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thewriteadviceforwriters · 5 months

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Why Writers Don't Finish Writing Their Stories, and How to Fix It

Hello fellow writers and storytellers,

The journey of writing a story is an exhilarating adventure, but it's not without its share of obstacles. Many of us have embarked on a creative endeavor, only to find ourselves mired in the struggle to finish what we started. In this blog post, I'll unravel the common reasons why writers don't finish their stories and explore practical strategies to overcome these hurdles and reignite the flame of creativity.

The Perils of Unfinished Stories

As writers, we often find ourselves in the throes of unfinished tales, grappling with the intricate web of characters, plots, and themes. There are several reasons why the ink dries up and the story remains untold. Let's shine a light on the familiar adversaries that stand between us and the triumphant completion of our narratives:

1. Lack of Planning:

Some of us brazenly dive into our stories without a clear roadmap, resulting in uncertainty about the direction of the plot and the fate of our characters. The lack of a solid plan can lead us astray, leaving our stories wandering in the wilderness of aimlessness.

2. Self-Doubt and Perfectionism:

Ah, the relentless whispers of self-doubt and the siren call of perfectionism! These twin adversaries can cast a shadow over our creative vision, compelling us to endlessly revise and perfect the early chapters, trapping us in a whirlpool of perpetual edits.

3. Time Management:

Balancing the demands of daily life with the ardor of writing can be akin to walking a tightrope. The struggle to find consistent time for our craft often leaves our stories languishing in prolonged periods of inactivity, longing for the touch of our pen.

4. Writer's Block:

The mighty barrier that even the most intrepid writers encounter. Writer's block can be an insurmountable mountain, leaving us stranded in the valleys of creative drought, unable to breathe life into new ideas and narratives.

5. Lack of Motivation:

The flame that once burned brightly can flicker and wane over time, leaving us adrift in the murky waters of disillusionment. The initial excitement for our stories diminishes, making it arduous to stay committed to the crafting process.

6. Fear of Failure or Success:

The twin specters that haunt many writers' dreams. The apprehension of rejection and the unsettling prospect of life-altering success can tether us to the shores of hesitation, preventing us from reaching the shores of completion.

7. Criticism and Feedback Anxiety:

The looming dread of judgment casts a long shadow over our creative endeavors. The mere thought of receiving criticism or feedback, whether from peers or potential readers, can cast a cloud over our storytelling pursuits.

8. Plotting Challenges:

Crafting a cohesive and engaging plot is akin to navigating a labyrinth without a map. Faced with hurdles in connecting story elements, we may find ourselves lost in a maze of plot holes and unresolved threads.

9. Character Development Struggles:

Breathing life into multi-dimensional, relatable characters is a complex art. The intricate process of character development can become a quagmire, ensnaring us in the challenge of creating personas that drive the story forward. (Part one of Character Development Series)

10. Life Events and Distractions:

Unexpected events in our personal lives can cast ripples on our writing routines, interrupting the flow of our creativity and causing a loss of momentum.

Rallying Against the Odds: Strategies for Success

Now that we've confronted the adversaries that threaten to stall our storytelling odysseys, let's arm ourselves with strategies to conquer these barriers and reignite the flames of our creativity.

Embrace the Power of Planning:

A clear roadmap illuminates the path ahead. Arm yourself with outlines, character sketches, and plot maps to pave the way for your story's journey.

Vanquish Self-Doubt with Action:

Silence the voices of doubt with the power of progress. Embrace the imperfect beauty of your early drafts, knowing that every word brings you closer to the finish line.

Mastering the Art of Time:

Carve out sacred writing time in your schedule. Whether it’s ten minutes or two hours, every moment dedicated to your craft is a step forward.

Conquering Writer's Block:

Embrace the freedom of imperfection. Write, even if the words feel like scattered puzzle pieces. The act of writing can unravel the most stubborn knots of writer's block.

Reigniting the Flame of Motivation:

Seek inspiration in the wonders of the world. Reconnect with the heart of your story, rediscovering the passion that set your creative spirit ablaze.

Reshaping Fear into Fuel:

Embrace the uncertainty as an integral part of the creative journey. Embrace the lessons within rejection and prepare for the winds of change that success may bring.

Navigating the Realm of Criticism:

Embrace feedback as a catalyst for growth. Constructive criticism is a powerful ally, shaping your story into a work of art that resonates with readers.

Weaving the Threads of Plot:

Connect the dots with fresh eyes. Step back and survey the tapestry of your plot, seeking innovative solutions to bridge the gaps and untangle the knots.

Breathing Life into Characters:

Engage with your characters as if they were old friends. Dive into their depths, unraveling their quirks, fears, and dreams, and watch as they breathe life into your story.

Navigating Life's Tempests:

Embrace the ebb and flow of life. Every pause in your writing journey is a chance to gather new experiences and perspectives, enriching your storytelling tapestry.

The Ever-Resting Pen: Harnessing the Power Within

Fellow writers, the journey of completing a story is filled with peaks and valleys, each offering us the opportunity to sharpen our resolve and unleash our creative potential. As we stand at the crossroads, staring at the canvas of unfinished tales, let's rally against the odds, armed with the power of purpose, passion, and perseverance.

Let the ink flow once more, breathing life into tales left untold, and watch as your stories triumphantly reach their long-awaited conclusion. You possess the power to conquer the adversaries that stand in your way, and within you lies the essence of untold narratives waiting to unfurl onto the page.

Here's to the journey that lies ahead, the stories waiting to be written, and the unyielding spirit of creativity that thrives within each of us.

Warm regards and unwavering encouragement, Ren T.

#creative writing #thewriteadviceforwriters #writing #writeblr #on writing #writing tips #writers block #how to write #writers and poets #novelist #novel writing #november #novel

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cleo-fox · 4 months

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Unraveled

Summary: It was all fun and games until Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering, godly refractory periods, kitchen sex, semi public sex, Loki in a sweater.

A/N: My explanation for this one is that I saw too many pictures of Tom Hiddleston in a sweater and it gave me thoughts.

Being an Avenger has made you pretty good at rolling with the punches. After your third or fourth encounter with some alien/wizard/android bullshit, your perspective is fundamentally altered and real life seems manageable in a way that it didn’t before. You have to call your insurance company to dispute a claim? Big deal, you’ve negotiated with terrorists; you can handle Garth from Member Services.

The thing is, having that kind of perspective means that the things that do get to you can rattle you a lot more than they should. Natasha had warned you about that, but you were riding high on the thrill of successfully conquering Blue Cross Blue Shield and you kind of got to thinking she was exaggerating.

And then the seasons started to turn and Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

You can recognize when someone is out of your league. When you first moved into the Tower, it had been relatively easy for you to assign Loki to that category: he was a god. He’d been featured in last month’s GQ. You were mortal and your most recent press had been a TMZ story featuring unflattering paparazzi photos of you leaving a bodega in your pajamas at seven o’clock in the morning, a bagel halfway into your mouth. You were clearly not the same.

Up until the sweater, you’d managed to keep your cool around Loki and keep your attraction confined to daydreams and the occasional surreptitious lustful glance. Hell, you’d even had the nerve to be proud of yourself for keeping your shit together in front of him.

The sweater lays waste to all of that.

On the surface, it doesn’t seem like a sweater that is capable of completely destroying your carefully constructed composure. It’s a fairly standard crew neck in a deep green so dark it almost looks black at a first glance. But on Loki it just…does things to you. The fabric is well fitted, clinging to his biceps, pulling taut across his chest, emphasizing the line of his pectorals. It somehow accentuates how muscular he is while also still making him look lean and lithe.

The first time he wears it, you find your eyes just trail to him of their own volition, like an incredibly horny moth to the flame. It’s a day of catching yourself staring, panicking, pretending that you were actually looking at something else, and then repeating the process five minutes later when your gaze inevitably wandered again. It almost would have been funny if it didn’t put your blood pressure into the stratosphere.

To make matters worse, at the end of that day’s debriefing, he rises from his chair and raises his arms to the ceiling in a long stretch. The hem of the sweater creeps up, exposing the firm, flat muscles of his stomach, lightly dusted with a trail of hair that meanders in a tantalizing path down to his belt buckle.

You promptly choke on your own spit. Clint claps you hard on the back and asks if you’re okay, which is a question you don’t know how to answer (ultimately, you stick to a thumbs up and mumble something about dust getting caught in your throat). Loki is too preoccupied complaining about the entire concept of office furniture to notice. Or at least you’re pretty sure he doesn’t notice.

You might have been okay if that had been the only incident, but the sweater makes a repeat appearance on Friday. The following Tuesday features the deadly combination of the sweater with a pair of tight, dark wash jeans that nearly send you into cardiac arrest. Your fantasies suddenly become much more frequent and detailed.

You are not really sure what to do about this—it’s not like you can talk to anyone about it, nor can you ask him to stop wearing it without prompting some very uncomfortable questions. The idea that you’ll get used to it is laughable.

You look at your calendar and note that spring is six months away. At least.

Fucking hell.

It’s a Saturday afternoon and in a strange quirk of scheduling, almost everyone is out of town for a mission or a personal obligation, leaving the Tower unusually quiet. As much as you enjoy the daily clatter and chaos that comes with living here, you find a lot of comfort in these moments of quiet, however infrequent they may be.

You intended to make yourself a late afternoon snack. That was the plan, anyway. But as you’re standing at the kitchen counter and cutting up the fruit you just washed, you realize that you’re not entirely alone. From this vantage point, you can see Loki lounging on the couch in the next room and reading.

He’s wearing the sweater. Of course he’s wearing the sweater. And the so-tight-they-should-be-illegal dark wash jeans.

Goddammit.

You have the sense to set the knife down at least. The last thing you need is a trip to the hospital because you got too distracted by your hot colleague while handling a knife.

You let your gaze travel along the firm muscles of his chest. It’s just a sweater. It shouldn’t look this good. It shouldn’t prompt these kinds of thoughts. And yet…

He shifts on the couch and the hem of the sweater creeps up. His hand drops to his belt buckle. It’s entirely appropriate, but the way his long, long fingers are splayed against his stomach makes your mind drop straight to the gutter and wonder what they’d look like wrapped around his rock hard co—

“You know, it’s rude to stare.”

His voice comes from behind you and adrenaline surges through you like an electric shock. The Loki on the couch looks up at you and smirks before disappearing in a shimmer of green.

You wonder if it’s possible to die of embarrassment and a heart attack all at the same time. It certainly feels like you’re about to.

You take a deep breath and try to collect yourself, which feels largely futile. Come on, get it together. You’ve negotiated with terrorists and insurance companies. Shake it off.

You slowly turn around, cheeks burning. Loki is standing right behind you, arms folded across his chest. You swallow.

“I um. I was—I was just…” Words escape you as your brain fires in every direction except a helpful one.

“You were just what?” His expression is intense, but you’re not sure that he’s angry.

“Spacing out,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with confidence that you absolutely do not feel.

He places his hands on the counter behind you, intentionally caging you in with his body. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him—a masculine, wintery musk that makes you want to bury your face against his chest.

“Try again,” he says. His voice is deep enough to rattle your bones.

You swallow. Everything you could possibly say seems wildly inadequate.

Loki has never been one to be at a loss for words, though, and after a moment of terrified silence from you, he continues speaking.

“I’ve noticed something curious over these past few weeks,” he says. “When I wear this sweater, you can’t seem to take your eyes off of me.”

Your heart is pounding. Fucking hell. Have you really been that obvious?

“Now why is that?” he asks, his voice a low purr.

You briefly consider trying to lie again, but the piercing green of his eyes instantly makes you rethink it. “I um…” You swallow hard. “It’s just…it suits you. You…you look good.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I look good?”

You nod.

“Interesting.” His lips twitch in a slight smirk as he looks you up and down. “And how does that make you feel?”

Your heart thuds in your chest, your stomach contorting with a strange combination of fear and desire. You’re still humiliated, but the sound of his voice and the dark intensity of his gaze is intoxicating and incredibly arousing.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to answer that question.”

“Oh, I think you do.” There’s a rawness in his voice that makes your cunt clench.

You shake your head, eyes wide. You’re pretty sure he’s not really mad, but you also don't know where this is going. Surely he’s not making a pass at you…right?

“How does it make you feel to see me in this sweater?” he continues, his voice a low whisper. He pauses for a moment and when you don’t answer, he continues. “Does it…arouse you, perhaps?”

Holy fuck.

This can’t be happening.

You try to think of something clever or sexy, but the bluntness of the question and the fire in his eyes kills whatever remaining brain cells you have left. Mutely, you nod.

There’s that smirk again as he licks his lips. “Are you wet right now?”

Your cheeks burn. You give the tiniest nod possible.

“Hmm.” His hand alights on the button of your jeans. “I believe you Midgardians have a saying that is appropriate here: trust, but verify.” He slips the button free and your heart pounds like a war drum in your chest.

You cannot believe this is happening.

“You haven’t been entirely truthful in this conversation.” His palm presses flat against your stomach, the tips of his fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. “So I’m afraid I’m going to have to see for myself.”

His hand is achingly slow, creeping lower and lower. He watches you intently as his hand cups your sex, seemingly cataloging the way your breath hitches and all the little shivers that run through you.

His middle finger finally slides between your folds and you can’t help but moan.

“Oh, you did lie to me,” he growls, his index finger joining his middle, both sliding up to circle your clit. “You’re not wet, you’re soaked.”

Your legs are already starting to tremble and you grab on to his shoulders to try and steady yourself. The fabric of the sweater is softer than a cloud against your hands.

“Sopping wet,” he continues, trapping your right leg between his thighs and the counter, the heavy weight of his erection pressing eagerly against your hip. “And this is all for me?”

Wordlessly, you nod. There’s no point in denying it—and you don’t think he wants you to, either.

“What am I going to do about this?” he muses. His index and middle fingers lightly circle your clit again and you whimper.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he says. His tone is one of light curiosity, like you’re just chatting casually about the weather. “But if I continue, you’re almost certainly going to come.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please.”

“Oh, you want me to make you come?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “Right here in the middle of the kitchen?”

You nod.

“Anyone could walk in, though,” he purrs. “Anyone could come in and see me with my fingers buried in your dripping cunt. What would they think if they saw you so utterly debauched and at my mercy, begging for me to make you come?”

“Don’t care…” you gasp. How are you already so close?

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t care what they’d think if they saw us like this?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, you must be desperate.” He adjusts his hand, his thumb taking up the rhythm on your clit while his index finger sinks into your slick channel, making you gasp.

“Loki, please—”

“Begging already,” he says, not letting up in his rhythm. “Has it been a long time, sweetheart? When did you last feel this good?”

It’s not a question you can answer. You don’t know that anyone ever has made you feel like this. You moan, your hips bucking hard against his hand.

“Poor thing,” he tuts. “You’re clearly desperate for it. What kinds of filthy thoughts have you had about me?” he purrs. “I’ve seen you staring, I’ve heard your breath hitch. Have you touched yourself while thinking of me?”

You manage a nod and his smile turns feral. “When was the last time?”

“Last…last night,” you gasp.

“How many times did you come?”

“F-Four.”

“Filthy girl.” His free hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tips your head back. “Next time, all you have to do is ask.”

His mouth covers yours, his tongue pushing past your lips as he slides a second finger into you. You moan into his mouth as the pressure in your hips increases.

“Oh yes, let me hear all of those pretty noises,” he murmurs. “Are you going to let me fuck you against the counter after I make you come?”

You nod, whimpering.

“Good girl,” he purrs. “I think you need to be fucked properly and hard. Is that what you need?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

“Mmm, that’s what I thought. This cunt is just too wet and needy for any other treatment.” He draws back to look at you more fully, giving you a lazy, hungry smile. “You’re about to lose it all over my fingers, aren’t you?”

Your orgasm is cresting, the tingling pressure in your hips becoming unbearable. You nod, lost for words.

With one more smirk, he curls his fingers inside of you. “Come for me, pretty girl, let me see you.”

Your cunt spasms around his thrusting fingers and your whole body shudders as your orgasm overtakes you, your head tipping back as you cry out.

“Oh, that’s it,” he murmurs, “there’s my good girl.”

A shiver runs through you at his words, your hips still moving against his hand, trying to draw out every last ripple of pleasure.

He kisses you as you come down from your high, and you take the opportunity to run your hands over his chest and tentatively feel the hard planes of muscle that you’ve been staring at these last few weeks. But after a few moments, he takes your hand and guides it to his cock.

His preference for leather pants or those sinfully tight dark wash jeans made you suspect that the size of his ego might actually be proportionate to the size of his cock and your initial assessment seems to confirm that theory. You rub your fingers over the denim that covers his thick shaft, feeling yourself grow even wetter at the low groan he makes in the back of his throat.

“Take my cock out.” His voice is so deep and his eyes are so smoldering, it feels like the command goes straight to your cunt. You are practically trembling with anticipation as your shaking hands make quick work of the button, buckle, and zipper.

You can’t help but suck in a breath when his cock comes into view. He’s long and deliciously thick—big enough to be a little intimidating, but not overwhelmingly so.

He guides your hand to wrap around his shaft. He barely fits in your hand. “Look at what you’ve done to me,” he says, his voice raspy as he guides your hand to stroke his cock. “Feel how hard I am for you, feel how much I want you.”

His cock practically pulses with need, the tip slick with pre-come and you grasp him more firmly, your cunt pulsing as he gives a deeply satisfying groan.

You stroke him from base to tip, squeezing lightly. He groans again. “They told me to stay away from you, you know,” he says.

You aren’t so far gone that you can let this information slip by. “What? Who?”

“Stark. Rogers. Romanoff. My brother.” He reaches behind you and shoves the fruit and cutting board into the side, the knife clattering into the sink. “They saw how I looked at you,” he says. “They saw that I wanted you. They told me you were too good for me. Too sweet.”

You feel your jeans and underwear melt away in a shimmer of green and he lifts you easily onto the counter.

His eyes flash with desire. “I wonder what they’d say if they knew you’d let me fuck you raw in the middle of the kitchen?”

For a brief moment, frustration almost wins out over your lust. “We could have done this sooner?”

His gaze turns serious. “Darling, we could have done this the moment we met, but I’m told a handshake is more appropriate.”

You take a breath, about to embark on a rant about the individuals he’d named and how they hadn’t even asked, they’d just assumed, but Loki puts a hand up against your mouth.

“Don’t make me wait any longer,” he says. There’s a sincerity and a need in his gaze that you’ve never seen before and it’s enough to calm your anger for just a moment.

“Okay,” you say, wrapping your legs around his waist and angling your hips toward his, “but clear your schedule because I’m gonna need you to fuck me a lot to make up for all that time.”

His grin is feral as he pushes into you.

You shiver at the blunt stretch of his cock, your hands gripping his broad shoulders. He indulges in a low groan as his hips press flush against yours.

“If I’d known they were keeping me from this tight cunt, I would’ve done something sooner,” he rasps. “You feel absolutely perfect.”

“Please,” you breathe, “I need—please.”

His hips snap hard against yours and you moan, your head tipping back.

His eyes glitter as he pulls you close, pressing his mouth against your ear. “The next time I have you, I will be sweet and soft.”

“And this time?” you ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“This time—” His mouth presses against the curve of your neck, teeth scraping just this side of too hard against the tender skin. “—I’m going to utterly ruin you.”

His pace is fast and rough—the word possessive comes to mind. You twist the luxurious fabric of his sweater in your hands as his cock hits that sweet, aching spot inside of you, pressing against your sensitive cunt in a way that makes your muscles spasm and clench around him. You moan, a shiver rolling through you as you inch closer to release.

“I’m…fuck, I’m getting close,” you gasp.

His pace abruptly slows and his grin is wide and his eyes are dancing with mirth when he raises his head from your shoulder.

“That was unnecessary,” you say with a scowl.

“Oh, I just want to savor you for a little longer, my love,” he purrs as he settles into an easy and slow pace that still makes your toes curl. “You’re going to take me right over the edge with you and I’ve waited so terribly long to have you.”

“I feel like you’re probably omitting the fact that you like being a tease,” you say.

He grins again, increasing his pace ever so slightly. “Both things can be true.”

He does this a few times—taking up a wicked pace that almost sends you hurtling over the edge, only to slow at the last possible moment, silencing your whimpering protests with a deep and slow kiss that is good enough to make you forgive him until a few minutes later when he does it all over again.

You hold out for as long as you can, but eventually, the ache in your hips overwhelms you.

“Loki,” you breathe when his pace again begins to increase. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he rasps, somehow finding the concentration to raise an eyebrow. “You’re quite sure?”

You nod.

“You want to come all over my cock?”

Speech is slightly beyond you at this point, but you manage to gasp a desperate plea as you hurtle into the final plateau, right before the fall.

Loki regards you with that same playful look as he fucks you. You wait, unsure of what he’s going to do, your body desperately crying out for your release.

His lips curl into a smile. “Come for me, sweet thing.”

At the sound of his voice, every one of your muscles is tensing and releasing, the slick walls of your cunt clamping down hard on the thick girth of his cock as you shudder and moan.

The remnants of Loki’s composure are fraying, his eyes closed and his jaw slack as he chases his own end. His brow furrows and he throws his head back, letting out a low groan as he comes and you think it might be the best sound you’ve ever heard.

You sag against him as you both come down from your respective highs, his heart beating hard under the soft fabric of his sweater. He reaches for your face, tilting your head back so he can kiss you, impossibly slow and soft.

You’re in the middle of the kitchen. You understand this. In a wholly rational world, you would be quick to hop off the counter, quick to try and negotiate the return of your jeans from whatever pocket dimension he’s sent them to.

Instead, you find yourself wanting to stay in this moment, with his arms wrapped around you, his cock still pulsing inside you as he kisses you breathless.

You count to ten, then twenty. At forty, you draw back slightly, only to have him pull you back into the kiss.

It’s somewhere after one hundred when he trails his lips to your neck and you manage to say what you intended: “We should probably…” you trail off as he sucks at your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine.

“We should probably what?” he murmurs against your neck, before tracing a lazy figure eight with the tip of his tongue.

It takes you a moment to find that sentence. “Get dressed and such.”

You feel the sharp press of his smile against your skin. “I think not.”

Before you can open your mouth to say anything, the kitchen is fading in a shimmer of green to an unfamiliar bedroom and the two of you tumble into a bed draped in green silk.

“I’d like to stay like this for a while,” he says, a smile playing at his lips as he slowly rolls his hips against you, somehow still impossibly hard. “In fact, I think I need to have you again.”

“I can live with that,” you say. You tug at the fabric of his sweater. “But this is going to have to go.”

His gaze is smoldering and his bare skin is suddenly pressed against yours as the sweater and the rest of your clothes disappear in that familiar shimmer of green.

“Will you like me as much without it?” he asks, rolling his hips against you.

You drag your fingernails up along the firm muscles of his back. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Good,” he says, leaning in to kiss you, “because as I understand it, we have quite a lot of time to make up for.”

#loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson smut #loki x female reader smut #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x you smut #loki x yn smut #loki imagine

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 26 days

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[ID: Two panels from the BSD manga. The first shows Fyodor, clear eyed with an open expression, asking "What year is it?". The second shows Dazai looking down at "Fyodor's" corpse, saying "Then who the hell is this?" End ID.]

You guys. You GUYS. I feel so vindicated - it was significant!

And also I'm bringing this potential reference back because I forgot about it until right now.

[ID: Part of a white book cover. The author is Dostoevsky. The title is The Double. End ID.]

"Constantly rebuffed from the social circles he aspires to frequent, the timid clerk Golyadkin is confronted by the sudden appearance of his double, a more brazen, confident and socially successful version of himself, who abuses and victimizes the original. As he is increasingly persecuted, Golyadkin finds his social, romantic and professional life unravelling, in a spiral that leads to a catastrophic denouement."

"One critic wrote that The Double's main idea is that "the human will in its search for total freedom of expression becomes a self-destructive impulse"."

[ID: A screenshot of a paragraph from The Double's wikipedia page. The sections of note are highlighted: "The Double is the most Gogolesque of Dostoevsky's works", "a parody of "The Overcoat"", "Dostoevsky alters and wholly repeats Gogol's phrases". End ID.]

...Nikolai, I'm so sorry buddy, but I think you're screwed.

#storyrambles #bsd #AAAAAAA #bsd spoilers #bsd meta #bsd chapter 114 #bsd fyodor #bsd nikolai #call me ace detective the way i am ace. and also a detective #<- using that tag again and you CAN'T STOP ME

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herlondonboy · 3 months

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love at first sight, clarisse la rue

summary: from the moment she first saw you, she became knew you were hers and vice versa. based on this req.

warnings: y/n playing hard to get, ooc clarisse, clarisse pining like a loser (it’s me, i’m the loser), fake dating an apollo kid, clarisse tries to kill him.

wc: 2.1k

your first camp experience unfolded at the age of fifteen. as you walked the unfamiliar terrain of camp half-blood, luke, a seasoned demigod, took on the role of your guide. the lush greenery and the scent of pine surrounded you as you explored the various cabins. unbeknownst to you, clarisse la rue, observed from a distance.

clarisse found herself captivated by your ethereal beauty. the moment you entered camp, it was as if a spotlight had illuminated you, catching the attention of both demigods and nymphs alike. clarisse, though intrigued, remained silent, watching as you interacted with your newfound friends.

in the training grounds, your grace and charm didn't escape clarisse's notice. clarisse, with her keen instincts, sensed a different aura around you– an aura she associated with the children of aphrodite. the way you effortlessly enchanted those around you left clarisse both irritated and fascinated.

despite the silent admiration, clarisse struggled to approach you. the clash of your godly parentage– ares and aphrodite– seemed like an insurmountable barrier. clarisse, usually assertive and bold, found herself at a loss for words in your presence.

throughout camp activities, your popularity grew, and clarisse's internal conflict intensified. the daughter of ares, accustomed to asserting dominance, felt a strange vulnerability when it came to you. the unspoken tension lingered between you, creating an unexplored connection.

as the days passed, your impact on camp life became undeniable. clarisse, torn between her warrior instincts and newfound feelings, remained on the sidelines. you, oblivious to clarisse's internal struggle, continued to shine in your own unique way.

the story of your first camp experience unfolded like a tapestry, woven with threads of divine complexity. clarisse la rue, found herself entangled in emotions she never anticipated, all because of a chance encounter with a child of aphrodite, possibly, who, unknowingly, had entranced her from the very beginning.

despite the magnetic pull between you, clarisse and you continued to dance around each other, your connection remaining unspoken. clarisse, burdened by her own uncertainties, perceived a subtle distance in your demeanour, interpreting it as a sign of disinterest.

as the days passed, clarisse found herself yearning for the courage to bridge the gap. she wished she had spoken to you, for the silence between you grew like an insurmountable wall. in moments of solitude, clarisse questioned whether her own hesitations had painted a false narrative, leaving her with the impression that you harboured indifference.

while you navigated camp life with grace, the daughter of ares grappled with her internal conflicts. clarisse's heart longed to unravel the mystery of your feelings, wishing she had seized the chance to discover the truth instead of succumbing to her own insecurities.

as the final days of your first camp experience unfolded, clarisse's regret deepened. the unspoken connection, once poised on the precipice of possibility, now seemed like a fleeting mirage. clarisse yearned to rewrite the script, to alter the narrative that lingered between you, regretting the silent dance you had shared.

one bright morning at camp half-blood, you found yourself at the centre of an unusual spectacle. as you sat with luke at the communal table, enjoying a breakfast, your senses caught the unwavering gaze of a mysterious girl across the training grounds.

curiosity tugging at you, you turned to luke, “hey, who’s the girl over there? the one staring at me?”

luke, his expression shifting into a cautious tone, replied, “that’s clarisse la rue, daughter of ares. a formidable warrior, but she’s known for her… intensity. just be careful around her, y/n.”

you rose your eyebrow.

“she’s a bully.”

“ah,” intrigued rather than deterred, you couldn’t resist the allure of the enigmatic clarisse. a mischievous spark danced in your eyes as you waved at clarisse, who, caught off guard, looked like a deer caught in headlights. blushing, clarisse nervously shifted her gaze downward, focusing on her siblings training nearby.

two years had passed since that encounter at camp, and the connection between you and clarisse lingered like an unresolved melody. you, despite the passage of time, remained unclaimed by your godly parent, a fact that stirred whispers of speculation and anticipation within the camp.

clarisse, determined to reignite the flame of connection that had flickered in that fleeting moment, had spent the intervening years trying to catch your attention. the daughter of ares, usually fearless in the face of battles, found herself navigating unfamiliar terrain when it came to matters of the heart.

one afternoon, you found yourself amidst the lively atmosphere of the archery range, surrounded by the apollo kids. laughter filled the air as they playfully flirted, arrows hitting their targets with precision. clarisse, observing from a distance, couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as she watched your infectious laughter and easy connection with the apollo demigods.

unable to contain the simmering emotions, clarisse decided to take matters into her own hands. she stormed onto the archery range, her presence demanding attention. "y/n!" she called, her voice cutting through the jovial atmosphere.

you turned, eyebrows raised in surprise as you saw clarisse approaching. "hey, clarisse. what's up?"

"enough with this archery nonsense," clarisse declared, her eyes flashing with determination. "let's spar. now."

the apollo kids exchanged knowing glances, sensing the tension in the air. you, always up for a challenge, agreed, and they moved to the sparring area. the clash of swords echoed as the two of you engaged in a fierce battle, each determined to assert dominance.

after a round of intense sparring, you found yourself on the losing end. however, instead of conceding defeat gracefully, a mischievous glint entered your eyes. "you know, clarisse, maybe you're just upset that you're not the one making me laugh like that," you teased, a sly grin playing on your lips.

clarisse's jaw tightened, her jealousy fuelling the fire of determination. "quit the games, y/n. let's finish this."

as the sparring resumed, you strategically used every opportunity to distract clarisse. mentioning shared memories and playful banter, you exploited the opening, knocking clarisse's sword out of her hand. you stood victorious, but instead of revelling in your win, you chose to add a final twist.

leaning in, you pressed a gentle kiss to clarisse's cheek, catching her off guard. "thanks for the spar," you whispered with a smirk before skipping off, leaving clarisse stunned in the aftermath.

the archery range fell silent, the demigods exchanging bewildered glances. clarisse, still processing the unexpected turn of events, touched her cheek, her heart racing with a mix of confusion and something else– a spark reignited from the past. the mysterious connection between you and clarisse continued to weave its complex narrative, leaving the camp in anticipation of the next chapter in your entangled tale.

the next day dawned with an unspoken tension hanging in the air at camp half-blood. clarisse had discovered that you were dating one of the apollo kids, a revelation that sparked a simmering irritation within the daughter of ares. as preparations for the upcoming capture the flag game began, clarisse found herself fixated on the perceived betrayal.

the familiar call for capture the flag echoed through the camp, and demigods assembled with an air of anticipation. however, this time, clarisse approached the game with a different strategy in mind. instead of camping out in the woods, she decided to actively seek out the apollo kid, her rival in both love and war.

venturing into the forest, clarisse wielded her electric spear with an unwavering determination. she followed the trail of the apollo kid, her steps fuelled by a mix of anger and frustration. as she approached, the sound of clashing metal rang through the trees, revealing the intensity of the confrontation.

clarisse burst into the clearing, catching the apollo kid off guard. the clash of their weapons echoed, a symbolic battle fuelled by unspoken emotions. the apollo kid defended himself, but clarisse's attacks were fuelled by a burning rage.

just as clarisse prepared to strike a decisive blow, you stumbled upon the scene. shock and horror painted your face as you realised the perilous situation. without hesitation, you shouted, "clarisse, stop!"

the daughter of ares froze, the electric spear poised mid-air. you rushed forward, your voice laced with urgency. "what are you doing? he's defenceless!"

clarisse's eyes flashed with a mix of frustration and defiance, but she didn’t say anything.

you cursed clarisse, your anger boiling over. "this isn't the way to handle things!" you hurriedly helped your boyfriend, injured from the skirmish, and together you made your way to the medical cabin where the apollo kid's siblings could tend to his wounds.

clarisse's siblings, witnessing the scene, approached her with concern. "what's going on, clarisse? why did you attack him?"

clarisse scoffed and pushed them away, a wall of defensiveness erected around her. "mind your own business. he had it coming."

as the medical cabin door closed behind you and the injured apollo kid, the aftermath of the confrontation hung in the air. clarisse, wrestling with her own emotions, stood alone, surrounded by the echoes of a conflict born from love, jealousy, and the complex web of relationships that defined life at camp half-blood. the unspoken chapter of your and clarisse's intertwined destinies continued to unfold, leaving the camp in anticipation of the resolution that awaited you.

“that wasn’t supposed to happen,” you heard, making you turn to see him smiling.

“i’m sorry,” you said. “are you okay?”

“peachy.”

a week had passed since the encounter during capture the flag, and you had been avoiding clarisse like the plague. the tension between you hung in the air like a storm waiting to break. sensing the avoidance, clarisse, never one to back down, decided it was time to confront the situation head-on.

cornering you in a secluded spot, clarisse crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "what's your deal, y/n? you've been avoiding me all week. we need to talk."

you scoffed, a sarcastic smile playing on your lips. "oh, now you want to talk? after you tried to kill my boyfriend?"

clarisse's expression shifted from frustration to a mix of guilt and longing. "y/n, it wasn't like that. i just—"

"save it," you interrupted, your tone cutting through the air. "what did you expect? some grand confession of feelings after you tried to take him down? you've had a stupid little crush for years, and now you decide to act upon it?"

clarisse, surprisingly, found you more attractive than ever in this moment. stepping forward, she closed the distance between you, a determined look in her eyes. "you think it's just a crush, y/n? you're wrong."

you, unfazed, pushed clarisse away. "save the drama. i don't care about your feelings. i have a boyfriend, and you-"

clarisse, undeterred, seized the moment and captured your lips in a passionate kiss. you hesitated for a moment before succumbing to the intensity of the moment. when clarisse finally pulled back, she looked you in the eyes and declared, "you're mine. i don't care about your boyfriend. you're mine, y/n. you always have been and always will be, okay?"

you, surprisingly, didn't argue. instead, you leaned in for another kiss, mumbling against clarisse's lips, "it was an act. to get you to say it."

clarisse rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. "you're impossible."

your lips met again, the storm of emotions swirling around you dissipating as the two of you surrendered to the undeniable pull between you. in that moment, beneath the canopy of camp half-blood, you and clarisse found a fragile balance, your destinies intertwining in a way that defied logic and expectation. the echoes of unspoken desires and the complex dance of love continued to shape the narrative of your entangled hearts.

after the prolonged kiss, clarisse slowly pulled back, looking up with a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. “i knew it,” she declared with a teasing glint in her eyes, revelling in the unexpected turn of events. you, still caught in the haze of the moment, furrowed your brows in confusion.

“what are you talking about?” you asked, your gaze locked with clarisse’s.

clarisse’s smirk widened, and she simply pointed upward. you followed her gesture, looking up at the sky, only to see a shimmering glow above you. you squinted, trying to make sense of what was happening.

aphrodite’s symbol materialised above your head, a clear indication that you had been claimed by the goddess of love. realisation dawned upon clarisse, and she burst into laughter. “well, well, looks like cupid’s arrows finally hit their mark.”

you rolled your eyes, a mix of annoyance and amusement in your expression. “the history book on the shelf is always repeating itself, huh?” you quipped.

clarisse rolled her eyes at the lyric and pulled you along to chiron’s office.

it was love at first sight. at least on clarisse’s half.

#clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue #clarisse my beloved #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x you #clarisse pjo #elijah writes #please reblog

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misc-obeyme · 5 months

Text

Barbatos holds the multitudes of space and time within him, but it isn't too often that he is able to bring himself fully into the present moment. The burden of heavy secrets constantly threatens to pull his mind into the past or the future. He has learned how to exist simultaneously within them, to move through them all continuously. He has learned to adapt.

So he is stunned to find how frequently you pull him crashing into the now. All it takes is a single smile, his name on your lips, the sound of your voice from another room, waking from a dream of you, or the feeling of your skin beneath his fingertips.

Barbatos notices the ability you seem to possess to arrest his attention so fully that his mind moves out of the rest of time entirely. He can feel it increase every time he's with you. It becomes easier and easier for him to exist only now in a way he never truly has before.

And yet nothing could have prepared him for the moment he sees tears in your eyes. How everything slows down, time seems to crawl by, completely out of his control, as you blink and the droplets fall like tiny crystals down your face.

The sight stops time for him just as it stops the beating of his heart.

The world resumes as soon as you're in his arms, pressed close to him so he can feel your chest heave as you cry into his shoulder.

It doesn't matter what caused this. It doesn't matter why you're hurting, only that you are. He finds he can't hold himself in various points of time while you're suffering in this one. The sound of your anguish unravels him, pulls him apart, unwinds every second of every timeline he has ever known.

Barbatos has to fight himself more than he ever has before. He knows that altering the timelines is something he can't do. Still the desire to manipulate them for you is overwhelming. To erase this experience forever from your life.

And then you settle in his arms. Your tears slow and finally stop. Your arms tighten around him and you whisper to him about how much you love him, how much he means to you, how grateful you are to have him to hold you in these moments.

Time begins again. Barbatos finds himself looking only at you, where his present is encompassed entirely in your eyes. You become his refuge when the push and pull of time is too much, when he aches to feel himself only in the now.

Barbatos will continue on into an inscrutable future just as he has traversed through a muddied past to reach this moment. And though you will have only been a single bright spot in that endless existence, he will always have the touchstone of your memory to call him back to his present self in any timeline.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

#still in my angst era I guess #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #omswd #omnb #obey me barbatos #om barbatos #barbatos obey me #obey me barbatos x reader #om barbatos x reader #barbatos obey me x reader #obey me barbatos x mc #obey me x reader #misc writes

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yamameta-inc · 4 months

Text

COVID-19's long-term effects on the body: an incomplete list

COVID’s effect on the immune system, specifically on lymphocytes:

NYT article from 2020 (Studies cited: https://www.biorxiv.org/content/10.1101/2020.05.18.101717v1, https://www.biorxiv.org/content/10.1101/2020.05.20.106401v1, https://www.unboundmedicine.com/medline/citation/32405080/Decreased_T_cell_populations_contribute_to_the_increased_severity_of_COVID_19_, https://www.medrxiv.org/content/10.1101/2020.06.08.20125112v1)

https://www.biorxiv.org/content/10.1101/2022.01.10.475725v1

https://www.science.org/doi/10.1126/science.abc8511 (Published in Science)

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC9057012/

https://www.forbes.com/sites/williamhaseltine/2022/04/14/sars-cov-2-actively-infects-and-kills-lymphoid-cells/

https://www.cleveland.com/news/2022/10/in-cleveland-and-beyond-researchers-begin-to-unravel-the-mystery-of-long-covid-19.html

SARS-CoV-2 infection weakens immune-cell response to vaccination: NIH-funded study suggests need to boost CD8+ T cell response after infection

https://www.merckmanuals.com/professional/hematology-and-oncology/leukopenias/lymphocytopenia

https://thetyee.ca/Analysis/2022/11/07/COVID-Reinfections-And-Immunity/

Dendritic cell deficiencies persist seven months after SARS-CoV-2 infection

https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fimmu.2022.1034159/full

https://www.n-tv.de/politik/Lauterbach-warnt-vor-unheilbarer-Immunschwaeche-durch-Corona-article23860527.html (German Minister of Health)

Anecdotal evidence of COVID’s effects on white blood cells:

https://twitter.com/DrJohnHhess/status/1661837956875956224

https://x.com/TristanVeness/status/1661565201345564673

https://twitter.com/TristanVeness/status/1689996298408312832

Much more if you speak to Long Covid patients directly!

Related information of interest:

China approves Genuine Biotech's HIV drug for COVID patients

COVID as a “mass disabling event” and impact on the economy:

https://www.ctvnews.ca/health/report-says-long-covid-could-impact-economy-and-be-mass-disabling-event-in-canada-1.6306608

https://x.com/inkblue01/status/1742183209809453456?s=20

COVID’s impact on the heart:

https://www.dailystar.co.uk/news/world-news/deadly-virus-could-lead-heart-31751263 (Research from: Japan's Riken research institute)

https://www.brisbanetimes.com.au/national/queensland/unlike-flu-covid-19-attacks-dna-in-the-heart-new-research-20220929-p5bm10.html

https://www.mdpi.com/2077-0383/12/1/186

https://medicalxpress.com/news/2023-04-mild-covid-effects-cardiovascular-health.html

https://publichealth.jhu.edu/2022/covid-and-the-heart-it-spares-no-one

https://www.bhf.org.uk/informationsupport/heart-matters-magazine/news/coronavirus-and-your-health/is-coronavirus-a-disease-of-the-blood-vessels (British Heart Foundation)

COVID’s effect on the brain and cognitive function:

https://www.openaccessgovernment.org/article/brain-infection-by-sars-cov-2-lifelong-consequences/171391/

https://www.cidrap.umn.edu/covid-19/study-shows-covid-leaves-brain-injury-markers-blood

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/jul/08/warning-of-serious-brain-disorders-in-people-with-mild-covid-symptoms

Cognitive post-acute sequelae of SARS-CoV-2 (PASC) can occur after mild COVID-19

Neurologic Effects of SARS-CoV-2 Transmitted among Dogs

https://journals.lww.com/nsan/fulltext/2022/39030/neurological_manifestations_and_mortality_in.4.aspx

https://www.salon.com/2023/06/17/new-evidence-suggests-alters-the-brain--but-the-extent-of-changes-is-unclear/

https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/covid-virus-may-tunnel-through-nanotubes-from-nose-to-brain/

https://neurosciencenews.com/post-covid-brain-21904/

https://www.thelancet.com/journals/lanpsy/article/PIIS2215-0366(22)00260-7/fulltext

https://medicalxpress.com/news/2022-08-covid-infection-crucial-brain-regions.html

https://news.ecu.edu/2022/08/04/covid-parkinsons-link/

Covid as a vascular/blood vessel disease:

https://www.salon.com/2020/06/01/coronavirus-is-a-blood-vessel-disease-study-says-and-its-mysteries-finally-make-sense/

https://www.salon.com/2023/12/27/brain-damage-caused-by-19-may-not-show-up-on-routine-tests-study-finds/

https://www.nih.gov/news-events/news-releases/sars-cov-2-infects-coronary-arteries-increases-plaque-inflammation

https://www.mdpi.com/2077-0383/12/6/2123

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2021/10/211004104134.htm (microclots)

Long Covid:

Post-COVID-19 Condition in Canada: What we know, what we don’t know, and a framework for action

https://www.ctvnews.ca/health/coronavirus/more-than-two-years-of-long-covid-research-hasn-t-yielded-many-answers-scientific-review-1.6235227

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/london/cause-of-long-covid-symptoms-revealed-by-lung-imaging-research-at-western-university-1.6504318

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/montreal/long-covid-study-montreal-1.6521131

https://news.yale.edu/2023/12/19/study-helps-explain-post-covid-exercise-intolerance

Other:

- Viruses and mutation: https://typingmonkeys.substack.com/p/monkeys-on-typewriters

Measures taken by the rich and world leaders

Heightened risk of diabetes

https://jamanetwork.com/journals/jama/fullarticle/2805461

https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-022-00912-y

Liver damage:

https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/mumbai/46-of-covid-patients-have-liver-damage-study/articleshow/97809200.cms?from=mdr

tl;dr: covid is a vascular disease, not a respiratory illness. it can affect your blood and every organ in your body. every time you're reinfected, your chances of getting long covid increase.

avoid being infected. reduce the amount of viral load you're exposed to.

the gap between what the scientific community knows and ordinary people know is massive. collective action is needed.

#putting this somewhere at least as reference for... somebody hopefully #covid #disability #y'all. it is bleak out there but some very good people are doing their best to help #we need as many people aware and helping as possible

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taintandviolent · 1 year

Text

In the end of the night, I can feel your warmth. (Kyle Spencer x Reader)

summary: zombies eat brains... not pussies. WRONG. they actually eat them really well. 2.9K words!

warnings: 18+ below the cut!! smut (female receiveing), heavy heavy cunnilingus, s*xual guiding/coaching, praise (male receiving), carnal instincts, unga bunga brain Frankenkyle because it’s a serious problem I have, uhhhhhhh.

tags: @darlingjimmy @petersevans @kaiju-superstar @redwoodghost @kaismanwich @elsamars @thewolveswithin @marylovesevanpeters @80strashbag @iluwmycats @kai-slut @kaissweetlamb @twinkiemaximoff @evanpetersfansblog @spill-the-t @eventually27 @stucktothetwo @kai-andersons-blog @kai-anderson-whore @evansb1tch @viharmonscorner @yesdevineruler @anonymous0316 @enchanting-evan @fuckedbykai @nova-kayne67

ao3 link here! Full link below the cut!! Thank you to @redwoodghost and @kaiju-superstar for yet AGAIN beta-reading and sending me to the clouds.

“Mmmph….”

Three days earlier.

After a series of life altering events, you’d finally thrown your hands up and run away from home. The destination? Miss Robichaux’s School for Gifted Young Women, located in the mysterious city of New Orleans. As you rode the bus, one backpack stuffed with clothes and jewellery clutched tightly to your chest like a child, vibrant images of vampires, witches and voodoo danced in your dreams.

You saw yourself as a plain Jane who had been a little too influenced by the occult at a young age. A typical girl who had grown up on Stevie Nicks and tarot cards, you had never considered yourself particularly remarkable, though you’d always had a knack for making things happen a little too easily. Teachers and parents had always described you as an influential young woman — a deceptive umbrella term that hardly scratched the surface. You weren’t writing persuasive essays or excelling in Speech and Debate, you were sticking your fingers into someone’s mind like playdoh and rewiring it to do exactly what you wanted.

It was that deceptive umbrella term that brought you to Louisiana to begin with; you’d felt unheard, unseen, and misunderstood. You were struggling and nobody had the capacity to unravel your problems.

Cordelia, who was easily one of the most beautiful women you’d ever seen, welcomed you into her office. The interview was brief but compassionate. She’d asked you to explain what brought you to her home, what you felt your “powers” were, and reached to touch the top of your hand when you struggled with that word. She lingered, staring deeply at your fingers. After a moment, she inhaled and spoke again.

“Nothing is silly here. You’re safe. Everything you’ve thought was make-believe or… or childish isn’t. The world runs on magic.”

Cordelia had called one of the other girls into her office and given you an encouraging nod. The girl, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen, had jet black hair, and large glasses. She looked deeply frightened and you almost felt bad when you made her crawl on the floor like a crab before standing up and clapping excitedly. It took very little effort for you, Cordelia noted and wrote something on a piece of paper in your file.

Whatever you’d done, you’d done it correctly. Shortly after that, a girl named Zoe showed you to your new room. She was sweet, kind — the sort of woman that you thought would listen to every side of every story before making any judgements. She used to be a student witch here, she explained as you two walked, but she'd risen in the ranks and become so busy with being the Council — something very important, a hierarchy of witches — that she didn’t have time for the things she used to focus on.

Zoe opened the tall door, letting you step in first. Well-lit by the large and ornately trimmed windows, the room was white, matching the scheme of the rest of the mansion. Sparsely decorated, there were the necessities in terms of furniture and nothing else. There were two beds at opposite sides of the room… and a blonde boy sat cross-legged on the one closest to the door. His expression was blank, but his brows were laced together, conveying some sort of unknown sadness.

“This is Kyle. He…” she trailed off, her voice sounding unsteady. “He died. Madison and I, we… we put him back together and brought him back.”

You snapped your head to face her, jaw hanging slack in disbelief. “Put him back together? Like Frankenstein?”

Zoe nodded, and reached out to stroke his fluffy blonde curls. While he remained stoic, you noticed the tiniest flinch in his cheek muscles. The way she looked at him… you crossed your arms over your chest uncomfortably. There was history here. “He’s not the same. He tries though.”

She straightened out her frown, visibly trying to move on from the memories.

“This used to be my room. But…” She dropped her hand to her side. He flinched more visibly. “It’s yours now.”

Zoe had told you that all Kyle needed was macaroni, kid’s shows on YouTube, and he wouldn’t bother you. For the first night, you conceded with those recommendations because his outbursts overwhelmed you.

On the second night, you woke up to the sound of rustling. Kyle sat upright in his bed, sheets draped over his lap, staring towards the window. You sat up in bed, pulling the sheets up to your chest. He turned to look at you and shrunk away from your gaze, ashamed. He quickly returned to a lying position, like a child who had gotten yelled at. The apprehension you possessed on the first night had morphed into wonderment. A reanimated boy, who despite being pieced together still had some semblance of sentience and emotion. It may have been cliche to analyze it through a Shelley-esque eye… but with sentience, came love. And with love, agony was sure to follow. You’d always been particularly enraptured with the idea of a monster needing love, trying desperately to understand it.

A line from Frankenstein came to mind as you watched him staring straight up at the ceiling, hoping you wouldn’t notice he wasn’t asleep. “I have a love in me the likes of which can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”

So… what if you satisfied the first? Perhaps all he needed was some tenderness, some attentiveness.

“Kyle?”

No response. You swung your legs out from underneath the covers, planting your bare feet on the wooden floors. In only your nightgown, the chill of the air bit at your exposed limbs, prompting you to slip your arms into the lacy, green sleeves of your robe.

“Kyle? You wanna look at the moon?”

This time, he turned his head on the pillow to look at you. You began moving carefully towards him.

“You want to? The moon?” You asked again, making a circle shape with your hands and then unrolling them to point towards the window. He nodded, showing understanding. Clumsily, he threw the covers off him and got to his feet.

You took one step. He followed, ambling heavily behind you until you both stood close enough to the window to feel the chill that permeated the glass. He sighed heavily, the sound resonating in his broad chest. It was the first time you’d heard any sort of happy sound from him. His knuckles brushed against yours, but despite the quivering in your abdomen, you didn’t reach out to hold his hand. You wanted to, though. Very, very much.

On the third night, you woke up to the sounds.

“Mmmmmph! Mmm…arrr…. Mmmm…. ow.”

You rubbed your eyes, rousing yourself. Instead of being in his own bed, like he usually was, Kyle sat at the foot of yours, his legs pulled to his chest. “What? What’s wrong?”

He grunted again, scooting closer to you on the bed. Although the room was dark, the small night light in the corner illuminated just enough of his face to show the pained expression, the stress in his dark eyes.

“Kyle? What’s the matter? Try…” You whispered. “Are you hurt?”

He nodded. Then shook his head. “Hmmmph… I’m……”

“You’re what? What is it?”

He struggled to speak, but what did come out sounded distinctly like your own name.

Kyle’s head dropped heavily to his chest, shamefully looking down at his erection as it tented his boxers. He lifted his eyes, staring at you from underneath his heavy brow and fluffy locks. Both hands clenched into fists, he pressed down into his groin, moaning.

Oh…. Oh fuck, you thought. Oh my fucking god, he’s got a boner.

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of… it’s normal. O-kay.”

Poor thing. He doesn’t know what to do…. He’s asking for help. He looked into your eyes with the most soulful, desperate pleading you’d ever seen. No man, even more together than him, had ever asked you for help like this. There was something underneath, another stain on his heart. You could feel it when your eyes locked for a second too long — but that wasn’t important. It didn’t change what you were about to do.

You fingered the ruched elastic of his boxers, scooping it towards you. The taut skin of his stomach was warm, and the heat increased as you neared the bush of hair. Kyle groaned and cloddishly bucked his hips to force your hand farther down. The searing hot tip slipped against the back of your hand, leaving a streak of precum on your skin.

“P……l…eaaasse…..” His chest was heaving up and down, forcing excited little breaths out of his open mouth.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and gripped his cock gently. It twitched against your hand and you felt another hot, viscid ribbon coat your knuckles. Oh fuck. He jerked his hips again as you began stroking, smearing his wetness along the shaft. He slackened the muscles in his neck, letting his head fall onto your shoulder.

“Good? Does that feel better?”

His head moved on you, up and down, so you assumed it did. You decided to test it by going a little faster, and squeezing his cock a little harder. Instead of the guttural, almost pained groans he’d given you before, the most pathetic little whimper left his throat. You lifted your gaze to the ceiling, rolling your eyes back. He was putty in your grip, begging for you with every muscle in his body. And that… drove you insane.

Carefully, quietly… you reached to your legs, gathering the edge of your nightgown into your palm, pulling it up your thigh until you had enough room to reach your own arousal. Wasting no time, you circled your clit slowly, slipping a finger inside between rotations.

“AAAAAGUHHH!”

You clapped your hand over Kyle’s mouth, eyes widening like saucers in the dark. You whispered louder than you ever had in your entire life. “Shhh! Kyle! Shhh!” He breathed hard out his nose. “I can’t help you if you’re loud… they’ll hear you.”

Underneath your fingers, Kyle’s plush lips parted just enough for you to notice. You froze. He looked down as far as his ocular anatomy allowed and his pupils dilated, the blackness consuming the already deep brown. His tongue swept across the underside of your fingers before forcing itself between them. He gripped your hand tightly at the wrist and yanked it down in a startling display of his inhuman strength.

“Wuh…. Want.”

You jerked your head back, confused. “What?”

He brought your hand back up, and like a child claiming that a toy was his, Kyle licked your pointer and index finger from the base to the tip of them. He swallowed.

“Waant….”

Holy shit. You realised. You realised what it was he wanted…. The hand you’d used to cover his mouth was that hand that you’d previously been fingering yourself with, the fingers that were coated in your own wetness. He wanted… that.

Nervously, you pulled your hand from his boxers, the elastic snapping against his tummy. You nodded once and inhaled a deep breath through your nose, a feeble attempt at pacifying the bundle of live wires you called your nerves. Kyle’s eyes never left yours, watching you intently as you planted your hands on either side of your body as leverage to push yourself back towards the head of the bed. You laid back on the pillow, knees touching and obscuring Kyle.

When you opened them, your breath rushed out from your lungs. He was so pretty, the way the moonlight illuminated his curls like an angel’s halo, outlining his broad form. His plaid shirt hung open, teasing at the body beneath. And then, of course, there was the erection. The fabric of his boxers were pulled tight.

You tilted your head down, pressing your chin against your chest. Your eyes were misty, doe-like, and you almost stuck your fingers in his mind to tell him to come to you. But he did it on his own accord and your heart gave an adoring flutter. Coming forward onto his hands, Kyle crawled on the bed to you, and you welcomed him in between your thighs. He lowered himself down onto his stomach.

“Good boy,” you whispered. “You’re so good, Kyle…”

Kyle opened his mouth on your pussy, lapping at it hungrily. The smoothness of his teeth grazed your clit, and the heat of your arousal was unimaginable, burning deep within your core. You’d been eaten out, but not eaten out. Not like this. Zombies ate brains, not pussies.

And yet… you were being devoured within an inch of your life. Every clench brought out more cum, and Kyle was there to drink it up, flicking his tongue from your entrance to your clit repeatedly, until your vision went blurry with twinkling stars. Every time his tongue returned to its starting position, he always lingered and sometimes slipped in, delving into something he wanted more of. He was tasting you over and over again. Your mouth opened, at first giving nothing but the sound of your breath. His lips closed around your clit, his tongue driving up into your entrance, and a high pitched whine clawed its way out of your throat.

And just like that, the pleasure was gone. Kyle pulled away, panicked.

“Bad?!”

You shook your head quickly, panting. “No, no…. Good. Very good, Kyle.”

His worried expression softened slightly, but he still looked unsure and scared to keep going. The sound you’d made… all he knew told him it was that he’d done something wrong and he’d hurt you.

“B��.buh….. bad…… sssssound…..”

“Nonononono. Very… very good. I made that sound because it feels good. You’re doing a good job.”

He huffed out a breath, the warmth of it washing over you. You writhed, the backs of your thighs rubbing against his bare shoulders. Bent at the elbows, Kyle wrapped his forearms around your legs, wide hands twitching ever so slightly as they caressed you. There was something overwhelmingly erotic in the way he fearfully looked up at you from between your legs. You drew your bottom lip in, biting down as hard as you could to stifle the moan that threatened.

“Please,” you whined. “You’re doing so good, Kyle. It feels so good. You like it, right?”

He nodded, dropping his gaze to look at your cunt, a puddle forming on sheets below. His jaw hung slack as he went back in, his lips enveloping you fully. His tongue was hot and you were sensitive, writhing in his grip. You weren’t aware that you were writhing away from him until his fingers came to life, digging deep into the soft flesh of your thighs.

You arched your back as you came on his tongue, taking fistfuls of the sheets and tightening until you felt the fibres squeak against each other. Kyle growled into your cunt, pulling you closer into him. His tongue flattening against you, feeling the pulsating clenches as they happened.

Kyle straightened up to his knees, stiffly pulling his boxers down over the curve of his ass. His stiff cock sprung free, the swollen head, red and leaking. He seemed to know what he wanted to do, but didn’t know where to start. You scooted down, pressing your legs further open. Kyle shuffled forward on the bed, the springs creaking underneath you.

“It’s okay, Kyle… it’s okay.” Keeping your eyes on him, you took hold of his cock again and gently guided it towards your wet slit. “I’ll make you feel better.”

He allowed himself to be guided, following your direction. His squishy tip slipped in, compressed by your tight walls. The sound that Kyle made — something between a choking breath and a groan — was the only warning you got that a switch had flipped. He knew exactly what to do.

Kyle sunk his length into you, taking only a moment to revel in the feeling of your warm, wet insides. He quickly found his rhythm, bucking in and out with steady intention as he watched you with half-lidded eyes, mouth hanging slack. His pelvis slapped against yours, knocking against your clit each time your bodies met. The visual drove you insane, sending streaks of hot arousal right to your core.

“Gggoooooodddd….” He groaned. “G-good.”

He picked up speed, and you desperately tried to maintain coherency, nodding. Your nails dug into his back, holding on as tight as you could. “Guh-HOHm- my god. Good, yes. G-good, baby.”

Kyle’s large hands snaked their way to your shoulders, encasing them in a steely grip. He pulled himself into you, harder and harder until you felt an unfamiliar ache in your insides, where he could go no farther. You came for a second time with a high-pitched whimper and Kyle kept his pace, grunting. Your wetness splashed against your thighs as he thrust into you, and when you lifted your hips up slightly, Kyle’s fingers curled in, clamping down on your shoulders with a crushing strength. You held back your cries of pain, grinding your hips against his as he pumped into you. Just hold on… let him finish….

Finally, he released his hold on you, collapsing onto your chest with a heavy breath. Once the vigorous movement had subsided, your sweat-soaked bodies were no longer immune to the lithe, chilly fingers of temperature. Still, you were warm underneath him.

So, so warm.

Kyle fell asleep with his cock inside you. And for the first time in three nights, he didn’t wake up once.

#Kyle Spencer #Kyle Spencer x reader #kyle spencer x y/n #AHS Coven #Kyle Spencer imagine #American Horror Story #Frankenkyle #myfics #ahs smut #american horror story coven #frankenkyle x reader #kyle spencer smut #kyle spencer x you #AHS fanfiction #Kyle Spencer x yn

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kentstoji · 5 months

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ㅤㅤㅤ NECTAROUS

ㅤㅤㅤ pairing. mk men x gn reader.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤsetting. mortal kombat.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤtype. headcanons (a little suggestive).

ㅤㅤㅤkissing liu kang was a divine experience, akin to discovering a new world and venturing into it, relishing every romantic ecstasy. his arms were strong and warm, carrying a distinctive fire befitting his position attained after his triumph against kronika. being enveloped by him in a loving and almost possessive embrace was like diving into liquid lava, yet the flames were harmless. (the most they could do was leave purple and reddish marks along your beautiful neck, while liu kang's experienced and bold lips traced a path, and your face took on undesired shades of scarlet.) your lips part in fervent lamentation, breathless.

ㅤㅤㅤbi-han was, by nature, a conqueror and consequently, a born leader. a dominator in various aspects, and in the romantic realm, this particularity wouldn't easily alter. honoring the element he proudly manipulated, bi-han had frigid lips, like a morning after an intense snowstorm. his hands, firm and calloused by years of battles and victories, established a rule at the base of your neck, keeping you under the grandmaster's longing, shaping you to fulfill his needs and desires. it was a selfish dance in which you never had the chance to be victorious, but teasing him to the limit was as satisfying as winning a battle. he exploded, and you loved paying the price. (kissing him was like feeding a voracious, wild creature that had no basic knowledge of emotions. the beast, however, calmed when tasting the flavor of your lips, biting them until he felt the sweet taste of your life essence flowing crimson between his lips.)

ㅤㅤㅤjohnny cage was a provocateur, and you were his favorite victim. maintaining a playful spirit, Johnny's kisses were a wet mess, lips colliding eagerly, a overwhelming need. his hands fixed themselves on your waist, squeezing and pulling you closer as he yearned to merge into one body, immortalizing the passion and love between you. it was common to find a glistening line of saliva when you finally parted. you were breathless, your chest moving frantically in search of oxygen and... something more. johnny would notice this. (of course, he would notice. he always made a point to observe the reactions when you were together.)

ㅤㅤㅤ"can you handle more, sweetheart?" he questions, his pink, swollen lips curving into a wicked smile, full of cruel promises.

ㅤㅤㅤwithin and outside a relationship, you are shang tsung's test subject, the perfect specimen at the mercy of his dark ideals. breakable and submissive, like a pet, you've become his favorite pastime, the perfect challenge. unraveling the mysteries of your body is an art for him, a game where every touch and kiss are strategies to corrupt the remaining shreds of sanity within you. he appreciates knowledge, and your genuine reactions are accompanied by translucent pearls of warm tears. tears of ecstasy, he concludes with arrogance. shang tsung is a selfish partner; (his kisses are long and suffocating, embedding themselves in you like a parasite.) the scent of his perfume will linger, intoxicating and persistent.

ㅤㅤㅤhanzo is an uncontrollable romantic, and his soul is as warm as the affections he displays in the comfort of the space he now calls home in your relationship. kissing him is an open invitation to be consumed by hungry flames, much like his emotional yearning. his hands rest on your face, fingers gliding in a long, gentle caress, savoring every reaction you show: the flushed face and trembling hands are signals for him to continue. with your consent, he does. you are led to a dark precipice with kisses planted at the base of your neck, discreetly directed towards your chest. hanzo, experienced and considerably older, knows what he's doing, aware of the buttons to press to make you dance with madness.

ㅤㅤㅤ"breathe, my love," he says, noticing your open eyes, seeking more of his touches. "the night is still young, and we are just getting started."

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cipheramnesia · 14 days

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It is possible I'm leaning too hard into the concept of a parasite POV protagonist which explores what it means to make yourself into the shape of another body (re the starfish comic and a bunch of bits in it), when the body in question is a trans woman who has undergone a severe amount of involuntary biomechanical body modifications, in an experimental attempt to utilize her poorly understood mutated nervous system as a kind of living weapon against a parallel universe which is inadvertantly unraveling our own world in isolated but escalating highly destructive incidents involving sudden explosive release of energy where they intersect.

But when the events proved fruitless, leaving her wracked with trauma and metastasized cancer, they threw her into a care home / prison where she died of the aforementioned cancer, and this is all in service of answering the question of where The Body which becomes the host originates. However, being as the parasitoid mutant blind millipede colony does not enter a corpse with a template, and merely threads into whatever pre-existing physical and neurological systems are part of the host corpse as-is, not only is the colony collectively entrapping itself within the boundaries of a host body, but it is operating on the assumptions that all the surgical and hormonal alterations, as well as the cancer, are a part of the body which they should also include in the neural network they extend themselves into.

Meaning the actual outcome is the world as seen through a parasite colony which, as it consumes and partially replicates both nervous system and brain of the host, believes itself to inhabit the world as a human, while in actuality it is oblivious to the fact that it now exists as an expression of the traumatic abuse which an authoritarian state under threat will inflict on a human body, as well as the cancerous expression of consequences of this abuse, all stemming from a body which, in a world facing an existential crisis, has an unconventional non-human nervous system which allows it to engage directly with an alternate universe.

Which all plays out because the apathetic management of the care home sold her corpse to a religious order / conservative activism group dedicated to the preservation of the mutant parasitic millipede colonies out of the fervent religious belief the colonies represent the unending cycle of life from life and life from death, and also because the millipede colonies act as natural predators to the Dalton County Dump Roundworm Infestation, which has been taking over large portions of the country via its exponential growth and lack of any competition. So now I have a completely sensible background derived for the parasite colony protagonist who is also fifty percent of the dead trans woman they consumed in the process of infesting her corpse, who is now a kind of holy relic to the temple which infected her, but who also wants retribution for the horrific abuse she suffered, while simultaneously experiencing her twisted and broken body as the correct form as derived by the parasite infestation, which is also her.

Simple.

#long post #parasites #girl bites god #body horror #millipede

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wileys-russo · 4 months

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Kyra cooney-cross "I don't know how you managed to make me your girlfriend" (in a funny way) london colney

kyra cooney-cross

if there was one key attribute that no one could ever deny you had, it was patience.

hell you had to in order to date kyra, the girl was like an energiser bunny on a slow day and didn't need any sort of substance to be bouncing off walls.

you'd grown up together and gone through the youth teams side by side, so overtime you'd learned exactly what it took to try and navigate being her girlfriend rather than her babysitter, though that wasn't to say there wasn't days where that line felt blurred.

today was one of those days.

with the weather outside set to storm all day the training program had been altered to mean no one needed to train outside, the flu making its way through london and a big game coming up on the weekend the the coaching staff weren't ready to take any risks.

most of you didn't mind the change, taking the opportunity for further strength training in stride.

one person who did not like the change however was kyra, whose pent up energy coupled with the shitty weather meant she was like a ticking time bomb, unpredictable and ready to go off at any second.

"ky, baby please stop that." you sighed, your girlfriend stood in front of you as you sat up on the weights bench, repeatedly punching the air in front of you, her fists mere millimeters from your nose.

"can't, i'm like rocky!" kyra puffed, making all sorts of strange noises as she continued, another sigh leaving your lips as you dropped down to your back and continued with your exercises, kyra reverting to now kicking the air.

"kyra! do your program!" kim yelled out from across the gym, the words falling on deaf ears as the captain gave up for the day, having been pushed to her very wits end by the young energetic aussie who seemed allergic to sitting still.

"ky, honey please do your weights." you sighed as you finished your reps, your girlfriend returning to her punches, again only millimetres of space between her hands and your nose.

"fine! spot me." kyra groaned as the two of you swapped, her laying down on the bench, your own program long finished as kyra wasn't even halfway through hers.

"babe, focus please." you reminded as the brunette chattered away mid chest press, the bar slipping slightly as you hurried to grab it but she assured it was fine and continued on her way.

"whats next?" you held your hand out for her program as she tossed it to you, causing you to sigh and unravel the crumpled up ball, running your finger down the list. "bicep curls." you nodded for her to grab the hand weights.

"don't need those. i'm massive!" kyra stood up on the bench and began to pose, grunting and heaving as she flexed and moved like a body builder, rolling her sleeves up as you watched on unphased.

"wonderful, bicep curls please." you held up the hand weights as the brunette dropped back down with a huff. "you're no fun sometimes you know babe, like a wet blanket." your girlfriend accepted the weights as you chuckled.

"well you have enough fun for both of us, someones gotta keep you on the right track." you gestured for her to start, the girls around you watching on in wonder at the utter patience and the fact that kyra seemed to listen, able to work through the rest of her program with minimal interruptions.

"ky maybe thats not the best idea." you warned as she moved into the other section of the gym, grabbing the ropes and starting to pull herself up. "its fine! look im like a monkey." the brunette started to make noises as she swung herself back and forth and you took a seat.

"you've got twenty on the bike and ten on the rower and you're done. can we please get it done? then you've got free time and lunch." you tried to encourage, most of the other girls long finished as your words fell on deaf ears.

"you have the patience of a saint." steph sighed pulling herself up to sit beside you as kyra continued to swing. "just the practice of one is all." you chuckled, again try to coax kyra into finishing her program but to no avail.

"kyra i really don't think thats a good idea." steph warned as the girl dropped and started to try and wrap her ankles up to hang upside down from the hoops.

"sometimes you just need to let her do something dumb, its the best way she burns off energy and learns a valuable lesson." you shrugged as steph looked to you to continue her warnings.

and sure enough, your words rang true as kyra swung about upside down.

"im the king of the castle and you're all dirty rascals! oof." with a loud thud and a grunt she fell from the ropes to the floor with a groan, wincing as the ropes all fell down on top of her to complete the accident, the girls who were left in the gym all roaring with laughter.

with a sigh you hopped down and offered her a hand up, her face flushed bright red with embarrassment as you shook your head.

"ky baby some days i really don't know how you managed to make me your girfriend."

#woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso x reader #kyra cooney cross x reader #kyra cooney cross #woso community #woso

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moineauz · 2 months

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જ⁀ 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐄 in me as I 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔

side comments: wanted to write for our Nanook and Yaoshi some spoilers of course, violence, Nanook's is kinda dark, reader is known to be the 'arbitrator' or 'mediator.

Whenever a tale, record or paper regarding the elusive and ancient Aeons of the vast cosmos, you, the Arbitrator always weave into each battle, dispute and archive.

You unified and ruled each contestation and difference and have lingered amongst the Aeons yet was never considered one yourself: like a fine mist braiding through the folds of the universe, unravelling and sewing it together.

And by 'it', you meant the Aeons.

While the Aeons were born and bound to the ideologies they arose from with a passionate frenzy, you merely existed- and for what purpose? Historians debated if you were a presence higher than that of Aeons: a mystic authoritarian figure whose one wave or snap of their fingers would bring an undisputed settlement, like a court judge.

However, others consider you to be less of a judge and more of a mediator. A force that ensures the Aeons keep within their bounds and do not screw the universe over entirely. Some reckon that you are an Aeon whose gaze never spared a glance. There are even theories that suggest that Lan is your pupil of sorts. In addition, some pay no mind to you at all in the grand ever-present scheme of Aeons and their ploys.

Regardless of what myriad debates, theories or conjectures rise among devout followers, skeptics, historians and the average being, an indisputable fact remains. No matter the conflict, you are always found amongst the lines in the story or perhaps only mentioned at the very end. A peculiar and reiterating occurrence that even a child could predict.

Alas, only the Aeons themselves will know who you are to them

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐎𝐊 - the destruction

Nanook believes you are a nuisance at best. However, you choose your disputes carefully and at times, unpredictably.

Out of every Aeon you have come between, Nanook is by far the one seen most often.

Behind your back, they scoff at mentioning of your name and title and more so at the Aeons who share an ounce of respect for your inexplicable ability or deem you a 'peacemaker'.

However, your trait of never showing favour towards one Aeon or another is like a double-edged sword.

Nanook could hardly recount the myriad amount of times they had benefited from your mediation.

What dumbfounds Nanook is that beings think of you as powerful.

You quite frankly aren't, you're simply a 'good talker.'

And they loathe that.

You know their mind and toy with it, rendering with their plans only for them to alter it. You thrive on their vexations and revel in the might of their aggravation and disgust. Instead of annihilating sparks of life, you force them to cherish it within the palms of their savage hands.

Do you find pleasure in their abhorrence? Seeking it out for laughter's sake?

Nevertheless, Nanook knows you are not shallow or in any resemblance towards Aha.

In addition, Nanook knows you are neither a peacemaker nor a chaos-bringer.

There are moments when you come to Nanook and observe them acutely; having experienced your prying eyes for millennia, they remain steadfast and silent in your presence. Only then can Nanook appreciate you, not for your skill, however, for a delectable and insatiable opportunity to deliver their final gift to humanity: destruction.

For now, Nanook will reign havoc on the planets you grow fond of while quietly vying for a sliver of your attention in hopes of ultimately standing victorious in the eternal game of interastral tug of war.

Perhaps Nanook will then adore you for all the delight you brought to a now, empty universe.

𝐘𝐀𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 - the abundance

Yaoshi believes you are in mortal terms: ‘god sent.’

In comparison to Nanook, Yaoshi does not harbour ill will.

On the contrary, they are fascinated by you.

Why do you come between the Aeons? Do you have preferences? What pleases you?

Yes, there are times when you settle disputes and foil the plans of The Abundance. However, it does not matter! Yaoshi will continue to spread the blessings of eternal life and never-ending spings out into the universe while they watch you from afar.

However, the Aeons are selfish, cunning and self-absorbed. They will gladly swallow any opportunity that comes their way. Hence, Yaoshi's 'curiosity' grows beyond the confines of the word itself.

If you can thwart the plans of Nanook- what else can you do?

Yaoshi admires the growth and sprouting of life from their fingertips: how a flower blossoms vibrantly, staying in said form for eternity.

Thus, Yaoshi can only lick their lips and quell their ever-growing hunger.

What wonder would it be to see you bloom and bring waves of life with a mere sway of your arms or snap of your finger? Worlds can be born and no harm shall tread upon the universe- such a reality can now be achieved...

For now, Yaoshi will whisper sweet words of praise in your ear like honey; gradually drowning you in each sugary drop until they can dress you up in whatever they may fancy. You'll be the star of the universe, you'll be the epitome of ardency and everlasting life. Worshiped and praised: the universe will string together songs of your benevolence!

Alas, Yaoshi must limit their daydreaming... work must be done to accomplish their ultimate dream and it has only just begun.

masterlist

I might do a part two with the other Aeons... probably Lan and Xipe. I honestly wanted to get this out of my drafts.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail angst #honkai star rail x reader #nanook x reader #nanook #yaoshi #yaoshi x reader #hsr x reader #hsr fanfic #the abundance #astral express #trailblazer #writing ᝰ.ᐟ

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