#october is going to be a very normal month for me

[vigilskeep]

SORRY this is MORE dialogue from lucanis’ recruitment quest i just need people to be going through this with me

[sweet-milky-tea705]

Augh. I should go buy groceries. But buying groceries requires buying. And i cannot keep spending money good god

[ms-demeanor]

Since July (when the business I work for got acquired by a larger company) I've been doing a LOT more work and have been under a lot more stress and have been a lot more tired.

I have also said the words "I'm severely underpaid and we need to fix this" to at least three people from the c-suite and have been assured that nobody has forgotten that and that's on the agenda.

It's great that that's on the agenda but I keep having to choose between buying a mattress that doesn't hurt and paying power bills and it has been five months. (I got paid about a thousand dollars for a side project recently so this is no longer a choice that has me over a barrel but also it's not a choice I should have been struggling with given the size of the company I'm now working for and my tremendously increased workload)

All of which is background for the fact that I am applying for jobs and have been spending an unconscionable amount of time on LinkedIn (which is, like, eighty times more soul-crushing than I had realized; it is fucking grim on that website).

Because applying for jobs is a nightmare and because it is totally normal to apply for approximately a million jobs before you hear back from one, I have made up a tiny, miserable RPG to play to track my applications and I figure every time I "die" in the game I'll do something nice for myself like burn a vacation day or get takeout.

Anyway, here are the rules for playing Labor Quest:

Player starts with 100 HP; interactions with the Job Board determine player health over time.

Applying for a position: +1hp

Response: (call or email): +2hp

Interview: +10hp

Rejection: -10hp

Ghosting (1 month silence): -2hp

You die when you get to 0 points.

I'm playing very slowly because I do at least have a stable job with benefits so I'm not putting in more than a few applications a week and I'm currently at a score of 93. I've been ghosted by a landscaping company that was looking for a receptionist (and that I had to do an indeed skills test for to apply) and rejected by an extremely scammy ghostwriting company that I mostly replied to just to see what would happen (it's the writing company from the Dan Olsen "Contreprenuers" video). I suspect that I'm going to lose a lot of HP through ghostings in the coming week (I only wrote this out as a game in October so I haven't been tracking ghostings more than a month).

I'm considering adding modifiers like "reconfiguring entire resume for one submission," "taking skills tests," and "writing a goddamned cover letter," "spending > 1hr on LinkedIn in a 24hr period" that would also impact player HP.

[rottingworship]

Bloodlust

[The Proxies x Reader]

Summary: You, a newly turned vampire, find yourself with a new group of friends. One night, things get dicey, leaving you running. When you are found, you come to the conclusion you are very frustrated. Your new friends are more than willing to help you out.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI! Depictions of murder, blood drinking, biting, praise, vaginal sex, cream pies, oral (male receiving), vaginal fingering, voyeurism, not so healthy relationship dynamics, not beta read (let me know if I missed any!)

Word Count: 7.1k

A/N: They/Them pronouns used for reader, but reader has a vagina. I have a second part of this planned. It will be more rough and definitely not as sweet as this one. I have a lot in mind for Vampire!Reader. The vampires aren't based off any particular media, either. Just a mesh of medias, I guess! this was supposed to be posted in October, but you get it now instead... this was me getting used to writing four characters at once, the next part will be very fun!

Being a vampire is new. Being able to smell everything, hear everything, and see everything is new. Your strength is something you never could have imagined. Sunlight is annoying now, practically burning you. Your body is always cold. You don't have to breathe, but it is something you are still used to doing. And every fucking time you inhale you are greeted with new scents.

Bloodlust though?

That's something you would not wish on your worst enemy. You almost wished you were dead when you woke up from being freshly turned. Or ‘saved’. Your throat was on fire and your entire body burned. Burned for something you did not want, but something you now needed.

Your first kill was horrid. Blood covered you and the victim. You wanted to sob but being a vampire does not let you do such human things.

Now? It's been almost three months since turning, and while you have a dysfunctional but somehow working support system around you, things still suck. Sometimes you wish you had not been spared. You wonder if this is a fate worse than death. But your friends do make it bearable. They keep you fed and do not seem to be judging you when you do happen to get messy. There is only one problem.

They all smell absolutely delicious.

Tim and Brian smell slightly better than your average human. You cannot help but wonder if your brain is playing tricks on you, since you are so close to them. You think that maybe you love them so much they now smell better than most. Toby is a slightly different story. He smells better than anything you can even remember loving as a human. You want to bite him and never let go. Ever. Your brain tells you to attack anytime he enters the room. ‘Latch on and do not release’ is all you seem to hear.

You have yet to have an incident around the men. They are careful with their sharp objects, and you are careful with your sharp teeth. There has been no instance where you have smelled them actively bleeding. Not until Toby decides to get your food by himself.

“Y– You-your eyes are changing.” Toby notices before anyone else. Normally, at least now that you aren't human, your eyes are red. Blood red. When hungry they get darker, until eventually, they are black. “I'll go get-get you some fresh bl-blood.”

He leaves before you can protest. Some time passes, about two hours, and Toby has not returned. He is pretty quick with his outings. You have grown anxious.

“Tim!” You shout as you walk down the hall, “Brian! Toby left and hasn't come back!” Brian's door opens first. Then Tim pokes his head out. You pout at the both of them and wait for them to come out of their rooms.

“Well shit,” Tim starts, “I sure wish we had something better than a bloodhound to find him.”

“Yeah, that'd be fucking insane.” Brian smirks at you.

“Ok, guys, I get it. I can smell him, but-” you fidget slightly, “I don't trust myself.” The mood shifts immediately. They both sigh and step out of their rooms. They meet you in the hall and you let them take the lead. “I can hunt him down. I just need my accountability partners.” You force a smile. You are joking, but only slightly.

“Accountability to not fucking murder Toby?”

“Suck him dry,” Brian laughs, “and not in the way he wants!”

Tim snorts. You blink at them. You stop and cross your arms. “Now is not the time for jokes…”

“I'm really not joking,” Brian shrugs and keeps walking.

You ignore him. A scent like nothing you've ever smelled before hits your nose and you almost moan. You cover your mouth and freeze. Your eyes widen and you look at Tim and Brian. “He's somewhere near.” It's taking all of you to not sprint towards the scent and devour him. “Someone is with him. I can smell more blood, that isn't his.”

Tim mumbles a ‘damn’ under his breath and you begin to take the lead. Toby is obviously hurt somewhere, potentially fighting someone off for you, and you need to find him. And not kill him. As you get closer the smell is taking over everything. A trail of blood appears before you. You stop yourself from figuring out if it is Toby's or whoever else is bleeding with him.

You see it, some man sprawled out, bloody and dying on the fall leaves. You begin to approach the body, hoping that if you feed, the want, no need, to ‘suck Toby dry’ leaves you. You do not get that far. A leaf crunches beside you, and Toby appears. Your head snaps towards him and you inhale sharply, your eyes narrowing. Your fists ball up immediately. He waves at you, says hi, and all you can do is hope you don't pounce. Your eyes scan him, and you see his thigh is slashed.

“Hey,” you hear Tim call your name. Blood is steadily coming from the cut on Toby’s thigh. You see it. Your eyes, dark and full of hunger, do not move from Toby. The need to feed is becoming stronger than the want to keep Toby safe. Toby does not move. It is almost as if he knows he's become the prey. Another crunch of leaves and a hand is grabbing your face. Harshly. “Hey.” Tim sounds much sterner. “Look at me. Focus on me.” Tim’s thumb rests on one cheek while his fingers grip on the other.

“I– I can't.” You want to sob.

“Okay,” Tim nods, “focus on that body.” He points to the twitching body on the ground by your feet.

Without thinking, you drop down on your knees. You grab the body violently; hatchet marks cover them. Your teeth sink into the soft flesh of the neck, and you begin to feed. You let out a low primal growl. Tim, Toby, and Brian, all watching you. Normally, they let you feed in peace. They never had watched you before. And now, here they are, staring at you, the back of your head burning from their stares.

You pull back from the neck and begin to bite and suck down the arm, getting as much ‘food’ as possible. Blood covers you. Your hands, mouth, and throat. By the time you are done you wish to cry. But you cannot. You are stuck, sitting with a bloody, dead body. Your friends are surrounding you. And your bloodlust is still lingering.

You turn towards Toby and watch him closely. Brian seems to have a sort of makeshift tourniquet on Toby’s thigh. The scent is still so strong. Your eyes hit a bloody knife inside the dead man's hand. The one he used to cut Toby.

“Don't-” Brian seems to know what you're looking at; know what you're thinking. You don't listen. Your hand snatches up the knife and you are quick to lick the blood up. Your eyes screw shut and you almost shiver. It is heavenly. It is not enough. Your head snaps towards Toby again and with a speed faster than the others can process, you are on him. He is on the ground faster than he knows it and you are leaning over him.

“Toby–” you growl, teeth gritting together, fangs bared.

“D-do it.”

Tim and Brian are frozen, watching in horror. You are much stronger than the both of them. You are stronger than the three of them put together, there is nothing they can do.

“Go a-ahead.” Toby is smiling under his muzzle. You are straddling him, pressing against his stomach, and your hands holding his shoulders down. You let out an animalistic noise, lowering yourself closer to Toby. His heart is pounding in his chest. He is not afraid though.

Far from it, actually.

It clicks. How he feels clicks in your head, and you are almost sent into a worse frenzy. You let out a strangled groan and leap up from Toby, and tear off deeper into the woods, going the exact opposite direction of your home.

Once your head is finally on straight, and you can think without wanting to murder, you find yourself on the outskirts of the city. Your shirt and pants are slightly ripped up from running through the thickest part of the woods. You, naturally, are unscathed. You cannot bring yourself to go home yet. You cannot hurt Toby. Dried blood covers you. It’s stuck to your skin; you feel it more than ever; painfully aware of how it’s dried and caked onto you in some areas.

You need to stay out of the sight of people, you know this. You don’t think that anyone is going to react normally to you. As you walk beside the almost empty road you look up at the sky. The moon is full; the stars are shining brightly. You sigh. Out of the corner of your eye you see headlights approaching, and they pass you just as quickly as they appeared. You look back at the road ahead of you and wrap your arms around yourself.

You hear tires screeching from behind you and the car that just passed turns back around, heading right for you. You look back at the blinding headlights and realize it is Brian’s car. You scrunch your face. You turn and keep walking. The car comes up beside you, and Brian rolls the window down. He looks over at you, your name rolling off his tongue. You do not look over.

“You aren’t running,” Brian states.

“Thank you for letting me know.” You huff.

“You don’t want to run,” Brian’s words make you stop. He pulls ahead a bit before pulling over on the side of the road. He gets out of the car and approaches you. “Listen,” Brian sighs, “something is going on–”

“No shit!” You snap. If you could, you would be crying right now. Everything is so much; everything is so, so amplified. You do not want to feel the need to eat the people who saved you. But here you are. Even now, you are keeping yourself from inhaling. You know Brian isn’t bleeding, and you are not hungry anymore, but your earlier actions have startled you. “I could have killed Toby! And you wouldn’t have been able to stop me!” You grip yourself tightly, holding your ripped sweater like a lifeline.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Brian comforts you. “You didn’t kill him. Toby really liked that anyway.” He smiles at you. A goofy grin. Your eyes drop to the road, and you instinctively suck in air, and you sigh out in frustration. Brian’s scent floods you. Your eyes look up at him and narrow. “Um,” He wants to take a step back, but he does not, “are you okay?”

Your brows furrow, sadness taking over. “I don’t… I don’t know.” You shake your head. “Brian?” He hums in response, and you continue. “I haven’t told anyone, but the three of you, especially Toby… You all smell different.”

“Like, stinky?” He seems concerned.

“Uh, no.” You laugh nervously. “Opposite, actually.” You rub your arm, comforting yourself. “You and Tim smell a lot better than the normal person, and Toby? He smells absolutely heavenly. That’s why I nearly lost it earlier. He smelled way better than that person he had handpicked for me to feed from. I can smell you guys even when you aren’t bleeding. It’s a lot. But bearable. I didn’t realize how much active bleeding would amplify it.”

“You didn’t realize?” Brian asks. “It’s out, it’s going to smell better. I would assume.”

“I know!” You want to yell. “I didn’t think… I’m just– Ugh!” You throw your hands up and walk past Brian, heading back towards the unknown.

Brian groans, spins around, and grabs you. “Stop.” You do not pull away. “You aren’t running, once again, you don’t want to run. If you did, you’d be gone by now. Look,” Brian stays where he is; behind you, holding your arm. You peek over your shoulder at him. “I know you don’t want to leave-”

“I have nowhere else to go.”

“That’s not the only reason you stay.”

“I don’t know why you came out here. I just tried to fucking kill Toby. He could have died, and so could you.”

“I’m here because we obviously want you around. You’re going through something, and we are not going to just let you leave because of that.”

You deadpan, “I’m also useful to you guys, and The Operator. I know that’s why I’m kept around. I’m surprised he didn’t try to stop me when I left.” You roll your eyes.

“Come on.” Brian maneuvers around you, “I can’t lie, you are useful. But you’re also kind and funny. And really hot.” Brian shrugs. “So,” he motions towards the car, “please get in the car and come back with me.”

You blink at him, baffled. “Hot?” You almost scream. “What the fuck!?” You throw your hands up again. Brian is caught off guard. You let out a loud groan and debate on flipping his car and leaving. You look towards the car and back at Brian.

“What are you thinking…?” Brian is cautious.

“I'm just frustrated!” You do scream this time. Eyes shut tight and fists balled.

Brian takes a moment before speaking. “Sexually?” He asks, completely nonchalant.

“Maybe!” You look at him, huffing. “Maybe…” You speak a little quieter. You throw your head back and whine. “I just need to shower…”

Brian motions towards the car again. “You can do that at home.” Home. You freeze. It is your home. It has been for a few months now. You, in discomfort, make a face at Brian. He groans, “What now?”

“How do you trust me? I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You won’t.” Brian begins to walk towards the car. “Now come on.”

You are stuck. “Really, why do you think I wouldn’t hurt you?”

“Because I trust you, let’s go.” As soon as Brian says this, you shake your head. You need more answers. “I see the way you stare at us; you won’t hurt us.”

You look up at the sky, “Not intentionally-” Your nose burns. You inhale slowly and the feeling of wanting to pounce is returning. You look back at Brian and see him approaching you, a cut across his palm. He’s holding his hand up and out, his palm facing upwards. You are frozen, fighting the urge to destroy him. “Brian,” You whisper, eyes narrowing, “What are you-”

“I’m showing you something.”

“What if I kill you…?” You take a step back and he keeps on walking. He reaches you, his hand going towards you. “Brian, I’m being so fucking serious… I can’t control-”

“You aren’t starving anymore. You won’t hurt me. You can control it. You did earlier with Toby, and I don’t smell as good as him-”

“Brian…” You can’t look away from his cut. “Can I-”

“Go ahead.”

You, realizing how much stronger you are than him, make sure to gently grab his hand. You are thinking everything over a million times before you do it. The world is spinning and standing still at the same time. Brian is right, you are not starving, so you should not want to absolutely murder him. But you have not tested your self control to this level before. Your tongue runs up his palm and you feel Brian shiver. Your eyes shut and your fangs scrape his skin, ever so gently.

You let out a muffled moan as you slowly suck on the wound. Brian’s knees buckle. His hand tenses and you freeze. You do not want to pull away, your instincts are telling you to continue to drain him. But who you used to be is telling you to let him go. Your grip on him tightens as you battle with yourself. Then you hear Brian stifle a groan.

Immediately, you release him. You pull back and look at him with wild, animalistic eyes. You cock your head at him and wipe your mouth. “Sorry, are you alright?”

Brian nods, “More than alright…” He pauses briefly, “That’s not going to turn me, is it?”

You shake your head. “No, it will not. Did that hurt?” You bite the inside of your lip. “Because I've only ever killed people when feeding… And those people are most definitely not enjoying it.” You laugh.

“It, uh,” Brian is thinking, searching for the right words, “it felt good. It stung at first, but when you started to… ‘feed’, it felt amazing.”

You nod at him. “That makes sense. The man that turned me into a vampire, um, he said that” you gather your thoughts, “when one feeds from a human, there is a sort of like… Chemical, maybe? That will react with the human's blood, making them feel good. So, they don’t fight back as much. But it doesn’t turn the person. That is the actual ‘vampire venom’ that does that, but that burns. I know that from experience. The one that makes you feel good though? That wears off, eventually. Especially before death.”

“That would have been good to know before we almost killed your victims for you.” Brian smiles at you. “Can we go back now?”

“Sure, I guess.” You look at the wound again. “Let me fix that first.” You tear the hem of your already ripped sweater, getting just enough of the fabric to bandage his hand. You quickly wrap it up and pat it. “The feeling of pain will come back soon; we need to get home.”

The both of you make it to the car. You sit in the passenger seat, watching the road ahead of you, even if you are not even moving yet. Brian sits down and shifts. You inhale; you smell it again. Arousal. You know it isn’t your own. You are aroused as well though. You lick your lips and Brian’s blood is still on them, you grumble. You need more of him. You refrain. You rub your hands down your thighs; you are becoming antsy. Your brain is having a hard time wrapping around everything that is happening.

A hand is placed on yours. You look over at Brian, he gives you a reassuring smile. You bite the inside of your lip and calm down. You smile back at Brian and relax in the seat. Brian starts the car and as soon as the key is turned over his hand is on your thigh. You look over at him and wish for him to move his hand up. Further up your leg. You briefly think about moving his hand up your thigh, but before you can, Brian speaks up.

“I know that look in your eyes.” His eyes are back on the road; he doesn’t even look back over at you as he squeezes your thigh. “You’re about to do something.” He laughs. “You’re all bloody right now though. How about, after you get home and shower, we can… fix your frustrations.”

“I would like that.” You nod slowly. Getting home cannot come fast enough.

The rest of the ride is pretty quiet. The radio is turned down, so there is no noise. Brian’s hand is stuck to your thigh, squeezing it every once in a while. You have to hold back a moan. You want to latch onto Brian for a much different reason now.

He pulls up to the house and you jump out of the car. You shut the door and rush inside, scurrying to grab your things and jump into the shower. As you turn on the water, you hear Brian come into the house, you hear Tim ask him what happened. You hear Toby’s door open. You hear everything over the rushing water.

You try to not eavesdrop, but it is truly so hard when you can hear them like they are next to you. You hum softly, hoping your noise cancels out their speaking. It does not.

“What happened to your hand?” Tim asks Brian, and then quickly asks where you are.

“They’re showering.” It is all he gives his friend.

“What happened t-to your h-hand?” Toby sounds irritated.

Brian knows must know you can hear them. He says to ask you when you get out. How polite. You wash yourself as quickly as possible, and step out of the shower. You hear them start talking again.

“How did you find them?”

“Bloody, on the side of the road.” Brian starts. “We had a nice talk, and they vented their frustrations to me.” Okay, he knows I can hear him, you think to yourself.

“Wh-what kind of frustrations?” Toby asks. “Sexual?”

How the fuck do they all know? You want to scream. There is no response. You are certain Brian nodded at Toby. You get dressed and walk from the bathroom, take your clothes to the laundry closet, you hear mumbling, low and quiet. You can barely make out what they are saying. They immediately shut up as you walk in. You cross your arms and look at the three all standing around each other. They all turn to you at the same time, eyes boring into you. You want to scream.

“What the fuck did you say?” You look at Brian with confusion. You roll your eyes when there is no answer. “Why are you all three standing there… Conspiring against me?”

“Oh!” Toby smiles at you. With his muzzle off, his grin is frightening, leaving your stomach flipping. “I-I would say it’s the opposite of con-conspiring against you, dear.”

You are stuck. Toby is the first to step towards you. He’s wearing a black tank top and gray sweatpants. His cut has been bandaged completely; you can tell because the scent of his blood is not as strong as it was before. He still smells so good though, you are sure you are going to lose your mind.

“What happened to Brian’s hand?” Tim asks, snapping you out of your trance.

You look at Brian for reassurance. He nods, giving you the okay to share what happened. You look back at Tim. “He was proving a point to me,” You start, “that I can control myself.” Toby loses it. He twitches and his jaw clenches, before relaxing and he finally speaks. “You-you drank fr-from, from him?” He narrows his eyes at you, pointing at Brian.

“Yes.”

“And it was fucking hot!” Brian boasts.

You groan, placing your face in your hands. “Today's been a lot,” You are suddenly rethinking the earlier proposal from Brian. “I'm sure you are all tired–”

“No.” They all speak at once. Then Brian takes over the conversation. “We don't have to do this. But, I want you to know, we are here for you. No matter what you need.”

No matter what you need. There are heavy implications behind that. You can feel them. How he holds himself says it all. Tim and Toby seemingly agree. Toby is biting at the fucking bit to get to you; you can feel it. He is holding himself back extremely well. He shifts and you inhale slowly. They are all so aroused. Your jaw clenches and your eyes shut tight. You need to think.

“I've never done this.” You open your eyes and stare at the three of them. Toby’s head tilts and you notice his hand twitch. He is excited. “Had a threesome. I mean, I haven't done anything since being turned. What if I hurt one of you?”

“You-You won't. If you d-do, we-well we ha-have a wooden ste-steak.”

“You'd put me down? Just like that!?” You almost scream at him. Toby finds it funny.  You roll your eyes and cross your arms. “Really…” You stomp your foot a little bit. “I would not be able to live with myself if I accidently hurt one of you. And also, how are you going to decide who goes first?” You cock a brow at them.

“Me! M-Me! Brian got lu-lucky already, it's m-my turn!” Toby almost launches himself at you.

“Oh! So what am I? Chopped liver?” Tim grunts.

You have never had this much attention. It almost sends you into a spiral. “I promise, you'll all get a turn!” You put your hands up and speak without thinking. This ignites a fire in the men that is worse than whatever was going on before. They look like they are going to go absolutely mad to get to you. Toby immediately reaches for you. Without missing a beat, you are on the other side of the couch, staring at them.

“Ah,” You click your tongue. It clicks how much power you have at this moment. “I want to go over ground rules before we start this.” They all nod eagerly at you. “I need you all to tell me if it's too much. If I'm holding you too tightly or draining too much blood.”

“That it?” Tim crosses his arms at you.

You tap your chin. “I heal really quickly. Bite me, leave hickeys, do whatever. But–” You put a finger up, “Nothing too violent. I'm afraid if you happen to hit me I won't stop draining your blood. And then I'll have to face something I'd rather not even look at.”

“Sounds good enough.” Brian nods.

“Now,” You bite the inside of your lip, “I want to try something, if you're okay with it Toby?” He is the most excited. “I'll need my accountability partners here with me though.” You smile at Tim and Brian. They agree. “I want to taste you, if you're okay with that?” You know his answer. You need it verbalized.

“Y-yes! I tho-thought you wo-would never ask!”

“What am I supposed to do? If you start killing him?” Tim seems curious. More curious than concerned.

“I don't know!” You smile at them, shrugging. “Do you want to do this out here? Or on a bed?”

Toby sits on the couch and excitedly pats his lap. “H-Here. Th-the couch.” You nod. You stalk towards him, the thought of feeding from him is doing something for you. You stop in front of him.

“Toby?” Your eyes move from his eyes to his thigh, back to his eyes. Toby hums in response, slightly agitated you have not sat on his lap yet. “Um,” You purse your lips, “You don’t mind being, uh, naked in front of your friends do you?”

Toby laughs. “No.” His answer is short and sweet.

“Okay,” You nod, “take your pants off.”

Toby obliges. “Th-thought you w-would n-never ask.” He slides his sweats off, and he is not wearing any underwear. You bite your lip, seeing his cock is already hard. You drop to your knees immediately and scoot completely up to him. Toby’s hand instinctively rubs at his cock as you situate yourself, precum dripping from the head.

You grip the couch cushion and look at the bandage on Toby’s thigh. “Mind if I-”

“Please,” Toby whines. “Do so-something. I’m-I’m begg-ing.”

You rip the bandage away and stare at the wound momentarily. It definitely is not as bad as it seemed earlier. Your pupils are dilated, and you look up at Toby, wide eyes watching him, waiting for consent to go wild on his wound. You cannot even muster the will to ask if you can, you lick your lips and as soon as the brunette nods at you, your grip tightens on the couch cushions.

You know if you grab his legs you are going to bruise him. You do not take into consideration he would like that. Your eyes shut and you lick a stripe across the cut. You moan. Loudly, you moan into his thigh. One of the cushions pops under your white-knuckled grip. Foam comes out from between your fingers and Toby whimpers. This sends you into a fucking frenzy.

You let out a low, primal growl. Your eyes shoot open and meet Toby’s. His hand is working on his cock, stroking it. Tim and Brian are standing behind the couch, watching you become feral looking. They are turned on too. You can smell arousal all around the room.

“Bite- Bite me.”

You smile against his skin. You oblige. What sort of person could deny such an airy, whiny request? Not you, that is for sure.

Your eyes stay on Toby’s; you do not look away. Your fangs gently sink into his skin, and you let out a low groan. Fuck. You are not sure if you can let go now. You do not want to. Your tongue laps up the blood, and you begin to suck on the place you just bit. Your eyes shut, a shiver going down your spine, and your hand grabs Toby’s thigh.

Your nails dig into the skin. Toby shifts and you know he cannot feel the pain, but you do not want to cause any harm to him. But, at the same time, you want to drain him dry. He tastes divine.

“Do you feel it?” Brian asks, voice low. “The euphoria?” His hand is on the back of the couch; he is looking right at Toby.

Toby moans, and then softly whines. “Y-Yes.”

While Brian is asking Toby that question. Tim is focused on you. While it is completely sexy what you are doing, he does not want Toby dying. Tim says your name, trying to catch your attention, but you do not immediately pull away. Tim walks from around the couch and his hand hits your shoulder. A possessive growl escapes you. Tim does not falter. He snatches your shoulder back and you release Toby. Ready to latch onto whatever is stopping you. You do not register it as Tim at first. Just some threat stopping you from feeding.

“Hey,” Tim’s voice is low and stern. “You drank enough.”

Red warmth covers your mouth, throat, and chest. Your fangs are bared at Tim and your grip is tight on Toby’s thigh. Tim grabs your face and lowers himself to your level. You are still on your knees.

“You know,” He starts, “I’d kiss you right now, if you weren’t covered in Toby’s blood…”

This snaps you out of it. You pause briefly. Your eyes are back to normal, pupils blown from ecstasy. “You would?” Your face softens.

“Come- Come on!” Toby groans. “Thi-This dick is-isn’t g-gonna suck itself.”

You look back at him and bite the inside of your lip. Tim releases your face and shoos you back to Toby. You crawl back to him, resuming your earlier position.

“I would like to note,” You start, “I have not sucked dick since getting fangs. I’m so sorry if-”

“Don’t be.” Toby swallows hard. “Pl-Please, just- just do s-something.”

You licked over the wound, hoping to stop the bleeding long enough to get Toby off. He can take care of it after you are done with him. You wipe your mouth with your hand, quickly wiping the blood away. One of your hands rests on Toby’s thigh and the other goes towards his cock. Toby twitches as you touch him. He whimpers again as you touch him. You gently pump up and down and place your mouth over the tip. You begin to take him into your mouth, and you quickly realize you do not have a gag reflex anymore.

Your eyes open and look up at Toby. He is watching you closely, not daring to look away. “Keep- Keep looking at m-me.”

His voice is whiny, but he sounds so demanding at the same time. You follow his instructions. You moan as you suck his dick, head bobbing up and down. Your eyes don’t break away from Toby’s. One of your hands goes towards the heat between your legs. You moan again as you touch yourself.

Toby is slowly coming undone. Your pace on Toby picks up as your thumb finds your clit. It is becoming difficult, keeping up with everything. Making sure you do not hurt Toby, bringing yourself pleasure, and making Toby feel good. It is all so much.

“I’m-” Toby’s voice is airy, “-close.”

Toby has been restrained, but as soon as your eyes shut, ecstasy close to washing over you, Toby seems to sense that. His hips begin to buck into you; your hand was not there to restrain that. You gasp, shocked at the sudden movement, and your eyes open back up, wide and full of surprise.

Toby releases into your mouth. You, without thinking, swallow. You pull back from Toby and let out a growl. “Toby! I was close too! Now I’m just aching-”

“That was hot.” Brian interrupts you.

You stand up from Toby and look at Brian. Your eyes narrow and you huff. “Oh it would have been so much hotter if I got to come too!”

“I can fix that,” Tim takes a step closer to you. “Plus, I’m the only one who you haven’t fed from. You aren’t full, are you?”

Your eyes darken and you smile at him, “Of course not, Tim.” You realize just how bloody you are from Toby and pause. “Let me at least clean this blood off.”

Tim nods. As you walk to the bathroom, Tim follows you. You grab a washcloth and wet it. You take your shirt off, and Tim’s eyes wander to your chest. You are wearing nothing under your shirt. Tim does not say a word as he watches you clean up. He only watches. You watch him from the mirror. As your hand rubs the cloth across your skin, his eyes follow. Your movements are slow and meticulous. You smile at him, while looking at the mirror, as his eyes come back up to yours.

As you put the washcloth in the dirty clothes, you look at Tim. “What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s go to my bedroom.” He looks ravenous. You feel the way he looks.

You grab his hand and follow behind him as he leads you to the bedroom. Brian and Toby seem to hear you and begin to make their way to the room as well. You look back and see Toby is wearing his pants again, his wound most likely bandaged… again. Tim does not give you time to think about Toby’s blood. You are pushed against the wall, opposite of the door, and you look at Tim with surprise.

“Can I drink from you?” You give him a soft smile.

“Please,” He groans. You nod, excitedly, and you grab Tim’s shoulders and pull him closer. You begin to kiss at his neck. You kiss down the spot you want to bite. The spot where you can feel his pulse racing. He is not nervous though. He does not feel nervous at all.

 Before you bite him, Tim’s hands are wandering up and down your body. His hands tracing your cold skin, his fingers pinching at your nipples, before finally traveling to your waistband. As he pulls at the waistband of your pants, your teeth sink into his neck. He freezes up momentarily. You smirk against his skin. He feels it.

Tim grips your hip and his hand slides past the waistband, easily finding your pussy. He moans out as you slowly suck on his skin. He does not falter as you continue, his fingers pushing past your folds and into your entrance.

He begins to pump in and out, slowly at first. His thumb finds your clit and it is your turn to freeze up. Tim smiles and lets out a laugh. “How does it feel?” He coos at you. You lap at his neck and pull back. “How does it feel, them watching us?” Tim's head tilts. Your eyes move from Tim and towards Toby and Brian. You let out a whine, and Tim’s thumb grazes over your clit again.

“Feels good-” You look back at Tim. You clench around his fingers and Tim smiles.

“Want me to fuck you in front of them?”

You cannot answer. You only nod. Tim, noticing you are not as messy as you were with your earlier feeding, kisses you. His tongue slips into your mouth and his fingers work on you until you are coming undone. You clench around him again and moan into Tim’s mouth. Your hips buck into his hand and your legs are turning to jelly.

Tim pulls back and removes his hands from your pants. Your eyes open and you give him a confused look. He slides his belt off and you stand there, still slightly disoriented.

“Im going to fuck you, remember?” He says it so nonchalantly. Oh yeah. You nod but still just stand there. “Do you want me to do that with your pants on?” He questions you.

Oh… You are embarrassed now. If heat could rush to your cheeks, you would be on fire. You huff and slide your pants and underwear off. You stand uncomfortably for a moment. Your eyes look back at Toby and Brian. They are watching you, only you. You feel so small under their gaze. And for a moment, you forget how strong you are. You forget you could have the upper hand at any given moment.

“You still okay?” Tim asks.

You nod. “Just getting comfortable.”

“We have all night, sweetheart,” He is standing only in his underwear now.

“And all of tomorrow.” Brian smiles.

“Y-yeah.” Toby speaks up. “You-You can’t g-go out during th-the day.”

He has a point. “I think you three will not last all night and tomorrow with me.”

“That a challenge?” Tim asks, his brow cocking.

You shrug. “You three are humans, and I am not. I have pretty much endless stamina.”

“That’s a challenge.” Brian smirks.

You look at Tim, “Please, just fuck me.”

“Of course.” He smiles.

Tim is out of his underwear and on you in seconds. You are flush with the wall, and Tim is pressed against you. His hand grabs at your thigh, and you wrap it around his waist. Tim’s cock pushes into you and you groan. He lets out a low moan and you hear his heart rate pick up. Your hands are on his shoulders, and you press your forehead to his. Your arms wrap around his neck and refrain from scratching his back. You are still learning your own strength.

In no time, Tim is pumping in and out of you. Your hips are chasing his every time he pulls away and his hands are gripping you tightly. His bruising grip does not let up, it only becomes tighter as you moan and whine for him.

“Tim,” You cry out, “I’m-”

Tim’s pace quickens but is still not sloppy. His movements are thought out and nowhere near sloppy. The sound of him fucking you fills the room, and for you it is only amplified. You can feel, hear, and smell everything way better than when you were human. It is making you come quicker.

“Where can I-?”

Tim starts, and you do not let him finish. “Inside.” You huff out, “can’t get pregnant.”

That is all the reassurance he seems to need. Everything in you becomes tense. You are starting to see stars. As you come, so does Tim. He releases inside of you. You are nowhere near done though.

“Brian,” You lean your head back against the wall, Tim pulls away, his come is spilling out of you. Brian perks up. “Lay on the bed please. Preferably not clothed.” Brian is quick to undress and get on the bed. He is hard, seems to have been since you drank from him earlier. You bounce back fast and go towards the end of the bed. “Mind if I ride you?”

He shakes his head. “Do whatever you want to me.”

You nod. You get on the bed and crawl up towards Brian, straddling him. You hover above his cock and place one of your hands on his chest. “Let me know if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be.”

You nod. You place yourself on his cock and begin to move slowly. You begin to bounce, your pace becoming steady. You are slow at first. Brian grabs your hips with his hands. His grip is about as strong as Tim’s. It is fueling you. You lean forward slightly, one hand still on Brian’s chest, and the other grabbing the headboard.

It is becoming a lot for you. All the sensations are so much. The sound of your skin smacking against his, the feeling of Tim and Toby watching you, and the smell of blood and arousal in the room.

Brian’s hands guide you, almost forcing you to go faster. Figuring that must be what he wants, you pick up the speed. Your nails dig into the wood of the headboard, scratching the polished surface.

“Fuck!” Brian hisses out. “Just like that. You’re so good-” He reassures you.

You lean forward slightly, beginning to see stars again. “Shit!” You cry. “I can’t-” You make sure to not push down on his chest. Instead, you put all of your strength into the hand grabbing the headboard. You hear it snap as Brian comes inside of you. You do not immediately get off of him. Your fingers are digging into the splintered wood as your pace finally slows.

“Fuck,” You pull your hand from the headboard. “I’m so… Damn, I’m sorry.” You lean against Brian as you come back down from your high and you huff.

“You broke my headboard.” Tim sounds unamused.

“And- And the co-couch is fucked too.” Toby mentions, causing you to groan.

Brian’s arms wrap around you, and he laughs. “Come on guys, they’re still learning their own strength.”

“Yeah!” You snap back. “You’re all lucky I didn’t hurt any of you… More than I may have…” Brian’s hand rubs up and down your back. “As much as I would love to sit here, I need to clean up. And you three probably need to take some Motrin or something. Those bites will hurt soon.”

You push yourself up and begin to walk towards the bathroom. As you are leaving the room, Toby starts to speak to Brian and Tim. You ignore it, since he seems to be talking to them, and not you. You tune out what he is talking about and begin to clean yourself up. Again.

As you slide into the hot shower all you can think about is the new relationship forming between the four of you. You sigh and relax in the water. You do not have a care in the world, not even to Toby is talking about just outside in the room across the hall. All that matters is you have three people who seem to accept you. Even if you are some bloodlust ridden creature.

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

I visited the Como Zoo in Minnesota not long ago and learned that they recently had some tiger cubs! So recently that the babies and mama are not on exhibit yet, and likely won't be for a while. And it made me wonder, how long does it usually take for big cat cubs to go on exhibit? And what's going on behind the scenes while they're not on display?

(also, we were doing our walkthrough in the afternoon, and both of the lions as well as the remaining tiger on exhibit were just. Fully stretched out right in the middle of their enclosures, having the most luxurious naps of their lives lol. Both the boys were snoozing on their backs, belly-up, and it was very funny to behold. Also, the polar bear was having a great time showing off for a gaggle of kids at the pool window!)

Sounds like you visited on a good day! Re: when cubs are allowed on exhibit, it's a good question! It can vary, but normally big cat cubs aren't let on habitat until they're at least a few months old. There's a couple reasons for this:

They've got to grow! In the wild, cubs wouldn't leave their den until their eyes are open and they can walk. Like a den, keeping them behind the scenes keeps the babies warm and safe and where their health can be easily monitored by staff. Indoors, it's less stressful and more successful for staff coax mom into another den if they need to access a baby for medical care - imagine the problems if they were stashed somewhere outside and mom wouldn't come indoors at all!

Mom's got to be willing to let them go outside. Again, just like in the wild, female cats keep their cubs hidden until they're "ready" to go outside - which is when they're big and strong enough to be past the "potato with eyes" stage and actively want to start exploring the world. I've seen some cubs not spend a ton of time on exhibit even when a zoo is willing to let them because mom isn't sure about it and will pick them up and take them back indoors.

Habitats built for adults aren't always built for littles! Before young animals of any species can be let out into the adult habitats, they have to be baby-proofed. And the little have to be big enough to be able to navigate an adult space safely. You see this when habitats have pools or moats, frequently, where they're either drained or fenced off until cubs (or baby eles) are coordinated enough to swim or big enough to wade safely.

So really, the timing of habitat access is a safety/health/natural behavior thing, and it normally aligns with about the normal timeline of mom being willing to let her babies start to explore the world.

Meet Marisa and Maks, the Amur tiger cubs born at the Como Zoo in October 2024.

Photo Credit: Como Zoo

[perfectlyvalid49]

On being Jewish, and traumatized (It’s been 5 months and I want to talk):

Judaism is a joyous religion. So much of our daily practice is to focus us on the things that are good. I know that there’s a joke that all our holidays can be summed up as “they tried to kill us. We survived – let’s eat!”, and you might think that holidays focused on attempts at killing us might be somber, but they’re really not. Most are celebrated in the sense of, “we’re still here, let’s have a party!” When I think about practicing Judaism, the things I think about make me happy.

But I think a lot of non-Jews don’t necessarily see Judaism the same way. I think in part it’s because we do like to kvetch, but I think a lot of it is because from the outside it’s harder to see the joy, and very easy to see the long history of suffering that has been enacted on the Jewish people. From the inside, it’s very much, “we’re still here, let’s party” and from the outside it’s, “how many times have they tried to kill you? Why are you celebrating? They tried to KILL YOU!”

And I want to start with that because a lot of the rest of this is going to be negative. And I don’t want people to read it and wonder why I still want to be Jewish. I want to be Jewish because it makes me happy. My problem isn’t with being Jewish, it’s with how Jews are treated.

What I really wanted to write about is being Jewish and the trauma that’s involved with that right now.

First, I want to talk about Israeli Jews. I can’t say much here because I’m not Israeli, nor do I have any close friends or family that are Israeli. But if I’m going to be talking about the trauma Jews are experiencing right now, I can’t not mention the fact that Israeli Jews (and Israelis that aren’t Jewish as well, but that’s not my focus here) are dealing with massive amounts of it right now. It’s a tiny country – virtually everyone has a friend or family member that was killed or kidnapped, or knows someone who does. Thousands of rockets have been fired at Israel in the last few months – think about the fact that the Iron Dome exists and why it needs to. Terror attacks are ongoing; I feel like there’s been at least one every week since October. Thousands of people are displaced from their homes, either because of the rocket fire, or because their homes and communities were physically destroyed in the largest pogrom in recent history – the deadliest single day for Jews since the Holocaust ended. If that’s not trauma inducing, I don’t know what is.

And there is, of course, the generational trauma. And I think Jewish generational trauma is interesting because it’s so layered. Because it’s not just the result of one trauma passed down through the generations. Every 50-100 years, antisemitism intensifies, and so very frequently the people experiencing a traumatic event were already suffering from the generational trauma that their grandparents or great grandparents lived through. And those elders were holding the generational trauma from the time before that. And so on.

And because it happens so regularly, there’s always someone in the community that remembers the last time. We are never allowed the luxury of imagining that we are safe. We know what happened before, and we know that it happened again and again and again. And so we know that it only makes sense to assume it will happen in the future. The trauma response is valid. I live in America because my great grandparents lived in Russia and they knew when it was time to get the hell out in the 1900s. And the reason they knew that is because their grandparents remembered the results of the blood libels in the 1850s. How can we heal when the scar tissue keeps us safe?

I look around now and wonder if we’ll need to run. We have a plan. I repeat, my family has a plan for what to do if we need to flee the country due to religious persecution. How can that possibly be normal? And yet, all the Jewish families I know have similar plans. It is normal if you’re Jewish. Every once in a while I see someone who isn’t Jewish talk about making plans to leave because they’re LGBTQ or some other minority and the question always seems to be, “should I make a plan?” It astounds me every time. The Jewish answer is that you need to have a plan and the only question is, “when should I act?” Sometimes our Jewish friends discuss it at play dates. Where will you go? What are the triggers to leave? No one wants to go any earlier then they have to. Everyone knows what the price of holding off too long might be.

I want to keep my children safe. When do I induct them into the club? When do I let my sweet, innocent kids know that some people will hate them for being Jewish? When do I teach them the skills my parents and grandparents taught me? How to pass as white, how to pass as Christian, knowing when to keep your mouth shut about what you believe. When do I tell them about the Holocaust and teach them the game “would this person hide me?” How hard do I have to work to remind them that while you want to believe that a person would hide you, statistically, most people you know would not have? Who is this more traumatic for? Them, to learn that there is hatred in the world and it is directed at them, or me, to have to drive some of the innocence out of my own children’s eyes in order to make sure they are prepared to meet the reality of the world?

And the reality of the world is that it is FULL of antisemitism. There’s a lot of…I guess I’d call it mild antisemitism that’s always present that you just kinda learn to ignore. It’s the sort of stuff that non-Jews might not even recognize as antisemitic until you explain it to them, just little micro-aggressions that you do your best to ignore because you know that the people doing it don’t necessarily mean it, it’s just the culture we live in. It can still hurt though. I like to compare it to a bruise: you can mostly ignore it, but every once in a while something (more blatant antisemitism) will put a bit to much pressure on it and you remember that you were already hurting this whole time.

On top of the background antisemitism, there’s more intense stuff. And usually the most intense, mask off antisemitism comes from the right. This makes sense, in that a lot of right politics are essentially about hating the “other” and what are Jews if not Western civilizations oldest type of “other”? On the one hand, I’ve always been fortunate enough to live in relatively liberal areas so this sort of antisemitism has felt far away and impersonal – they hate everybody, and I’m just part of everybody. On the other hand, until recently I’ve always considered this the most dangerous source of antisemitism. This is the antisemitism that leads to hate crimes, that leads to synagogue shootings. This is the reason why my synagogue is built so that there is a long driveway before you can even see the building, and that driveway is filled with police on the high holidays. This is the reason why my husband and I were scared to hang a mezuzah in our first apartment (and second, and third). For a long time, this was the antisemitism that made me afraid.

But the left has a problem with antisemitism too. And it has always been there. Where the right hates the “other”, the left hates the “privileged/elite/oppressors.” It’s the exact same thing, just dressed up with different words. They all mean “other” and “other” means “Jew.” It hurts more coming from the left though. A lot of Jewish philosophy leans left. A lot of Jews lean left. So when the left decides to hate us, it isn’t a random stranger, it’s a friend, and it feels like a betrayal.

One of the people I follow works for Yad Vashem, and a few weeks ago she mentioned a video they have with testimonies from people who came to Israel after Kristallnacht, with an unofficial title of “The blow came from within.” The idea is that to non-German Jews, the Holocaust was something done by strangers. It was still terrible, but it is easier to bear the hate of a stranger – it’s not personal. But to German Jews, the Holocaust was a betrayal. It wasn’t done by strangers, it was done by coworkers, and neighbors and people they thought were friends. It was done by people who knew them, and still looked at them and said, “less than human.” And because of this sense of betrayal, German survivors, or Germans who managed to get out before they got rounded up, had a very different experience than other Holocaust victims.

And I feel like a lot of left leaning Jews are having a similar experience now. People that we’ve marched with or organized with, or even just mutuals that we’ve thought of as friends are now going on about how Jews are evil. They repeat antisemitic talking points from the Nazis and from the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, and when we point out that those ideas have only led to Jewish death in the past they don’t care. And if someone you thought of as a friend thinks of you this way, what do you think a stranger might think? Might do?

The Jews are fucking terrified. I’ve seen a post going around that basically wonders if this was what it was like for our ancestors – when things got bad enough to see what was coming but before it was too late to run? And we can see what’s coming. History tells us that they way people are talking and acting only leads to one place. I’m a millennial – when I was a kid the grandparents at my synagogue made sure the kids knew – this is what it looked like before, this is what you need to watch out for, this is when you need to run. I wonder where to run to. It feels like nowhere is safe.

I feel like I’ve been lucky in all this. I don’t live in Israel. I have family and acquaintances who do, but no one I’m particularly close to. Everyone I know in real life has either been sane or at least silent about all of this (the internet has been significantly worse, but when it comes to hate, the internet is always worse). I live in a relatively liberal area – there’s always been antisemitism around anyway, but it’s mostly just been swastikas on flyers, or people advocating for BDS, not anything that’s made me actually worry for my safety. But in the last 5 months there have been bomb threats at my synagogue, and just last week a kid got beat up for being Jewish at our local high school. He doesn’t want to report it. He’s worried it will make it worse.

I bought a Magen David to wear in November. At the time it seemed like the best way to fight antisemitism was to be visibly Jewish, to show that we’re just normal people like everyone else. Plus, I figured that if me being Jewish was going to be a problem for someone, then I would make it a problem right away and not waste time. I’ve worn it almost constantly since, but the one time I took it off was when I burnt my finger in December and had to go to urgent care. I didn’t think about it too much when I did it, but I thought about it for a long time after – I didn’t feel good about having made that choice.

The conclusion I came to is that the training that my elders had been so careful to instill in me kicked in. I was hurt, and scared, and the voice inside my head that sounds like my grandmother said, “don’t give them a reason to be bad to you. Fight when you’re well, but for now – survive.” It still felt cowardly, but it was also a connection to my ancestors who heeded the same voice well enough to survive. And it enrages me that that voice has been necessary in the past. And it enrages me that things are bad enough now that my instinct is that I need to hide who I am to receive appropriate medical care.

I wish I had some sort of final thought to tie this all together other than, “this sucks and I hate it,” but I really don’t. I could call for people to examine their antisemitic biases, but I’m not foolish enough to think that this will reach the people who need to do so. I could wish for a future where everything I’ve talked about here exists only in history books, and the Jewish experience is no longer tied to feeling this pain, but that’s basically wishing for the moshiach, and I’m not going to hold my breath.

I guess I’ll end it with the thought that through all of this hate and pain and fear, we’re still here. And we’re still joyful as well. As much as so many people have tried over literally THOUSANDS of years to eradicate us, I’m still here, I’m still Jewish, and being Jewish still makes me happy.

Am Yisrael Chai.

[torchickentacos]

you- you bought a fetal hog from barnes and noble?????

Okay SO! Long post ahead. Storytime. A little set-up for this saga: first off, this story centers around bio 102 lab class. Second, my college has a little on-campus supplies store which just so happens to be run by Barnes and Noble. It's basically a B&N but with overpriced college-color lanyards and shitty coffee and stuff too. and pigs. SO.

Imagine. It's the beginning of my semester a semester or two ago (it all runs together, idfk). This all began in late August and ends at the dissection in October, if I recall. Now, I've taken a lab class before, I know how it works, but I've never done a dissection. I've worked with live animals in an educational setting through vetsci classes back in a high school accreditation program/courses, but I've never had to work with preserved animals, so I didn't know the ~standard procedure~ of how you would prep/find materials for a dissection. I saw 'dissections' on the syllabus and assumed they'd just provide the dissectee to you. You know. Because that's the most rational assumption. You'd think that's how that would work, that they'd just put it on the table in front of you.

...Then I read further down the syllabus and saw that students were expected to buy their own fetal pigs (out of pocket, might I add. Like, our little trio at the lab table pooled our poor college kid money until we had 80 bucks, but I'm getting ahead of myself). It was very specifically specified on the materials list, alongside buying a lab coat and a book and lab guides etc, that we would be buying a fetal pig.

So naturally I was like 'well, that doesn't sound right, but what do I know'. Reread it more closely to make sure, and yep, it's asking me to buy a pig fetus. Not covered by my class fees. What the fuck.

Out of equal parts confusion and curiousity, I then asked tumblr, like "Hey, um, is it normal for your lab to ask you to buy your own fetal pig???" Here were the responses on that.

So that was a fairly unanimous 'no', lol.

At this point, I was like, 'okay, I probably just give them the fee and they take it out of the freezer on the day of the dissection. Right?' No. Wrong. I spent a couple weeks trying to figure out how to source my own pig fetus before our professor FINALLY told us a few classes in, about a month before the dissection, that we would need to go walk over to the school bookstore and buy it there, at BARNES AND NOBLE, all the way across campus, and bring it to lab the week before the dissection so that she can put them in the freezer and have them ready for us.

So I ended up doing just that. Several weeks later, I woke up at like seven in the morning- THIS WAS A MORNING CLASS TOO which by the way, any new college students, don't do that to yourself- anyways I woke up early, got ready, got to campus, and walked into the Barnes and Noble to the cashier lady and was like "Hi. Um. I'm sorry but do you have any fetal pigs?" and thankfully she knew exactly what I was talking about lmfao, and she went and got me one and I paid with the pooled money. And I walked back across campus. With my little vacuum-sealed pig fetus in tow (which, by the way, bigger and heavier than I was expecting it to be. I was expecting maybe a squirrel sized thing but it was roughly the weight of a small pumpkin and, like, hand-to-elbow long, but I have short arms).

And, you know, I've gotten into some situations in my life (the recent accidental acquisition of a ton of sauce comes to mind) but I really think that walking across campus with a bagged pig at like eight in the fucking morning has to be in the top five experiences I've ever had. It's really high up there. Brisk autumn wind biting through my jacket, the leaves are barely hanging on, the sky was the kind of bright blue that contrasts with the auburns and umbers of the dying greenery, just an absolutely gorgeous fall morning and I'm experiencing it with a dead pig in a plastic bag as I walk down the sidewalk.

It was pretty interesting to dissect, though. My lab table named her Peppa (we also had a goldfish named Darcy, who, thankfully, got to be alive and unharmed for his experiments).

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter one: god you've got the blackest eyes

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: To summon a demon at a crossroads, simply cast a circle, make an offering, and recite an incantation. What happens from that point on is subject to your desire… and the demon’s.

cw: explicit, smut, dubcon elements, making a deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, horror, witch!reader, reader is 21+ in modern day, eddie is immortal, coercion (a bit), sex pact, marking, possessive behavior, animal death, trauma, reader is ostracized by her very religious hometown, dark comedy, tfw your accidental boyfriend is a demon who is obsessed with you bc he doesn’t know how to be normal about anything ever, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

a/n: Hi folks, for the month of October this year I'm going to be reuploading all the chapters of this fic onto tumblr, this time hopefully for good. I apologize for the time that it's been taken down. Genuinely, this fic has garnered so much kindness and support and I think of it as one of my biggest accomplishments. I hope you all enjoy it just as much the second time around as the first.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Through me you pass into the city of woe, Through me you pass into eternal pain, Through me you pass among forsaken people. Justice moved my exalted creator; I was wrought by divine power, Supreme wisdom, and primal love. Before me all things created were eternal, And eternal I endure. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. -Dante Alighieri, The Inferno, Canto III

The book you’ve used for ages now, since late in your junior year of high school, has only one page in it that you haven’t utilized. You don’t know how much faith to put in it– you’re a little short on faith, these days– but, the spellbook lays it out simply, so you follow its directions to the letter. 

To summon a demon at a crossroads, go to a place where two paths meet on the dark moon. You find peace and quiet in the woods, deep where you know no one walks at night but two paths cross in a small clearing banked with trees. It’s your favorite place to go when you want to do a spell– ritual– and you don’t want to be bothered. The whole thing can’t be more than twenty feet across. Above the overhang of trees, there’s no moon in the sky, only stars.

Cast a circle of protection. That took more research than just the book in your hands, but years of collecting information have given you learned knowledge– there are a million ways to cast a circle, and different circles for different purposes. You do your best to create one for protection. You draw a literal circle in the dirt with a stick, fill it with salt, and walk around the circle three times clockwise to cast it. You light candles to give yourself some light, and to free up your hands of the flashlight you carried to see your way through the woods. 

Make an offering of copper. Your hand pauses on the copper dog tag in your hand. You’d thought of just offering a penny, but you remembered reading somewhere that pennies barely contain copper anymore, and you didn’t have anything else that was entirely made of the one metal. 

You run your finger over the embossed name on it. Lacey. Your pet’s old collar feels heavy in your hand as you remove the tag from the leather strap and bury it in the earth, you guess, to reach the… Underworld? Hell? You can’t honestly say, considering the text you’re referencing only calls it the Otherworld.

It’s a big sacrifice. It’s personal. But, you guess, that gives it more meaning. Making a deal is personal business, and you have your reasons.

Recite the summoning incantation. A stanza of words you don’t understand. You don’t think it’s in Latin, but you try your best, all the same. You read them from the book before you, and feel your blood rushing in your veins as you do.

State your desire out loud in a clear voice. Well, that’s a little more difficult. What is it that you want?

You take a breath, go to speak, and then stop. You don’t know how to start. You don’t know exactly how to describe your pain. You don’t know how to voice your anger well enough, you just know you need to… you need to get it out, somehow. This is a very crucial step in the ritual, you have to do it.

“I came here to make a deal,” you speak frankly, clearly. “I’m prepared to do anything. I’ve run out of options. I’ve been hurt too many times, by too many people who didn’t care what they did to me. I’ve lost everything I genuinely loved. I’m… I’m angry, and desperate, and I’m frightened. And I feel so alone. It’s eating me alive, and I just… I just want the ability to make things go my way, for once.” Good enough, you hope.

Wait for an answer.

You do. You listen intently, to the song of the leaves in the trees rustling in the slight breeze, to the crickets chirping in the grass. You wait long enough that you start to rethink your approach. 

It could be that things will turn around if you just wait another month, or another month after that. Maybe you’ll get the car back. Maybe you’ll get the promotion that was given to the newbie that you trained. Maybe your ex will stop coming around your work to intimidate you. Maybe you’ll get a new dog to take the place of the one that he killed. Maybe the evangelical town you live in will stop shunning you and calling you a witch, like something out of the middle ages.

Unlikely, that last one.

Just when you swear it’s a failure, that you should just pack up and leave, that’s when a strong gust of wind rips through the clearing out of nowhere. The candles blow out– and then, oddly enough, relight themselves. There’s a slight scent of smoke on the breeze, and you look around to make sure none of the candles fell over in the wind.

They’re all perfectly fine. There’s nothing amiss, it seems, until you hear a cough and movement across the clearing. You look forward, and see a pair of black combat boots in the stream of light from your flashlight. You follow the boots up to a pair of legs, clad in dark jeans, and then further up, to a torso, and a head, and a pair of sparkling eyes.

“Hi.”

You stare at him, probably looking like a fish out of water with the way your mouth opens and closes. You’d fully expected the traditional scary depiction of a demon– maybe horns, goat hooves, et cetera. But the man that answered your call is… just a man. A pretty one. He has long, curly hair, which falls over his broad shoulders and stirs in the wind. His plush lips curve up in a relaxed, cocky smile, as he takes in the sight of you in return. 

He quirks an eyebrow at you. “Are you just gonna stare at me all night?” 

“Sorry, hi. Hello.” You shake your head. “Can you believe I honestly thought I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time?” 

“I can believe a lot of things. You know, there’s a reason why the demon summoning ritual is first in that book.” His voice is soft and resonant. You get a mental image of heat waves radiating from tar-black and glowing magma, rolling slowly over lava beds. The image disappears just as soon as it flashes into your mind.

“Well, to be completely honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about making a deal with a demon first thing,” you explain, looking away shyly. “But I’ve tried all the spells in this book and not a single one of them worked. Just seems like everything is getting worse all the time.”

He doesn’t look away– rather, he keeps staring at you, unblinkingly. Like you’re the most fascinating creature he’s ever seen. He leans up against the tree that he appeared beside, his leather jacket falling open to reveal a shirt with a demon’s head on it. Fitting. He takes a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. 

“So, now you wanna make a deal with little ol’ me, huh?” He grins, a gorgeous smile that flashes bright, sharp teeth at you. He lifts a cigarette to his mouth and bites it gently between his teeth. He doesn’t pull out a lighter. Instead, you watch him light up with a small flame that erupts from the tip of his thumb. 

“Depends on who you are,” you retort, eyes following the movement of his hands. They’re weighed down by large, silver rings that reflect the light of the flame before it snuffs out. “What’s your name?”

He makes a short noise in his throat, shaking his head abruptly. He doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as you feel he should– more like he’s trying to warn you against something you don’t want. He peers at you from beneath his wavy bangs as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth and uses it to point at you. “Names are really powerful things where I come from, babydoll. Best not to bite off more than you can chew yet. Once we cut a deal– that’s when you get my name.”

You make a face as you mull that over. “So what do I call you, in the meantime? Demon daddy?” 

“You could,” he chuckles. The demon rocks to the side, crossing his legs at the ankles. “If you really wanted to. I wouldn’t mind, it’s flattering.” 

You grunt. “I think I’ll pass on that, actually.” He tilts his head with a sicker, watching you with an amused smile while you shift in place. “So, do I– I mean, you need to know what I want, right? Is that how this starts?”

“No, I know what you want.” He exhales a stream of smoke from his nostrils. “You want power. To get a fair shake, find your place, change your life. Defend yourself against the assholes making that life, well. A living hell.” As he spits out the words, his voice rings sharp through the trees, like the strike of a hammer on glowing metal, shooting sparks off into the air. 

“I want to take all this pain and just… return to sender. Give it back to them, y’know? I never wanted any of it,” you justify. Your voice is too small in comparison with his. “Maybe then I’ll be able to fucking breathe.”

For how little space you allow yourself to take up, he seems to consume the rest of it. He nods slowly. “That’s a fair request, sweetheart.”

“It’s selfish, I know.”

“Making a deal for power is inherently a selfish thing,” he shrugs. “Own it. I’m certainly not judging.”

You let out a shaky breath. You’re still so nervous, being so near him– ten feet away and growing closer every second, it seems, even though neither of you have moved. You feel like, no matter how far you pull back, the flow of fiery lava he seems to embody will keep creeping towards you until you’re burned alive.

His dark eyes glow like coals in the night as he looks you up and down, and then he quickly pushes himself away from the tree. You startle at the abrupt movement, and watch as he swings around it like Gene Kelly on a lamp post. 

When he rounds the tree, he uses the momentum to throw himself toward your circle. You flinch, and he frowns, but continues moving toward you at a slower pace, holding his hands out innocently. “Wanna know a secret? About how all this,” he twirls a finger in the air, indicating the ritual you’re in the middle of, “works?”

You nod, gazing up at him shyly. If you felt at all powerful while casting the circle and starting the ritual, he’s managed to take the wind out of your sails. You can feel the power radiating off of him in waves.

He smirks at you. “You make your petition– when you say the words in that little book,” he points at the volume at your feet, “and that petition is answered by whichever demon caters most to that desire.” He points at himself emphatically, his eyebrows raised. “Me? Infernal majesty of freaks and misfits. I’m your demon daddy.”

You finally giggle, and it makes him smile fondly, like that’s what he’d been gunning for all along. He backs up a step and puffs his cigarette. 

“I’m here to help you, sweetheart.” He regards you for a second, like he’s thinking things over. “That is, as long as you agree to my terms.”

“Terms?” You echo, but you were sort of expecting that. Nothing for nothing, right? “What are the terms?”

“Ah, they’re simple. Very traditional,” he waves his hand like it’s frivolous. He holds his hand out in midair, and just like how he’d conjured the flames, he produces a weathered book. It looks like a composition book that has scribbles and doodles all over the front of it– the same demon head that adorns his shirt. “You sign your name with your blood in my little black book, you hop on one foot with your hand on your head and pledge your undying fealty to the dark lord Kthulu, and then you meet me on the sabbath to kill a child and make them into soup.” 

He smiles, fluttering his eyelashes at you innocently. 

“Are you fucking serious?” You blurt. 

“Of course I’m not fucking serious– what is this, the dark ages?” He snorts as he lowers the composition book. “Nah, we don’t do human sacrifice on the sabbath anymore, it was getting too difficult to evade the witch hunters.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He flashes you a disarming grin. You can feel yourself halfway smirking as well, incredulous but somehow enjoying his humor. Then he shakes his head and says, seriously, “No, you do have to sign my book, though. And then meet me back here on the full moon to fuck.”

You blink at him, reeling from the whiplash of that. “You… I’m sorry?”

“I find it best not to sugarcoat it, y’know.” He shrugs, “Think of this as a marriage, of sorts. I give you the power to smite thine enemies, live deliciously, blah blah blah, and then you meet me at the crossroads every full moon to be my whore and we fuck like bunnies all night. Simple as that.”

“That’s far from simple.”

“It doesn’t have to be monogamous, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he continues frankly, “except on the full moon. I won’t compromise about that– you’ll be all mine, and I’m all yours. No takesies backsies.”

“No– that’s not–” You exhale, holding your hands over your eyes. “I’m just… not promiscuous like that…”

“Sweetheart.” He waits until you’ve lowered your hands to look at him, and he hums, with a saccharine smile that reminds you of the power you’d felt sweep through the clearing when he arrived. “You won’t be the first good girl I’ve broken, and you won’t be the last. If you’re worried about promiscuity, well… I answered your petition. I know what goes on in that pretty head, and it barely scratches the surface of what I’ve seen and done.” 

The toe of his boot barely nudges the edge of your circle, and a spark crackles in the dark from the impact. The light dances in his eyes longer than it remains in the air, like they caught the spark and ignited. 

“Trust me,” he says, drawing you in with the low register of his voice. “I can give you more than power. I can give you protection. I can give you real happiness. Karma’s a fucking bitch, so I can be, too. This is just such a little thing in return. And who knows… you may even like it.”

You shiver at that, even though his presence feels hot, like his stream of lava is surrounding you, crowding you in, boiling you where you stand. He’s right– you absolutely might like it. 

Because there’s just something magnetic between you, isn’t there? You can sense it, more than any heat and any sort of primal fear you might have instinctively at his presence. There’s a certain pull you feel toward him, emanating even through the salt barrier on the ground. 

You want to wrap yourself in him. Boil you alive, burn you to a crisp, destroy you– you don’t care.

“Or… is it that you don’t like this body?” He wonders aloud, striding backward two steps. He turns, his hand lifting his seemingly ever-burning cigarette to his lips. “Figures– y’know, I can be anything you want me to be, babydoll.”

Confused, you watch as he transforms in front of you. In the length of two steps while he paces across the clearing, his face and body stretches and contorts, until you’re not staring at the same visage anymore. He stops, and he turns to you with his palms up, like he’s waiting for your approval. 

You’re looking at Tom fucking Cruise. 

“Oh, no, absolutely not,” you shake your head vehemently, scowling. You wave your hands demandingly, “Put it back. You were so hot before– please, please go back to the way you were.”

The demon grins and turns his head, throwing the cigarette away. His hair grows back to its previous length, his face morphing as if made of clay until you meet the same pretty smile you’ve come to enjoy looking at. 

He chuckles, grabbing a lock of his hair and drawing it across his lips. “You think I’m hot?”

“Of course,” you murmur, but you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he can hear it. His eyes are embers, blazing at you from beneath his bangs. “Is that what you normally look like? Is that your true form?”

He makes an iffy sound. “It’s what I looked like when I was human. My true form has more horns and unhinged jaws and claws and all that. You wouldn’t like it.”

“I thought you said you could read my mind. Do you know how much monster porn I’ve consumed? That’s hot as shit to me,” you argue, and he snaps his head towards you in surprise. You point at yourself. “Freak and misfit.”

He laughs, and it sounds like the roaring of an out of control fire, burning up everything in its path. He kicks his heel on the ground and steps up to your circle again. “I like you, baby. I really do. What do you say?”

“How do I know that I can trust you?” you ask, an annoying lump forming in your throat with the question. You’ve been burned before by people far less powerful than this demon, yet who still hold so much power over you. However much they have.

“You can’t,” he answers, more honestly than most would. He tilts his head with a crooked smile. “Not to get all preachy on you, but even if I wasn’t a demon… trust is built, not a given. ‘The devil you know,’ right? Better than the one that you don’t.”

“Yeah,” you agree, your voice coming out breathy and winded the longer you gaze up into his eyes.

“Trust me to be… intense, I guess,” he shrugs. “And probably impulsive. But I’ll always deliver on our deal. Be my witch, my wife, my whore– whatever you want to call it, but be mine. I think we’ll have so much fun together.”

“Yeah, I think– I think I will.” You’re nodding, and his smile grows with yours. “I want to.”

“Let me in, sweetheart.”

Your toe scuffs the boundary on the ground, breaking the circle. Immediately, your senses are assaulted by smoke, not just the tobacco he’s been smoking but the scent of a wildfire, of cities burned to ashes, of desolation and destruction and pyroclastic flow and roaring, exploding volcanoes. 

Your demon crosses the line you’d drawn on the ground with ease, producing the worn composition book in his hand again. The cover reads Hellfire Club in chicken scratch handwriting. 

“Are there others?” You ask, prompted by the word Club on the front as he flips open the book to a middle page. An agreement is already written out in red ink. “Do you have more than one, um…”

“Consort?” He whispers in your ear. Goosebumps rise on your skin, and your stomach flutters. “Not for a long time. I’m very picky about my partners. They have to be just as much of a freak as I am.”

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, although the admission makes you feel… better, in a way. You squint in the dark, but with the exception of the candles around your circle, there’s nothing to allow you to properly read what’s written on the page. 

He sighs, shifting on his feet beside you. “Are you one of those people who’ll read the whole contract?”

“Absolutely I am,” you hum. The book feels heavier in your hands than it should. “Can you give me a light?”

“Jesus Christ.” He produces a flame from his forefinger just as you turn to give him a confused look. 

“Shouldn’t you, like… evaporate after saying that?”

In the yellow glow of the flame, he just blinks at you, looking amused. “Things aren’t as black and white as you think they are, believe me.”

You snatch his wrist and yank his arm closer to the page. His body collides with yours, and he grunts in your ear as he wraps his other arm around you, embracing you from behind. You’re engulfed in the scent of smoke and the heat of his flames, impossibly hot and comforting all the same. 

His hair brushes your shoulder as you read his contract. It’s just a few lines, but the weight they hold will seal your fate. 

The agreement made this night of the dark moon shall henceforth be enacted from the signing of this document, that hereby renders the human party’s soul bound to the infernal party. Witness that the first party must appear before the second party each full moon to lay in matrimonial fashion, and that in return the first party shall be protected and given the powers of the second from here until the human’s mortal passing. 

“Aww, that’s sweet,” you coo, tracing the red ink with your fingers. 

The demon over your shoulder rolls his eyes. “It’s a fucking pre-nup.”

“Doesn’t seem like a fair trade, though, does it?” You murmur. “I mean, I get the power to change my circumstances and you get– what– sex once a month?”

His hand tightens on your waist, and you pause. You turn your head to look at him, and his eyes flicker dangerously, so close to yours. They aren’t just glowing coals- this close, you can see the small details. You can see the swirling, the churning of lava within them.

“It’s not just sex, is it?”

“What do you think making a deal with a demon entails, sweetheart? Read the fine print.”

You look back at the page. There are no other words on it, save for the ones you’ve already read. “I don’t…?”

“It’s your soul, honey,” he mutters, pointing at the word. His mouth is muffled against your shoulder as he peers over it. “I won’t ask anything of you other than the sex, as long as you live. But right now, you’re offering up your soul. And once your life is up, you get to be just like me. Understand?”

“I… yeah. I understand.” You let go of his wrist, but pause over the pages of the book. “I don’t have anything to sign with.”

Wordlessly, the demon takes your hand. You let him caress your wrist, feeling your pulse with his thumb. Then, before you realize what’s happening, a sharp sting makes you yelp as he cuts your skin with his pointed thumbnail. 

He shushes you, letting the blood well up on your skin. “I did say you needed to sign with blood.”

Your voice shakes when you hold your dripping wrist over the page. “I thought you said you were joking.”

“Not about the book. Rules of the trade, I can’t change it.” Your blood splatters the notebook, dripping into the crease of the page. Once he’s satisfied, he lifts your wrist to his mouth and closes his lips around the small wound. It heals in a heartbeat. 

“Is that it, then?” You ask, mesmerized by the sight and feeling of his mouth on your skin. “Don’t you have to sign?”

Your demon kisses your wrist gently, his lips soft, inviting. “This is going to hurt,” he warns, and you nod. The heat of his breath makes your skin tingle, all your nerves on high alert. 

But then that tingling turns into a burn, that turns into a searing pain. You feel like your skin is on fire, an invisible hot brand held against your wrist. You cry out as he holds you close, letting you bury your face into his neck, holding you up as your knees threaten to buckle. 

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs to you as you whimper. He holds your arm as the pain fades into a throbbing ache, cradles your hand against his cheek as he coos into your hair. “You’re so strong. Not many people can handle my mark, you know. Fate works in funny ways.”

Your demon holds you until you can stand on your own, until your breathing evens out and you can compose yourself. He shushes you quietly, rocking you from side-to-side with a soothing hand stroking your head. Then he holds your face, and kisses your tear stained cheeks. The touch of his lips stokes at flames beneath your skin.

“I’ll look forward to our time together, little witch,” he whispers. And with a quick, chaste kiss to your lips, he disappears entirely. 

You stay in the circle for a while, clutching your throbbing wrist and crying frustrated tears. You wonder if you made the right decision, and yet, you don’t understand why you just want him to come back. You miss the comfort of his presence, even if you don’t know enough about him to justify it. All he did was hurt your arm and take your blood and kiss away your tears and make you a witch. 

It’s too late to go back on your decision now. There’s an all-encompassing fire you can feel burning in your veins, emitting from the pulsating wound on your wrist. His power. His fire. 

You pull your hand away from your wrist to finally inspect the mark that he branded you with, declaring you his in the same chicken scratch that had been on the cover of his book. It’s small enough that a well placed bracelet would cover it, but you don’t know that you’ll want to.

Eddie.

Your demon’s name is Eddie.

[captainkirkk]

✩ MONTHLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

The fics I’ve read and enjoyed for the month of March. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Fandoms included in this list:

DC (Batman)

Stranger Things

The Goblin Emperor

Miraculous Ladybug

All for the Game

SVSSS

Ted Lasso

Original Works

Clone Wars

DC (Batman)

Never Mind About The Shape I'm In (I'll Keep You Safe Tonight) by WakingNightmares

Dick isn’t a baby, alright? He’s ten years old, dammit, and he knows stuff. He’s been Robin for almost six months now so he knows… He knows that this probably isn’t gonna end well for him or his brothers.

Reverse Robins A/U

Stranger Things

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) by theheartofthekoko

“What’s wrong with what I wrote?” Steve whines, running his fingers through his hair until it’s all mussed up and falling into his face.

Chrissy snorts. “It sounds like you’re telling him his hair is frizzy and dry.”

“I said it was pretty!” He throws his hands in the air before crossing them and pouting his lower lip out.

Chrissy can’t help but laugh. She’s always liked Steve. He’s nicer than most of his friends, and he’s easy to talk to. But this is a side she’s never seen of him. She’s not sure anyone has; can’t imagine Carol or Tommy seeing him put his whole heart into something and not tearing it to shreds.

“Do you use conditioner?” she asks, throwing finger quotations around it as she reads it off the crumpled page.

Steve’s blushing again, cheeks all blotchy and red, rather unbecoming for the shoo-in for this year’s prom king. “Well, I thought you said you’d help!” he says, a little too loud for the library.

Or: a secret admirer au.

The Goblin Emperor

Maia's Rings by seekeronthepath

It happened gradually, was the thing. The emperor’s rings were tighter in the evening than the morning; that was normal. And if the fit of the rings changed, little by little, the change wasn’t large enough from day to day for any of them to notice. And then Nemer found himself thinking it was time to contact Dachensol Habrobar about adding some ease to Edrehasivar’s signet ring, and realised all of a sudden that something had changed.

The signet ring had fit perfectly at first, Nemer was sure of it. Hadn’t it? Or was he remembering that wrong? Maybe it had always been a little snug, maybe they had accepted that it didn’t slide on easily in exchange for the security of knowing it wouldn’t slide off easily.

----

Maia's edocharei notice something is wrong, and do something about it.

Miraculous Ladybug

what am i trying to say? by carolinaa

Part 1 of I will take it / It can't go wrong.

Be loved by his friends, or love himself, or earn his father's love. Adrien's at a point where he's pretty sure he can only have one of those three things, but he's doing his best to juggle all three of them.

They aren't always compatible. He's doing his best, though.

All for the Game

i'm fearsome and i'm wretched and i'm wrong by perchancetosleep

Jean will bite his own tongue off before he admits that he is the horrific monster that they all worried he would be. He is a Raven at the end of the day. They can tame him and retrain him and he will do his best to bite his tongue and play the part, but all of it will never change the fact that he is rotten at his very core, all disintegrated flesh and infected wounds and maggots and worms from the long, long years he spent decomposing alive, buried deep underneath the earth.

His mistake was allowing himself to be convinced that he would ever get to keep what he has built, that he would be able to hold onto the luxuries of friends and sunshine and safety.

an unkindness of ravens by perchancetosleep

Zane Reacher kills himself on a seemingly unassuming day in October, but not before ruining Jean’s life one final time.

The timing is calculated, and if there was any doubt how deep Zane’s hatred of Jean runs, it cannot be denied any longer. Despite their season-long suspension, the Ravens have belligerently petitioned their way into a handful of “friendly” televised scrimmages with other teams. The NCAA has assured everyone that what they have observed during practices at Edgar Allen shows a remarkable culture change, and these scrimmages are an attempt to avoid what had happened with the Foxes in August next season.

Given their reputation for clean play and no tolerance of violence, the only obvious choice for a first trial of this experiment had been USC.

SVSSS

My Poor Meow Meow by bunnyiling

It’s not like Shen Qingqiu wasn’t aware of the crimes, the violence, all the deaths, and even some exterminations pinned on Luo Binghe. He knew very well that his husband wasn’t a little angel, okay? But it’s just that… it’s just that it wasn’t his fault!

It wasn’t Luo Binghe’s fault that he had a traumatic childhood and an even more traumatic development later on when he felt abandoned by everyone! It wasn’t Luo Binghe’s fault if he was a little violent — he was a demon, okay? It’s perfectly fine to be a little violent! And so what if some people died at Luo Binghe’s hands? They most certainly deserved it!

Or: Shen Qingqiu, even though he doesn’t post in online forums anymore, still keeps the title of #1 Luo Binghe’s apologist.

Deluxe System 2.0: Co-op Mode! by kitsunealyc

Standing on the edge of the Endless Abyss, Shen Yuan chooses to take the point deduction and die rather than shove Luo Binghe over the edge.

What can the System do except engage the failsafe mode and restore the account of the original user?

(or, Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu become trapped in the same body and are forced to cooperate in order to survive the plot and achieve their happy endings)

Ted Lasso

Stand Where the Light Hits Hard by theseaanemone

The day before the season 1 charity gala, Ted invites a representative from a domestic violence charity to speak to the team, figuring it will be a good educational experience for the boys. Instead, it cracks open some barely-healed wounds for Jamie and Roy both.

Original Works

for every failing sun by PotatoLady

Part 1 of Fox, Dove, and Beren

If he’d wanted to fuck someone (which he didn’t) and wanted that someone to be a slave (which, even more so, he didn’t) then he would have still wanted that someone to be at least old enough to grow a beard.

Or, Dove might have been an ill-advised gift, but now, he's here to stay.

Mistaken by flames_dance

Part 1 of Jaime

When Jaime woke up, he thought he’d been rescued.

He gets a week before it falls apart.

Clone Wars

Lies About Jedi by SniperAnon (The_Big_Reveal)

“Wait a fucking second,” burst out CT-9886, “You’re taking me up there to-”

“To guilt trip a Jedi High General of the GAR into taking a nap? Yes. So keep the hat on. Nobody wears those except the new guys. Makes you look extra shiny.”

Inspired by this tumblr post: https://obiwanobi.tumblr.com/post/616828414927699968/obi-wan-high-on-pain-meds-the-shiny-medic

Compulsive Honesty by afoundling

Seven clones and a Jedi get dosed with truth serum and trapped in a confined space for 5 long hours

[elsewhereuniversity]

Jw, but it's been a minute. Are y'all okay? Any updates?

Thanks for checking in, that's really sweet of you. Sorry for the radio silence. To be honest I am Not Doing Great. I'm getting through it and things should get easier in a few weeks, but it's been a rough winter.

About the boat/accident/insurance, no word since last October. Still no idea if we can expect any compensation for the months of lost income from the accident. Depending on the day I get either very sad or very angry about it still. The paperwork is mostly sorted out now, but that's been a nightmare at times too. And I've found I'm now really anxious about something happening to my partner/going wrong on the boat when I'm not there to help. I was parking the car when the accident happened and my partner was on board trapped below deck by the falling mast. I ran the whole way to the docks and I don't remember most of it. ig the whole thing's had more of an impact on me than I'd realized, and managing that's been a challenge.

My partner and I also got hit with about 10k total of unexpected and necessary expenses (dental surgery and vehicle repairs being the big things). I had to get a winter job to cover us, leaving my partner to repair the boat alone. So I've been working 80-90hrs a week while he's doing what's rightfully a job for two people, and every week there's been a new crisis that's a thousand dollars plus to fix. We've scraped through, and we'll be alright, but it's been exhausting.

Because of that, repairs are taking longer than we'd hoped. They're still ongoing, and at this point all the spruce for the new mast is planed smooth to the right width, but it's on hold for the moment because the table saw isn't working right. The owner of the workshop has told us not to use it at all till he can look at it himself. Once that's fixed we can start cutting rabbets - the grooves that let the planks fit together. But it's definitely not getting finished before summer.

It'll get easier soon. I do genuinely like my winter job, and once it wraps up, I can help my partner in the shipyard. I'm mostly recovered from dental surgery at this point. A friend offered us his boat so our little tour company can sail this summer like normal, and that'll be enough to pay the bills and fund the next year of repairs. The owner of the workshop says we can keep our 50ft table set up all summer so we can keep working on the mast when we have rain days. If we can just make it to June then we'll be in the water with all major yearly expenses covered and a regular source of income again, and from there life should get easier.

That's where we're at right now - no big news, just getting through. We're shifting gears soon to focus on getting the new boat ready for the season, and we're hoping that over the summer we'll complete the new mast and begin to address to damage to Nautilus' deck and hull, starting by pulling up her teak planking to get at the fiberglass below. She's stored outside so that's a warm weather project anyway.

Thanks again for asking, it means a lot. Sorry I've been so quiet here. My partner's taken some lovely videos of the planing and other workshop things. I've been too tired/busy to sort through and post them, but I'll get there eventually. I miss elsewhere a lot; one of my only non-work things is picking away at that little elsewhere u text game I'm still trying to write. Nowhere near fit for human consumption yet, but I miss it here! When things are finally better I'm looking forward to coming back.

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 7: The One Where the Queen Asked, “Did That Go the Way You Thought It Was Gonna Go?”

I’m probably one of the few people in this fandom who find Antonia entertaining.

Goddammit – put down your fucking pitchforks!

I didn’t say I liked her – I simply said I found her entertaining.

If Antonia’s existence bothers the fuck out of you, you’ll likely enjoy my commentary here.

*And, right about here is when I’ll slip in my disclaimer: this is my opinion only; merely speculation based on information that is out there in the public realm.

Now, where was I?

Oh, yes, Antonia. I don’t find her entertaining because I think she’s a great dancer. Is she? You tell me. I mean, I have two left feet so just about anyone is better than me.

And, I have never seen a picture or video where she’s made me “like” her as a person. In fact, she comes off more like a villain, but not a brilliant villain (I might like her, then). She’s more like an Iago to, say, Deux Mois’ Jafar.

I just find her so fucking reckless, but in the most amusing way possible. If she were a movie, I’d give her 4/5 stars. The movie would be a low-budget comedy, of course.

In my opinion, she loves to troll the fandom and I’m convinced she must have notifications turned on for Nicola. The patterns started patterning early on during the World Tour (and probably before). The problem is, she’s just not great at trolling. Her attempts always fall flat, and she ends up making herself look like, well, a tryhard (hence why her movie only gets 4/5 stars).

I’m not sure what Antonia ever was to Luke but, at a minimum, I will (begrudgingly) say they dated. I know some people don’t want to hear that, but she was a player in this game for a reason. Rumor also suggests she, at the very least, squatted in Luke’s flat (and I don’t mean in THAT way).

That said, I believe she was officially taken out of the game at the end of July. However, that doesn’t mean she wasn’t still making noise from the sidelines.

One of the most humorous (in my opinion) “rah rahs” Antonia pulled was on September 28 when she posted some stories of herself at a theatre. I’m not sure if she could have been any more obvious when trying to show us her phone screen. The screen was lit up, her thumb pressed against it, and angled almost directly at the person taking the picture.  We get it, honey. You want us to see what’s on your screen. Not surprisingly, it appeared to be a blurry ass picture of Luke.

Big whoop, right? Well, actually it was because the Conscientiously Stupid took this as confirmation Luke and Antonia were together (again) and the Sincerely Ignorant swallowed their cyanide pills without water (again). And, the Fact Finders, while trying to resuscitate their dearly beloved Sincerely Ignorant friends foaming at their mouths, immediately called “bullshit” (again). The picture appeared to be old and, to be honest, it was too blurry to tell who was on the screen – although I will concede it could have been Luke. In fact, I tend to believe it was an old picture of Luke based on what happened next.

The problem with Antonia’s play style is that she doesn’t seem to catch on to the rules. She moves her pawn two spaces because she can, not because it advances her game. She has this nasty habit of ignoring, say, the opposing party’s pawn, which is in position to en passant her overly confident pawn.

Nicola had been living high on life throughout the month of September, which, in my opinion, is quite possibly the reason why Antonia seemed a bit unhinged by the end of the month (jealousy can make us do crazy shit). Among other things, Nicola had the Emmy’s (and the Wordle), the Gucci show, and, on October 1, she was presenting Simone with a Glamour Award. By this point, I believe Nicola had had enough of Antonia’s gameplay. The phone screen had struck a chord.

So, what does Nicola do?

She plays the game right back but not like she normally does with Scrabble boards, Dewy Skin Creams, and BTS wedding footage dropped at the perfect moment. This time, she does it with a power move that left her hands virtually spotless.

On October 3, Halley Brisker, Nicola’s frequent hairstylist, posted a set of four pictures to his Instagram grid, three of which showed Nicola casually posing for the camera and one showing Nicola in the process of having her hair done. It was the latter picture (#3/4 in the slide deck) that perked every Lukolas’ ears.

Low and behold sat a man, his face conveniently covered by a hairdresser’s arm, but his hands in full view. Hands that, at this point, we (embarrassingly) know too well. To date, no one has debunked the theory – more like, assertion – that the man in the picture is Luke.

Nicola liked this post by Halley, and even commented, “You legend [red heart emoji].” You’re welcome to read between the lines on that one.

I’ve always believed this Halley Brisker photo dump was Nicola’s very clever, albeit indirect, way of telling Antonia, “Checkmate, bitch.”

The point of this entry is not to convince you that Antonia is a red herring (she is), or that Luke is in the Halley Brisker photo dump (he is), or that Nicola plays the game better than most (she does). No, the point of this entry is to tell you Antonia’s game is over (because it is). Antonia lost.

So why does she remain on the roster?

Because, collectively, we as fans keep her there, sitting along the sidelines in her collapsable camp chair making noise with her cowbell. We pay attention to what she posts. We talk about what she posts. We argue over what she posts. We panic about what she posts. WE keep her in the game.

How about we don’t?

Why not start off this week with a positive change? And, not just for the USS Lukola, but for yourself as well.

If you’re following Antonia on social media (for sinister reasons) – stop. Meander over to Instagram, X, Tiktok, whatever, and unfollow her. Don’t look back. Stop checking her page. If you see or hear she has a new post, ignore it. Move on. The first day will be hard. But, the second day will be easier. You know where I’m going with this…

I mean, Luke can’t quietly unfollow her if we’re constantly looking in that direction, right?

P.S. If you need more convincing that Antonia’s shelf life has expired, I have a CliffsNotes response for that: https://www.tumblr.com/threeacttragedy/767137910999957504/great-blog-but-if-all-was-not-good-with-l-and-a?source=share.

P.P.S. Moving forward, I don’t give two boiled rabbits about what Antonia does. I will most certainly refer back to her in a historical sense (she does fill in bits and pieces of the Lukola timeline), but if she posts a crockpot tomorrow, don’t expect me to comment on what could be in it.

P.P.P.S. If you have any understanding of what the little chessboard I’ve dropped in to my picture means, I salute you.

[honeydippedfiction]

6 Months of Love, Forever to Go

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Synopsis: On a quiet spring morning, Angel reflects on how much life has changed in six short months. Between tender moments, shared laughter, and quiet milestones, she and Joe navigate the beautifully messy rhythm of new parenthood. With warmth, humor, and a love that deepens in the everyday, this story captures what it means to build a life together—one sleepy smile, one whispered promise, and one heartbeat at a time.

Warnings: emotional themes, growing pains?

WC: 4.2k

A/N: there's no 31 days in April I realized (little baby Z is a Halloween baby. Miss October 31st) This has been in the drafts for a hot minute, forgive me.

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• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The early morning light spilled into the Burrow home like a warm embrace, soft and golden as it stretched across the hardwood floors and gently kissed the pale walls of the nursery. April 30th, 2025. The date lingered in Angel’s mind like a whisper, echoing louder the longer she sat in stillness. It was a date she’d circled on the calendar in pink Sharpie months ago. A milestone.

Six months.

Half a year since the night her world shifted with the weight of 7 pounds, 12 ounces of love swaddled in hospital flannel.

Angel sat cross-legged on the plush ivory rug in their bedroom, wearing her silk robe, the champagne-colored one Joe always liked to slide his hand beneath, now loosely tied and slipping off one shoulder. Her phone was in one hand, the baby monitor app open in the other, showing a quiet screen. Zariyah lays still fast asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling in that steady, sleepy rhythm, lashes dark against her warm brown cheeks, a pacifier nestled between rosebud lips.

The house was quiet, but Angel’s mind was full. A film reel of memories played behind her eyes—grainy, golden, sacred.

Her thumb swiped slowly through her camera roll, each photo a timestamp pressed into her heart. Zariyah’s very first cry. The way her little fist gripped Angel’s finger in those first trembling moments of life. Joe’s face—worn out and wide-eyed and completely undone—as he cradled both of them in a hospital chair, hoodie half zipped, tears unapologetic in his lashes.

She stopped at a video from November. Zariyah was only a few days old, and Joe was pacing their bedroom, shirtless, hair wild from sleep, gently patting her back in that uncoordinated sway new dads had.

“Shhh… it’s okay, baby girl. Daddy’s got you. Daddy’s got you.”

Angel blinked fast and set the phone down, pressing her palm over her heart like it might still the ache building in her chest.

The nights in those first few weeks had blurred together—2AM feedings in the glow of the moonlight, her body still sore and healing, Joe rubbing her feet while she nursed. Skin-to-skin naps on the couch, Zariyah’s tiny body curled against Angel’s chest while Joe made them grilled cheese and protein shakes. Lullabies hummed into the quiet, whispered prayers when they didn’t know what they were doing but did it anyway.

She remembered Joe’s first diaper change vividly—hands trembling as he fumbled with the tabs, muttering curses under his breath.

“This little ass just spit up on me and peed. Is that normal? That can’t be normal.”

Angel had been doubled over with laughter, phone in hand, catching every second.

Or Zariyah’s first bath. Angel holding the baby while Joe tried to work the faucet attachment, only to end up soaking the entire counter—and himself.

“Okay, she’s slippery—Angel, I swear she’s built like a damn bar of soap!”

Now, Zariyah was sitting up on her own, pushing up to her elbows, smacking her hands on the tray of her high chair like she owned the place. Her bottom teeth had just poked through, and she’d started babbling “dada” and “buh buh” like she knew they were magic words.

“She was just in my belly,” Angel whispered aloud, voice tight with emotion. “She was just in there…”

Behind her, soft footsteps padded across the floor.

“You alright?” Joe’s voice, low and warm, broke the quiet.

Angel didn’t turn. She didn’t have to. She knew it was him—could feel the way the room settled with his presence.

He leaned against the doorway in grey sweatpants and a cream hoodie, barefoot, curls still damp from a shower, the scent of his lotion mixing with faint hints of Zariyah’s baby shampoo that clung to him like perfume.

Angel nodded slowly, wiping a tear from beneath her eye before it could fall. “Yeah. I just… I was looking at pictures.”

Joe crossed the room, knelt beside her, and gently pulled her into his arms. “Six months,” he murmured, his voice full of wonder and the tiniest hint of sadness. “I was just thinking the same thing. Feels like yesterday you were cussing me out between contractions.”

Angel let out a breathy laugh through her tears. “That’s because it was yesterday.”

Joe smiled, kissing the side of her head. “I think about that night all the time. How scared I was… and then they handed her to me and everything just clicked.”

“She made us parents,” Angel whispered, her fingers curling around his. “And she made us better.”

Joe reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out his phone. “If you’re gonna cry, you might as well do it right,” he said, swiping to a picture. “Caught her mid-fart smile this morning. Look at this disrespect.”

Angel laughed, sniffling as she took the phone. Zariyah’s gummy grin was mid-pucker, clearly proud of herself.

“She got that from you,” Angel said.

“Good. Let her be cocky about her bodily functions. Confidence starts young.”

Angel leaned into him, her tears now replaced with laughter. “She’s your twin in the face though.”

“She’s got your eyes,” Joe countered softly. “And your fire.”

They sat there for a long while—limbs tangled on the rug in the glow of morning—just talking about nothing and everything, pausing to reflect, remembering details the other forgot.

And when Zariyah stirred awake, the soft coo coming through the baby monitor, Angel sighed and kissed Joe’s jaw. “You wanna go get her?”

“I already am.” Joe stood and stretched, smirking down at her. “Your girl needs me.”

“She only calls you when she wants to break something.”

He shot her a wink over his shoulder. “Takes after her mama.”

Angel followed a beat later, just in time to catch Joe tossing Zariyah in the air—safely, gently—and catching her to a chorus of baby giggles.

“Happy six months, pretty girl,” he said, bouncing her. “You’re halfway to crawling off our bed and giving me a heart attack.”

Angel wrapped her arms around them both, and for a moment, it was just the three of them in a bubble of joy.

No cameras. No schedules. Just this.

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A soft, golden April sun washed over the city, the kind that made everything feel slower, sweeter. The kind of day that begged to be savored. No calls from agents. No team meetings. No emails or influencer brand deadlines. Just Joe, Angel, and their baby girl on her half birthday—April 30th, 2025.

They started with a walk through Ault Park, the spring breeze ruffling the new green leaves, tulips in bloom along the winding paths. Zariyah rode like royalty in her stroller, little fists waving in the air, legs kicking with giddy delight. She cooed and chirped at every passing dog, her wide brown eyes tracking squirrels like they were celebrities.

Angel walked slowly beside Joe, her arm linked with his, her other hand adjusting Zariyah’s sunhat every few minutes. She wore soft joggers and a loose crop top, sunglasses perched on her nose, curls bouncing with each step. Joe kept one hand on the stroller and the other tucked into his pocket, walking in sync with his girls, glancing down every few seconds just to smile at Zariyah—then at Angel, like he still couldn’t believe either of them were real.

“She's so damn cute,” Joe murmured under his breath as Zariyah kicked her foot out of her sock again.

Angel laughed, bending to retrieve it. “That’s the fourth time. I think she does it on purpose.”

“She gets that from you.”

“Excuse me?”

“The petty,” Joe teased, slanting her a grin. “She's already plotting ways to do whatever she wants.”

Angel bumped her shoulder into his, smiling. “Well. You can’t argue with results.”

They paused by the overlook for a few minutes, Angel pulling Zariyah out of the stroller and holding her against her hip. The baby reached up, tugging Joe’s hoodie string, then shoving it straight into her mouth.

“Delicious,” Angel deadpanned. “Fiber.”

Joe leaned in and kissed the top of her head. “We’re gonna have to teach her taste eventually.”

“Can’t even taste it,” Angel said. “You still wear cologne when we go to the park.”

Joe shrugged. “Gotta stay ready.”

Angel tsked and shook her head before muttering, "Whore."

They wandered the gardens a little longer before heading back to the car, choosing a familiar lunch spot with a cozy patio draped in hanging ferns and warm string lights. Angel wore Zariyah in a sling this time, her tiny arms peeking out while she dozed on Angel’s chest. The server brought their usual drinks without asking. A perk of being regulars. A perk of being happy.

Joe ordered for both of them, and when their food arrived, he fed Zariyah little bits of mashed avocado with his pinky finger, making airplane noises while Angel pretended not to film him.

“She’s gonna be spoiled rotten,” he said between bites, dabbing avocado off Zariyah’s chin.

Angel gave him a look. “She already is. And so are you.”

“Can’t help it,” he said, leaning over to peck her lips. “Look at my girls.”

After lunch, Zariyah started rubbing her eyes, her fussing small and tired, not upset. Angel kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear as they packed up, coaxing her into sleep. By the time they got home, she was out cold in the car seat.

But Angel didn’t want to put her in the crib.

Instead, she carried her into their bedroom and gently laid her down in the middle of the bed she shared with Joe. Zariyah let out a sleepy sigh, curls soft against the sheets, pacifier bobbing rhythmically. Angel stood there watching her, one hand over her mouth, her chest trembling like she was trying not to fall apart all over again.

Joe came up behind her, arms slipping around her waist.

“She looks like a little angel,” he whispered against her shoulder.

Angel nodded, blinking quickly. “I just… I remember when this bed was covered in burp cloths. And bottles. And me crying every two hours. And now—” She sniffed hard. “She’s in the middle of the bed, Joe. She’s in the bed. Like a person.”

He pulled her closer. “She is a person.”

“I know,” she whispered. “That’s the part that hurts.”

Joe didn’t say anything for a moment. Just held her tighter, kissed her cheek. Let her feel it all.

“She’ll always be our baby,” he said quietly. “Even when she’s taller than you and yelling at us for posting old bath pics on her birthday.”

Angel laughed through her tears, resting her head against his chest. “We’re never deleting those.”

“Hell no.”

They stood there a while longer, just watching her sleep, the room thick with memories and new love and the kind of quiet that said: we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.

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After Zariyah woke from her nap—eyes blinking up at the light like she hadn’t just caused a minor emotional crisis in her mother—Angel scooped her up with practiced ease, cradling her close and breathing in that sweet, powdery baby scent that still made her heart squeeze.

“Good morning again, mama’s big girl,” Angel whispered, swaying gently in the soft glow of the bedroom. She pressed kisses to both chubby cheeks, then to the silky swirl of curls at her crown. “You’re six whole months today. That means you get spoiled. Even more than usual.”

Zariyah responded with a squeal and a gummy smile, grabbing a fistful of Angel’s curls with the kind of grip only babies—or professional linebackers—seemed capable of.

“Okay, ouch,” Angel laughed, gently prying her hair from her daughter's grip. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Joe appeared in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a slow smile spreading across his face. He leaned against the frame for a moment, content to just watch them. His girls. His whole world wrapped up in a sun-drenched frame.

“You two need a minute?” he teased, stepping inside. He bent to kiss Zariyah’s cheek, then angled up to kiss Angel’s. “Did I miss the morning fan club meeting?”

“She’s the one with separation anxiety,” Angel replied, adjusting Zariyah higher on her hip. “But it’s fine. I’m obsessed with her too.”

Joe smiled, brushing his knuckle over Zariyah’s dimpled cheek. “She’s gonna have us both wrapped around her finger until college.”

Angel raised a brow. “Until college? She already does.”

They spent the rest of the morning in full celebration mode—not in an over-the-top, Pinterest-perfect kind of way, but in the quiet, cozy way that felt most like them.

Angel slipped into soft sage-green leggings and a cropped hoodie that showed just a hint of her postpartum curves, the ones Joe still couldn't keep his hands off of. Zariyah wore a white onesie with glittery gold lettering that read Halfway to One!, her legs poking out beneath a cloud of pastel tulle. A tiny white bow clipped into her curls completed the look.

Joe, naturally, wore his “#GirlDad” crewneck—the same one Angel had given him as a joke when Zariyah was born, but which he now wore unironically on every special occasion.

“You really committed to that sweatshirt, huh?” Angel said as she walked out of the nursery, phone in one hand, Zariyah balanced on her hip.

Joe grinned and tugged at the hem. “I don’t wear it. It wears me.”

Angel rolled her eyes, but her smile said she adored him.

They didn’t plan a party. No balloons. No elaborate cake. No stress. Just the three of them, their cozy home, and a shared understanding that every moment was already a celebration.

Angel opened the curtains wide, letting natural light flood the living room. She snapped picture after picture—Zariyah grinning with drool on her chin, staring directly into the lens with a deadpan baby model face that was somehow both dramatic and unimpressed.

“She’s already tired of the spotlight,” Angel laughed, crouching to get a better angle. “She’s gonna be one of those kids who refuses to smile on school picture day.”

Joe leaned in behind her, phone out, recording from a different angle. “She’s just warming up for her baby album debut. We’re giving her material.”

In the kitchen, they whipped up a makeshift “cake”—a mashed banana mixed with unsweetened applesauce, topped with a swirl of whipped cream that Angel piped from a Ziploc bag like she was on The Great British Bake Off!

“Don’t you dare judge me,” she warned, setting the tiny dessert on the tray of Zariyah’s high chair. “She doesn’t even have teeth yet. This is Michelin-star baby dining.”

Joe was already filming. “Alright, princess. Time to go full food fight.”

Zariyah stared at the offering for a moment, as if mentally assessing it. Then, without ceremony, she leaned forward and face-planted into the soft mess with wild determination.

Angel burst into laughter. “Oh my God, Joe—”

“She’s your child,” he said, zooming in. “You see that technique? Zero hesitation. That was full wide receiver instincts. Eyes on the prize.”

Banana was smeared across Zariyah’s cheeks, a chunk of whipped cream somehow lodged in her eyebrow. She looked up at them both with a triumphant expression and squealed.

Afterward, Joe gave her a warm bath while Angel rinsed the high chair and shook out the tutu. The baby tub became a splash zone, Joe soaked nearly to the elbows as Zariyah smacked the water gleefully with both hands.

“She’s part fish,” Joe said, lifting her out and wrapping her in a hooded towel shaped like a bunny. “A slippery, banana-scented fish.”

Clean and full, Zariyah went down for her second nap without protest, cheeks pink and warm from all the excitement. Her tiny arms flopped to the sides like she’d run a marathon.

Angel turned on the monitor, adjusted the volume, and made her way to the couch where Joe was already sprawled, a blanket draped across his lap.

She curled up beside him, tucking her legs beneath her and resting her head on his chest. One of her hands traced slow, lazy patterns over the cotton of his crewneck.

Joe turned his head and kissed the crown of hers.

“It’s crazy,” Angel murmured. “I still remember what she looked like in the delivery room. All wrinkly and loud and perfect. And now…”

“She’s got opinions,” Joe said, smiling. “And baby biceps.”

Angel chuckled softly. “She’s gonna walk soon. Then we’re screwed.”

Joe brushed his knuckles along her jaw, his touch light. “You did good, Angel.”

“We did good.”

There was a quiet moment between them. The kind of pause that didn’t ask to be filled. Only after a minute did Joe shift, speaking so softly it was almost like he didn’t want to break the spell.

“You wanna do it again?”

Angel blinked, lifting her head just slightly. “What, like… a whole other baby?”

He shrugged, playing it cool. But his eyes were warm. Honest. Hopeful. “Eventually. Not tomorrow. But she’s kinda fun.”

Angel narrowed her eyes. “You just want another excuse to buy matching sweatsuits.”

“And baby Jordans,” Joe added with a smirk. “Don’t forget those.”

Angel laughed, shaking her head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“But you love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

He pulled her in tighter, kissed her slow and deep. It was a kiss that tasted like banana and home and everything they’d built in six months of wonder and exhaustion and love.

Outside, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting amber light across the living room. The soft hum of the baby monitor glowed faintly on the table beside them.

Their home was quiet.

Full.

Brimming.

Six months down.

Forever to go.

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The rest of the day unfolded gently. Lazy. Peaceful.

They napped with Zariyah between them, her fingers wrapped around Joe’s thumb while Angel rested her hand over both of theirs. They woke slowly, tangled and warm, with the kind of stillness that felt sacred.

Later, after dinner and bath time, after more kisses and another round of her favorite lullaby, Zariyah finally gave in to sleep again—this time in her crib.

Angel stood at the doorway for a few seconds longer than usual.

“You okay?” Joe asked softly, his hand on the small of her back.

She nodded, eyes still fixed on their daughter. “Yeah. I just want to remember this.”

“You will,” he promised, squeezing her gently. “Every second.”

And somehow, she believed him.

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The house was quiet by nightfall, bathed in the kind of stillness only new parents could truly understand. Not just the silence of a sleeping baby, but the sacred hush that settled over everything once the last lullaby faded and the last light in the nursery dimmed. It was peace bought with spit-up, swaddles, and hours of whispered patience.

Zariyah had gone down easy—miraculously—with no tears, no fighting sleep. Just warm milk, her soft plush bunny tucked under one arm, and the soothing hum of Angel’s voice as she rocked her gently beneath the star projector’s soft glow. The familiar lullaby—half sung, half hummed—was the same one Angel’s own mother used to sing to her, its melody now passed down like a quiet heirloom.

Now, the baby monitor rested on the nightstand, its small green light pulsing steady next to a half-full glass of red wine. A low instrumental playlist played faintly from the Bluetooth speaker, barely more than a suggestion in the background.

Angel emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, her face freshly washed, skin dewy, curls wrapped neatly beneath a silk bonnet. She wore a ribbed tank and soft cotton shorts—nothing fancy, but the kind of effortless beauty that came with motherhood and comfort. Her body, once unfamiliar to her in those early postpartum months, had become hers again in a new way—stronger, softer, sacred.

Joe was already in bed, lying against the headboard with the blanket low across his hips, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweats that rode dangerously low. His arms were folded behind his head, exposing the full stretch of his torso—abs that were still somehow intact despite the snack binges and sleepless nights, and a chest that had become Angel’s favorite place to collapse into after long days.

He looked at her the way he always did when the world went quiet—like nothing else existed. Like she was the best part of his entire life.

“You look cozy,” he said, voice low and warm.

“Because I am cozy,” Angel murmured, crawling into bed beside him with the languid grace of a woman who had earnedevery second of rest. She stretched like a cat before settling into the crook of his arm, cheek pressed to the warmth of his chest. “And because I bathed our child, did bedtime, read Goodnight Moon for the forty-ninth time, and managed not to cry again today. So, yes. I am cozy. I am victorious.”

Joe chuckled, the low sound rumbling through her. “You earned that glass of wine.”

“I’m drinking it in my spirit. This is mommy time.”

He kissed her forehead. “Happy half-year of being the best mom in the world.”

Angel tilted her face up to give him a look—mock skeptical, teasing. “Aww. Look at you trying to get laid.”

“Is it working?”

Instead of answering, she straddled him in one smooth movement, her knees bracketing his hips, her thighs warm against his skin. Her hands settled on his bare chest as she leaned in, her eyes playful, her voice soft.

“You tell me.”

Joe’s hands slid up the backs of her thighs, thumbs stroking lazy circles over her skin. His eyes darkened as he took her in—her smirk, her curves, the heat of her settling against him.

“This what ‘mommy time’ looks like now?” he asked, his voice gravel-thick with want.

“This,” she whispered, lowering her lips to his, “is what six months of practice looks like.”

Their kiss started slow—familiar but charged, the kind of kiss built on years of knowing each other’s rhythm. One hand slid up her back, the other curled protectively around her thigh as they melted deeper into the moment.

“I missed this,” Angel breathed against his mouth. “Being touched without worrying about spit-up or the damn baby monitor lighting up like a siren.”

“Might need to make this a nightly ritual,” Joe said, lips brushing hers. “Get in a little extra practice.”

Her eyes glittered with amusement as she leaned back just a touch, her hips still resting on his. “Practice for what?”

Joe gave her a slow, devilish smile. “Round two.”

Angel blinked. “Round two?”

Joe shrugged like it was nothing, though his hands gripped her hips with purpose. “Just saying… we’re already elite parents. Why not run it back?”

She laughed, loud and full-bodied, pressing her palms to his chest to steady herself. “Sir. You get emotional one time during a stroller walk and suddenly you want another baby?”

“I said eventually,” he countered, grinning. “Unless you’re ovulating. In which case, I can clear tomorrow’s schedule.”

Angel gasped in mock offense, slapping his chest. “Oh my God, Joseph!”

“What?” he asked innocently. “You were the one crying this morning because she outgrew the pink footie pajamas with the little clouds on the toes. Don’t act like you’re not a little baby crazy.”

She tried to glare but ended up laughing again, shaking her head as she collapsed against him.

“You are not slick.”

Joe’s smile softened, and his hand came to rest on her stomach, just below her belly button. His voice dropped, quieter this time. “You’ve been thinking about it though. Haven’t you?”

Angel stilled.

His thumb traced lazy, tender circles. “Zariyah with a little brother. Or sister. Her chasing somebody around with her kitchen set. You pregnant again, walking around the house in your bonnet and my shirts, rubbing your belly like you’re baking a whole miracle…”

Her eyes softened, the laughter fading into something far more vulnerable. “I do think about it,” she admitted, voice almost shy. “Sometimes when she wraps both arms around my neck and laughs at nothing for like ten minutes straight, or looks up at me while I’m feeding her like I’m her whole world... I think, ‘Damn. We really made her.’”

Joe nodded, eyes locked on hers. “We could do it again. Make another little you. Or another me—with your eyes and your attitude.”

“More like your stubbornness and your dramatic genes,” she teased, though her voice trembled slightly now.

He shrugged, grinning. “Fair trade.”

Angel leaned in, pressing her forehead to his. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Not now. But… yeah. One day? I could do this again. With you.”

Joe kissed her slowly—no rush, no heat, just love—hands cupping her face like she was something precious. Because she was.

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

They stayed like that for a long time—wrapped up in each other, in the quiet thrum of the baby monitor, in the ache of how much they loved the life they’d built and the family they were still dreaming about.

Outside, the streetlights flickered on one by one. Inside, the bedroom glowed soft and gold. And somewhere, nestled between the laughter and the teasing, between Angel’s cotton shorts and Joe’s gray sweats and the steady pulse of something more, a new chapter began to write itself.

They didn’t know when.

But they knew one day… There would be one more heartbeat.

And they were already in love with it.

[cassandraclare]

A bit of publishing stuff (if you get my newsletter you've already seen this)

So by now you lovely people have all seen the announcement about what books I have coming up next. Ragpicker King is coming March 4, 2025, and The Last King of Faerie is coming early 2026.

I know a lot of you were hoping for LKOF to come earlier. It’s going to be a big gap between the last Shadowhunter book and the next — three years. Previously the longest gap between Shadowhunter books was two years, between Mortal Instruments and the Dark Artifices.

I announced last year that I was taking time off — six months. It was the first time I’d taken any real time off since 2005. The pandemic had just happened and I was wiped out physically and mentally. I also needed to take stock of where I was in my publishing journey and really think about what I wanted — it had been years since I’d had time to consider whether I was happy, because I always had another deadline and that was always more important.

  When I came to the end of The Last Hours, I was “out of contract” — meaning I didn’t have any further Shadowhunter books that were owned by or owed to a publisher.  it was the first time that had happened since, again, 2005. Being out of contract is your one chance to change anything you want to change about your career, and I knew I was going to leave my longtime US publisher of the Shadowhunter books and move to Random House, who published Sword Catcher.

This isn’t a small decision for any writer to make. It sometimes happens when a writer has been at a publisher for a very long time that the nature of the publisher changes. Maybe all the people you worked with when you first came to that publisher have gone elsewhere, so your team has inherited you rather than having chosen you. Maybe your publisher has been sold to another company whose vision for that publisher doesn’t fit with yours. Maybe your publisher isn’t interested in your genre anymore. 

I spent a lot of time agonizing over the decision—I certainly could have stayed where I was, but I knew that was no longer the best decision for the books. So those of you who pay attention to these kinds of details will note that where the other Shadowhunter books have all been published by McElderry Books, these next ones will be published by Knopf. (Who are an amazing imprint. They make great books.)

Normally a writer wouldn’t really address switching publishers — it happens a lot, and most readers don’t care who publishes a book. I’m talking about it now because I know there will be a lot of people who are angry and don’t understand why Ragpicker King is coming out before Last King of Faerie. The short answer is: Ragpicker King has been under contract since it was sold along with Sword Catcher, years ago now, and I’m obligated to get it done when I said I was going to. The books of The Wicked Powers are only just now securely under contract enough to be announced, as you just saw! So Ragpicker King is planned to be turned in in a couple of months, and after that I will be able to focus entirely on The Last King of Faerie (which I already began, but since it was only sold to Knopf last October, I was only able to get started after that).

And it takes a a year at least to write a book and another good year or so to publish it, and that gets us to the pub dates we’ve got. I would love if I could get it to you earlier, but multiple factors have brought us to this point, and in the end, not rushing through them is the best thing for the books, and will produce the best version of those books. I always want to get you my best work — that’s what is important to me above all things.

In terms of other publishers in other countries — I’m staying with all my longterm Shadowhunter publishers. Nothing’s going to change for y’all — Walker Books is still publishing Shadowhunters in the UK, even though a different publisher is going to publish In Fire Foretold there (due to spiciness.) ;) 

For those of you who backed the Kickstarter, that will mean you do get new Shadowhunter content between now and early 2026* — which was part of the reason I did it! I’m also talking to my new publisher about bringing Better in Black out — with at least a six month gap for the Kickstarter backers to have it to themselves — so fingers crossed. There’s also Black Volume of the Dead, the final Eldest Curses book, which is still planned and which I am still excited to write, but since it is set after Last King of Faerie, it hasn’t been scheduled yet. More news on that as it develops—for now, I wanted to talk directly about the schedule in the next couple of years, since I feel confident it is set and will reliably happen this way, something I can’t yet say about 2027 and beyond. The point is, I’m really excited to bring you Wicked Powers just as soon as it is ready, and I know enough about it to say  it’s going to be quite a ride!

And also an early look at In Fire Foretold.

[efflorescencesims]

→ t-shirts with a bunch of random things i enjoy! ☆ new mesh, bgc ☆ 11 swatches + 2 bonus swatches ☆ feminine frame / teen-elder ☆ custom thumbnail ☆ disabled for random please lmk if there are any issues, since this is my first real piece of cc!!

*ೃ༄ download (sfs)

since this is a thank-you gift, you will find the thank-you notes under the cut (quite cheesy + long)

first of all: thank you so much for 100 followers!!

i especially want to thank all my mutuals for being such amazing people, hyping me up every time i post and blessing my feed with their incredible talent. i don't normally like singling people out because of my fear of leaving people out but i wanted to give a special special shoutout to @miralure and @simulatd because they are literally the sweetest people ever!!

my page is almost a year old but i've only been consistently active since october and if you look at my earlier posts you can definitely tell my edits have gone through a few transformations. even now i’m not entirely sure what my niche is. i wanted to thank you guys for supporting me even when i give you whiplash while trying to figure out what i want my page to be!

i feel a little proud with the progress i’ve made last year, or rather in the last few months. i’ve started learning how to use blender (which i never thought i’d do) and honestly it’s the most fun i’ve had in a while!! it allows me to realize my silly ideas and has almost no limitations. i’m still very new to it, but i’m looking forward to the this year and to all the progress i’ll make.

as for cc making, i have so much respect for cc creators and what they're able to do. going into this with no experience and time to practice (because i gave myself a stupid time limit) was definitely not my smartest move. these shirts honestly don't look the best, which is a little disappointing but if you don't want them, just ignore them and look at the preview instead (which kind of sucks as well) !!

if you read all of this: thank you!! and if you didn't: thank you still!!

i know i'm a little late but nevertheless i wish everyone a happy new year!! i'm so excited to see what this year has in store for us <33 much love & see you soon (because i do need a short break after this...)

[thelittlewarrior98]

Hello!

So I know that this is an absolute long shot, but I wanted to share this here anyway in the hopes that someone in the Phandom could maybe help me coz I literally just don't know what else to do at this point 🥺🙏

My name is Holly-Jayne but most people call me Daisy, I'm 26 years old and I've been a part of the Phandom for over a decade now like D+P have pretty much always been my most favourite YouTubers and humans in the whole entire universe 💜

I've unfortunately never been able to see them live during any of their tours though as I've just sadly never been able to afford it!

It's always been one of my biggest ever dreams to finally go to one of their shows and maybe even meet them so I can finally thank them personally for everything they've ever done for me 💜

But then late last year I suddenly got very very sick to the point where I became bed bound and wheelchair bound and could no longer eat or drink anything without throwing up and I ended up losing way too much weight to the point where I genuinely looked like a living corpse and I was soooo so tired and in so much pain all the time and I even started struggling to breathe, but then after going through all of this for about 4 months as well as countless doctor appointments, miss-diagnosis including being told it's just anxiety and is all just in my head and also have to stay in hospital got about a week or so, I was very sadly diagnosed with Stage 4 (Terminal) Serous Carcinoma Ovarian Cancer that has spread to multiple areas of my body and I have now also completely lost my fertility because of it 😔💔

I also apparently had over 2 litres worth of fluid on my lungs which is why I was struggling to breathe and could barely even walk up the stairs without my legs just completely giving way.

So I've had to endure 6 very difficult and grueling rounds of Chemo which I actually finished around 2 months ago and I'm now on a targeted treatment that I have to have every 3 weeks for about a year and I also have to take blood thinners every single day for up to 2 years due to a rather big blood clot that they also found on my lung during my 1st round of Chemo!

I also almost died again during my 2md round of Chemo as I had a very bad reaction to it and stopped breathing for a couple of minutes......

We've had quite a few scares which I guess is just my new normal now, but i now as back to normal as I can be with Cancer and I'm very slowly but surely getting my life back together and just trying to live my life as much as I can for as long as I can as even though I'm terminal, I'd like to believe that I'll still be around for many many years to come and D+P have especially helped with his as watching their videos through all of the dark and scary times have always just completely cheered me up and put a smile on my face and they still give me the motivation and determination to fight and stay as strong and healthy as I possibly can be 💜

So yeah, it's probably been the most hardest and most painful year of my life, plus my grandad very sadly and suddenly passed away last October just before all of this happened and then we also very sadly lost my aunt in May of this year after a 16 year long battle with Cancer and my nan was also unfortunately diagnosed with Leukemia around the same time as my own diagnosis, so 2024 just hasn't been kind to us at all!

Soooo so much grief, pain and trauma that we're all still trying to deal with 😔💔

So yeah, when D+P announced the TIT I was absolutely BEYOND happy and excited like yessssss another chance for me to finally go and see them and potentionally meet them if I can get an M&G ticket and finally just something for me to look forward to after this very crappy year!!

But alas, time and luck once again just weren't on our sides as when the tickets were released for both dates we just so happened to be at the hospital for appointments and treatment and they all sold out before I even had a chance to try and buy them 😭💔

So I tried to use one of my wishes to see and meet them instead, but we've unfortunately just found out that the company no longer have any money and can't fulfill people's wishes anymore!!

But the thing is, we submitted the wish absolutely months ago like back when the tickets had just sold out and we never heard back from them at all until now when our macmillan nurse got in touch with them a few days ago, so they never even bothered to tell us which is really annoying and inconvenient because we could have maybe sorted something else out by now, but now we've only got a couple of weeks left and we're just at a complete loss as to what to do as this could literally be my last ever chance!!

Really starting to lose hope over ever getting to see or meet them now and I'm absolutely devastated as we just don't know when or if they'll ever go on tour again and even if they do, who knows if I'll still be here by then or how my health will be!!

I mean I'm always staying as optimistic and hopeful as possible, but we still just never really know......

So yeah, I just wanted to share this in the hopes that someone in the Phandom could maybe help in any way at all??

Idk how or what could be done or anything, but I thought it was worth a shot anyway as I've pretty much got nothing to lose at this point!

I was hoping for Manchester on the 29th btw as that's the only date that I'm able to do.

Thankyou soooo so much for reading all of this if you've actually made it this far, I appreciate it more than you'll ever know!

I'm in this Phandom business for life haha 🤣💜 @danielhowell @amazingphil @danandphilupdates @danandphilhq @danandphilnews @danandphilsaltsquad

[im-not-your-nice-jewish-boy]

we've got long memories

I am not the least bit surprised by any of the tidal wave of antisemitism the left has spewed since October 7th. Every single post saying Hamas did nothing wrong; every single targeted attack on my fellow Jewish people on this site; the number of people who proudly paraded misinformation and disinformation to the extent of funding organizations actual Palestinians have said outright don't help them in any way just because it's against Israel which means that it must be good. None of this is surprising to me.

Now, maybe you could say that I'm a cynical bastard, and you'd be right. But you'd also completely be missing why I'm a cynical bastard. I learned this from my mother, who was beaten up just for being Jewish as a child. I learned this from family who disappeared between my ancestors fleeing the countries they came from and looking to see who made it with them. I learned this from the story of one of my grandfathers picking a new birthday because his birth certificate had been burned when the Shul was destroyed so he had no idea when it was. I learned this from people using "Jewish" as an insult in school and watching a girl I knew break down in tears because people were calling her a Jew when she wasn't. I learned this from holiday after holiday that repeated the same verse of people trying to destroy us and us celebrating our survival.

We remember these things because the rest of the world is very good at deliberately forgetting them.

"It's not that bad because it happened to the Jews. It's not an actual problem because Jews are white anyway. Was the Holocaust really even so terrible? Why do you want to be oppressed so badly if not to use it as a weapon against people who you're oppressing yourselves?"

Some variety of every single one of those is something I've seen in recent memory.

So, dear Passionate Goy Internet Leftists who have spent the last few months attacking and accosting every single Jewish person who dares to speak on the issue in any way that doesn't make them a Good Jew?

My dear friend, just know that we will remember you. You can try to go back to normal. You can try to just sweep it under the rug. You can try to act like it was all just business as usual and there was no harm done to any "Good Jews" and just to the "Evil Zionists" (both of which deserve their own rant post and have multiple of them from people a lot smarter than I am).

We will remember what you did

You will never be able to make us forget you calling for our deaths

And most of all, we will outlive you, just like everyone else who ever bayed for our blood