’t actually reach the lowest part of his belly.Thick arousal started to cloud his mind.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned and scooted lower on the sofa. His hands dug almost painfully into the fat on his sides. He noticed how it spilled over the edge of the sofa even though he was pressed into the cushions of the backrest. Just exploring all this new softness had him half hard under the heavy overhang on his thighs. But he wanted to feel out the changes to his body some more.

His hands came up to his moobs and he lifted them each up and let them drop through his hands again. Bucky skimmed his finger over his nipples, they felt even more sensitive with just the weight he’d put on living with Steve, stretched out from gaining weight even there. He’d never really had pecs, always soft even at his lowest weight.

Bucky tried to get more comfortable. He splayed his legs as wide as he could, but the couch was barely wide enough to fit his entire body. He bent his knee and tried to get his heavy belly to pool to one side, to give him access to his dick.

Every one of his movements was followed by a grunt, just trying to move himself into position, a difficult task for someone Bucky’s size. He tried to heft his belly up and to the side, out of the way so he could finally get his fingers on his dick that was growing harder underneath his fat pad.

With his belly hanging over the side of the couch, however, it only felt like he was about to be pulled off by its weight. Bucky rolled more onto his side, angled his knee more, but no matter what all he could reach were his thigh rolls and his fat pad, he couldn’t actually get to his buried dick.

He tried one more time, adjusting his position and trying to work his way along his fat pad, but the furthest he ever managed to reach was just barely skimming the tips of his fingers over the tip of his dick.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed. Oh, God, I’m too fat to jerk off.

His emotions were all over the place. Partly in awe at how big he’d eaten himself, slightly shocked he’d ever let himself get this fat, but most importantly so incredibly turned on and he couldn’t do anything about it. Unless he got up and tried again in bed — more room to spread his legs and get his belly out of the way.

He pushed the folding table to the side and prepared himself to get up. His lower belly was trapped against his thighs, so he grabbed at that lowest roll to move the heavy overhang to droop between his legs. Then he scooted forward.

He couldn’t help the noises he made, moving this much mass forced grunts and sighs from his straining lungs. Once he got his body right to the edge of the sofa, he rocked back and forth to build up the momentum to get to his feet. The couch had been sagging lower every day, so he had to cover an even greater distance just to stand up.

Might as well get something to eat for after. So, instead of heading to the bedroom Bucky turned to the kitchenette. They kept snacks in the cupboards above the kitchen. Bucky was craving something salty and headed for the right side.

Opening the cupboard wasn't too difficult since Bucky could just grab the bottom of the door. However, reaching the chips he wanted was a different story. Of course, his favourites were high on the second level.

Bucky stretched upwards, going up on his toes just for his finger tips to barely graze the package.

The cold countertop pressing against Bucky’s belly startled him, but the enticing snack kept him going.

As he moved closer to try and reach the cupboard his fat pad pressed against the counter too and when he stretched up his fat pad almost spilled onto it. His belly and fat pad rubbing together against the cold hard counter.

That's when he got the idea.

He should have gone to the bedroom.

He should have lied down, gotten comfortable and used some actual lube, but he was here and horny and some watery dish soap seemed good enough for lubrication.

His inhales were stumbling over each other, a strangled sound and he had to slow down to actually take a breath. He lifted his belly, blindly searching for his fat pad before finally grabbing it and maneouvering his dick to rest on the counter too. When he let go of his belly, it added the most incredible pressure.

He could barely lift his entire belly up and then it slapped right back onto the counter, he moved on to just jiggling it, letting the counter take most of the weight of the fat apron on his front and just moving it by shaking and grabbing rolls all over it, letting the fat rub over his dick. Relishing in the feeling of having gained so much weight that he could fuck his own fat.

“Fat fucking pig,” Bucky said to himself in between wheezing breaths. Steve always defaulted to praise, but sometimes Bucky needed that humiliation. Someone telling him how much fatter he was gonna get if he kept eating more.

“Gonna get bigger, fatter.” Bucky’s thrusts were becoming erratic, his muscles were shaking with the effort to keep his hips driving forward against the counter.

“Please,” Bucky could barely get the word out with how ragged his breathing had gotten. Begging someone, anyone to let him come before his legs gave out.

A dull, tight pain had started settling in his joints, lactic acid built up in his thigh muscles. Still he kept up the shallow thrusts, even as it became increasingly difficult to command his body to keep going.

"Fuck," Bucky grunted, "I'm such a pig."

He tried to wrap his arms around his belly to adjust it one last time. So close to coming, racing against exhaustion. The very body he was getting off to, threatening to cut his orgasm short.

One last grunt and he was finally rewarded. Thick spurts of cum painting his belly, mixing with the soap suds.

His legs were shaking, knees threatening to buckle. He was holding himself up on the counter though his arms also quickly tired. With a last effort he made it to the chair in the kitchen and let himself fall down on it.

"What a work out," Bucky chuckled to himself, reverently running his hands over his belly.

And then his gaze fell on the chips packet that was tilting out of the cupboard, perfectly in reach if Bucky just stretched up a little.

#my writing #chubby bucky #fat camp bucky #fat bucky #chubby!bucky #chubby stucky #weight gain #belly kink #wg fiction

[antianakin]

@assaultmech71 I'm putting this in a separate post because it IS a little off topic and that particular post is becoming fairly long and unwieldy as it is.

Part of my dislike of Luxsoka (and Lux in general) stems from my dislike of the episode he's introduced in. Heroes on Both Sides is supposed to show us that there's genuinely good people with legitimate grievances on the Separatist side and that Ahsoka is like... being kind-of ignorant by assuming all of the Separatists are evil assholes. However this is done SO SO BADLY the entire way through. I've talked about Mina Bonteri's whole sob story about her husband on some sort of base that got attacked by the clones and how unbelievable it is that the clones apparently just attacked an innocent base full of innocent people or something. There's NO WAY that Mina's husband wasn't involved in something either war-related or just sketchy and evil.

Lux on the other hand is sitting there being paralleled with Ahsoka where they're supposed to recognize that their lack of knowledge of the other side has caused them to be a little prejudiced towards each other. But while Lux has never actually met any Jedi and is making his entire opinion based on a lot of propaganda, Ahsoka HAS met Separatists, they just come in the form of military generals usually. Lux I think specifies "any Separatists who AREN'T military leaders" which is pretty unfair because those military personnel are STILL military leaders and effectively Ahsoka's counterpoint within the Separatist organization. Ahsoka has seen these people who claim to fight on behalf of the Separatist government do some absolutely heinous shit to actual innocent civilians (she's there for the incident with the Lurmens, the Blue Shadow Virus, Ryloth, and the Holocron Heist arc at this point). Ahsoka has genuine evidence to believe that the Separatists are, at best, ignorant of what's being done in their name, and at worst complicit in these actions being perpetrated by their military. Ahsoka isn't naive or ignorant the way Lux is, it's not a fair comparison. So their entire connection here is based on what amounts to a lie.

Lux also literally gives Ahsoka a once over when she bandies his own words back at him and asks him if she looks evil, which is juvenile and gross. And yes, he IS juvenile and Ahsoka does call him out on it a little, but still. It's not exactly a GREAT first impression here.

So basically a large part of the reason I hate him is because his entire introduction is just really really stupid and he represents this radically unfair perspective on the Jedi at this point just to make a point that isn't even ENTIRELY true.

Then we come to their second meeting where the whole episode ends with them saying they were a "good team" except that Lux fucks up approximately 20 different times and Ahsoka has to keep saving his ass and doing all the work. And Lux also betrays her like 4-5 separate times, he slaps her ass and acts like a misogynist to keep up an act with DEATH WATCH, apparently doesn't know or just doesn't care that Death Watch are literal terrorists, and is just overall completely awful and useless the whole time. They're not a good team, he's just a massive fuck up with delusions of grandeur who Ahsoka has to keep bailing out of danger over and over again.

He's better by their third meeting during the Onderon arc, but by then whatever feelings he may have had for Ahsoka seem to have faded and he's got a new girlfriend he's focused on and Ahsoka ultimately lets him go. But she's also JEALOUS of Steela for a while and it's impossible to figure out what she's even jealous OF. Like babygirl, I'm so frustrated with you right now, but you can STILL do better than Lux Bonteri. At least she decides to just move on by the end and we never see him again.

So yeah, Lux is a terrible person, a terrible love interest for Ahsoka, and Luxsoka is a fuck awful ship and I'm just so glad it got abandoned before it actually went anywhere and never came back.

#star wars #ahsoka tano #the clone wars #tcw #star wars the clone wars #sw tcw #anti lux bonteri #lux bonteri critical #anti luxsoka #luxsoka critical