#curl 77

[beeduoo]

will he burn down the kitchen

[dip-the-pip]

sorry minnesota ottawa NEEDS to kick your ass <33333

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

Would you maybe.. consider something with remora!mer x könig? (could be au from 141 since the boys would probably not be up for sharing her with him) but I love the idea of dopey remora!mer with massive shark könig T^T

-sleepyanon

yes, more shark!cod au for mermay (◔◡◔) more situations!!

maybe this is an au where remora reader never met shark!Price, and was therefore unprotected upon encountering the mer poachers.

...

77 / 1.2k

König’s eyes sweep over the humans crowding near the top edge of his dismal tank. The odd behavior disrupts his restless circling. Then they draw back. A new mer, suspended in a harness from above, lowers toward the tank. The humans—mer poachers—watch as callously as always.

The harness releases. You hit the water with a splash.

Instantly, you dart down into the depths of the tank and squeeze into the smallest space you can find. That's where you hide.

König barely glances at the commotion, much less does he bother chasing after you. What would be the point? Whoever you are, you're small, skittish—nothing more than a bottom-feeder. If you want to cower in the rocks, fine. He has no interest in weaklings who can’t face the open water.

Instead, he turns his attention up to the humans at the mouth of the tank. His fingers flex, claws itching to tear into something. But for now, he waits.

…

You press yourself into the deepest hollow you can manage, deep inside the tank's strange reef. It’s a reef that doesn't bloom with coral. Instead, it's angular, stone-dingey, and yellowed with algae. But you're too nervous to clean.

You huddle in the small cave until the muffled human voices fade. Why did they bring you here? What do they want? No matter how you tried to ask them and plead with them to let you go, they ignored you. You wrap your arms around yourself, curl up against the reef wall, and stare at the tag on your tail. The humans pierced it through one of your lower ventral fins. It hurts.

You grab it and turn it over, trying to be ginger with the way it tugs your fin, but you can't read the strange symbols. Staring at it makes you feel hopeless. Instead, you creep to the opening of the cave and peek out at the other mer circling the tank. They have tags like yours. Your gills fan with a sigh of relief. At least it's not just you.

König notices the movement from the corner of his eye—a flicker of motion near the reef. He doesn’t turn his head, but his posture shifts slightly, tail flicking in irritation. Pathetic. Hiding won’t save you. The humans don’t care about fear. If you're weak enough to show it, you deserve what you'll get.

His own tag—a crude metal clip punched through the thick muscle of his dorsal fin—itches, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

You avert your eyes until he passes overhead and away from you. Your spine prickles.

For the next two days, you don't venture more than a tail's length away from your safe spot. You stay low, you keep your mouth closed, and you avoid eye contact. You make sure the other mer can see you. You make sure you don't look like a threat.

On the third day, the humans toss chum into the water. Pink and visceral, it balloons across the surface and drifts straight down. The reaction of the other mer is immediate and brutal.

A snarl tears from König’s throat as the water clouds with blood and frenzy. His massive tail propels him upward in a single, violent thrust, shoulder-checking a shark mer. The shark, Nikto, snarls but doesn’t press the issue. Smart. König’s claws are already buried in the best cut of meat, tearing it free with a wet rip.

You watch the display with bright eyes from the reef below. The water churns with aggression. Tails lash; gills flare. Only fish bones and disembodied fin scraps make it past the frenzy. You spy one fin with a mouthful of meat still attached and creep closer, sliding along the tank floor on your belly.

A shadow passes over you. You flatten yourself to the ground and try to look as non-threatening as a piece of stray kelp.

König’s shadow looms over you, his massive frame blocking what little artificial light filters through the murky water. He doesn’t even glaring at you—just glides over you with a flick of his tail, in pursuit of a half-flank of whitefish several feet above your head. Even that small movement produces a current that knocks you back a few feet. His disdain is palpable.

The scrap of meat you’d been reaching for drifts just out of reach. Satisfied with his own chase, he doesn’t bother stealing it. Let the bottom-feeders fight over the dregs. He catches the disembodied whitefish flank and swims toward back up into the fray.

Once he’s gone, you twist and drag your fingertips along the bottom of the tank in a clumsy attempt to right yourself. The scrap of meat-and-fin spins along in König's wake. The current pulls it upward; it drifts atop the reef structure. You kick your tail and swim closer just to see it disappear into the crack of two huge stones.

…

König could heave those concrete slabs out of the way if he wanted to. But why would he?

He settles against a ledge near the top of the tank, arms crossed, tail lazily swaying to keep him suspended. His gaze flicks to the other mer. Nikto lurks near the surface. Horangi circles like a restless predator—then swims toward the reef.

You sense Horangi coming and still your movements, settling against the slabs a few feet away from where the meat disappeared.

Horangi’s striped tail cuts through the water. Then his clawed hand darts out—not toward you, but toward the crack in the slabs. He snakes his fingers into the gap. Despite his grit, he can't fit enough of his hand into the space to reach the food; after a long moment of maneuvering and shifting and shimmying his arm this way and that, he gives up and jerks away with a deep curse.

You keep your eyes trained carefully, demurely downward, but he hardly seems to care you're there.

Perfect.

Once he's gone, you move yourself over to your target and slip your deep into the crevice. It takes no time at all for you to find the morsel. When you retrieve it, however, you don't eat it. Instead, you swim quietly to the side of the tank, near the ledge where König sits. Without looking, you shuck the morsel of meat from its host fin, clean it in your specialized palms, and place both pieces on the ledge just out of König's reach: an offering.

Then you turn and swim dutifully back down to your reef cave. Your stomach growls.

König’s gaze snaps to the offering the moment you retreat. His fingers twitch. A beat passes. Then he drags his claws over it and picks it up. He doesn’t eat it immediately—just turns it over in his claws, inspecting it. It’s clean; it's prepared. Not hastily snatched and carelessly half-scavenged like the scraps the others fight over. He slips the meat underneath his hood and into his mouth. The fin he flicks aside—useless to him. But it would be a rather savory morsel to you. The gesture isn’t lost on him.

His eyes track your retreating form, lingering on the way you tuck yourself back into the rocks.

Maybe you’re not worthless.

...

[part 1] / part 2 / part 3

more mer au / more KorTac / masterlist

[yenhan]

"Yeah, no. STEM kinda sucks"

Thoughts on TF141 & International student neighbor

Part One - Next - Masterlist

a/n: f!reader

Synopsis: daddy issues & 141 to the rescue.

You and your father did not argue. That was the problem. The silence festered until it cracked, and when it did, it was always you left picking through the wreckage, burned, and bruised, wondering if he even noticed the blast. He was not the kind of man who yelled. He did not raise his voice. He raised expectations, dropped the ones you could not meet, and filed the rest into neat rows of disappointment.

“You’re studying what?”

You froze mid-bite of a week-old croissant you had been too cheap to throw out. The winter wind was seeping through the single-glazed window as your father’s words echoed in your ears like gunshots. Loud. Too much to manage.

“Teaching English as a Foreign Language,” you clutched your phone like it might bite you.

He laughed.

You thought you had won the Oscar for the best comedic performance, as if it was just another of the dumb knock-knock jokes you used to say as a kid. “You mean to tell me you moved to England, spent months pretending to care about mathematics, and you are studying to become an underpaid language teacher? You do realize AI’s going to eat that job alive, right? May as well get a head start and make your life more pathetic.”

“Mmh,” you mumbled, your voice curled in on itself for protection. It was always like that with him. You never slammed doors or snapped back. The thing you did most was shout silently and punch in the air once you had locked yourself in your bedroom. You absorbed everything like a sponge until you were soaked through with all the sharp jabs he never considered cruel.

“You are already fluent. Why waste a degree on it? I thought you were doing something real. STEM. Science. You said you were interested in biomedical engineering!”

“I was interested—”

“That’s not a real degree,” he snapped. “What are you going to do, teach English to toddlers? I did not raise you to be a failure.”

You hung up before you started crying.

He was bound to find out you had changed faculty at some point. You hoped the day would ever come. The thousands of kilometers separating you from your dad did nothing to lessen the pain.

—

That was how you ended up at their door again. You, red-eyed, wearing a hoodie three sizes too big (it might have been Simon’s).

The door swung open. Ghost. How lucky, being greeted by a monument to stoicism. He just looked at you, then down at your hands. “…They cold?” he asked.

“What?”

“Your hands.”

You blinked. “…Yeah.”

He stepped aside. “I will put the kettle on.”

—

You did not cry until you were in the living room, sitting on the floor between the sofa and John’s armchair, knees to your chest like the child you had spent years pretending you weren’t.

Johnny found you first. “Jesus, hen…”

“Don’t. Please don’t make jokes. I cannot laugh right now.”

He sat down across from you and peeled a clementine, feeding you a slice once he was done. “Was it yer family?”

Your face crumpled in the most humiliating way imaginable. “Dad thinks I’m wasting my life.”

“Because yer not doin’ what he wanted?”

“Because I am not doing what he would be proud of. And the worst part is… I kinda get it. He spent everything to get me here. I told him I would do something that would make it worth it. Something practical. Something—” You sniffled.

“Respectable?”

You nodded. “And now I am… studying how to teach vowel sounds to ten-year-olds who will not remember my name in five years. I am not curing cancer. I am not building satellites. I got a half-empty fridge and a 77% average grade in phonology.”

A second later, a warm mug was pressed into your hand.

“Then he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about,” Gaz sat beside Johnny, cross-legged like this was a team debriefing and your heartbreak was the mission report.

You stared down at the tea. Earl Grey. Extra milk. You did not like milk tea, but who cared at this point. “He is my dad.”

Ghost appeared out of nowhere. “Yer job isn’t to be his trophy.”

“I’m not anyone’s trophy.”

“Exactly.”

“You know,” Price’s voice came from behind the couch, “I had a mate in the military who learned Urdu so he could help train local interpreters. Saved more lives than the medics did.”

You looked up. The captain was holding a folded dish towel and a glass of that tragic ale he always kept nearby. “You want to teach people how to communicate? How to understand each other? Do you think that is not useful? Christ, love. That is the most important job there is.”

“But it is not enough,” you whispered. “Not to him. He wanted me to be successful. Someone he could brag about at family functions.”

Soap clicked his tongue. “I’d brag about ye.”

You rolled your eyes. “You brag about that mohawk.”

“Aye, because it’s incredible. Point is, yer smart. Ye’ve made it halfway 'cross the bloody world and survived eight months wi’ us next door. That’s gotta count fer somethin’, eh?” He grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Kyle intervened then. “Let me put it this way. You speak like, what? Three languages?”

“Four,” you corrected him.

He hummed. “That’s hot.”

“Sergeant,” Ghost growled.

“What? It is! My man can barely count to twenty without help,” he said, jabbing a thumb at Johnny, who launched a spice jar at his head in return.

“Picked a path that’s yours,” Ghost rumbled. “That takes more guts than anyone gives it credit for.”

“And you’ll be wonderful at it,” John added.

—

Later, you found a sticky note left on the threshold of your apartment. In black sharpie, Johnny had written:

“REAL DEGREES INCLUDE:

ANT 🐜 (Advanced Napping Techniques)

How to Look Like a Dad - Double Degree in mutton chops

Passive-aggressive Sighs

GSS (Ghost’s Stalking Skills)

TEFL = solid. Ah’d’ve majored in it meself if Ah hadnae been busy diffusin’ bombs in ma twenties.

Love,

Yer emotionally available Scottish neighbor 🧼”

You stuck it on your laptop.

Shitty day, this is purely self-indulgent. Sorry for whoever is in stem.

[revelboo]

I just ploughed through your “Everything is alright” series and I need you to imagine me coming though the screen to kiss your forehead cause there is a massive brain in there hhhh this fic is amazing and your writing is so delicious I wish I could chew it 💕💕💕 I already liked starscream before but now I’m in way deep 🫣keep up the amazing work

I’m having fun with this story- Y’all gotta remember this is still Skin and Bones Megs. He’s just a bit more over Starscream’s plotting to usurp him in this arc than he is over there. 🤣 and to be fair, Star’s been too distracted to plot

Everything Is Alright Pt 77

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• You don’t even realize you’d begun nodding off from stressed exhaustion until you wake to feel a warm servo sliding from between your shoulders to the base of your spine. Head pounding, you just want to lean into that touch even as a vague wrongness spills through you. Whatever you’re lying on isn’t warm, living metal. It’s just metal and cold. Arm shifting and fingers lifting to touch your head, you hiss through your teeth. You’re not bleeding anymore and you can’t even find the little gash, but the skin still hurts to touch. How had you healed that fast?

• Servos absently sliding over the human, Megatron scrolls on his datapad. Aware of Soundwave’s anxious hovering, that the communications officer is worried he might hurt you. It’s what motivates him to curl his servos about you and lean back in his chair, draping you on his chassis and pinning you there against his palm. Feels you startle against him, head lifting to stare up at him with wide eyes that almost immediately seek out Soundwave, expression almost pleading. “Leave me,” he growls and the human makes a soft noise that might be a protest as Soundwave hesitates.

• Unable to deliberately disobey, the uncertain way you’re staring at him makes him take a cautious step forward. “The human?” He asks, surely Megatron’s already bored of amusing himself with your fear by now. But the warlord waves him away with his other hand, dismissing him. Spark constricting, he wishes he could reach out to you, explain that it’s going to be alright. He’s not abandoning you, he just has to pick his battles carefully, but he can’t say it without Megatron hearing and those wide eyes watch him as he leaves the bridge. Unable to go too far, he lingers just outside the door, spark aching as the chaos of your fear spreads through his processor from the other side of the door. Right there, but out of reach.

• “Tell me, pet,” Megatron murmurs, servos rubbing against you, feeling a little hand try to push one away as you actually dare to glare up at him. You have to know how helpless you are, but you’re obviously too used to Cybertronians to remember to be afraid. “Are you the reason that backstabbing Seeker’s been behaving lately?” Because yes, there’d been a minor coup from the Insecticons to deal with, but the normal thorn in his side has been quiet and almost obedient lately.

• “I want Starscream,” you manage as he tips your chin up with a servo. One corner of his mouth twitches at you when you try to shove it away from you before giving up. Because making him stop touching you is a fight you can’t win. “Is he okay?” He’d been bleeding energon and hurt when he was dragged to medbay. Literally dragged, as wounded as he was, he was still fighting to get free. Optics only on you in Megatron’s hand and his desperation broke you wide open. You’d never seen him so scared.

• Getting dragged into and subsequently thrown out of medbay is a first. Hearing Hook snarling about him and Seekers in general as he heads down the hall, his self repair in full swing once the bleeds were stopped and the bigger damage repaired. Still hurting, but as soon as he’d come out of “forced recharge” as Hook had called it, he’d started trying to get free again. To get to you. Are you okay? What’s Megatron done to you without him to protect you? Fear twisting about his spark, he strides past Soundwave, ignoring him as he lifts a hand to stop him. Because there’s nothing to say, is there? He’d betrayed you both and that can’t be forgiven.

• “He always is,” Megatron says, tone bitter as he vents roughly to stir your hair. Optics narrowing as the Starscream strides onto the bridge without permission. Wings flaring as his optics lock on you. “Something wrong?” He asks the Seeker, using a servo to gently press your cheek to his chassis. Knows he’s goading him, but something about how possessive he and Soundwave both are isn’t adding up.

• It’s so hard to not lash out, to force himself down on a knee. Playing at obedience. “Lord Megatron,” he hisses, struggling to keep his tone civil. To not snarl and attack, because you’ll be caught in the middle and he can’t risk it. “I’ve come to retrieve my pet.” There’s no keeping the venom out of his tone, spark aching as you stare at him. Not as terrified as he’d feared, but he hates as you struggle to push Megatron’s servo away. “Apologies for burdening you with the human.” Please. Wants to reach for you, take you back to his quarters where you belong. Wants to go home and needs you with him for his lonely quarters to be home.

• “Hardly a burden,” Megatron says, watching Starscream’s servos curl under into fists. Knowing the proud Seeker must hate this. To make this much of a show of obedience for one little human? What makes you so important? “I think I’ll keep them a bit longer. Go patrol.” There’s the Starscream he knows and expects, optics narrowed and hateful, denta bared in a grimace. Wanting to lash out, but unable to. Thwarted by the warm, fragile organic in Megatron’s servos. Because you’re proving so useful already. “Go.”

Previous

Next

[disciplinecottage]

Granada Holmes Granny Square Blanket

In 2020 my husband and I got really into the 1984 Sherlock Holmes with Jeremy Brett. In The Musgrage Ritual, the fourth episode of the second season, Holmes spends a lot of time swanning around being cranky wrapped in a crochet blanket. I had: lots of online classes and zoom calls, lots of pent up anxiety and energy, a wrist injury that flared up during any crafting except crochet, and a Holmes-loving husband who was just as obsessed with this iconic blanket as I was. So I made this!

If you'd like to make one too, read on. I wrote the pattern two different ways; both are under the cut. There's a quick and dirty version where I assume you know the basics of crochet and throw some details at you and it's pattern chaos. And it's followed by a nice, neat, detailed pattern with more specific instructions. Caveat for both: I'm a long-time "figure-it-outer" when it comes to fiber craft and I've made up tons of projects but I am new to writing a pattern for someone else to interpret. So good luck in there. And let me know if you have questions!

Both patterns under the cut.

Granada Holmes Granny Square Blanket, Chaos Pattern

Make a granny square with fingering weight yarn and a size D crochet hook (or whatever size you know you like to use for fingering weight). You need a dark grey, a light grey, a warm medium brown, and a beige. I used Knit Picks Palette in Marble Heather (7 balls), Silver (4 balls), Brindle Heather (3 balls), and Camel Heather (5 balls). Start with dark grey and just do a granny square, round and round forever and ever in the following stripe pattern for a total of 80 rounds. Try to keep your tension nice so it doesn't curl in on itself. I like this granny square tutorial from Purl Soho if you need more guidance. On the last round, skip the ch1 spaces between each set of 3 dcs and in the corners turn with ch1 instead of ch2. Blanket! Mine came to about 64" square.

Stripe Pattern:

Rounds 1 - 14: Dark Grey

15 - 16: Medium Brown

17 - 18: Dark Grey

19 - 21: Beige

22 - 24: Dark Grey

25: Light Grey

26 - 27: Medium Brown

28 - 31: Dark Grey

32 - 33: Light Grey

34 - 36: Medium Brown

37: Light Grey

38 - 44: Dark Grey

45 - 46: Light Grey

47 - 52: Medium Brown

53 - 59: Beige

60: Light Grey

61 - 62: Dark Grey

63 - 67: Beige

68 - 69: Dark Grey

70: Light Grey

71 - 71: Beige

73 - 76: Dark Grey

77 - 78: Light Grey

79: Dark Grey

80: Light Grey

Granada Holmes Granny Square Blanket, Detailed Pattern

Yarn: KnitPicks Palette in Marble Heather (7 balls), Silver (4 balls), Brindle Heather (3 balls), and Camel Heather (5 balls)

Or substitute with: Fingering Weight in Dark Grey (350g), Light Grey (200g) Medium Brown (150g), and Beige (250g).

Hook: Size D (or as needed to attain gauge)

Gauge & Dimensions: Not terribly important. A granny square of four rounds should measure about 3.25" to yield a blanket about 64" square.

Pattern:

If you need yet more detail, this granny square tutorial gets very specific! (Please note this pattern has not been tested, it's just a record of how I made it which is accurate to the best of my ability.)

Set up: With Dark Grey, ch 6, sl stitch into first st to join into a circle.

Rnd 1: Ch3, 2dc into the ring, ch2, 3dc into ring, ch2, 3dc into ring, ch2, 3dc into ring, ch2, sl st into top of ch3 to close the round.

Rnd 2: Ch3, 2dc into corner space, *ch1, 3dc in next corner space, ch2, 3dc into same corner space*, repeat * * 2 more times, ch1, 3dc into initial corner space, ch2, join to top of ch3 with sl st to close round.

Rnd 3: Ch3, 2dc into corner space, *ch1, 3dc in next ch1 space, ch1, 3dc, ch2, 3dc in next corner space*, repeat * * two more times, ch 1, 3dc in next ch1 space, ch1, 3dc in initial corner space, ch2, join to top of ch3 with sl st to close round.

Rnd 4: Ch 3, 2dc into corner space, *(ch1, 3dc in next ch1 space) twice, ch1, 3dc, ch2, 3dc in next corner space*, repeat * * two more times, (ch1, 3dc in next ch1 space) twice, ch1, 3dc in initial corner space, ch2, join to top of ch 3 with sl st to close round.

Rnd 5 and beyond: Maintain pattern of beginning with ch3, 2dc in corner space, *ch1, 3dc in ch1 space* across the side of the square, 3dc, ch2, 3dc in corner space, and finishing final side of the square with ch1, 3dc in initial corner space, sl st to join. See Rnd 80 (final row) below.

Follow stripe pattern above, cutting yarn from old color after sl st to end round and joining new color on the ch3 of a new round.

Rnd 80: Ch3, 2dc in corner space, *(3dc in next ch1 sp) across the side of the square until last ch1 sp, 3dc, ch1, 3dc in corner space*, repeat * * two more times, (3dc in next ch1 sp) across side of square until last ch1 sp, 3dc in initial corner space, ch1, join to top of ch3 with sl st to close round.

Weave in ends.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: I wish we could sleep

pairing: dean redding x cassie hobbes

synopsis: nightmares aren’t unusual for dean and cassie, in fact they’ve been come a very normal part of going to sleep, but surely they couldn’t get any worse… could they??

warnings: trauma, PTSD

a/n: sorry I haven’t been posting a lot 💖💖 thank you so much for reading

taglist: @inmyheaddd @midiosaamor @lyrakanefanatic @aleatorio1234 @maybe-dj124 @book-nerd-emi @maybxlle @foreverwinter22 @sweetreveriee @hermesenthusiast @shattered-glass-roses @gandergaal @sheisntyou @arias-archive @lila-77 @downrightbooks @never-enough-novels @off-to-the-r4ces @bubbleteaandboba @peppapigsposts

They say sharing a bed with someone you love is meant to be something beautiful. Sleepy compliments, early morning kisses, feeling safe in someone’s arms. But for Dean and I sharing a bed with someone you love meant alternating between having nightmares and comforting each other. Some days we even got the pleasure of both experiencing a horror on the same night.

No one could control the subconscious.

Though as of late, mine had been getting easier. My therapist said maybe it was me subconsciously accepting my mother’s fate, I disagreed but wouldn’t tell her that. I would nod and smile and unpack some more unresolved trauma. Apparently I had a lot of it.

In my opinion, my lack of nightmares was from not dreaming at all, my body was so physically exhausted from constant interruptions of my sleep that it had just given up. No doubt as soon as I’d got a required rest to function the nightmares will creep back in, I estimated less than a week.

But Dean’s nightmares had not been getting better. In fact they’d been getting worse, much much worse. He went to see his dad the other week, it was a choice, for the first time. It had nothing to do with a case, no necessity in the action. He just went. I didn’t ask him why, if he’d wanted to tell me he would’ve and if he still wanted to he knew he could.

That didn’t stop the curious girl inside of me from being desperate to know why so I just suppressed her. I had a feeling that the visit was fuelling these ugly dreams.

The first few nights of these new forms of torture, Dean woke up on his own and walked around until he could will himself back to sleep but last couple it’d been worse and he hadn’t been able to sleep at all.

It annoyed me because I was the deep sleeper and he was the light sleeper. It was hard enough for me to wake up from my own troubles let alone be awoken by his. Dean nearly always woke himself up with nightmares and he’d lay there alone, not wanting to wake me because he thought I needed the rest.

No matter how many times I told him, I knew secretly that it’d make no difference. He wouldn’t wake me up. It hurt me to think he’d brace things alone to protect me.

But this night, this night he didn’t have to wake me up. I heard his screams. Jolted upright at the sheer sound.

“Dean?”

My eyes pinned themselves to him. He was drenched in sweat, hair slicked to his forehead, pale faced and fear penetrated. The sight of him made me feel sick.

He shook his head at me breathing heavily. Panic seized my throat and constricted my vocal cords and for a second I didn’t know what to do. His chest rose and fell so aggressively it hurt to look at.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I said, scrambling to sit in front of him, my instincts finally kicking in, “look at me.”

I didn’t touch him, not yet. If he was feeling trapped by something or someone in his mind, my hands wouldn’t be of much help now so instead I let him physically see that I was there.

Instinctively I leant to turn the bedside lamp on, only to stop myself mid-movement. I liked the light on after a nightmare but he couldn’t bear it, he didn’t want to see himself in such a mess. The dark offered him comfort after the storm, so I reeled my hand back.

He was sat, head in his hands, body tight and curled, not wanting to let anyone in.

“Dean?” I said again.

He pressed his forehead further into his palms and exhaled, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, “he’s in my head Cassie, he’s in my head and I can’t get him out.”

I didn’t have to ask who.

At the sound of the discord of notes in his voice alone, my heart screamed. It was rough and laced with pain that I felt aching in my bones. I couldn’t imagine how it felt for him, I didn’t want to.

It was a warped mess of a sentence. The words only killed me further, probably mutilating him from the inside out.

‘He’s in my head Cassie.’

Fury courses through my blood like a flame licking the inner walls of my veins and arteries. I wanted the man sat in that cell to pay for what he knew he had done here. To his son. His child. But what good was my anger to Dean? So instead, I drove the raw emotion into the deep love I have for him.

“He’s not real,” I murmured, slowly, evenly, “it was just a dream, he’s not here.”

I was scared for him and scared of the state he was in. I wanted to take it all away, remove everything that was making him feel like this. I couldn’t bear it. But he didn’t need my fear to deal with right now, he needed a constant and that had to be me.

He was panting, sharp untamed intakes of breath. I gently put a hand on his knee, testing the waters to see if he wanted my touch. He leaned into it and I shuffled closer, now intertwining my fingers with his.

“I’ve got you,” I squeezed his hand, “I’ve got you, breathe.”

I tried to mirror what he’d do for me in this situation. I was too used to being on the receiving end.

“I’m here Dean,” I said softly, “look at me, I’m right here.”

He was still breathing loud enough for me to hear and see the staccato rise and fall of his rib cage.

It wasn’t fair. Someone like Dean didn’t deserve something like this. He was too good, too pure, too sweet. He’d been through so much already, why was the world still on his back? Why was he still weighted by problems he didn’t ever deserve to have? He was a child. A child.

“It’s not real,” I murmured, moving my hands gently up his chest and neck to cup his face in my hands, he’s hot under my touch, dampness still clinging to his skin, “it’s not real I promise you, it’s just a nightmare,” I said quietly, “look at me. I’m real. I’m here. Not what’s going on in your mind.”

“Cassie,” he gasped, clutching his chest with on hand and grabbing my arm with the other.

His knuckles went white.

“Breathe with me Dean,” I said, my voice shaking more than I intended, “please you have to breathe with me.”

“Can’t,” he choked out.

He looked like he was suffocating. Like he was being strangled by invisible hands that had haunted his childhood.

“Focus on me,” I replied more firmly, more desperately, “just me.”

He did. He stopped. He stared at me, enveloped in the darkness.

“Listen to my voice,” I said softly, “feel your fingers in mine,” I interlocked other my hand with his, so I was holding onto both, “look at the colour of my eyes, anything that will help.”

He was silent for a long time and I watched as his eyes roamed my face, as his fingers drew illegible words and confusing images on my arms. I watched as he played with the dried out ends of my hair desperate for a cut and as his fingers trailed down the soft cotton of my pyjama shorts. I watched as he felt my pulse and analysed the rise and fall of my own chest to match it with his own.

The silence went on for a long time but neither of us noticed. His breathing eventually calmed and there was less panic paralysing him. The knot in my own chest was beginning to slowly loosen.

He slipped from my fingertips, away from my touch and into his own. His face retreated to his own hands, head bowed down in some sort of shame.

“Dean,” I said, my voice low but urgent, “Dean.”

Though his breaths were now even, they were also hard and disjointed. He looked as if he were having a silent argument with himself. I wanted to help him through the battle, be by his side when he won the war.

“Why am I like this?” he asked, venom on his tongue all directed to himself.

My heart shattered, as if it had been shot with a machine gun over and over, a thousand tiny holes in the vital organ. Of course he would blame himself. Sweet Dean, kind Dean, gentle Dean would pile the fault as his.

“It’s not you,” I tell him, praying he could hear the way my voice was being ripped in pain.

Dean wouldn’t meet my eye, “why do I let him in?”

“You’re not the problem Dean,” I said tenderly.

“No,” he snapped back, “if I was stronger, if I was better-“

I hated it. I despised that man who felt he had the power to not only hurt his son in the moment but cause him to self-destruct for the rest of his life Dean didn’t deserve that, he would never deserve that. And I couldn’t do anything to change it.

“Listen to me,” I said, a little more firmly, “listen.”

“Cassie…” he trailed off as my hands cupped his cheeks again.

“Your dad isn’t coming back,” I told him, “he never will.”

“But he’ll forever be here, in my mind,” he said, “hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

He tapped his skull.

“Don’t quote him,” I murmured, “it gives him the power Dean.”

He recoiled from my touch looking disgusted in himself, “I’m pathetic.”

“That’s him talking, not you, never you,” I whispered, my voice wobbling, “don’t let him win Dean, you are stronger, you are better.”

Ghosts of feeling danced in his eyes as he stared through me numbly. Something in my chest stung harshly and bled hard and I took him into my arms.

He crumbled.

He let himself crumble into me. Something in a sudden moment all snapped and every tie that was ever tied unravelled into the pile of red ribbon stringing him together. Every time his body shook with a sob a piece of my heart tore away so I only held him tighter. I cradled his broken body into my chest and tried to keep my own tears at bay. I wanted him to feel that I was there, that I wasn’t going anywhere, ever. That his life was now different, that he could now be free.

After a long while he pulled away slowly and sat up. His face looked different, tear stained and red eyed. I wasn’t used to it but it didn’t make it any less beautiful.

“I want it to stop,” he said, his voice rough and ragged, almost gravelly, “I’m driving myself insane Cassie, I need to sleep.”

“I know,” I whispered slowly, brushing the hair from his eyes, “…I know.”

And I did. There’s been many times where I’d been the one breaking down over the same thing in his arms.

“This will get better,” I tell him, still playing with his hair, “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now but it will.”

“How can you be sure?” he winced.

“Well think of where my sleep was three months ago and where it is now,” I replied, “I mean it’s not good but it’s better, even you’ve said that.”

He paused for a long while, playing with his thumbnail, before he looked up at me seriously, “do you think it’s something I’m doing wrong?”

“God no Dean,” I exhaled, “the things you’ve seen are not your fault, the experiences, the people, you had no control over it and I know you think you do have control over it but trust me, trust me Dean,” desperation crept to the back of my throat, making my voice all funny, “when I tell you you didn’t, do you trust me?”

“I do, but Cass I can’t…” he trailed off, the words not right, his emotions too conflicted. For someone so hard to read to others, he was my open book.

“Then let me help you,” I murmured.

He met my eyes and that was all that was needed, no words. The longing, the hope, the craving to be seen, to be heard, to be looked after, to be helped-

“You will never understand your own worth because your nature is too good, too pure,” I began, “but if you could see yourself through my eyes you’d know what I’m talking about. Sometimes I wish you could because Dean you’re such a beautiful human being, in every sense of the word you care so much about the people around you, you’re passionate about the things you love, the people you love. You’re one of the smartest people I know, you’ll happily sacrifice your own happiness for someone else and you have the biggest heart of any person I’ve ever met.”

“Cassie,” he whispered, glossy-eyed.

“I mean would you tell me I was stupid or weak or pathetic if I woke up like this?” I asked him.

Dean shook his head sucking in a shaky breath, “but you’re not me Cassie.”

“You’re right,” I nodded, “you’re better,”

“No, no Cassie-“

“Shhhh,” I smiled, putting my finger to his lips, “you’re good Dean inside and out, you’re kind and you’re gentle and you’re brave and god this list goes on forever.”

A final tear traced the lines of his face, I barely saw it in the dim lighting.

“What did I do,” his voice was low, “to deserve a woman like you.”

“Oh my love,” I murmured, pressing my forehead to his, “you deserve so much more.”

“Never,” he whispered, his breath tickling my face, “never in a million years.”

I locked my fingers into his, our noses almost touching.

“Kiss me,” he begged, in such a low, husky sound I barely heard it, “make me forget it all.”

Make him forget he’s in my head. The unspoken words hung in the empty air.

I gently pressed my lips onto his, a sweet, soft comfort kiss that made my lips tingle for something more. But this wasn’t about me. I pulled away slowly, my eyes lingering on his face but Dean was already looking at me. Staring like I was the moon and stars and all the galaxies combined.

His hand was pressed flat against my back, pushing my body closer into him. He gave the subtlest of nods. I obliged, taking his mouth back into mine. It tasted like the salt of sweat and tears combined, but I didn’t care and nor did he because it was sweetened by the love the licked both our lips from just locking eyes.

His mouth brushed into the corner of my lips, pressing a gentle kiss down that sent a shiver down my spine. I wrapped my arms around his neck and his hand climbing up my waist and pulled me into his lap until my thighs were either side of his hips. I deepened the kiss, moving further into his face, my hands unapologetically grabbing chunks his hair. He made a small sound of pleasure, a low hum from the back of his throat that made butterflies dance in my stomach.

Breathlessly, I pulled away before it could escalate any further. I didn’t want him to get lost in the need for comfort and regret it later. Instead I took him deep into my arms, burying his face into the shallow heat of my own body.

“I love you Dean, every part of you,” I whispered into his hair, “and I’ll never stop, not when the world ends, or if we fall apart, or when you need me for once. I love you, that bit doesn’t go away.”

He didn’t reply and I suspected he may be asleep so I rolled backwards until my head hit the pillow taking him with me. His head pressed up against my chest still and I felt his more even breath.

I ran my finger through his hair, gently coiling around every wave. It was soft and light, making me all the more sleepy.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” he mumbled into me, making me jump. He clearly hadn’t been asleep, “I didn’t want to.”

“I’d rather be awake with you than asleep,” I said gently, “and it’s okay to need me too you know?”

“You’re just getting a sleep routine back,” he replied sluggishly, exhaustion finally catching up on him.

“And you think it won’t be destroyed in a few weeks time by my own nightmares?” I scoffed lightly, letting my head fall deeper into my pillow.

“Still…”

“Dean, you matter more to me than anything else, sleep included,” I said, “I don’t want you to face this alone like you wouldn’t want me to.”

There was a beat of silence. Maybe the realisation that he couldn’t argue with that.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Do you want to try and sleep now?” I asked, “just for a bit.”

He shifted, looking up at me with those dark irises that left me tongue tied, “the nightmares will come back,” he murmured, face so innocent it reminded me of a scared child, the scared child he probably once was.

“That’s okay,” I told him gently, “we’ll face them together if they do.”

I trailed my fingers softly up and down the back of his neck, like he had done for me when I’d been hysterical. I felt my eyes begin to close and my movements slow down, I was desperately trying to fight sleep but control was slipping easily through my fingers.

“Don’t leave,” Dean mumbled, sounding half asleep himself.

“When have I ever,” I whispered back, before sleep took us both in his arms and we slept through the rest of the night.

a/n: as soon as I finished I realised should’ve written it in dean’s pov 😭😭 but rgwudjhejd oh well

hope you enjoyed 🤭🤭

the naturals masterlist

[badninken]

Gamma Knife - painting process

I had so much fun painting this piece and I want to share some behind-the-scenes stuff on how it was made.

I would like to thank MagicPoser for making it possible to try poses, scale, angles and lighting and saving my ass so many times. I use the app on my iPad but there's a free browser version too.

So I wrangled these 3D dudes into the poses I wanted and then I cut them to pieces and stretched them out to make them as leggy as they're supposed to be. Before I did that though I spent forever trying to pick the angle I wanted to paint. Including two other screenshots I considered using before settling, because it's fun. (nevermind Doffy's weird arm angle, it wasn't going to show anyway. The smoke-placeholder makes it looks like he's in The Sims though which is cute. That thing's about to go so red.)

Then I started sketching. I quickly moved Law higher up and changed his pose to make him more curled up, elbow-to-knee, legs bent etc for more intensity. MagicPoser is great as a reference but the end result gets pretty stiff and boring if you follow the 3D models too closely, and I wanted swoosh. So I painted some swooshy shapes to figure out the movement I wanted for the whole painting. Purple swooshes for the curve of Law and the direction of his jump. Pinker purple for Doflamingo's leg and spine arcs.

The b/w image below also shows the rough base for the feather coat. It's painted with a flat, tapering oil brush that created nice curves that I could refine later.

Skipping lots and lots of work to get to the next step. It's all rendering and detailing, mostly done with the HB pencil brush.

Coloring! I started by creating a gradient map bit lots of color steps. I kind of knew what I wanted but there's a lot of trial and error involved while picking colors and dragging sliders. In Photoshop I'd do this on an adjustment layer but in Procreate I do it by copying all visible layers (three finger slide, copy all visible) and making a new layer out of them where everything's merged (three finger slide, paste)

I then put that layer in Color-mode on 77% over the grayscale image after playing around and testing lots of things. I rarely know what I want before I see it. I copied that layer again and put it in Add-mode on a very low opacity because it looked neat. Every image is a new adventure when it comes to layer blending modes, there is no right or wrong here, you just have to test things until you find an effect that you like. Huge potential for happy accidents in this step.

I didn't want everything to be pink so I created a new Color-layer to paint skin, clothes and radiation. Lowered opacity to let the pink base shine through slightly, for a cohesive and more natural look. Color-mode on full opacity often looks a bit flat and washed out unless combined with something else.

There's a lot more that happened after that but it's all detail stuff, effects, lots of layers with soft airbrushed gradients on various blending modes. Also directional perspective blur where I masked out some feathers to still be sharp against the blurry ones in the back, a quick and easy way to create a sense of movement and depth.

Again, thanks MagicPoser, I would have cried so much and probably given up over the angle of Doflamingo's head without your help 🙏

[penvisions]

dev's wip whenever

don't have much goin' on right with just finishing finals earlier this week, but here's steamy sneakie peek of what i'm working on for {services requested}

“Pretty girl, god you’re fuckin’ perfect.” His voice is like thick smoke, an alluring curl that wraps around you and steals the very breath from your lungs. The deep, almost drawling way he continues to coo and praise in makes you feel like you’re floating, no longer tethered to anything but the man it comes from. A shudder ripples over you as he stands, body so dizzyingly close, nearly pressed to you. His large hands nearly burn with how hot they feel through the silk over your shoulders, his palms dragging the robe from your shoulders. You can’t bring yourself to look up at him, but you feel his scruff against your temple, his puff of breath the only air your lungs will take in. His hands brush your shoulders, imprinting their shape into your skin like a brand, trailing down to tangle his fingers with your own. You lock in on the way your hand looks in his, small and nimble where he’s big and burly, the strength in his hands and how they feel on you makes your knees weak. The heady thought of him using that strength on you something new, but not altogether unfounded. He's safe. He’s Joel. He’s your Joel. And suddenly your stomach dips with the fleeting thought of him pinning you beneath his body,  chest at you back, knees dug into the mattress while you gasp for breath as he ruts into you from behind. Your breath leaves you in a whoosh.

fic taglist: @evolnoomym @here-briefly @msjarvis @sofiacaterina

@noisynightmarepoetry @sawymredfox @badwolfvexa @lotusbxtch

@copperhalfcent @anoverwhelmingdin @megjohnston23 @axshadows

@purple-fig @paleidiot @her-fandom-sanctum @auteurdelabre @paradisedixon

@communism-bitches @ghotifishreads @sugar-n-spice @millersblud @yopossum

@morallyinept @desuidesu @mabelsbubble @diirtymartini

@thundermartini @mrsmando @jessthebaker @emeraldbloodcrown

@mara-tevith-solo @76bookworm76 @persephone-girl @jellybeanxc @clawdee

@wethairjoel @pedrospatch @jessthebaker @darkheartgatita

@getitoutofmymindwrites @burntheedges @punkshort @sarap-77

@chronically-ghosted @theoraekenslover @maladaptivedaydreaming

@ad23900 @bergamote-catsandbooks @mani-pedro @clevergirl74

@mosssbawls @jessthebaker

[littlexdeaths]

the shire is burning - e.m.

eddie munson x fem reader

is it the end? or only the beginning?

a soulmate and reincarnation au

warnings: mentions of war and destruction, blood

a/n: this is meant as more of a set up chapter, or introduction into eddie and reader’s future lives. so it’s a bit shorter than the rest of this series will be. each separate chapter will have their own warnings, but be aware— there will be a lot of hurt/no comfort in this series. the universe isn’t very kind to them.

also shout out to @strangerstilinski for constantly listening to my ramblings about this series and with helping me to eddiefy that greek name. and the lovely @joshlmbrt for also looking this over when i was doubting myself. 💕

eras of us masterlist. | next chapter.

TROY - 1184 BC

Blood and dirt.

It has soaked through the thin linen of your nightgown and is caked against your skin. Piercing screams fill the air as you rush through the palace, but the sounds of the war raging outside only draw nearer with each step you take.

He had told you to run, to flee. To get as far away from Troy as possible, and leave him to burn with his city. But how could you? How could you leave the one person that made your soul complete?

Your love was doomed from the start, a young prince and a servant girl. Two souls who were never meant to intertwine the way that they did. But as Troy crumbled around you, none of that mattered anymore— only him.

Once you made it past the palace walls your lungs began to burn from the rising smoke in the air. The ashes of a once great city swirl through the night sky and stain your cheeks with soot.

Soldiers, both of Sparta and Troy clash in a blur of swords and bloodied flesh as you continue through the streets of your burning city. His father and brothers are dead, his city destroyed— you knew there was only once place he would be.

And you would risk your life to get him.

After evading enemy soldiers and crumbling buildings you finally reach the overlook, the highest place in the city. You can recall the many occasions he had taken you there in secret.

But the view was vastly different than the one you had admired between heated kisses. A sea of flames, that was once the great city of Troy.

And him, watching it all with great sorrow.

“Edaphroditus!”

You call his name, and everything fades away when your eyes meet. You rush to his side, and he envelops you in his arms.

He’s bruised, soot is smeared along his jaw and his dark curls are soaked with sweat but he’s never looked more breathtakingly beautiful to you.

“You must’n be here,” he pleads softly, pulling back to take your hands in his own. “It’s not safe.”

“I will not leave you.”

Tears brim in your eyes and slowly slip down your cheeks while he cradles your face between his bloodied palms.

“But my love, you must. Troy has fallen… I cannot protect you here.”

You can see the pain swirling behind the warmth of his irises, which reflects back in your own.

While you knew that the last prince of Troy would be slaughtered on sight if caught, you could not let him slip between your fingers. So you merely shake your head, clutching onto his armor to urge him closer. There was no you without him. And if death came for you, so be it.

Your choice had been made the moment the Spartans invaded your home, and not even the gods themselves could dissuade you.

Shaky hands move to cradle his jaw, brushing away the tears that begin to spill down his cheeks.

“I would live and die a thousand deaths, if it meant one more life with you.”

And when your lips collide, your fate is sealed.

series tag list: @lokis-army-77 @xxbimbobunnyxx @joshlmbrt @bastardstevie

[jules-writes-stories]

A Song for All Seasons

Azris Week | Day 5 AU | Orpheus x Eurydice

Chapter 1/4 on AO3

Eris Vanserra had never fallen in his immortal life. He was a male of poise and grace, whose form and magic were too strong to stumble. And yet, as he lay upon the mossy forest floor, unable to stop himself, he fell for the half-demon. There was freedom in the descent, in the reckless folly of hope. He prayed that Azriel, with his mighty wings and strong arms, would catch him.

The prince let go. He arched his back up and pressed himself into the male above him. Twined his fingers into windy black curls and wrapped his legs around Azriel's waist. Eris brushed his calves against his wings—exploratory and slow, and watched the other male beneath his lashes. 

“Who knew a demon’s wings would be so soft?” Eris purred into his ear. It was adorably rounded in a strange, foreign way.  

Azriel smelled like mist on cedarwoods, like leather and wind. His body was warm and firm, a welcome weight pinning him down. His lips moved from Eris’s mouth to the hinge of his jaw, kissing down his throat. Eris slowly pulled his tunic up and over his head. He tossed the silk aside, watching hazel eyes move over his body.

“I would give myself to you, if that was your wish.” Eris licked the place right behind that ear he admired, like a mean little cat. 

Azriel trembled, breath hitched, then pulled up to brace upon his elbows. “I would cherish you and never let you go.”

Eris liked that answer. “Show me.”  Chapter 1 on AO3

Div by @olenvasynyt

Special thanks to @pippsmcgee for reading

Please let me know if you ever want on/off my Azris tag |

@the-darkestminds @fieldofdaisiies @mistandmemories @molcat07 @chunkypossum @going-through-shit @talibunny30 @lilah-asteria @amalhe-kofee @futurehunt @seihdacalling @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @unanswered-stars @that-girl-reading @christeareads @g00seg1rl @nus4y @astro-h0e-4azris @neciebee @makinglongwordsslutty @palomita-de-la-sangre @brunetterebel010 @aurorasleeps-27 @iftheshoef1tz @wovendreamscapes @bloodyplunder @catboyjamesbond @buffy-vanserra @thesourcabbage @fourteentrout @molcat07 @mudandmire @shadowsandlint @born-to-riot @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @witch-and-her-witcher @ysmtttty @yams-77 @olenvasynyt @wrraccountant @jolenes-library @irithiadourden @icey--stars @constantsins @invaderdreyar @azrisweek @psychiatry-and-poetry @slytherin-pen

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

Chancellor Perdue

Featuring the 14th Chancellor of the University System of Georgia, Sonny Perdue

Last year, I was working part-time at the University System of Georgia headquarters in Atlanta. That's where I came to know Chancellor of the University System of Georgia, Sonny Perdue. The former US secretary of agriculture and Georgia governor asked me to be his aide in the fall of 2024. It was then I would find myself admiring his stocky 5’9”, 77-year-old figure, eventually dreaming about him and waking up with a hard-on. And to make matters worse or better, I suspected he might be interested. But I would resolve to not convey any gay vibe to encourage him.

That fall, I accompanied Sonny on a weekend fundraising-and-recruiting trip to Houston, where I flew on a private jet with him and attended a dinner with donors. Since I was there stag, I just hung by the bar when everyone else was mingling, including Sonny and I got pretty tipsy that night. So much so that I found myself in Sonny’s hotel room, where the two of us were hitting the mini bar. The lights were dim, Sonny had removed his jacket and tie, and he’d ordered porn on the television. In the movie, two young guys were banging a chubby, middle-aged woman.

He had just excused himself to the bathroom. I expected the old man to shut the door when he entered the bathroom, but he didn't. He just walked up to the toilet and unzipped his pants. When I realized I hadn’t heard him pee, I looked over briefly and was surprised to see him stroking a thick, 8 inch uncut cock. I admit I started to get pretty hard and because of that, I stared too long, and he noticed. I looked up to see Sonny looking right at me, smiling.

"You are gay aren't you?" He asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"Yea." I answered without even thinking.

"Thought so." The old man said as he stood there shaking his dick back and forth as it swelled up. "You want to suck it?"

Giving in to lustful temptation was the only thing I was good at. I walked over to him and kissed him, wanting to do that for so long. Quickly, Sonny started unbuttoning my shirt, unzipping my pants, and basically tearing my clothes off as he moved his tongue around inside my mouth. I fell onto my knees in front of Sonny and with his full 8" cut old man cock pointing in my face, I stuck out my tongue and flicked the head of his prick. My tongue slid down the side of his cock and back up again, licking him with vigour as I felt my cock flutter uncomfortably in my pants. I reached down and unzipped them, allowing my prick to fall out and leak precum onto the carpeted floor.

Holding his cock at the base, I went back to his balls, sucking and licking as I started jacking his fat cock like hell. I looked up to see his shirt undone all the way. He had each of his nipples between his fingers, twisting and rubbing them while I pounded his cock. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed as he hunched toward me.

I looked up to see his shirt undone all the way. He had each of his nipples between his fingers, twisting and rubbing them while I pounded his cock. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed as he hunched toward me. I grabbed the base of his cock and wrapped my lips around it, my tongue thrust against the shaft as I swallowed half of his dick.

"Oh yes…" Sonny moaned as I felt his big hand grab my head and press it down. I looked up, my mouth full of juicy cock, he was looking down at me and smiling.

I began bobbing my head up and down his shaft as his nuts bounced invitingly against my chin. I reached up and tugged at his nuts, they were sweaty, my fingers curled around them and he moaned with satisfaction. I pulled away from his cock and put a hand on his thigh, rubbing him while I jerked my cock, he let go of my head and wrapped his hand around his wet cock, stroking generously. I stood up and pulled my pants off, throwing them onto the floor.

Sonny reached down and took my cock in his other hand, pressing my throbbing cock against his own, his fist wrapped around them both. I gasped as I felt my cock press against his wet prick. He grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my face down. I licked his chest, moving my hands down to his butt cheeks and I squeezed them while gliding my tongue over to his hard nipples. I felt his hand grip tighter around our kissing cocks while my tongue swirled around his nipple as I sucked them eagerly, first the right then the left as my hand massaged his butt cheeks.

Suddenly Sonny pulled his hand away from around our cocks, laid down on the bed and began by stroking his dick. I followed him eagerly, and knelt down beside it, pressed my tongue against his thigh and licked my way up to his nuts. My tongue lapped at his nuts while he lay there stroking himself.

"Ride me." He whispered, looking like he was all ready to cum and everything.

As I stood up and looked around for some lube, Sonny told me he had some Vaseline in his bag in the corner. I walked over towards it and bent over to pull the Vaseline out, as I bent over I felt him grab my legs. Looking back from under my legs, I saw Sonny kneeling behind me, his cockhead resting on the floor, leaving a wet mark on the carpet.

I let out a sharp gasp as I felt his tongue slide down my crack.

I held on to the wall as my legs began to shake as his tongue slid up and down my sweaty crack until it pressed against my hole.

"Oh yeah." I moaned as he slid the tip of his tongue into me, tonguefucking me, eating my ass.

Sonny did that for around five minutes till I knew my hole must have been dripping, then he stood up and took the Vaseline tub from me. My cock was twitching and I wanted to touch it, but I knew if I did, I'd shoot as I watched him rub the Vaseline over his prick while heading back to the bed. As he laid back, spreading his legs wide, I climbed onto the bed and lifted one leg to the other side, hovering over his crotch, his 8" pole. As I lowered myself onto his cock, I felt the head against my hole and he immediately thrust all 8 inches into me.

I gasped loudly, so loudly in fact that I’m sure the people in the next room heard.

Placing both my hands on his chest, I dug into it as I lifted my ass and slid back down again. Sonny let me take control, so I rode his dick, stopping whenever I thought he was getting close to coming so we could kiss.

After teasing him and prolonging the excitement, Sonny was desperate to cum. Just then, this white haired older man took charge and flipped me over. Sonny had grabbed my feet and held me wide open for a hard pounding. The bed springs creaked loudly as the sound of his body slapping against my young skin. My cock bounced around and leaked like a faucet onto my belly. Sweat dripped off Sonny and covered my hot body. The room was steaming and filled with the sounds of Sonny's balls slamming against my ass, my cries of being fucked, and his groans of approval.

10 minutes later of ass pounding ecstasy, I knew I was going to cum and told Sonny so. He slowed his thrusts and began stroking my cock slowly. I couldn't take it and fired my load onto my belly. It wasn't big, but I had a good pool of sperm all over my belly. After squeezing the last drop out of me, Sonny resumed his assault on my ass and fucked me till I was dizzy.

I could tell from the look on Sonny's face that I was about to get a big load up my ass. He suddenly bellowed like a bull and dropped his cum deposit deep in my ass. He must have shot 10 or 12 huge spurts of cum in my ass. Now for a man in his late seventies, that was impressive. And as Sonny pulled out, I heard his cock make a wet pop as it left my popped cherry before he fell beside me, breathing like he'd just ran the marathon.

We slept very well that night.

[iftheshoef1tz]

Timshel

Chapter Two

Notes: this chapter goes heavy on both grief and financial crime, and touches on trauma after returning from an active war zone. there is also some kind of unnegotiated kink, i suppose? but ALSO this chapter goes heavy on the vancouver references lmfao the only one of which i shall be explaining is the vancouver special. it's described pretty accurately in the fic itself, but in case you're interested in a fun lil wikipedia rabbit hole, you can read more here. there is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to the legendborn cycle by tracy deonn, brownie points to you if you know what it is!

special thanks, as always, to @queercontrarian and @yams-77. thanks also to @nus4y for explaining to me what the bands on my barista's arm at my favorite coffee shop (possibly) mean. if you read, you'll understand.

In East Van, there are rows of cherry blossoms on every street. The branches stretch over the sidewalks, where the flowers can brush softly over the cheeks of passersby. In the “hidden” album on Eris’s phone, buried like the most scandalous of pornography, is a photo taken of Azriel on this very street with a self-satisfied curl to his mouth, framed from behind by blue sky and the cherry blossoms.

Now, in August, the branches seem strangely naked in the moonlight without their plumage as Azriel parks. The car idles for a long moment until he switches it off. 

Azriel’s childhood home waits silently, just on the other side of Eris’s window.

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[mlmxreader]

I'll Make Love To You | Elliot Stabler x gn!reader (18+)

『••✎••』

requested by anonymous

↳ ❝ Hi can I request 77. "Would you please hold me?" with Elliot stabler please? ❞

: ̗̀➛ Elliot surprises you when you get back, and you can't exactly say you're disappointed.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ anal fingering, anal sex, swearing, praise kink

: ̗̀➛ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

spotlight fundraiser : ̗̀➛ Help Fatima's Husband Stuck in the North of Gaza

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You could not say that you were surprised when you came home to find Elliot in your bed; you had given him a spare key for the one year anniversary together, and he quite often let himself in whenever he had the time to do so.

So you simply shrugged it off, and kicked your shoes off by the door; you put your coat up on the hook on the back of the door, and smiled at him before locking the door and going across the room.

Softly, you kissed him, and he leaned into it as he moved over slightly; you didn’t know what you had done to deserve the surprise, but you welcomed it anyway, and allowed him to pull you into the bed with him. 

You settled on his lap, your hands going to his shoulders and allowed your knees to rest on either side of his hips as you smiled and kissed him again; just one more stolen kiss as he put one arm on your lower back and allowed the other to rest at the base of your neck. 

Just one more stolen kiss as he kept his mouth close to yours so that you could feel every movement of his lips. “Welcome home, baby.”

“What are you doing here?” You asked softly, grinning and trying not to laugh. 

Elliot shrugged, and pulled you a little closer as he hummed softly. “I thought I’d come and surprise you for the day - I got the whole day, just for you.”

You didn’t think it right to look a gift horse in the mouth, so you shrugged it off and pushed aside any questions that might have come to your mind in the slightest. “You gonna tell me what plans we have, Detective?”

He shook his head as he grinned at you, stealing another kiss. “We’re spending all day right here… go put the speaker on a sec.”

You did as he said, and rolled your eyes when you heard “Sexual Healing” begin to play; but Elliot beckoned you to his lap once again, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to do anything but to agree and straddle his waist eagerly.

He rolled you onto your back, taking his time with kissing your neck before slowly peeling your shirt off and pushing it from your shoulders; he started to kiss your shoulders, then moved across between them before making his way down to your waist.

Gently, he tugged at the elastic band of your jogging bottoms, and tilted his head to the side.

“Can I take these off?” He asked softly, and you eagerly nodded, breath hitching as he helped you to get them off. “No underwear… were you expecting me, baby?”

You grinned and told him that you had a feeling that he would have dropped by at some point; Elliot grinned, and softly kissed across your hips before ignoring your groin and focusing on your thighs.

His kisses were gentle, and made you moan his name under your breath as you tilted your head back and closed your eyes for a moment.

But then he moved back up, and he hummed softly as he gently held your face with one hand. “Can you flip over for me, please?”

You shifted onto your stomach, and gasped quietly when you felt him kiss the backs of your thighs, then move to do the same to your ass cheeks, all the way up until he was kissing the spot just behind your ear.

You grinned into the pillow, and dared to grind your hips against the soft, plush, mattress.

“Can I use my fingers?” He asked, waiting for you to explicitly say it before he dared to slip two fingers into your ass hole.

Slowly, he curled and scissored them as he kept kissing at your neck; you moaned softly, clenching around him and quietly calling his name.

He wasn’t being teasing, and nor was he being purposefully unfair - oh no.

He just wanted you to savour every little movement, and to feel every little thing that he was doing; taking things slow so that you were worked up properly. 

He carefully moved his fingers, making sure to hit the sweet spot in your ass but not quite enough to make you cum just yet; he checked in almost immediately, asking if you were feeling good, if you wanted to keep going - when you answered yes to both, he smiled. 

Elliot didn’t rest his weight on you just yet, as he knew that that always got a rise out of you; instead, he focused on making you clench and clamp down on his fingers, hungering for his touch and getting so worked up that you were sweating.

But he didn’t want you to beg for him, he didn’t want you to get desperate; he wanted you to enjoy every single time he crooked his fingers and made you feel just how big and thick and strong his hands were. 

You were panting softly, grinning as you bit down on the pillow to stop yourself from smiling too much; you could feel yourself getting close, ass clenching around his fingers as you moaned his name like the sweetest little prayer into the pillow’s soft, gentle, fabric. 

He kissed at your neck again, and hummed against the skin as he bucked his hips against the bed; when he felt you freeze up, your body trembling and crumbling for him, he grinned, and praised you so fucking softly and so fucking quietly.

It was like you were the only person in the entire fucking world. 

Elliot pulled back, withdrawing his fingers as he moved to lie on his side, staring at you for a moment as he allowed you to catch your breath again; he laid his hand just above your ass, and raised his brows slightly. “You ready for more, or do you wanna stop?”

You shook your head, you really didn’t want it to fucking end there. “I wanna keep going.”

He all but grinned, pulling out the lube that you kept under the bed and applying it to both his cock and your ass; he worked it into you with his fingers, making sure that it was good and slick before he pulled you close to his chest, his arms holding onto you tightly as he slowly eased himself into your ass. 

He hummed, kissing your neck again as he waited for you to signal that you were ready for him to start moving and to actually take you where you wanted to go.

Gently, you pushed back against him, and Elliot lazily rolled his hips into you as he kept a tight grip on you to make sure that you knew he was right there with you; your hand went to the back of his head as you tilted yours back slightly, a soft, prayer-like moan of his name leaving your lips as you fought against the urge to kiss him so fucking much.

“Would you please hold me?” You asked quietly, and Elliot tightened his grip slightly as he gently thrust into you, taking his time to draw out each little movement of his hips.

“I got you, baby,” he reassured softly, rewarding you with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I got you.”

He grunted softly between his long and drawn out thrusts, making sure that they went deep enough to make you whimper and push back against him as you rolled your hips and bucked them gently; not quite desperate to beg for him to fuck you, but enough to keep you hooked as you let out a long moan from the back of your throat. 

Elliot sucked in a harsh breath, and softly kissed at the corner of your mouth, one of his hands travelling up slightly so he could grab your chest; his fingers clumsily found your nipple, and he started to gently pull at it and roll it between the thick digits as you laughed in ecstasy, almost fucking giggling as you bit at the inside of your lip. 

He was your entire fucking world, if you were honest, and you knew that you would never love another man even half as much as you loved him; it was as if he was in every breath that you took, every move that you made. 

You were certain that the stars shined in his eyes, and nowhere else, and when he rested your hand in his, you could only feel as if you were absolutely fucking invincible. 

Elliot was your world, your night and your day, your sun and your moon; he was every prayer on the tip of your tongue, and if he ever told you that he wasn’t in love with you, your entire world would simply cease to exist, and would crumble all around your feet. 

But you could not deny how fucking good he was making you feel, as if he was trying to tell you how much he loved you with every single little touch and every single little kiss; it made you grin as you slowly worked your hips so he could hit your ass in different angles with his slightly curved cock.

Making you moan softly and try to refuse and bite down on the urge to fuck yourself on his cock; he gently bit down at your neck, muttering and whispering praises that only you would ever hear.

“You feelin’ okay?” He asked now and then, each time it came with a pause as he held onto you tightly, reassuringly.

You nodded every time, and once you had regained your breath, you grinned, and turned your head to kiss him softly. “More than.”

Elliot was good with checking in on you, and for some reason, each time he did, it only drew your release closer and closer; orgasm threatening you every fucking time and making you bite down the urge to whimper and beg him to be rougher, harder, faster. 

Elliot knew that you were not going to last much longer, and he grunted your name out softly when your ass clenched tightly around him; he clenched his jaw, freezing for a moment and letting out a long breath as he finally came inside you.

You grinned, thanking him quietly before he told you that he wanted you to cum as well; you didn’t take long, though, a few of those gentle, long, deep thrusts and you were moaning his name with a loud gasp.

Your toes curled, and your head fell back against his shoulder as you cried out his name, your entire body trembling and your thighs feeling like jelly as you erratically humped his cock; your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and you only stopped when Elliot had praised you through every single moment until you were completely spent.

“Still want me to hold you?” He asked softly, letting his hands drop to your sides. 

You nodded, licking your lips and flashing him the puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

Elliot hummed, and slowly pulled out before gently patting your ass. “You wanna shower first?”

You shook your head. “If you help me get there.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that slipped past through his lips, and he nodded as he moved to get off of the bed. “Baby, you know I’m always here when you want me to be… even if it’s just to help you into the shower.”

He offered you his arm, and you gently took it with your trembling hands; your legs felt like jelly, but you could smell his thick cologne and his sweat on his skin, and you didn’t want it to go away as you took slow, careful, steps to the bathroom.

Gently, Elliot withdrew his arm from you, and waited for you to sit on the toilet before he began to run the shower; he kept his hand under the water, and when it was exactly how you liked it, he let you take his arm in your hands again, and helped you to get in. 

[janmisali]

Letter Tournament: SINOLOGICAL DOT vs TC LIGATURE WITH CURL

ꞏ (Sinological Dot)

SEED: 52

CODEPOINT: U+A78F LATIN LETTER SINOLOGICAL DOT

BIO: ꞏ

ʨ (TC Ligature with Curl)

SEED: 77

CODEPOINT: U+02A8 LATIN SMALL LETTER TC DIGRAPH WITH CURL

BIO: okay now this one definitely is a ligature of "t" and "c with a curl".

[link to all polls]

[louisarmands]

The Dark Gift

Summary and Notes:

What happened when Louis left Daniel in the penthouse with Armand. Apologies if this is messy, I wrote it very quickly. Feedback is appreciated. I love these two so much.

Word Count: 1376

 Louis was gone, and Daniel was alone in the penthouse. Alone with Armand. The room suddenly seemed larger, more empty. The stark white walls loomed over him, cold and imposing. A prison. A coffin. A tomb. 

He quickly put out the flames on his laptop with a blanket, the smoke stinging at his eyes. He shoved the smoldering hunk of metal in his bag, eager to get out of there like he had been warned. Louis had threatened Armand and told him not to touch Daniel but Louis was gone now. And what could an old man with Parkinson’s do against a 500-year old vampire? Gathering the last of his things, Daniel turned the corner to the elevator. 

And there was Armand. Covered in dust from the walls cracking from the force of Louis’s anger, his face bruised and bleeding. His brown curls framed his face in a halo. Even battered, he looked like a renaissance painting, a vision of graceful beauty. But for once, he didn’t look composed. He looked… broken. But under the surface, under his glassy amber eyes, there was rage. He was shaking with it. 

Daniel thought he looked small. Almost childish. 

“You know what will happen if you hurt me. You heard Louis. So are you gonna let me leave or what?” Daniel remarked, playing up his usual sarcasm even though his heart was beating out of his chest. And he knew Armand could hear it. 

Armand smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Hurt you? Oh Daniel, I would never do that,” Armand replied, stepping closer to Daniel, a wild look in his eyes.  

“If I wanted to do that I would’ve done it already,” he said, cold and calculating. Armand the snake. Armand the one who hides, the one who sits back and lets things happen. Armand, who was looking at Daniel like he was prey.

“So what, you’re just fine with me ending your 77 year relationship? With me exposing all of your lies?” Daniel scoffed, in disbelief that he wasn’t a melted puddle of bones already. Then again, Armand never was one for action. 

“Was it you who ended it? When I am the one who drives people away again and again? Over and over? When I am the one who lies for self preservation?” He said quietly, his eyes never leaving Daniel’s. He didn’t blink. 

Daniel was shocked at his… self awareness. He didn’t think Armand was capable of that. 

Armand continued. 

“I love them more than they love me, and every time I realize that, I try to hurt them. I take everyone and everything away from them so they only have me. So they rely on me. I give them everything, and it still doesn’t work. It never does,” 

Armand was breathing heavily now, a strange instinct for a vampire with no need for oxygen. His voice was quiet, but he spoke with a sense of mania that made the hair on Daniel’s arm stand up. This was a vampire on the brink of an explosion. 

Armand went on, incensed now. 

“Tell me, Daniel, why do you think I do this to myself? Am I broken beyond repair? Am I worthless?” He hissed, his fangs showing now, his eyes shaking, pupils blown wide. Gone was the angelic, statuesque, mild-mannered companion to Louis. This was a vampire. This was a monster. 

The mask had finally come off. 

Daniel backed away, speechless for once in his life. There was no witty one-liner that would save him now. 

Armand lunged forward and sank his fangs into Daniel’s neck. 

Daniel gasped, the pain like two white hot daggers slicing through him, his vision turning black at the edges. But as soon as there was pain, there was ecstasy. 

Daniel remembered 1973, how Armand had lulled him into a dreamlike state, whispering to Daniel, telling him he would be nothing, and Daniel had succumbed to his powers, floating on the bliss, allowing himself to be slowly drained.

This was nothing like 1973.

This was better than every drug Daniel had ever tried. Every time he had shot up with heroin, multiplied one hundred times. Every time he had been coked out in some dingy basement with god knows who, in screaming color. He could taste the high, he could see it, smell it. He felt like he was hundreds of miles above the penthouse, floating, flying, going the speed of light. 

He didn’t know if it was seconds or minutes or hours later when Armand pulled away. The vampire had Daniel’s blood on him, on his mouth, on his shirt, his neck, glistening crimson on his brown skin. His eyes were fixed on Daniel, a blissful expression reflected in them.

 Daniel thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

And then Armand took his nail and sliced his wrist open. 

“Drink,” he ordered, offering it to Daniel. 

Daniel finally spoke, his voice coming out hoarse.

“What? No. What the fuck, Armand?” He protested, reeling from the proposal.

He had thought that perhaps Armand was just desperate to feel anything other than the pain of losing Louis, and in his pain, he fed on Daniel.

He was wrong. Armand wanted to turn him. Armand, who had never made a fledgling. Armand, who was repulsed by the idea.

“Drink,” Armand insisted, backing Daniel against the wall. He held his wrist up to Daniel’s mouth. He was pressed against Daniel, his face an inch away from the other man’s. 

“You wondered how I taste. Now you have a chance to find out,” he breathed, eyes darkening. 

“Dying of a disease that has no cure, and you would turn down immortal life? You would deny yourself that? I can give you what you want. I can give you eternity,” Armand whispered, his eyes flicking down to Daniel’s mouth, his own lips scarlet with Daniel’s blood. 

In the coming days, weeks, and years, Daniel would try and fail to remember why he had done it. Why he had given in and taken the dark gift. In that moment, there was nothing else. There was just him, his body slowly failing him, and Armand, a vengeful Lucifer who had fallen into his path. There was only Armand.

He bit down on the wrist. 

The blood gushed into his mouth, and he balked, the taste at first metallic and unpleasant.

“That’s it, Daniel.” Armand murmured, his other hand reaching out to stroke Daniel’s face. 

And then Daniel’s vision went black. He was still drinking, but it no longer tasted like blood. It tasted rich and sweet and powerful and he couldn’t get enough. 

Images flashed through his mind, images of Armand. Armand as a young boy, running through the streets. Running from something. Armand in a dimly lit room, surrounded by men who leered at him, saying something in a language he didn’t understand. Armand being used, over and over and over again. Armand crying, his body broken and bruised. Armand being turned by Marius. Armand in pain. Armand in Paris, with the coven. Armand with Lestat. Armand with Louis. Armand’s emotions crashed into him like a wave, the churning sea of five hundred years of memories drowning Daniel, making him gasp and choke on it. 

Daniel ripped himself away from Armand’s wrist, sickened by the images he had seen.

Armand stared at him, horrified. Daniel somehow instantly knew Armand was aware of everything his blood had shown Daniel. 

Daniel felt alive. Suddenly all of the aches and pains that came with old age were washed away. His eyesight was clear. His senses were heightened, the world around him suddenly in high definition. He opened his mouth, feeling his sharp fangs pierce his bottom lip. 

He was a vampire.

“Why?” Daniel whispered, aghast. 

“Why did you turn me? You said you never would. You said it repulsed you.”

Armands face crumpled. For the first time since Daniel had known him, he was crying, bloody tears streaming down his face. 

“I wanted… I wanted you to see me,” he said, his voice breaking. “I wanted you to see me as no one else has. Only you.” 

And then, faster than even Daniel could see with his new abilities, Armand was gone. 

TO BE CONTINUED…