#under read more bc it's very long and full of triggers

[lencra]

( SELF PARA ) : THE ESCAPE FROM KING'S LANDING AND THE JOURNEY TO STORM'S END... ― ft. @garrick-cargyll with mentions of @jaehaerysiitargaryen, @jaehaeraxtargaryen, @leolefford, @calla-lefford, @cerissalefford, @leanderlefford, @casterlygldcs, @withsilvereyes and @fromspringandfire.

DAYS INTO THE ESCAPE FROM KING'S LANDING

lenora had been spared being witness to violence for most of her life. one of the only times she saw a man die in a brutal manner, it was her own husband that lost his life. she had been adamant about witnessing his execution. it was also the first time she discovered how deep her apathy could be. she felt nothing when her late husband lost his life. no joy, no pain. there was more blood than she had expected, but that was all nora could really remember thinking. but now she had witnessed more brutality, a different kind. ser garrick and his men had fought to ensure their escape from king's landing. and while the princess consort had not been blind to the danger she had been in while there, it suddenly became crystal clear when queen daenerys attempted to stop them from leaving. she supposed the queen realised that if they left the city, she would have no hostages to use against jaehaerys.

she was slightly dazed as they travelled along the kingsroad towards storm's end. how had her life come to this? she had been at golden tooth and drawing plans for the gardens only moons ago. now she bore a targaryen heir, awaiting the return of her husband, all while fleeing from a queen who would have gladly kept her prisoner. most days were the same. they got on the road as soon as dawn provided light, they travelled all day with only small breaks. they made camp at dusk and ate before sleeping until dawn.

after days had passed, she sat quietly one evening while she ate the meal prepared for them. it was yet another stew. she had been nauseous all day, so she ate slowly as she glanced around the camp. they all treated her well and with respect, but she was still an outsider and she really felt it. garrick and jaehaera were always close. she had very quickly understood that there existed a strong bond between them. and while she would only claim that it made her happy to see, it also made her feel even lonelier. it was strange for her to feel lonely. normally she enjoyed being left to her own devices, but it felt different this time. perhaps there was a difference in choosing to be alone and being left alone. surprisingly, lenora had even started missing jaehaerys. while they did not love each other, there was at least some connection between them thanks to vows spoken in front of the gods and shared nights spent in the same bed. lenora thought of a warm body beside her, of intimate touches. she decided that she really must be lonely to sit and fantasise about nights with a husband she had not even wanted. lenora put the half-eaten bowl of stew down beside her, too nauseous to eat more of it.

"are you not going to finish your portion, your highness?"

lenora practically jumped out of her skin when one of the few servants they had brought with them was suddenly behind her. she was still jumpy from her time in king's landing. "no, i am not hungry. you can take it away." she raised an eyebrow as it looked like the servant was about to argue with her. however, she was soon distracted as she felt a painful twinge in her stomach at that moment. the pain was visible on her face as she put her hand on the barely noticeable bump of her pregnant belly. the servant quickly scurried away with the unfinished bowl of stew after that.

as the hour passed, she grew more uncomfortable by the minute. the pain had not ceased and her head had begun hurting too. lenora excused herself as she decided to rest in the carriage before it was time to sleep. she noticed how weak she felt when she stood up. thinking that the exhaustion of travelling, or perhaps an illness, was to blame, she started the short trek to the carriage. but with every step she took, she felt weaker and weaker. when she got to the carriage, the princess had to support herself by clinging to the side of it. she started dragging herself to the door of the carriage. despite not being able to think clearly, she knew something strange was happening as her body seemed to refuse to do what she wanted.

the noises of the camp faded into a buzz in the background. lenora did not hear when one of the guards asked if she was alright nor she did hear when he called out for ser garrick. all she focused on was getting into the carriage. she told herself that everything would be alright after she had the chance to rest on a padded seat for a few minutes. but as she managed to get up onto the step of the carriage by using the last of her strength, she found herself stumbling backwards as her knees buckled under her. she was caught by the guard who had been watching her for the past minute, clearly unsure what to do. she had no strength to try and get back up despite wanting to. she could do nothing but lay still as he lowered her to the ground. she could feel the commotion around her, how there was a sudden flurry of activity with people crowding around her, but she could not focus her gaze on anything. with her vision growing blurry, the last thing lenora truly saw was the maester crouching down and looking at her with a terrified look in his eyes. then she closed her eyes and did not properly wake again for many hours.

FOUR DAYS LATER

"we will be there soon."

lenora said nothing even though she knew the maester lied as he had said the same thing for days. they were still leagues away from storm's end. the carriage did not have enough space to fully lay down, so she was half slumped against the side of the carriage, trying to get some rest as every little bump in the road felt like agony. her stomach had been cramping since last night. she had been scared of falling ill again, of deteriorating, but the maester said it was likely hunger pains since she had refused most food, except a few cups of soup, since collapsing after being poisoned. but not even escaping the pain could entice her to eat. all she wanted was to sleep in a featherbed, to rest and heal, to feel properly safe again. lenora had been on edge in king's landing. she had always been flanked by guards, always watched closely by ser garrick. she was not naive. she understood the danger she had been in. but when they finally left king's landing after garrick and his men cleared the path, she was sure then that the worst threat had passed. but she had been wrong. they had all let down their guard and she had nearly died as a result. it was another tough lesson for the princess consort to learn. and whoever had wished to kill her had gotten away with it as the servant responsible for lacing her food with poison had fled.

they had been travelling for several hours and the sun was high in the sky when suddenly lenora felt it. the wetness between her legs. it had happened several times since her collapse. whatever dignity she had tried to preserve around the maester and her handmaiden was long gone. they had seen too much the last few days. shit, piss, vomit. it had been humiliating to feel so helpless, to be so vulnerable. she was thankful for them both as they tried to be as discreet as possible, to shield her from the rest of the party.

"we need to stop. i need clean clothes."

when the carriage stopped, she allowed the maester to help her up by holding on to one of her arms. but the moment he lifted her from her seat, she heard a loud gasp from the traumatised handmaiden who had already seen far too much. lenora wondered what could possibly elicit such a reaction considering the events of the last few days. had the poor woman not already seen everything? the princess consort looked down at the cushioned seat. she had expected to see a pool of urine as she had struggled to hold it since collapsing. a passing struggle according to the maester. but instead of urine, she saw a large blood stain. lenora immediately twisted the skirt of her dress around her in order to see the back of it. the dress was saturated with red too. the blood undoubtedly came from her. her heart sank to her stomach. she knew what it meant. somehow all women knew despite how rarely it was discussed. the assassin had not succeeded in taking her life, but they had taken the life of the babe that only a few knew about. she felt numb as she heard the maester mutter a prayer for the child, numb when her handmaiden tentatively took her hand and numb when the entire party was frantically called to a halt once more because of her.

the next hours were agony and lenora pretended to be somewhere else, anywhere else than where she was. she dealt with the pain but focussed on nothing else that went on. it was messy, bloody, painful and traumatising. she was given all the privacy possible, but they were out in the open and the others were able to hear what was going on. after it was all done and the last bloodied rag was taken away, she lay in her makeshift bed, staring at the campfire, when she heard the maester speak with ser garrick. "i have examined the babe and i believe it was a boy. there can be no doubt that he died from the poison." she stopped listening after that. lenora desperately wished that the maester would not have told anyone it was a boy. she wished that she did not know either as it only made the loss greater. a healthy son would have been her way to freedom, a security she did not yet possess, but now he would only be ash. when she was later asked if she wished to name him, she did not know what to say. she had no name for a child that would never open its eyes, a babe that was barely a babe judging by how small the wrapped bundle of his body was.

"it does not feel right to name the child without my husband present."

and so what would have been the little prince was burned without a name before the party of the two royal households continued onwards to storm's end.

TWO DAYS LATER AFTER THE ARRIVAL AT STORM'S END

the moment her head hit the pillow, she slept for almost an entire day. nothing stirred her until she woke up desperately thirsty. when lenora finally felt somewhat human again later in the day, she asked for paper and pen. she sat in bed and began writing letter after letter. one for jaehaerys, one for tyland, one for katherine, one for leo, one for leander, one for calla, one for cerissa, one for gwen. she even wrote a letter to laena. the letters were all short, some shorter than others, and they all contained facts instead of emotions. she informed them of the escape from king's landing, of the attempt on her life and the loss of her child. and that she believed that she was safe now despite everything. lenora knew there was no point in trying to hide it. there had been too many witnesses, too many eyes and ears around. whispers would reach her family sooner or later. at least by admitting to the miscarriage herself, she could control the narrative ― and all of them would know that the blame was to be placed on queen daenerys and her supporters.

the letters were collected by a servant with instructions to prioritise the letters written for jaehaerys, tyland and leo. after doing her duty of informing those who needed to know, her handmaiden found her tools for drawing. the princess sat in bed with her notebook in her lap and charcoal pencils in reach. but lenora only stared at the blank page with tired eyes as her hand kept still. it was rare for her to have a creative block. the last time it happened was after the death of her mother. she had not drawn anything for two moons after that. and it had been agony because drawing was her escape, it was her sanctuary. but once again, it seemed like she was unable to flee from reality when she needed it the most.

lenora started thumbing through the pages of her little book of drawings in hopes of inspiration. she stopped when she got to a drawing of a rose. she remembered drawing it in highgarden, and how proud she had been of the detailing. she recalled showing it to leo before attempting to talk to him about calla. her siblings not reconciling had been her biggest worry then. oh, how she wished that could still be her biggest worry. her fingers ran over the petals of the flower, the charcoal slightly staining the tips of her fingers. she hardly noticed when the first tear fell and smudged the charcoal drawing. despite everything that had happened since they left king's landing, she had not wept even once, but now there was no holding back the sobs that started to rock her body. the numbness she had felt left her. soon she felt the entire weight of all the sorrow and anger that she had held back for many moons.

no longer in control of her emotions, lenora started furiously ripping out page after page of the sketchbook as every drawing suddenly felt like a painful reminder of the life she had been forced to leave behind. she crumpled up the pages and dragged herself out of bed before making her way over to the lit hearth. she fell to her knees, still weak after her ordeals, as she started to throw each crumpled-up drawing into the flames, one after the other, and watched the fire consume the paper. she watched with wet eyes as the flames burned away the remnants of her former life, burning the reminders of the joy she had felt when drawing each illustration. strangely, she felt a wave of relief mixed with sadness and fury. lenora had desperately clung to who she was before marrying jaehaerys. she had pretended that she could carry on being the polite but slightly aloof lefford daughter, the lady who cared little for politics and wanted to be left alone to draw. and being exactly that had gotten her mother and son killed, it had nearly cost lenora her own life. it had even created friction with her husband only days into their marriage. watching her art burn felt like watching her old self burn away. she wondered if this was how her husband felt when he burned the lands during the war. the feeling of burning something until it became nothing, until it held no power over you anymore, until it became a clean slate.

when there was nothing but flame and ash left in the fireplace, her eyes had dried and lenora shakily rose to her feet again. she looked at the decimated sketchbook on her bed and the charcoal pens in the glass jar. after hesitating for only a moment, she threw the sketchbook into the fire too along with the pens. she had no need of them anymore. the fire roared as she placed the now empty jar on the desk. lenora cleaned up the mess that she had made, doing her best to wipe charcoal stains from the white linen, before she crawled back into bed. the unpleasant smell of burning leather filled the room. after she was sure there was nothing left to see in the hearth, she called on her handmaiden to extinguish the fire and open a window. as she laid down, pulling the covers up her shoulders and closing her eyes, lenora knew things would be different tomorrow when she woke again. she could no longer merely be a spectator to her own life unfolding before her. she had always done what she was told to do but rarely anything more. but she had to be more, she wanted to be more.

[submattsmxmmy]

🥀🕊 dead dove: don't eat (this fic contains dark material - read at your own risk)

hiiii, it's @ariestrxsh (this is my backup account, and here is my contribution to kinktober 🖤 no taglist included on this account bc it would be really complicated)

🥀🕊 content warning: smut, prey/predator dynamic, primal kink, establishment of safeword, knifeplay, rough sex, degradation, daddy kink, roughdom!chris

🥀🕊 author's note: if the idea of being chased around in the forest at night and then being brutally fucked by chris sturniolo doesn't sound fun to you, don't read this!!! i don't ever want my writing to trigger, offend, or upset anyone, so please just skip this one if the material sounds unpleasant to you. this is just for those of us who have this little dark fantasy. 🖤

🥀🕊 summary: while housesitting for your boss, an unsuspecting visitor drops by, and the night takes a twist.

a forest

"I'll give you a two-minute headstart," he rasped into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You took off, sprinting into the vast forest that was lit up by the full moon. Your sneakers crushed twigs and dead leaves as you wandered deeper into the woods.

You stopped for a moment to take in the sound of your surroundings, but the silence was eerie and unnerving. So quiet you could hear your heart about to pound out of your chest, along with the sound of adrenaline pumping your blood through your veins.

The thick, grey clouds in the sky slowly moved into the way of the moon, obstructing the light it emmited momentarily. You were excited to be chased, but something about this situation still triggered a primal fear in you. You started to run again, trying not to lose your sense of direction along with all the other sensory deprivation you were experiencing.

Suddenly, your shoelace snagged on a branch that had fallen, launching you forward into the forest floor beneath you.

*flashback to several hours earlier*

Your car made its way down the winding dirt road as you navigated directions to your boss' house, the branches above creating a dense canopy above you while you meandered through the tunnel of trees.

She was a sweet lady who owned the dog grooming business you worked at, and she was offering you some extra money to house sit for her, feed her cats, and water her plants while she was away on vacation.

It was a nice way to make some extra cash, and a nice way for you to get away from your roommates for a little while and enjoy some peace and quiet in the little woodsy area she lived in. An even bigger plus, she told you to help yourself to any of the food in her fridge and pantry, so it wouldn't spoil or go stale in the time that she was gone.

You slammed on your brakes, nearly losing traction and kicking up dirt as a fawn leaped out of nowhere and into the path of your car and stopped a few feet in front of your headlights. Your heart raced, but you immediately let out a sigh of relief as it got away safely and trotted off in another direction.

You'd never been to your boss' place before, but it wasn't hard to find, considering it was the only house around, and the nearest neighbors were at least a couple of miles away. You located your destination, and as you slowly ascended the driveway and admired the wooden structure, the full clouds above you started to release a light drizzle of rain.

It was a big, gorgeous, and charming home. You could tell a lot of work and money had gone into it, and you were even more excited to see the inside. You slung your bag over your shoulder, stepped out into the rain, and found the creepy owl statue, which the house key was hidden under. You put the key in the lock, turned it until you heard the click, and let yourself in.

It had a very rustic vibe, which really fit your boss, and you were so lost in the decor and the architecture that you were startled when a sweet, long-haired, black cat appeared at your feet and started rubbing up against your bare leg. She placed her two front paws on your black Converse shoe and peered up at you. "Hi, sweetie," you whispered, squatting down to let her smell you.

After she sniffed you for a few seconds, she drove her sweet face into your hand, and you scratched her under the chin. She started walking off in the other direction, looking back at you as if she wanted you to follow her.

You walked through the hall, through the living room, and into the dining room where two empty food bowls sat on the ground next to the fridge. "Awh, are you hungry?" You asked the cat as if she could respond to you, and you emptied a bit of dry food into both of the bowls, and as the sound of kibble ricocheting off the metal containers filled the room, another cat came bounding into view.

He was a short-haired brown tabby with white paws and a bit of white at the tip of his tail, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he got a look at you and ran the other direction to find something to hide under. "Can't win them all over, huh?" You said, peering down at the black cat as she gobbled up her food. She glanced back up at you and let out a soft meow as if she understood and went back to snacking.

You slowly walked through the rest of the house, acquainting yourself with the layout. You found your way to the guest room, which was right where you were told it was. Two doors down on the left after you walked through the second hallway that connected the kitchen to the bedrooms.

You set your bag down on the bed you'd be sleeping in tonight and backtracked to the kitchen to check out the drink and snack selection. You found a bottle of bourbon stored in the pantry that looked pretty fancy. You were of age, and your boss did say you could have any food or beverages she had, so you poured yourself a glass of bourbon over ice after you'd found her stash of whiskey glasses.

You grabbed some garlic stuffed olives from the fridge along with some aged cheddar and crackers you found, and you made your way to the living room to check out the entertainment. While you were flipping through apps on the television, you noticed some pictures above the fireplace.

Your boss had mentioned she had a son your age, but you'd never seen him until your gaze landed on his senior photo. "Holy shit," you whispered, admiring his beautiful smile and his lovely, blue eyes. Why hadn't your boss told you her son was so hot?

You popped an olive into your mouth and washed it down with a small sip of bourbon as you studied the picture collection she had on the mantel above the fireplace. Your eyes were immediately drawn to all the pictures of her son, and you couldn't help but allow your mind to wander while you looked at his photos. You'd never seen a man so attractive before.

You picked up a photograph of him in which he was shirtless and carried it back over to the couch with you. After looking at his picture a bit longer and taking a few more sips of your alcoholic drink, you turned your attention back to the television.

The sun had set by now, and you'd settled on watching Jennifer's Body. You'd seen it a dozen times before, but it was the only movie that sparked your interest after looking through several films on several different streaming services. Plus, you thought the movie was fitting, given it was October.

You were drinking your second glass of bourbon while you snacked on cheese and crackers when the scene came on where Jennifer and Needy make out. You were so lost in the steamy kiss that you had no idea anyone was in the room with you.

"Whatcha watching?" A voice came out of nowhere. You snapped your neck around, nearly dropping your drink, paused the movie, and asked, "Who the fuck are you?" before you could take in any of the boy's features. "I'm Chris. Who the fuck are you?" He returned the question, snorting at you.

"Sorry, you must be my boss' son," you quickly apologized, realizing he was the same man in the pictures. He was even more attractive in person. You stood up, wiping your crumby hands off on your striped shirt and your cut-off jean shorts.

You introduced yourself and extended your hand to shake his, but his gorgeous blue eyes flicked to the photo you had of him on the coffee table in front of you. "Like that picture of me?" He flashed you his million-dollar smile.

You ignored his question that felt like more of an accusation. "Sorry, I didn't know you'd be here. I was told I'd be staying here all alone," you responded, still caught off guard by his presence. "Well, I didn't know anyone would be here either. My mom told me someone was watching the cats, but I didn't know that meant you'd be here full time," Chris said, still caught off guard by your presence.

"Well, your mom told me I could sleep here and eat what you guys had in the fridge. I'm not doing anything weird," you replied. "Sure, you're not," Chris smirked, his gaze flicking back up at the frozen frame on the television of the girl-on-girl kiss scene you were watching. "It's not weird at all to watch porn on your boss' couch while you have a picture of her son next to you."

"Oh, my god, I'm not watching porn. This is just some horror movie on Hulu," you turned bright red, reaching for the remote and shutting off the film. "Well, either way, I won't tell my mom you're drinking her bourbon and watching softcore lesbian porn in her living room as long as you don't tell my mom I stop by here sometimes when she's out of town. I have a long weekend, and I just wanted to get away from my dormmates and come spend some time alone here," Chris told you.

"It's not porn.. whatever," you shook your head, giving up trying to defend yourself. "Your secret is safe with me," you said, taking in all his aesthetically pleasing features. "You don't mind if I hang out and stay the night here, do you? I just drove like two and a half hours, and I'm pretty tired," he bit his lip at you, and you nearly melted.

"No, I don't mind. After all, it is your house." Chris plopped down on the couch next to you and pulled out some rolling papers and a bag of weed. "You smoke?" He asked, looking up at you. "Yeah," you responded, sitting back down on the couch beside him.

"Smoke this joint with me on the deck?" He offered, while he packed the paper full of ground weed. "Sure," you accepted. He looked into your eyes while he licked and sealed the joint. "Follow me," he muttered as he stood up and started to make his way to the back door that led out to the wooden deck that wrapped around the back-half of the house.

The rain had let up by now, but the scent still lingered in the air. The two of your found yourselves leaning over the railing, staring up at the full moon and the few stars that were visible between the clouds while you passed the lit joint back and forth.

"Guess I should have asked this before I invited you to smoke with me, but how old are you?" He wondered. "Twenty-one. How about you?" You asked, giving him the joint back after blowing a puff of smoke into the air. "Same. You like working for my mom?" He wondered, glancing over at you.

"Yeah, actually. You know, everyone really respects her because she's a little bit of a hard ass, but she's really understanding. She doesn't treat us like cogs in her machine like some of my former employers. She treats us like we're actually human," you shrugged. "That's been my experience with her, too. She's a no-bullshit type of woman. Kind of hard on you when you need it. But a really caring and genuine person," Chris told you, taking another hit.

"What are you studying in school?" You asked him. "I've changed my major like a dozen times because I can't focus on any one thing, but right now, I'm leaning towards something in finance," he replied.

"I like the taste of these rolling papers," you told him. "Yeah? They're vanilla," he responded. "That's the best flavor. Except when it comes to sex," you mumbled under your breath and giggled. "Oh, yeah?" Chris raised his eyebrows and glanced at you, smiling and shocked to hear you say such a thing. "How freaky are you?" He asked, taking another puff off the joint.

"Well, freaky is subjective," you started off. "And that's how I know you're a freak," Chris glared in your direction, still smiling. "If you'd given me a definitive no, when then, that answers that question. If you'd given me a definitive yes, that could have meant that your definition of freaky is like getting your hair pulled while you're in doggy or something," he replied, passing you back the doobie. "Well, I do like that," you chuckled. "Yeah, but what other freaky shit are you into?" Chris' curiosity had been sparked.

"I'm not telling you. I just met you," You widened your eyes at Chris and shot him an embarrassed smile. "You're the one that brought it up. I'll tell you what I'm into if you tell me what you're into," Chris promised, dying to hear you confess all your naughty fantasies to him. You rolled your eyes at him while you heavily blushed.

"Okay, fine. I really like being tied up, spit on, choked, slapped around, having my hair pulled.." You started to say, but your voice trailed off. "What else, pretty girl? I can tell you're holding back with me," Chris lowered his gaze to your lips. "Well, you might judge me," you said, taking a puff of the joint and returning it to Chris. "I don't kink-shame," Chris chuckled in a low voice.

"Okay, well I like being degraded, humiliated, talked down to, that kind of thing," you responded, nibbling on your lip and looking for Chris' reaction. "Keep going," he encouraged you, intrigued to hear what else you were going to say. "I kind of get turned on by things that would scare the average person. Like knives, blood, and like being chased. Stuff like that," you admitted, gazing down at the ground, afraid of what he'd think of you.

"Such a little whore," he said in a seductive tone. Your heart raced, and you peered up at him. "What a coincidence, because I like degrading and humiliating girls like you, and I love to hunt my prey before I fuck it," Chris curled his lips into a menacing smile while his dark eyes piercing through you. He put out the joint and clenched his jaw at you waiting for you to say something, but the words were caught in your throat.

"I mean, I'm making assumptions here, but I think you're into me, and I think you want me to chase you," Chris sneered at you, tilting your chin up at him. You hesitantly nodded your head. "You can be my little fawn, and I'll be the hungry coyote," Chris cooed, running his thumb along your bottom lip that was pink with arousal. You nodded again. He took a few steps closer to you until you could feel the warmth coming off his body.

"Just remember. I know this forest better than you do, princess," his words triggered the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. "In honor of Halloween, your safeword is Beetlejuice."

You weren't sure how long you'd been running for. It could have been forty-five seconds, or it could have been ten minutes. You felt disoriented, your perception seemingly disconnected from reality as time seemed to fold in on itself. The smell of wet dirt filled your senses as you got a face full of it. You placed both of your hands on the soil and grass beneath you to prop yourself back up onto your feet, but your shoelace was still stuck.

Instead, you scooted yourself down towards your feet, frantically reaching around for the branch you were caught on. After fiddling around with it for a few seconds, you whispered to yourself, "Shit." You ultimately decided to pull your shoelace untied, and tried to knot it back up quickly before getting to your feet and bounding further into the woods.

You weren't sure if you were even running the right way or if you were tracing your footsteps back from where you just came. That's when you heard his footsteps, dead autumn leaves crushing under his weight, and you whipped around in the direction you heard the crunch.

You hoped it was the attractive boy you just met, stealthily setting his sights on you through the trees where he could see you but you couldn't see him, rather than an actual coyote, but you expected him to chase you and tackle you right away. Instead, he was behaving like a four-legged wild animal - stalking you. Hunting you.

You heard a few more brittle leaves and twigs crack as he slowly stepped closer to you. You took off, sprinting as fast as you could, still a bit unsure about what was chasing you. He was hot on your heels, and you made it only a few more feet before he lunged forward, grappling you to the forest floor.

You fell on your stomach, and the pressure knocked the air out of you. You were almost relieved when you felt human hands tearing at your clothes, and you heard Chris whisper, rasping in your ear from behind you, "Gotcha!" He ripped your shirt off of your torso in a swift motion, and you gasped as you tried to get away from him, but his hands were strong, and he had all his body weight on you, his erection stabbing you in the backside as you squirmed, digging your nails into the soil beneath you.

You grew increasingly wet as you heard him fiddle with his belt buckle and his zipper. Then he tugged your shorts down and took them off you. He didn't waste his time, pulling your panties to the side and lining his length up with your entrance.

He roughly pushed into you, causing you to sharply inhale and whimper as he started moving his hips back and forth, stretching you out. You'd been caught and defeated, but you loved every second of the way Chris took you. You began arching your back and leaning back into the boy while he fucked you senseless.

You could hear his deep, animalistic grunts in your ear and you could feel his hot, shallow breath on the back of your neck. You couldn't conceal how much you loved it. You threw your head back and let out a few loud, satisfied sounds.

Your hands and your knees dug into the soft ground beneath you while you graciously took Chris' rod. He pounded into you, the sound of his hips slamming into your ass echoed throughout the forest and reverberated through your body. Chris placed his hand on the back of your head and pressed the side of your face into the dirt while he began to fuck you harder.

"You fucking love it, don't you? Such a worthless little cunt," Chris grunted breathlessly. You responded by rolling your eyes back into your head and moaning at his words. "I'm gonna flip you around, slut, and if you try to run away from me, it's not gonna go well for you," he whispered in a raspy voice.

As soon as he pulled himself out of you and went to grab you and turn you onto your back, you jumped up and took off running in nothing but your thong and your sneakers. You couldn't wait to see what he had in mind.

"Bitch!" Chris growled as he pulled up his pants and started chasing after you again. You didn't get far before he tackled you to the ground again and flipped you onto your back. "What did I fucking tell you? Defiant little brat. You're gonna be sorry you ran from me," Chris chuckled under his breath as he nudged your legs open and pinned both your wrists above your head with one of his strong, veiny hands.

You watched Chris pull something out of his pocket, and you noticed the way the moonlight bounced off of it and made it glimmer. It was something long and metal. As well as sharp, you noted as Chris started teasing you with it. He took the blade and started running it along the center of your rib cage.

He brought the knife up to your chest and started grazing the curve of your breasts. Your breath quickened. You shuddered at the feeling of the cool metal as he subtly grazed your nipples with it. He did this over and over until adrenaline was flowing through you. You were both worried and excited that he may actually draw blood.

He dragged the cold, sharp edge down your stomach and replaced the tantalizing feeling of the blade against the sensitive buds on your chest with his soft, pouty lips. He engulfed each nipple, swirling his tongue around and eliciting sweet whines from you while the knife grazed the insides of your thighs. You felt it rest up against your vulva through your panties, and suddenly, Chris took the switchblade, hooked it into the strap of your underwear, and sliced them off of you.

You gasped and squirmed beneath him, fear and excitement flooding your system. The forest was so eerily quiet besides the sounds of your desperate mewls that Chris could hear your heartbeat. "Do you trust me?" Chris whispered in a creepy voice as he took the switchblade and held it up to your neck, nestling his cock back into your sweet, wet pussy.

You barely knew him, but you had to trust him. After all, he was weilding a weapon and holding it about an inch away from your carotid artery and one subtle move, purposeful or accidental, could end your life or at the very least, put you in critical condition. "Yes," you managed to choke out.

"Your pussy is all mine. You're nothing more than my little cock sleeve. Isn't that right?" Chris degraded you while he thrusted into you, still holding your wrists down overhead. It turned you on even more that you were letting a stranger fuck you, and not just any stranger - your boss' son.

"Fuck, you take daddy's cock so well," he chuckled, causing you to smile and letting your eyes roll back into your head once more. You hadn't even told Chris about your daddy kink, but it's like he could smell it on you. "Yes, daddy," you whined as he pounded deep into you, hitting the spot with every stroke. He knew just what to say and do and how to fuck you just right.

Chris loved the way your cunt swallowed his length perfectly and how warm and wet you were as he did what he pleased. He loved the way you were getting off on your own fear and adrenaline. He could feel you losing control, your body convulsing beneath him and your tight hole rhythmically clenching around him. Waves of euphoria traveled through your veins, filling every one of your senses with pleasure.

"You're so pathetic and needy to cum, aren't you?" Chris cooed in a condescending tone. "Yes, daddy," you whimpered. "I don't know if you deserve to. You've been such a naughty girl," he shot back. "Please, daddy," you whined, squirming around. He relished in the way you begged over and over, flirting with the idea of letting you cum with every desperate plea that escaped your lips.

"Beg harder for it, slut," Chris replied in a deep voice. "Daddy, please, I need it," you cried out. He delivered a few more hard thrusts before he gave in to your whining. "Okay, fine. Cum on my daddy's cock, slut," Chris huffed, pressing the knife to your neck with just a bit more pressure.

All you needed were those magic words, and you reached the point of no return. Your orgasm swept you under like a strong current you couldn't stop, carrying you in its flow, and you surrendered to the feeling. It ripped through you mercilessly, leaving you in a pool of your own drool and cum. You spasmed around Chris' cock while you finished onto him.

The way your body reacted tipped Chris over the edge as well, sending him through the same euphoric sensations. He loudly moaned, slammed his eyes shut, and slacked his jaw before he pulled out and finished all over your stomach. He admired the way the moonlight caught his load and made it glitter against your flesh. "Fuck, I needed that," Chris breathlessly mumbled, squeezing out every last drop.

He switched the blade shut, put it back into his pocket, and pulled up his pants while the two of you caught your breath. Your legs were numb, and you couldn't think straight, recovering from the thrilling experience. You laid still for a few moments, your gaze fixed on the stars that were scattered overheard and barely visible through the storm clouds.

Chris grabbed you, slung your naked and mud-covered body over his shoulder, and then climbed to his feet to carry you back to the house. "Don't worry. I know exactly where we are. I'm gonna get you back safe."

[ghoulbrain]

Happiness is a Warm Gun

18+ 4.5k ghoul x f!reader. predator/prey roleplay, lite bondage lite cnc into enthusiastic consent, heavy gun kink/play, pet names, clothed/naked sex, creampie, aftercare. ends tender bc i can't help myself. gif credit. written for my darling @luckytiggertalia, who asked for excessive gun kink and captor/captive. thank you! 🖤 written as a successor to Saddle Up, Sweetheart, but can be read as a stand-alone.

Being in a relationship with the world’s most notorious bounty hunter lands you in some strange situations, but none stranger than those you concoct for yourselves. You run, and the Ghoul hunts you.

The Ghoul is one of the fiercest bounty hunters in New California, yet regardless of how terrifyingly efficient he is, everyone knows he only takes on payouts worthy of his time. With his long shadow stretching out across the west, most hunters are reluctant to take on bounties over a certain threshold, lest they accidentally come between him and his quarry.

Which, at this moment, just so happens to be you.

You’ve made it to a Red Rocket truck stop just half a mile west of Junktown. What was once a glorified gas station in a world long-gone now serves as little more than a hollowed out shell providing shade for all manner of miscreants and creatures wandering the dusty wastes, still decorated in tiny reminders of life before the war.

Crouched down behind a counter, your back pressed to the grime painted wall beneath a window, you spot a heavily aged cardboard carton labeled Grey Tortious Famous Cigarettes wedged at the very back of the second shelf behind the counter. Clicking your tongue softly, you reach for it, using the barrel of your pistol to catch the corner of the box. Carefully–and quietly–you drag it close enough to grab.

Your hopes aren’t high, but–

Jackpot.

Smiling faintly, you extract a crumpled but still half-full pack of cigarettes from the carton. You glance around, eyes wandering until you spot the decrepit remains of some poor bastard collapsed against the far wall, still garbed in their threadbare signature Red Rocket uniform. With a slight nod, you fish a single cap out of a small pouch on your belt and slide it onto the shelf.

“Pleasure doing business,” you murmur to the corpse, tucking the cigarettes carefully into the pack strapped to your thigh.

A shrill whistle, the kind you’d call a dog with, snaps your attention back to the moment. You press your back tight against the wall, sucking in a sharp breath to hold.

“Alright, darlin’, y’little goose-chase is over,” the Ghoul calls into the lot. Your heart begins to race. He sounds close. “I’m man enough to admit y’outfoxed me back at the yard, that was clever. But’cha got nowhere to slip to now,” he says, voice gradually growing louder. It’s not long before you can hear the crunch of his boots in the gravel.

You screw your eyes shut, steeling yourself with a silent breath before opening them again. He’ll have to circle the building to get where you are. The crunch of his boots is louder with each step. If he keeps yapping, it’ll be even easier to track the moment he moves out of eyesight of the window you’re hiding under, and you’ll be able to creep out to get behind him. Your grip on your pistol flexes, finger poised off the trigger.

The footsteps outside grow quiet enough that you can no longer hear them over the thundering of your heart. He hasn’t said anything, but you give it an extra few seconds to be safe, holding your breath as you gingerly lift out of your crouch, careful to keep your head beneath the window frame, eyes on the door across from you. Even if he sees you, you’ll have time enough to–

You’re jerked backwards suddenly by your jacket, a scream yanked out of you as you’re pulled against the window, knocking into it.

“There y’are,” he says through his teeth, hauling you up to your feet. Fuck, he faked you out with his steps. He holds you against the window, the edge of it biting into your back, his fist curled tightly in the collar of your jacket. “Give it up, darlin’. Y’all mine now,” he coos, his voice a sinister rasp at your ear. 

Out of desperation, you drop your pistol and throw your arms up, slipping out of your jacket and stumbling forward onto your hands and knees. Your boots skid on the floor as you scramble to your feet, launching into a run. You look over your shoulder just in time to see him vaulting in through the window, scaring you into running faster.

Where you intend to run is a problem to be solved as you go.

Unfortunately for you, the Ghoul is a step ahead. Gunfire startles you halfway out of your skin, but it’s the sign that falls in your path that stops you in your tracks. You look up and see a woven cable swaying, frayed from where the crazy son of a bitch managed to shoot it clean apart. You gear up to bolt to the left, but it’s already too late. The tell-tale hiss of a rope whipping through the air is your only warning before the lasso tightens around your arms and sternum, one sharp yank pulling you off your feet and down onto your back.

The world spins. You let out a soft groan, moving to roll onto your side, but he keeps you from it with a hardy pull, gathering the rope in his hands as he walks to you.

The Ghoul lets out a low whistle, his shadow falling over you. “Close, but no cigar, sweetheart,” he drawls, crouching over you. 

Disoriented, you stare at his upside down face. He’s got his head tilted, lips parted in a crooked sneer of a smile. His eyes are dark enough that you can see yourself in them, glinting with predatory glee. You can’t hide the trill of excitement that runs through you over being looked at like that. He clicks his tongue.  

“N’aw, don’t you look plumb tuckered,” he says, voice laced with condescending sweetness. “No rest for the wicked, m’afraid,” he says, slipping his hands under your arms and hauling you up to your feet.

“You could’ve killed me,” you rasp, throat scorched by the dry desert air.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he deflects, amused. “Y’all in one piece, ‘ain’t’cha?” His breath is a warm tickle on your neck. With the rope tight across your sternum, arms pinned to your sides, he slides his gloved hand up your thigh, over your hip. His fingers tap along as he does, tickling your ribs, cupping your breast before sliding all the way up to your throat. 

The barest hint of his lips brushes the spot just behind your ear, the feeling so faint you could have made it up entirely. You shiver, pulling sharply away, but he pulls you right back in, the worn leather of his glove soft around your neck, his grip firm. 

“Mmhm, seem perfectly intact t’me,” he says, giving your throat a steadying squeeze. “No need t’put up a fight, angel. Y’comin’ with me either way.”

This time he presses his scarred lips properly to your skin, the feel of them warm and wet. Wanting. You swallow the lump in your throat, clench your thighs against the heat building between them. 

“Let go of me,” you say, fighting to put conviction in it. 

“No can do,” he says, his breath prickling goosebumps from your scalp to your thighs. “I’ve struck the motherlode with you.”

 The rope is tied low and tight enough that you can’t elbow him or shoulder your way free. Impulsively, you move to kick at his leg, but he outmaneuvers you, catching your kick with his boot and spinning you around so suddenly you gasp.

“Oohh, y’ve got fire,” he says, lips pulled thin in a devilish smile. “I’m gonna enjoy breakin’ you.” Something hard presses into your rib, and you don’t need to look down to know it’s the muzzle of his revolver. He draws the hammer back into place with a distinctive click. 

“Why don’t you be a good li’l captive and mosey on ahead?” He says, turning you until the gun is pressed into your lower back. You suppress a shudder. That’s when the world suddenly goes black, the press of the gun briefly vanishing while fabric is pulled tight over your eyes.

Wherever he’s taking you, he wants it to be a surprise.

The Ghoul walks you at gunpoint. He keeps the rope between you taut, the barrel of his gun pressed firmly to your back. The venture there is quiet, your gait tense with anticipation. A sick little thrill runs through you every time he yanks the rope or gives you a deep jab with his gun. There’s pleasure in his voice when he tells you, “Mind your step, sweetness.”

He knows precisely the effect he has on you, even if it took him time and a half to believe it.

His knuckles dig into your back as his fingers hook over the rope, holding it like a harness as you descend a flight of stairs. He catches you when you stumble on the last step, but it still startles you.

“A warning would have been nice,” you say, turning your head blindly, angling to try and get any glimpse of your surroundings from beneath the blindfold.

“Apologies,” he drawls, not sounding very sorry at all. He nudges you forward with his gun. “I like watchin’ you struggle.”

“Yeah, you make that very–” A hard tug on the rope cuts you off and stops you in your tracks. The rope comes loose after that, full circulation returning to your hands in a rush that makes them tingle. The Ghoul’s steps resonate in the room–it sounds large, mostly empty–as he walks away from you. You stay still for a hesitant moment, head jerking at the sound of something scraping across the floor towards you.

“Awwh, ain’t you sweet, waitin’ for permission,” he says, making you flush. You quickly reach up and pull the blindfold from your eyes, blinking to adjust to the dimly lit room. 

It looks like a cleared out storage facility of some kind, with cement support beams lined up in a row down the center of the room, the walls lined with ransacked steel shelving. There’s a wire frame bed braced against one of the beams, heaped haphazardly with some pillows and blankets. 

The Ghoul sits on a rusty wrought iron chair in front of you, staring up from beneath the wide brim of his hat. From his thigh, he has his revolver fixed on you. 

“Atta girl,” he says as the blindfold hits the ground. “Now take off the rest.”

The low resonance of his voice easily commands the room. You swallow the lump in your throat, glancing down the dark barrel of his gun. Biting your tongue to keep yourself from showing too much excitement, you hurriedly reach for your–

The gunshot is deafening in the echoing expanse of the room, drowning out your scream. Already high on your own anticipation, the shot of adrenaline that goes through you with the startle nearly knocks you off your feet. 

His gun smokes in the wake of the shot that narrowly missed your reaching hand.

“Slow,” he tells you, cocking the hammer once again with his thumb.

The pound of your heart is rivaled only by the aching throb between your thighs. Breathing shallowly, you keep your eyes trained on him as you–slowly, this time–reach for your belt, pouches shifting as you unbuckle it. You lay it carefully on the ground, mindful of the treasures you acquired at the gas station, before you kick off each boot.

His gaze is heavy on you all the while, eyes dark and attentive to your every move. Your focus is on the tip of his gun, how it subtly follows along with your hands. You peel each layer off without taking your eyes from him, a shiver moving through you once your hands touch bare skin, purposefully sliding them down your hips, your legs, and then moving them slowly back up as you stand back up, stepping out of the garments pooled on the floor.

He tilts his gun sideways and beckons you forward with it, tipping his head back, dark eyes tracking your every move as you approach him. One at a time, he spreads his legs. “On y’knees, darlin’.” You obey, sinking down–slowly, he told you slow–onto your knees between his legs, bringing yourself to eye level with his gun. The cement floor feels harsh against your bare skin.

“Y’got my gun dirty runnin’ me out into the wastes like that,” he chides, leaning forward, pressing his gun to your sternum. With agonizing slowness, he drags the muzzle up through the valley between your breasts, to the notch beneath your throat, pressing into it briefly. He continues up, the metal cool against your burning skin, though not by much. He hooks the barrel under your chin and tips your head back.

“Clean it for me,” he says, pushing it between your lips.

While you open your mouth too readily for the game at hand, he doesn’t protest. The taste of the gun is bitter and metallic, but what strikes you most is the black powder residue. It’s charred with a sharp tang. A moan escapes you for the way he pushes it deeper, forcing your lips wider apart.

“Don’t be shy. Give ‘er a good spit shine, sweetheart,” he encourages, pulling the gun back only to push it deeper yet. You comply, welcoming the slide of it deeper, pressing your tongue into the grooves on the underside, your eyes half-lidded and glazed with desire. “Good,” he says, voice rough with the effect you’re having on him.

Hands braced on your own bare thighs, your nails bite dull little crescents into your skin. The rock of your body is entirely subconscious, your eyelids fluttering. It’s easy to lose yourself to the work at hand, to luxuriate in the weight of his gaze on you while he uses you, fucking your mouth with the full barrel of his gun. He’s so committed to the fantasy, you can’t help but buy into it wholly.

By the time he pulls the gun away your chin is spit slick and your tongue is tingling where you’d been pressing it to the barrel. He gives an appreciative whistle while inspecting the wet shine of his gun. “That’s better,” he says, gaze sliding to you. He stands, grabbing a thick handful of your hair to haul you up to your feet with him. The noise you make is humiliating. Needy. His answering grin is wicked.

“Time t’oil it,” he says, voice frayed at the edges. He doesn’t let that trace of impatience impact his movements any. He walks you to the bed with that same loose devil-may-care swagger, assured that he has all the time in the world to take you apart piece by piece. 

The mattress’ metal coils groan with your weight as he tosses you onto the bed, standing at the edge of it. The bed stands taller than most, bringing your pelvis parallel to his when you’re on your knees. He grabs your thigh and yanks your ass up into the air, smoothing his hand over the swell of it. He gives a sharp little slap to your rear that wrings a gasp out of you. The way he smooths his leather clad hand over the smarting spot afterwards almost feels like an apology, even if he’s really just admiring his handiwork.

“Spread,” he orders simply. You do so eagerly, widening the splay of your knees, folding your arms to rest your head on. “Look at you,” he breathes with genuine wonder, gripping your ass cheek and holding it firm while he inspects you. You can already feel what he’s looking at, how wet you are from his teasing. “Y’fuckin’ drippin’ for me.”

A shiver rolls through your whole body at the feel of his gun against your inner thigh sliding slowly upwards. Your hips give a reflexive little buck at the first touch of that warm barrel against your soaked cunt, your clit throbbing so hard it aches. “Don’t move,” he tells you. He sounds wrecked. He moves it back and forth, teasing your clit with just the muzzle of it before drawing back, and your thighs tremble with the effort to keep yourself still when all you want is to chase that precious relief.

The hiss of his zipper is the most thrilling noise you’ve ever heard. The gun disappears from between your thighs.

“Up,” he tells you, taking a rough hold of your shoulder and yanking you upright before you have the chance to comply. He holds you still while he lines himself up, the familiar thick head of his cock grinding through the wet slide of you, the length of him rubbing from taint to clit. “Y’made this big mess just from suckin’ down my gun? Christ alive, darlin’. You’re somethin’ else,” he says through his teeth. The ruin in his voice makes it feel like praise, and that feels good.

Almost as good as the slow burn of his cock pushing into you, the sound of it obscenely loud and wet. You tip your head back against his shoulder and reach back over your own, grabbing at his coat, holding onto him for dear life while he sinks deeper and deeper, pulling you back until your bare ass falls flush against him. Feeling his clothing against your bare body intensifies that intoxicating feeling of vulnerability. Never in your life has the thrill of danger been safe to explore.

Not until him.

He gives you no time to adjust, thrusting almost as soon as he’s bottomed out. 

“Fffuck,” you exhale, eyes screwed tightly shut. You start to lean forward, but he catches you by the throat, pinning you back against his chest at the same time he fires his gun, shocking your eyes wide open. Your body goes rigid, cunt seizing up so tightly around him he hisses out a breath.

“C’mon, little bunny,” he whispers in a vicious grit, pressing the still-warm muzzle firmly against your temple. “Bounce for me.” He cocks the hammer back, the smell of black powder filling your senses. 

You nod fervently, lifting up on your knees and using the mattress to bounce yourself on his cock, gravity bringing you down into every one of his hard thrusts. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, sighing his pleasure in strained little sounds. His hand slides down your throat to your chest, cupping your breast and squeezing, thumbing your nipple until you shudder.

“Close,” you moan, fist twisting in the fabric of his coat, your other hand clutching the wrist of the hand he’s fondling you with. “Please.”

His only response is to slide his hand down further, fingers slipping between your thighs. His middle finger finds your clit first, the friction making your hips jerk out of rhythm. He persists, fingering your clit in smooth circles while he fucks you hard.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, his breath hot and wet on your neck. “All that fight’s gone now, ain’t it? Just a needy li’l thing beggin’ t’cum.” You’re so close you’re starting to shake, breath caught in your throat. “Go on, angel. Lemme hear how pretty you can beg.”

His fingers slow enough that your ascension falters. “Please!” You rasp immediately, squeezing his wrist, begging in every way you know how to. “Please, m’so close, please make me cum, please,” you plead, voice pitchy, your thoughts empty of everything but pleasure. He’s fucking you hard, chasing his own release just as fervently.  

Just like that his touch returns to full force, deftly working your clit until your pleasure crests and your pleas turn to cries. Your orgasm hits like an earthquake, a sudden eruption that renders you silent, your lips falling open on a noiseless scream. Your body locks up like a vice, euphoria turning your vision white and emptying your mind of all thought while pleasure cascades through you in hot liquid waves.

He doesn’t stop, though his thrusts slow. He fucks you deeply through your orgasm, savoring every quiver around his cock while he uses you. You don’t hear him come, but you feel it, the deep rush of heat that he empties into the core of you, his body going still against yours. Your whole body shudders and you exhale a broken little noise, dizzy from the magnitude of it all. Everything around you feels bleary, your vision fading in and out. For a moment, you feel as though you might float away from your body entirely, your consciousness barely holding on, but the feeling of him pressed against your back, holding you to him, grounds you.

He moves the gun from your temple and holsters it, adjusting his grip so that he can ease you down onto your stomach, slipping from between your legs. You pant hot puffs of air into the bedding, your vision blurry at the edges.

“Coop,” you call, signifying the end of your little game of pretend.

“M’right here,” he soothes, his bare hands upon you not a moment later. There’s a marked difference in the way he touches you now, a subtle tenderness that he’d forced out of his touch for the sake of play. You hadn’t realized how much you missed it until now, feeling it as if for the first time. 

He slides into bed next to you, having shed his gloves, coat and bandolier. You find the strength to slip an arm around him, clinging despite the tremble in your limbs. The next several seconds–moments, maybe hours, you can’t be sure–pass by in a haze of touch.

He kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips. He makes you aware of your entire body, grounding you with sweeping touches to every part of your body. It’s an intoxicating intimacy that leaves you feeling warm and drunk, still hungry for more.

 At some point Cooper gets the blanket over you, skirting his scarred fingers up and down your arm beneath it. The adrenaline crash that follows your orgasm is unlike anything you’ve experienced before, leaving you exhausted on a level beyond physical.

“Still with me?” Cooper asks after a time, fingertips tapping idle patterns on your skin as if to call you back to your body. “Mhm… Intense,” you say, the lone word slurred by your lazy tongue.

“Warned you,” he gives back, sounding nearly as ruined. His voice is deeper than usual, thoroughly frayed at the edges. It’s true, he had warned you that you were playing with fire. It’s unclear how much of that had been play, and how much was just him. Still, it had been… thrilling. Amazing. Everything you’d hoped it would be. 

“How ‘bout it, darlin’, do I scare you yet?” He asks, making it sound like an inevitability. He must believe it is.

You sigh a low hum, pretending to give the matter great thought. “Mmm… Mm-mm. Not one little bit,” you say, the words hardly legible.

“Shucks,” he says simply, feigning something like disappointment.

“Why’re you so determined to scare me off?” You ask, adjusting where your head lay on his shoulder so that you can look up at him. You’ve grown accustomed to his unique silhouette, but more than that, you’ve started to figure out what it is that makes him handsome. He’s got a wide chin and a fine jawline, and on the rare occasions you see it, a charming smile.

Much of it is in his eyes. They never fail to make your heart stutter.

“A saner question would be why you’re so determined t’stay,” he counters, those very eyes dropping to meet yours. You can’t help but smile, which–as per usual–catches him just a touch off guard.

“I got a thing for pretty men,” you say, caught up in your own musings.

His expression flattens. “Very funny,” he says, and you realize he thinks you’re mocking him.

“Hey, I mean it. I was just thinking about how handsome you are,” you say, reaching up to touch his jaw.

“There’s a specific kind’a philia for finding corpses handsome, y’know,” he says, though in his afterglow the words lack their usual sharp cynicism. They come to him more like habit than anything else.

“You’re not a corpse, Cooper,” you tell him firmly, cupping his cheek in your palm. “You don’t need to keep living like one.”

He considers you in silence for a long moment. With the back of his knuckles, he brushes your cheek. There it is again; that deep sadness that sometimes appears in his eyes when he looks at you. As if he’s mourning something.

“What?” You whisper. “Why do you–”

He kisses you, swallowing the words clean off your lips. He takes your face between his hands and kisses you, kisses you, kisses you through your meager protests until your lips move with his and you sink back down into the warmth of it. He grows progressively more relentless with it, stealing your breath until you’re forced to break away, turning your head for air.

“You can’t kiss your way out of every–”

“I know,” he interrupts you, lifting his head to level you with a hard stare. “I know, alright? But it’ll come on my terms, in my time, yeah?”

You stare, pinned by the weight in his expression. After a beat, you nod, feeling dazed by both the onslaught and his words. It’s the only time he’s acknowledged that there is something, which you suppose is progress. “Okay,” you say softly, and then again more firmly, “Okay.”

His expression softens, taking in the look of you before he kisses you again. You reciprocate, pressing into his lips with the weight of your conviction, willing him to feel how much you really do mean it. 

“Thank you for today,” you murmur, settling back down against him. “I never thought that I’d be able to… do something like that. And live,” you say, adding the last bit with a rueful smile. “I feel safe with you.”

You wait for some kind of dismissive or self-deprecating remark from him, or even a sly jab at you and your sanity, but neither come. You glance up and find him staring at you, thoughtful and–if your eyes don’t deceive you–a little sentimental.

“I don’t make promises,” he tells you, sounding resigned. “But for what it’s worth, I’d never want t’do somethin�� I thought might hurt you.”

“You’re sweet,” you say, that same sentimentality slipping into your own voice. If not a bit ominous.

“Not really,” he replies, adjusting against the bedding, his eyes falling shut. “Y’standards are just too low.”

You sigh, closing your eyes with an incredulous little smile. “Shut up.”

The two of you drift into comfortable silence, his fingers idly traipsing the contours of your body. It’s like he’s memorizing the feel of you, hyper-aware that these intimate moments together are stolen. You reciprocate, seeking out what bare skin you can with gentle brushes of your fingers. He’s never admitted as much, but you’ve long suspected he struggles with pain. He’s rarely ever unclothed, and sometimes you see him wince when he goes too long between hits of those vials.

Cooper started living on borrowed time long before he met you, but it doesn’t stop you from hoping that he might someday see something more permanent in you. With you.

In the meantime, you’ll make the most of every second.

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

WHAT TERRIBLE THINGS ARE YOU DOING TO MY BUG [mallrad] [i saw ur repost of nhw mal lmao]

I NEEEEED INFROMATION RN PLEASE FEEL FREE TO INFODUMP AS MUCH AS YOU WANT PLEASE

HI KOI!!!!!!!!!! sorry this has taken me forever to answer ive had a busy work week ouagh. but its MAL TIME NOW. well. technically amity time bc im gonna talk about the setting in general because i love it. whatever go my scarab!

IM GOING TO ANSWER THIS ASSUMING U KNOW WHAT NHW IS. IF YOU DONT IM SO SORRY but also the masterpost is HERE which has basically all the context u need i think.

awesome place to start is reading This Post because it basically lays out the essentials for amity in general and gives you a good idea of their whole deal (theres also this one. which is a joke. but its my favorite ever and i think you will appreciate the clarence)

since i mostly ran thru the basics of their plot timeline super quick in that post i can get into details in this one :] putting a lot of it under the cut so its not 12 miles long hehe

i really like leaving a lot of the amity stuff to be mystery partially because it will literally NEVER come up in the "canon timeline" or whatever since it all happened x number of years ago and partially because giving it an air of mystery makes it seem more myth/legend than anything concrete. which!! since its supposed to be the nhw equivalent of the spirit world i love the idea that its vague and mysterious and hard to comprehend that the Chaos Zone (colloquial name for the quarantine area around the city where they keep the trickster trapped) used to be like. a relatively peaceful idyllic city with only a small handful of capes and not a lot of action. that being said i do in fact have clam flavored brain worms which means i cannot help thinking about clarence and mal in so much detail that is SO unnecessary to the rest of the story other than serving to make what happened to them more tragic.

ANYWAY. all that being said that is my excuse for not having any solid ideas on mals trigger event. ive kind of played around with the idea that he's a case 53 (cauldron dropped him into the city mid-ghoul transformation and full of amnesia so he had. basically no identity before then and no idea where or who or what he was so he just kind of started breaking things) but honestly i havent thought abt it all that much bc its just not that important. either way. he started out as an unaffiliated rogue/villain. as ghoul, he was in his brute form like 90% of the time and behaved pretty much like a less cannibalistic venom. just kind of like. causing damage just because he can. really the ONLY two capes in amity at the time were Whisperer (clarence) and Afterlife (duck) (<< first duck mention btw!). Afterlife is a lot more apathetic to things like this (hes old. hes tired. hes survived WELL past the cape life expectancy but theres no real protocol for capes retiring because usually they just. die. so hes still here) and he really only responds to things he deems an emergency, and some rando causing property damage isnt enough to put ghoul on his radar. so that left Whisperer to deal with him. his powers are very nonviolent non-confrontational so his way of dealing with villains is to use his. basically tranquilizer powers to get them to stop doing whatever theyre doing (its a good thing amity is peaceful. this is NOT a. super great awesome offensive power and he can get very easily overwhelmed against more than one target). so he does this to Ghoul and since his he's a new cape and is not fully under control of his changer powers yet, his brute form drops as soon as hes calm and hes just. some sad disheveled looking guy.

so clarence sees this guy who is just. so incredibly lost. whether thats because of case 53 amnesia or like. post-trigger, post-changer state disorientation, hes just. like. pathetic. hes not being a villain because hes evil hes just doing things because he doesnt know what else to do. so clarence, who is way too kindhearted for his own good, offers to help him. and mal, who has probably never given this sort of softness in his life. just immediately fucking melts into it. of course he accepts that offer he has nothing else to do! he doesnt really care about being a hero or a villain or anything like that (having a morality crisis is boring and a waste of time) but this man is literally glowing and offering him a hand to hold and a purpose and something other than just mindless destruction

so mal drops the name Ghoul and gets his changer powers better under control and properly develops his master powers instead of his brute powers and becomes what essentially ends up being Whisperer's sidekick under the new name Purgatory (which. i really made on a whim at the time but now that i have had time to think about it really has a lot of significance to his character and state of mind and it makes me SICK)

mal has a sort of hero worship crush on clarence like. thats His Hero. thats the guy who picked him up off the ground and helped him stand out of the kindness of his heart and they know each other out of costume now and even in his civilian life clarence is funny and laid back and so easy to talk to and. mal is not those things. god he is so down bad. relationship wise i will point to this convo which i still stand by

but i think like. both in and out of costume theyre kind of inseparable. mal is like. suuuper super protective over clarence to the point where its kind of an intimidation factor to other people. scary dog privilege or whatever. i like to refer to it as like... if clarence was a prince mal would be his loyal knight. if mal was an animal he would be a falcon (fast, sharp, dangerous, always returns to its master etc etc etc).

its also really important to me that clarence DOES NOT see their relationship like this at all he is so. oblivious. or if hes not oblivious he just doesnt do anything about it or puts it out of his mind or whatever. i think one of clarences big flaws is that hes almost too laid back about certain things that he maybe should care about a little more? big "itll be fine" in situations where things . PROBABLY will not be fine if he doesnt do something about it. so while he doesnt really purposefully encourage mals weird hero worship with him he also doesnt really do anything to dissuade it either. so thats how we get to. where we get to. with them. ouhghhh boy.

i already talked abt this pretty in depth in the other post but trickster appears, kills clarence in front of mal, and it just BREAKS something fundamental in him. once the trickster throws him out of the city i think the prt has to drag him away kicking and screaming because theres NO way he would willingly walk away from that (ESPECIALLY because... clarence's body is still there. he never got a proper funeral or burial or anything hes just.... there on the street or on the roof of a building like hes nothing). they probably put him in some kind of custody which he inevitably breaks out of and goes out on his own. i think he tries to go back to the city only to find the walls already in place and no way to get in without fighting a LOT of soldiers and ripping through a lot of anti-cape measures. which he is emotionally willing to do, but hes not stupid. he knows he needs backup. so he seeks out the worlds most dangerous most awful notorious capes ever. and thats how he ends up with the slaughterhouse 9! his eventual goal with them is to manipulate them into helping him get back into amity and kill the trickster. which is OBVIOUSLY not how things turn out, but thats his motivation at least.

when wraith ends up in the public eye with the new haven wards and his costume is sooooo so eerily close to the whisperer, mal kind of Leaves the s9 for a bit? hes still a member and everything, he doesnt actively quit or betray them or anything bc thats like asking to get killed, but he stops travelling with them in order to. whats the nicest way i can say this. research? the wards. specifically wraith. that little unhinged piece of his mind that snapped when clarence was killed gives him this horrible idea that wraith is just.. clarence reincarnated. its probably been close to 20ish years since the amity incident at this point, so the timing even lines up close enough for him to be convinced. so that starts his weird obsession with william, which eventually involves him nominating william as a potential candidate to join the s9 in the trials (william has a Complex about this) and other fucked up things like the tide fridge (<< our loving name for when mal kidnaps tide and keeps him in jars or whatever in the spirit world in canon etc)

hes my favorite fucked up little guy!!!!!!! i hate him so much i want to hit him with hammers but also ive had a specific stained glass art piece depicting the biblical purgatory that i really want to draw as him and clarence so like. take that as you will. im obsessed with them i think abt them so much even though clarence has like no bearing on the actual plot of nhw since the whole "william is the next whisperer" thing is nonexistent. i got distracted writing this a FEW times so i maybe forgot some things so if theres anything else u want to know about them... hmu. i love 2 talk abt them so much <3

[saintsaensreads]

The growing TBR Pile : 2024 edition

I'm not a fast reader. Case in point : Storygraph has me pinned as someone reading a book in... 2 months. I say this is slander. I think. I'm not sure. There might be some truth somewhere. But I consume a lot of content either via YouTube or Tumblr about books.

The consequences are dire : my TBR pile grows and grows! So here are some of my 2024 discoveries that I want to read (at some point, I don't know when exactly, it's difficult to say - but it will happen?).

First stop : Bosnian-Croatian-Serbian literature.

At the beginning of the year, I happened on a very short article (in an otherwise very dense newspaper) listing some of the latest translations by a single translator of BCS language. She mentioned the similarities and differences between all those languages, leading me to read more and more about her work and those languages. It made me quite curious about translated literature from that region and ended up compiling a few of them.

Source : interview in French of Chloe Billon, the translator in question, in Pages Sauvages.

Na Drini ćuprija - The Bridge over the Drina -, Ivo Andrić (1945)

The town of Visegrad was long caught between the warring Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian Empires, but its sixteenth-century bridge survived unscathed--until 1914 when tensions in the Balkans triggered the first World War. Spanning generations, nationalities, and creeds, The Bridge on the Drina brilliantly illuminates a succession of lives that swirl around the majestic stone arches. Among them is that of the bridge's builder, a Serb kidnapped as a boy by the Ottomans; years later, as the empire's Grand Vezir, he decides to construct a bridge at the spot where he was parted from his mother. A workman named Radisav tries to hinder the construction, with horrific consequences. Later, the beautiful young Fata climbs the bridge's parapet to escape an arranged marriage, and, later still, an inveterate gambler named Milan risks everything on it in one final game with the devil.

Adios, Comboy, Olja Savičević Ivančević (2011)

Dada’s life is at a standstill in Zagreb—she’s sleeping with a married man, working a dead-end job, and even the parties have started to feel exhausting. So when her sister calls her back home to help with their aging mother, she doesn’t hesitate to leave the city behind. But she arrives to find her mother hoarding pills, her sister chain-smoking, her long-dead father’s shoes still lined up on the steps, and the cowboy posters of her younger brother Daniel (who threw himself under a train four years ago) still on the walls.Hoping to free her family from the grip of the past, Dada vows to unravel the mystery of Daniel’s final days.

Second Stop : Polish literature

I learned a lot this past year about Poland (for personal reasons). I started reading about the history of the country, the language, its culture etc. I was at first quite ashamed to be so oblivious to another country from which quite a few of my friends's family come from, and with which French history is so closely linked. Obviously, I started piling up some polish writers in my TBR as a result.

Bezrobotny Lucyfer - Lucifer Unemployed -, Aleksander Wat (1927)

In these nine stories the Polish writer Aleksander Wat consistently turns history on its ear in comic reversals reverberating with futurist rhythms and the gently mocking humor of despair. Wat inverts the conventions of religion, politics, and culture to fantastic effect, illuminating the anarchic conditions of existence in interwar Europe. The title story finds a superbly ironic Lucifer wandering the Europe of the late 1920s in search of a mission: what impact can a devil have in a godless time? What is his sorcery in a society far more diablical than the devil himself? Too idealistic for a world full of modern cruelties, the unemployable Lucifer finally finds the only means of guaranteed immortality. In "The Eternally Wandering Jew," steady Jewish conversion to Christianity results in Nathan the Talmudist reigning as Pope Urban IX. The hilarious satire on power, "Kings in Exile," unfolds with the dethroned monarchs of Europe meeting to found their own republic in an uninhabited island in the Indian Ocean.

Third and Final Stop : under the Influence

I used to watch TikTok at some point, and most of the content left me frustrated, with a hint of dissatisfaction. But sometimes, sometimes, I happened on a great content creator, full of enthusiasm, or a very very avid reader sharing their love for one book. This, unfortunately, doesn't leave me unbothered. And I do admit, witnessing the passion of someone else about a book, made me want to dive into the novels myself !

Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas - The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas -, Machado de Assis (1881)

Machado de Assis is not only Brazil's most celebrated writer but also a writer of world stature. In his masterpiece, the 1881 novel The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas (also translated as Epitaph of a Small Winner), the ghost of a decadent and disagreeable aristocrat decides to write his memoir. He dedicates it to the worms gnawing at his corpse and tells of his failed romances and half-hearted political ambitions, serves up hare-brained philosophies and complains with gusto from the depths of his grave. Wildly imaginative, wickedly witty and ahead of its time, the novel has been compared to works by Cervantes, Sterne, Joyce, Nabokov, Borges and Calvino, and has influenced generations of writers around the world.

The Safekeep, Yael van der Wouden (2024)

It is 1961 and the rural Dutch province of Overijssel is quiet. Bomb craters have been filled, buildings reconstructed, and the war is truly over. Living alone in her late mother’s country home, Isabel knows her life is as it should be—led by routine and discipline. But all is upended when her brother Louis brings his graceless new girlfriend Eva, leaving her at Isabel’s doorstep as a guest, to stay for the season. Eva is Isabel’s antithesis: she sleeps late, walks loudly through the house, and touches things she shouldn’t. In response, Isabel develops a fury-fueled obsession, and when things start disappearing around the house—a spoon, a knife, a bowl—Isabel’s suspicions begin to spiral. In the sweltering peak of summer, Isabel’s paranoia gives way to infatuation—leading to a discovery that unravels all Isabel has ever known. The war might not be well and truly over after all, and neither Eva—nor the house in which they live—are what they seem.

[wormbloggign]

taylor stop lifting techniques and tactics from others challenge (impossible)

yeah.. you're a cloud of various insects, people arent looking to get in your way

taylor its not innate cmon you need to notice the swarm covering you isnt a comforting prescence for anyone but you

(also, if someone fights grue and wins, his darkness would dissipate. if they fight skitter and win, they have to deal with the many insects who are VERY pissed, and VERY unpredictable. it's simply a more extreme implicit threat than what grue has)

is she.. emulating coils convo tactics?

(TAYLOR STOP LIFTING OTHERS TECHNIQUES AND TACTICS CHALLENGE (IMPOSSIBLE))

to taylor the bugs are just her little guys, doing their best with what they got

to everyone else the bugs are spiders, flies, and wasps; vectors for poison, infection, and pain all organised by their thousands under a single cunning mind

its a very funny bit of dramatic irony (not the right term)

honestly surprised it took her this long to tell that to the PRT, taylors favourite pasttime is outing bad actors in their system

the funniest way to get immediately excecuted, ballsy move taylor

notably in those records she was telling the truth consistently, miss military seems to buy a little too much into armsmustards narratives

BY SUPPLYING RELEVANT CONTEXT TO THE SITUATION, DO YOU THINK STARVING PEOPLE WHO STEAL BREAD DESERVE JAILTIME FOR THEFT?????

(miss minutia seems very dogmatic in her beliefs of justice and criminality, kinda cringe ngl)

skitter im sorry to say but im pretty sure theyve known for a while now

they havent gone after your civillian identity yet because you havent really been findable as taylor herbert and in the rare cases you've gone out as taylor, they've had much bigger fish to fry

oh

that mustve taken a lot miss militia, i can respect that

2 ways to take this, either tattletales doing some mind games with how skitter is perceived or she wanted to get a better look at taylors butt

knowing lisa, probably both

oh yeah that too maybe

the bug pass over she does on people is very funny bc people almost definitely read it as a weapons check or an intimidation tactic but no, she just wants to know what the person she's talking to looks like

her face and eyes were covered in blood no wonder were more tense than normal "ooh why are people so unnerved around me" you look like a monster from a horror movie, you're walking around like you dont even need sight to know everything around you (she couldnt see regardless but they didnt know that)

oh theres no way they don't know her identity now

it takes one person with probably low to medium security access to hear that and go "gee, let me run a check to see if anyone with Skitters brown hair and skin colour (they wouldve seen at least that on the skitter clones, even outside how disfigured they were) matches with anyone who is blind or has been recently blinded" and then bam you find taylor with her school's recorded connection with Sophia/Shadow Stalker, her locker incident (possibly a trigger event?) her absences from school which start a couple days after skitters first appearance, line up with skitters activity AND escalate to 0% attendance once Skitter starts doing things like participating in the Endbringer event and soon after claims territory (a full time occupation seemingly), if you keep digging it seems she has moved out of her dad's house around the same time to an undisclosed house on the edge of town (no actual address given, possibly a misdirection), her father and all of his work friends survived (with minimal injuries) the Shatterbird announcement at the begining of the Slaughterhouse 9's occupation and they stayed alive for its entirety, And as a cherry on top, Taylors last 2 documented interactions with the public is Asssaulting a minor which was handled and doccumented by Shadow Stalker and COILS BOMBING where she was one of the survivors but was BLINDED, shortly after MYSTERIOUSLY DISSAPEARED with no release or transfer papers signed (or if they were, it'd be signed by Lisa W or an unknown third party)

OR

they could just ask dragon

...

that was kind of long sorry

back to the livebloggign!

(insert funny masking joke here)

sometimes i wonder if taylor has a death wish (hint: yes)

i sincerely doubt that. our girls tolerance for abuse is ridiculously high by now

the writer is fucking with me. the day we get a proper breakdown of anyones costume is the day hell freezes over

are we just gonna pretend that isnt deeply disturbing and violating?

eh, alright

taylor may know the kind of thing he saw but its very clear from how he's behaving, whatever he experienced has a lot harsher of a grasp on his psyche, probably because his trigger event and the context around it happened at such a vulnerable and young age

anyway hows that search for a villains therapist going? i really think they should invest in one

TATTLETALE YOURE GOING TO GET THE SECRET ASSASSIN SQUAD AFTER YOU PLEASE

lisa either never fucks around or never stops fucking around and i cant tell anymore

[just4notherd4ydre4mer]

INTRODUCTION + IMP. RULES & INFO

Usually, I'd make things look pretty. But tbh... Idk how to use tumblr at all. Forgive me. I'm not familiar with a lot of the terms on here :'')

Maybe I'll make this aesthetic later?? Rlly lazy and tumblr is confusing.

My username is subject to change anytime to anything, from somewhat thought out or even just keyboard smash. Bcs I'm beyond indecisive.

Also, I'm not new to writing fanfics and what not... but yknow, let's NOT talk abt the past.

[ BASIC INFO]

Call me whatever u want -- Anything works tbh though.

I'm a minor. That alone sets some basic ground rules ig... right?

Uh... I decided to start using tumblr bcs im bored. Like rlly bored. I'm am %100 going to be either very active or inactive. (short bursts of motivation lol)

What I do? I draw. I wouldn't say that I'm a beginner but I want to start sharing my progress (probably wont tho bcs... tik tok has traumatized me. Let's go with that...) But, here I am :) I also write. Whether it be my own original stories or fanfics.

Requests for both are welcome! (options listed below)

[ KEY ]

◍ - Manga/Manwha/WEBTOON … etc

○ - Anime

◐ - Dramas

▿ - Games

❥ - Current Fixation (always up to date)

[ I will usually only take requests for ❥... but you never know, so ask away! Rules are at the bottom of this post ]

FANDOMS (a-z)

•Attack on Titan ~ ○

•Black Clover ~ ❥ ○

•Blue Lock ~ ❥○

•Free! ~ ○

•Full Metal Alchemist ~ ○

•Golden Kamuy ~ ❥○

•Haikyuu! ~ ○

• Hunter x Hunter ~ ○

•Komi Can't Communicate ~ ◍ ○

•Kuruko’s Basketball ~ ○

•Log Horizon ~ ○

•Magi (+Includes AoS) ~ ○

•My Clueless First Friend ~ ○

•My Hero Academia ~ ○

•My Star! (Oshi No Ko) ~ ○

•Pokemon ~ ❥▿

•Saiki K. ~ ○

•School Babysitters ~ ○

•Seraph of the End ~ ❥ ◍ ○

•Skip & Loafer ~ ❥ ○

•Snow White with the Red Hair ~ ❥ ◍ ○

•Soul Eater ~ ○

•World Trigger ~ ❥ ○

•Weak Hero ~ ❥ ◍ ◐ (I've watched the kdrama... I just dont have access to it anymore).

/this could get REAL long so I didn’t include a lot… If you’re interested in one that isn’t listed, feel free to ask if I’ve watched/read it :) /

P.S: I’ve seen lots of the more popular/mainstream animes (movies too) but just didn’t list them.

EDIT: I've decided to link my finished animes.

[ GROUND RULES ]

No NSFW (obviously)

Constructive Criticism? Lovely. Mocking or being blatantly mean? Please don't. I'll be honest, I'm sensitive LOL.

If you want to request, please leave it under the respective post that I make for what is listed. (if there isn't a linked post for that, put it here and I'll make one <3)

Don't be concerned if I disappear. I'm literally making this out of whatever motivation I have left of the week. A spur of the moment thing is going on :'D

---

Again, I have absolutely NO idea what im doin... im bored, it's summer rn. Speaking of which, if I do ever actually post and follow up with whatever requests may or may not come my way -- the moment the school year starts again, either I'll be spam posting my brainrotting ideas or I will just never be seen again :)

[defountaine]

DEFOUNTAINE.

independent + private roleplay blog for FURINA DE FONTAINE, of mhy's GENSHIN IMPACT as judged by SINCLAIR ( 21 ). crossover + oc friendly. low activity due to college ( junior yr ) + old laptop.

INTEREST CHECKER. / GOOGLE DOC.

rules under cut.

NOTES. ( THIS MAY BE UPDATED AS TIME GOES ON. )

not spoiler or leak free

i tag triggers as “ trigger // “ 

for the main verse ( gi ), i'm almost entirely caught up on the main story.

hc heavy.

i use she/he/they for furina. she looks like both a woman and a twink and it's giving me gender envy, okay. genderfluid furina is so real to me.

generally novella because i love writing a lot!!

scarce activity bc my laptop is fucked up ( most of the keys are stiff lol ) + full time college student. i am literally doing a research proposal this semester.

aforementioned keyboard thing may lead to typos

i tag a lot of my ooc posts ( since a majority of the time they’re useless ) as “ irrelevant // ” as to not clog up peoples dash 

sometimes tumblr doesn’t send my asks so if you’ve liked for an inbox call and you don’t receive it, thats why 

mutuals can ask for discord<3 i encourage it actually since im active there more often but im very anxious and tend not to initiate conversation unless i feel like we’re very close 

if i ever bother you lmk<3 i’ve been told i can get a little spammy at times and i’ll admit i do get easily excited so if i need to tone it down just let me know!

if i’m following you i’ve read your rules !! i’ll assume you’ve done the same if you decide to follow back!

i only have access to the beta editor, sadly. i can try and pull some bullshit but i don't know if it'll work. my apologies.

NSFW.

those who are of age and have characters of age can smut with me. that said, furina is probably not gonna be very easy to fuck. trauma and all that. unless we have pre-established stuff. that's always fun. that said, don't follow just to fuck him, please. gore is also welcomed.

SHIPPING.

i love shipping, so lets do it! platonic, romantic, rivals, familial etc.. love ‘em all! planned or entirely natural, either is fine! if you wanna ship with me just ask! i have no preferences, not really, and i can say the same about furina. both she and i are down to clown with just about anyone. it doesn't even have to be healthy! ( to the tune of tmnt ) codependent toxic yuri/yaoi !

PLEASE DON’T RUSH ME.

full time college student with very limited time to do rp nowadays. i really enjoy writing and all but being rushed to reply makes me lose motivation. however, if i do miss a starter/don’t reply to a thread for a while you can tell me about that!

SELECTIVE + MUTUALS ONLY.

despite me saying this, all in all i probably follow almost everyone back as long as they have a rules + abt page i can find! i don’t follow personals but if you’re a hub or your rp blog is a sideblog, lmk so i can follow you there!  if you have a rules + abt page and i don’t follow back LET ME KNOW. sometimes tumblr doesn’t give me notifications and i don’t pay attention to follower count for the most part. i’m really not picky and im not trying to be mean or ignore you ! 

HATE WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.

any sort of hate will not be tolerated. if i see you picking on anyone or you pick on me , i will block you. that’s not the way i roll.

NO GODMODDING OR ANYTHING OF THE LIKE.

this is pretty standard , but please don’t control my muse or anything of the sort. 

I PRACTICE REBLOG KARMA. KINDA.

 i am not a meme archive blog , so if you do rt them please consider sending them!!

I’M FINE WITH ASKS BEING TURNED INTO THREADS!!

just please turn them into separate text posts, please!!

BE FUCKING NORMAL.

y'know. no racism, homophobia, transphobia or pedophilia, incest, and all that gross stuff. instant block. literally just be normal.

[everybodyshusband]

About the fic ask thing:

All your work is amazing and I love reading anything you post.

The last thing on your "husband writes" tag (doesn't have a name, it's regressed rain trying to hide his regression from dew) is so interesting to me. (full disclosure English is not my first language and I'm taking about stuff in unfamiliar with so I'm sorry if I say something wrong) First of all it's so we'll written it really takes me into Rain's head. I love your style of writing so much because everything is always so nicely written. This fic also feels que insightful into something that I don't experience and I love reading stuff that I'm not personally familiar with. Like I spent the whole time trying to figure out what rain wanted exactly and I'm not sure I got it but I've still come back to read it several times. I understand he did want comfort but there's a part where I just struggle to understand if he does want dew to discuss "grown-up stuff" when he is little or not (I think this might just be because I'm not a native English speaker). Idk if this makes sense, I guess in general any extra info you are willing to share about that fic I would love bc i genuinely like it so much. But I read it was kind of a vent fic so I would understand if you didn't want to expand on it. I will try to educate myself on regression tbh bc I'm not very knowledgeable and maybe that would answer my questions, so I won't really bother you with any specific ones. Just if you have anything else you'd like to share regarding that fic.

Thank you for taking the time to read all this, and I'm sorry rambled on for so long!

I hope you have a nice day 💖

i'm going to skip over your lovely, wonderful compliments, my dear anon, not because i don't appreciate them, but purely because i don't know how to respond without getting all mushy and aragrhhrg &lt;3

in terms of the part you don't quite understand, that's not a problem with your english at all !! i tried to write it in a way that wouldn't really make sense :0 in my mind, rain gets frustrated when he's regressed because even though he's lived through so many experiences, the other ghouls won't talk to him about half of them when he's little (simply because the nature of these experiences could be distressing to him, even if rain doesn't think so). part of him knows that talking about it will make him feel worse, but with the mentality that he's in, he doesn't care, and sees their unwillingness to talk to him about certain issues as a way to channel their dislike of him, rather than them trying to help him be more comfortable. ...i hope that helped it make a little bit more sense ?

more under the cut because this got a little bit long :0

in terms of general ramblings about that fic (anon, please know i love you for enabling me to do this) i have so much to say but so little words to phrase my thoughts in the way i want to :0 i think the main thing i want to ramble about is rain's tendency for negative thoughts while he's regressed. i won't go into the specifics because i don't want to have to put any trigger warnings on your lovely ask, but in the scenario he was in in the fic you're referring to, he was regressing involuntarily.

something happened before the start of the fic that caused rain's mentality to slip into something even more awful than usual, and so his brain made the executive decision to shove him into a regressed headspace in order to keep him safe. the only problem with this is that when this happens, rain doesn't magically feel better; he feels just as awful as he did when he wasn't regressed, but the chances of him acting on those dangerous thoughts are lowered (although i definitely do want to write a fic/ficlet about rain doing exactly that one day, but that's a ramble for another time, haha !!) he so badly wants dew's comfort, but he can't manage to convince himself that he deserves it, and he's certain that any time dew spends with him is time wasted :(

i think that's about it for general rambling that i can think of for the moment, but i could ramble on about this fic (and any of my others too, to be honest) for days and days ! so please please please bother me with specific questions if you'd like to, haha !! i love answering them, even if it takes me a while. (and don't you dare apologise for coming into my inbox and sending me an ask that has made me smile every single day since you sent it >:0 thank you, my dear <;3)

fic ask game :>

[ghwosty]

okay I'm not kidding, if ur gonna post full fics on tumblr yall gotta learn to use the read more feature. It's just a curtesy and basic tumblr etiquette (or at least it used to be back in my day *angrily shakes fist at a cloud*)

as an example my instruction for how to use this feature will be under the cut ⤵️

on mobile it's the symbol with the zigzag line being sandwiched by two straight lines, I believe the symbol is the same on desktop

why you should use it:

1) if your fic contains themes and scenarios that another user might be uncomfortable with or even triggered by you can put the content warning above the cut so they can make a decision for themselves to engage with your fic or not

2) if your fic is very long, like nearing do you love the color of the sky? long than it makes it so other users don't have to scroll for a digital mile to get past your fic if they're just not interested rn thank you

not sure what else to put here to demonstrate how much you can put under a read more break (hint: as limitless as a normal post) so here's the lyrics to In My Tree by Pearl Jam off their 1996 album No Code bc it's been stuck in my head:

Up here in my tree, yeah

Newspapers matter not to me, yeah

No, no more crowbars to my head, yeah

I'm trading stories with the leaves instead, yeah

I wave to all my friends, yeah

They don't seem to notice me, no

All their eyes trained on the street, yo, oh

Sidewalks cigarettes and seams, yeah, yeah

Up here so high, I start to shake

Up here so high, the sky I scrape

I'm so high I hold just one breath deep within my chest

Just like innocence

(Eddie's down in his home)

(Oh, the blue sky, it's his home)

(Eddie's blue sky home)

(Oh, the blue sky, it's his home)

I remember when, yeah

I swore I knew everything, oh yeah

They say knowledge is a tree, yeah

It's growing up just like me, yeah

I'm so light, the wind he shakes

I'm so high, the sky I scrape

Yeah, I'm so high I hold just one breath to go back to my nest

To sleep with innocence

Up here so high the boughs they break

Up here so high the sky I scrape

And my eyes feel both wide open

And I got a glimpse of my inner sense

Got back my innocence

Still got it, still got it

----------------------

And here's a picture of the sky taken from a Publix parking lot

see without a read more break this post would have been pretty annoying to scroll past huh? good thing used a read more break huh

penis

[darabbitholes]

ocs infopost (last updated 8/15/24)

ok hi my name is spade and you can find my main at @spadefriend. this is my oc blog and even if my main is 15+ i'm putting a 16+ limit here. please do not follow if you are under 16. below the cut you'll find a summary of most of the ocs i'll be posting about here and anything else you need to know.

this also includes a full list of the content warnings for this blog. i'll be tagging all my posts so if the subject matter of any one ocverse is too much for you to handle you can mute those specific tags. i will also be supplying tws for the heavy stuff however; i will be tagging these as "#tw [subject]", or "#tw [subject] mention" if the subject is mentioned but not discussed in depth.

feel free 2 send me asks about any of these guys i love questions :3333333333333333

also read more about these guys on my toyhou.se!

-

the graveyard shift

set in 2011 in the usa's hidden magical underbelly, mostly the town of sonderwood, north dakota. focuses on a massive necromancy-based criminal organization known as the graveyard and the characters who end up wrapped in its decade-old conspiracies in their attempts to either escape it or go further in. current fav <333333 but also heavily in development

main characters:

daniella (she/her): forensic analyst who starts independently investigating the graveyard after a corpse gets stolen from her workplace

vanya (she/her): 10 year old girl & graveyard trainee (THERE ARE GOOD IN-UNIVERSE REASONS FOR THIS) who starts going to a therapist in hopes she can magically fix her anger issues

galen (he/him): the therapist in question & an aspiring poet. absolutely mediocre at his job. has a bunch of other Normal Stuff going on don't even worry about it. current #1 fav <33333333

pyrite (she/her): high-ranking member of the sonderwood branch looking to climb higher in the ranks, has a deal with daniella to give her information on the graveyard

blythe (aka tourmaline) (she/they): member of the sonderwood branch and sibling to its regent/boss, lucian (aka vivianite) (they/them). extremely strained relationship with their sibling.

rattenkönig (he/him): late governor's son and boss of the milstone branch. kindly sad old man :) totally not responsible for half the fucking content warnings [eye twitch] also the tag for this guy is gonna be just rattenkonig without the accent bc i am not copy pasting every single time i write his name sorry chat

donnie (they/them): head of a semi-organization focused on sheltering criminals. decades-long beef with rattenkönig for reasons unknown.

jackrabbit (???, referred to with they/them for the time being): lol

content warnings:

non-sexual/romantic grooming (specifically grooming into criminal activity, eg murder) (occurs to both adult and child parties) (though sexual abuse is not covered in the graveyard shift, and this form of grooming is explicitly non-sexual and non-romantic, grooming utilizes very similar tactics no matter what form it is in. depictions/discussion may still be triggering to people who have undergone sexual or romantic grooming (or any other form). please proceed with caution.)

emotional abuse & manipulation

organizational abuse

familial abuse

child abuse, neglect, abandonment, etc.

victim-blaming (including by wider public audiences. it takes a long time for some victims to get happy endings and others don't get that at all.)

cover-ups of abuse and other violent crimes. there are abusers who get away with their actions for a very very long time and potentially instances of some who never get outed at all.

transphobia (not a running theme but there is at least one instance of this and characters are frequently affected by internalized transphobia)

graphic violence, death, murder, physical assault, etc. (par for the course for a story focused on the mafia)

kidnapping & hostage situations

suicide & suicidal ideation, possibly self-harm (undecided)

unhealthy coping mechanisms

toxic relationships

adoption-related trauma

in-depth depictions of PTSD & other traumagenic disorders

body horror (in relation to re-animated corpses)

additionally, as this story is heavily centric around abuse & cycles of abuse/violence, there will be heavy examination of abusive characters. abusers are not one-dimensional villains and will not be treated as such. depictions of abusers as being complex or having positive traits, or hell even bettering themselves, do not excuse or absolve them from their actions even slightly. some characters who do horrendous things (while, again, not absolved of their actions) will be getting "redemption arcs" as self-improvement & rehabilitation is one of the story's major themes.

-

the death spiral

set after a magical apocalypse that wiped out society, creating a supercontinent where creatures with anomalous abilities called harbingers run amok. the capitalist country at the center of the continent, muezihia, is haunted by an ancient prophecy that speaks of a prophecy hero who will save society by bringing some form of mass collapse or upheaval and, later, rebirth. the only problem: the prophecy keeps repeating no matter how many times it's supposedly fulfilled.

main characters:

kit (she/her): suspiciously early prophecy hero candidate who's spent her life concealing that candidacy in hopes of leading a normal life for a while. i'm sure you can guess how that goes

foxtrot (she/her): another prophecy hero candidate, the first known half-human half-harbinger and raised to be a celebrity from birth

dr. blake (he/him (act I), he/they (act II), he/she/they (act III)): disgruntled scientist at symbiosa, the Definitely Ethical megacorp that studies harbingers & the prophecy

jaidre (he/him): former hero and ceo/overseer of symbiosa cursed to become a huge spider a century ago now hes moping in a cave in an alternate dimension LMFAOOOOO

gwyneth (she/her): most recent hero before kit. ex-symbiosa scientist who supposedly created foxtrot in her awesome hidden lab and mysteriously disappeared

content warnings:

workplace abuse/exploitation (psychological & physical if we're counting murder)

animal abuse/experimentation

body horror/transformation

medical horror

violence, death, murder, etc.

queerphobia (specifically against non-binary & aromantic/asexual characters) (internalized & systemic)

insects & heavy bug theming

child abandonment & mistreatment (possibly emotional abuse; unsure but keep in mind)

imagery around decomposition, rotting, anything in a similar vein

elements of cosmic horror

apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic setting

-

nemesis antivirus

this one i am not going to discuss in detail bc the subject matter isnt something id like to cover here 👍 know it's about a 13-year-old girl who downloads a half-cybersecurity edutainment game half-antivirus and realizes her game avatar has become sentient and is up to some shenanigans like being her cool new friend and also murder

main characters:

liz (she/her (during the entire story at least bc there is no way she's not an egg)): the 13-year-old girl in question. horrifically isolated irl and going thru some shit online (aka the place she considers her only safe haven); downloads nemesis antivirus out of desparation

nellie (she/they/it): liz's sentient game avatar who is strangely fine-tuned to be a perfect friend for her. fiercely protective and takes her job as an eliminator of online threats extremely seriously.

content warnings:

again i'm not going to go super in-depth on this bc the subject matter is too heavy but know it's generally about online abuse and contains a lot of deconstruction of revenge fantasies/the idea of revenge and the responsibility that abuse victims may have towards preventing abuse and protecting people like them 👍

-

the consumption of lotus institute

super wip but it's about a silly facility full of animal people, the staff who manage the facility and the ai who runs the whole show. again hopefully this is gonna end up a larger universe so not much of an overarching plot yet but the current main story branch is about the aftermath of an incident where adult humans are kidnapped from the surface by rogue staff and fed to the ai to be experimented on.

main characters (for the current story branch):

minerva madigan (she/they): "lead caretaker" of the facility, aka she's the head of the department managing the animal people & their wellbeing. prioritizes keeping the peace & keeping people happy at any cost. she's trying her best but ooooh god girl........

conan (she/her): survivor of the adult experiments; half-grey wolf. reluctantly took the facility's offer to live a life of luxury with them as an apology though she's got a bunch of weird feelings about the handling of the situation that she's pretending aren't there.

pallas (she/her): only other survivor of the adult experiments and minerva's ex before all that shit happened. EXTREMELY pissed at the staff for their poor handling of the whole experiment situation. disappeared into the depths of the facility where the ai inhabits.

the ai (temporary name) (it/its): sentient but non-sapient. this thing is an animals. driven solely by its own curiosities. has to be constantly babysat by the staff

content warnings:

human experimentation (including major complications such as death or being locked in a comatose state)

medical horror

body horror

kidnapping

violence, death, murder, etc etc

mass cover-ups of situations involving the above

-

ok i think that's mostly all of them but i also have some ocs for fandoms and such (mainly warrior cats) that i am going to put here later probably <333

will be updated as time goes on ofc

[sparkerinparadise]

okay im putting this under the cut so yall can choose whether or not u wanna read what happened (i dont think theres anything triggering but its still Shitty so).

> arrived at my dad's house to pick up documentation i need for work

> decide to stay to get a drink of water and say hi to dad + the puppy and cats

> ".......so this is how you wanna spend the rest of your life huh"

> OH BOY HERE WE GO

> says that it's not going to be permanent "yeah well i know you you're just gonna get complacent"

> im just happy to have a job and make money again "you dont HAVE it yet ur still not working"

> "just remember that just bc ur not in college anymore ur patterns arent Going Away. they're still gonna be there and u need to learn to break out of them" (ok fair enough)

> "oh btw ur not exercising are you."

> what makes you say that "i can see ur getting chunky" (i didnt even gain that much weight?????? also idc thats a w im tired of being a literal twig)

> "im honestly concerned that you've compromised ur morals this much" (i expressed very clear disdain for corporate jobs to him in the past but like. oh my god he's acting like i commited a robbery or smth. also u told me to stop being picky when it came to jobs so when i actually LISTEN TO YOU LIKE YOU CONSTANTLY TELL ME THAT YOU WANT ME TO you decide to complain abt it????? lol)

> starts to shut down at this point bc its turned into yet another one of Those conversations and theres no point in me speaking anymore

> "ur gonna look back on this when ur 30 and go oh man my 20s are gone now" (damn i didnt know life ended at 30 lol)

> "ur probably listening to ur friends a lot more than me which im sure is common at ur age but just remember that they dont know SHIT compared to me" (beginning to realize why some ppl hate him so much)

> "(said in a VERY passive-aggressive tone) but hey if u just wanna play video games and work at walmart for the rest of your life im happy for you. whatever makes you happy"

> "just know that ur not gonna make a whole lot of money and ur gonna be BROKE" (my starting wage is $17/hr??????)

> "it makes me sad that you went from a 4.0 student (not even true when i graduated lol) with a full-ride scholarship to living in a shitty neighborhood working at walmart 4 years later" (FUCKING OUCH DUDE WTH DO YOU EVEN REMEMBER THAT I WAS ON/OFF SUICIDAL FOR THE LAST 4 YEARS OR SMTH???)

> "(pause) .......so what do you even wanna DO for the rest of your life??"

> long LONG awkward silence where i've basically ejected myself from Existing and trying VERY hard to not cry

> "......so ur just gonna dissociate again or are u ignoring me. are u trying to wait me out. its ok i have ALLLLL day :)" (i dont but imagine trying to explain to ur already disappointed dad that u wanna catch a friend's livestream)

> more silence

> sees that theres an opportunity to leave and GLADLY takes it

tldr just another regular conversation with dad ^_^ yippeeeeeeeeee

im REALLY trying to not let what my dad said to me yesterday get to me but like.

[seancekitsch]

Setting: Cabin

Genre: Mystery 

Trope: Undercover Married 

Prompt: On a roadtrip together 

Kink: Exhibitionism

from the fic prompt generator with Adrian?

ok i hope you were hoping for a full on fic bc here it is

Being Watched

smut, basically the prompt, i got carried away

“Adebayo I just don’t understand why we have to be married on all of these missions,” you sigh into the receiver of your burner phone, the sound of the shower in the cabin drowning out any possibility of your best friend hearing. The shitty flip phone looks ridiculous, and anyone would peg you as undercover at this resort. There are senators here, senators who very well could be butterflies, and you’re here with a flip phone in the honeymoon cabin after driving 6 hours in the Vigilante-Mobile with Adrian singing along to Carly Rae Jepsen. Not that you minded that part, you sang along with him and fed him sour gummy worms while he got you there safely. 

“You guys just… work like that,” she responds, not even trying to hide her snickering on the other end. She’s right, check in at the resort went smoothly because Adrian slipped his right arm around your waist and made a show of waving around his wedding ring to all of the staff, kissing the side of your head and gushing about how excited he was that the bed was one of those vintage round ones from the 70s in the cabin. You yourself couldn’t stop blushing while you curled into him and clutched your suitcase close. You looked like a couple madly in love. Leota reminds you to keep your head on straight and to stay safe and all the other things you have to do before you’re rushing off the phone because you hear the shower stop. 

It’s only a few moments until your friend, your best friend, comes out of the little bathroom of the cabin with nothing but a towel draped low around his hips. 

Fuck, this was going to be harder than you thought.

But wasn’t it always? Don’t you always go through this? Adrian always parades around the hotel or villa or cabin you’re in with that damn wedding ring on his finger and you always practically jump out of your skin, itching to move closer to him under the sheets at night or to kiss his lips in private, away from potential counter surveillance. 

A part of you suspects this is just a forced proximity thing. You didn’t always want to fall into bed with your best friend since high school, and you didn’t always wish the wedding rings were real. But now you do, sometimes overwhelmingly so…

“What? Did I scrub too hard and accidentally wipe a nipple off?”

Fuck, you’ve been staring, checking him out like some kind of perv. You shake your head, nervous that somehow Adrian gained the ability to read minds or something from too many hits to the head. 

“Nope, I didn’t,” he confirms to himself, looking down at his bare chest to check. 

“Sorry, Ade, I must have zoned out,” you physically shake yourself out of it. You can do this. 

“Are you gonna shower too?” he asks, and you swear he’s flexing now, his biceps chiseled and shiny in the lamplight. You never thought of yourself as the type to go after muscular dudes, and you still aren’t really, Adrian is just an exception. 

You nod, quickly rifling through your bag for your toiletries and speeding to the bathroom door for some privacy.

The click of the door in the latch triggers a sigh you didn’t realize was building in your chest. Just three more days, you tell yourself, three more days of this week long recon mission and you could go home, scrub the smell of his cologne off of you and touch yourself until you passed out to get rid of all this tension in your body.

You fiddle with the nob on the shower and shed your clothes quickly to jump under the slightly too hot spray. 

This is exactly what you needed. You let the steam rolling off the tiles and your skin evaporate all the tension in your muscles and your mind. You relax fully. Maybe you can just spend the rest of the night in bed watching shitty cable movies and laughing and your feelings can bury themselves for the evening. 

Your relaxation is short lived, though. 

“Hey Honey?” Adrian calls through the door; Honey is the codename for when things go sour. Shit. 

“Can I come in?”

You fiddle with the nob and quickly end your shower, lucky to be done with the shampoo so you can hastily grab the towel and wrap it around you. 

“Of course, Sugar!” you call, back, quickly unlocking the door and open it for him to scurry in, now clad in his sweatpants and an athletic training top that truly did you no favors in sparing you from his looks. He presses his back against the door, looking up around the perimeters of the ceiling. 

“What’s going on?” you whisper, clutching your towel tighter to yourself. 

“We’re being watched,” Adrian tells you, pushing up his glasses and only letting his eyes dart briefly to your body, “I just saw one of the cameras turn on, little red light next to the smoke detector.”

“There’s supposed to be a light, Ade,” you sigh, “There’s supposed to be a red light. That means it's working to y’know, detect smoke.”

You roll your eyes and turn away from him, grabbing the loose sweatshirt you brought in here and bringing it down around you without disrupting the towel; a talent you mastered from having to bunk with the guys on too many occasions.

“No that’s—“ Adrian stops himself and curses under his breath, “I know that. You have a smoke detector in your apartment.”

You snap your head up to look at him while you grab your sweatshorts. 

“Why do you say that like your apartment doesn’t have a smoke detector?”

Adrian just smiles at you. 

“Okay,” you physically shake your head to keep yourself from doing the mental gymnastics on that one, pulling your shorts over your thighs, “So, typical plan H?” 

You hate plan H. Plan H is a fake-out make-out until whoever is watching stops. You’ve done this countless times, and never has it gotten easier. Once you stop kissing its back to the normal friend shit and the ice cold longing that sinks into your gut. Every time his lips fall on yours you beg and pray to any god that will listen that this will be real, that you won't stop once you realize the coast is clear. Every time he makes you moan it's for real, and he always compliments your acting skills. You’re a shit fucking actor and you know it. You thought he knew it too, for how well he knew you. 

You sigh.

“Plan H it is,” and you towel off your hair as much as possible. It's going to get ruined and you'll just have to re-shower in the morning. But if it gets surveillance out of your room, its worth the risk. No one ever wants to watch “newlyweds” go at it. He watches you squeeze the excess moisture from your hair with an expression you can’t exactly place. With Adrian, it’s usually so easy to tell how he’s feeling. Somehow, he never learned how to hide himself or how to be sarcastic or to read emotions. But this look in his eyes you can’t figure out; it’s dark and far off and seems to be trained on your knees of all places, from what you can tell of blotting your hair upside down.

This dance is like all the rest. You come barreling out of the bathroom all hand and lips and limbs and he practically throws you on the rounded mattress. Its like this every time, you throw your leg over his hip and he licks at your jaw and you moan and you cry out genuinely because you're sensitive and you love it.

You let yourself fall onto your back, not even putting your elbows down to break your fall. Adrian’s arms quickly cage you down like a vice, his entire body pushing onto yours, his weight apparent but not crushing. 

“Fuck, I’m so glad I can call you my wife,” he says, looking into your eyes but loud enough for any camera to hear. You roll your neck back, opening it up for him to kiss the full expanse of it and play the role of dutiful lover.

“My love,” you gasp, his mouth latching onto the skin above your jugular. He sets your skin aflame, makes you burn. Adrian kisses all the skin on your neck he can reach before he throws the covers over you. This is the finale piece.

And god, how you wish this was real. It feels like torture to be so close to the real thing and to not actually have it. Knowing that you’ll be pent up and jumpy for the rest of this mission and spend an entire night with your vibrator between your legs the moment debrief is over. That the expectation now, that’s what always happens.

What you don’t expect is for Adrian to push himself back from you to pull his shirt from his chest. Fucking hell, you think, your eyes following the reveal of skin, from his happy trail on his abs to the little dusting of chest hair on his sculpted pectorals, the finale being his broad shoulders that lead to arms strong enough to carry you like you’re weightless.

He spreads your legs and pushes himself between them, and you immediately curse yourself for not putting on underwear when you threw on your shorts. That meant your panties were somewhere in the bathroom and there were so many more chances to embarrass yourself now. He slots himself between your legs in a way that looks real. Anyone watching on the other side of that little red light wouldn’t know the difference. That was key to Plan H, something you and Adrian had actually fumbled through practicing in his apartment one night, setting up his phone in different vantage points and testing what motions looked real. 

Adrian pulls at the neckline of your sweatshirt, already stretched out from years of wear as you thread your fingers through his curls. God they feel so soft, so much more defined and luscious since you convinced him to ditch the five in one.

Adrian moans against your skin, and you go stiff. 

“Do it again,” he whispers, the breath of a laugh on his words and it’s only now that you realized you had tugged on his hair. 

You open your eyes to the sight of the mirror over the bed, taking in your appearance. Your hair is tangled and damp, you look like a drowned rat. Adrian however, is all rippling back muscles and reddened scar tissue from a nasty fight the two of you barely got out of making his pale skin look even more beautiful. Shit, this really looks real, the way he’s eagerly nipping at your collarbone and neck, the way he’s flexing his muscles and taking control of the situation. Adrian is many things, your best friend, a possible maniac, weapons expert, slightly emotionally stunted, but he could easily add erotic stand in on a movie set to that list.

You decide to help him out, hiking your parted knees up until they’re around his hips, and one of his hands grips the back of your knee and pushes the leg even farther. Without thinking, you let out the neediest whine you've ever heard, feeling your skin ignite. You have entirely too many clothes on. You watch your own eyes in the overhead mirror, pupils blown wide and a stray tear leaning from the outer corner, your lips fallen open in desperation. You’re fucked. 

You tear your eyes away from yourself, desperate to do anything but break your own heart over the fact that this is not at all real and you will have to sleep in this very bed with him tonight. Your gaze drifts to the smoke detector with its damned red light. 

It’s singular red light. 

Just one, not two. 

That means…

“Adrian! Adrian, stop,” your hands move to brace themselves on his chest, putting distance between you where his lips had made connection with the underside of your jaw.

He pulls apart like he’s been burned, all except for where your legs are still hitched around his waist. 

“What’s wrong, did I hurt you?”

His eyes are wide with panic, darting around your face to look for signs of pain, of anger, of disgust. You know exactly what he’s doing. He’s been searching for that disgusted look since high school and he’s never grown out of it. You know the look well, having watched him make it towards women at community college, as well as being on the receiving end of it once or twice.

“No,” you say, your hand rubbing at his shoulder to try to soothe him. As much as he tries to say he doesn’t have emotions, you can feel them in his tense muscles. 

“Ade, look at the smoke detector again.”

He does as you say, giving you a full view of his toned neck; gorgeous and just there for the biting and if this was real you would have wasted no time in sucking a dark hickey into the expanse of skin there, claiming him as your own for all to see. Not that he’s exactly someone who has people lining up to get with him, but still. If anyone wanted to they just couldn’t. 

“It’s the normal amount of lights,” he says, but he makes no move to get off of you. You don’t want him to though, and it’s not like you untangle your legs from his waist either. 

“They stopped watching,” he continues, eyes darting around, searching your face for a new game plan. 

“I guess we should…” you trail off, avoiding eye contact as much as possible and finally starting to slip you legs away from where you had so hastily wrapped them around him. You had made a mistake there, getting way too into it yourself. This isn't the kind of place where you can get selfish, you think, there are lives at stake.

Adrian’s eyes are dark with something unknown, his expression unreadable as he searches your face once more. 

“We don't have to,” his voice sounds so matter-of-fact.

“Adrian… what-” your eyebrows furrow as you wrack your brain trying to figure him out. You start to move your legs, unhooking your ankles and unlocking yourself from Adrian’s hips- when he stops you in your tracks; hand planted on your thighs to keep them in place.

“What if… What if I want to keep going?” he asks a bold question with an equally bold straightforward delivery. What if he wants to keep going? Is this a fucking joke? He isn't the type to joke like this.

“Do you?” you ask, ready to risk it all. The words are out of your mouth before you can weigh the consequences of them. 

Adrian scoffs.

“Duh,” he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. As if, of course, of course he would want to keep going, would want to keep ravaging you and throwing you into the deep end of this torture. 

“We… Our friendship,” you gasp, grasping at something almost dumbly.

“You mean our friendship that I already totally ruined?” he balks, as if you're late to the party, as if you should already know.

“Ruined?” you parrot, and his left hand shoots to your knee,keeping you from slipping away from him.

“Yeah, I mean like, by falling in love with you and shit. I thought you knew. Chris makes fun of me all the time,” he admits, and finally his grip on you loosens. He gives you every opportunity to move away and get out of this position. That look of bracing for disgust evident in his eyes again in full force and absolutely killing you. 

“Adrian,” you say, trailing off, the words confirming in failing on your tongue. Of course you'd heard Chris making fun of Adrian, but he makes fun of Adrian for everything so you figured it was better to ignore it.

Adrian pushes himself off of you to lean back on his knees, starting to pat the bed feeling around for his shirt. 

“Wait, Ade!” You almost scream, ready to beg as long as he stays exactly how he is. Between your legs.

He freezes, his expression unreadable to you for maybe the first time ever.

“What if I want to keep going too?” you ask, voice timid and far away, but your arms remain loose and planted around his neck. 

“Do you?” he asks, not at all hiding his enthusiasm. You fucking love that about him. He looks so excited. So happy, and knowing it's all for you...

You fucking kiss him instead of formally responding, arching your back and pushing yourself up to connect with him, forcing your lips to make contact so he knows, he knows, that you’re desperate for it. His tongue licks against your lips and you moan wantonly, not unlike your fake recon moan, but this time entirely real and something you fully intended on hiding until Adrian embarrassingly pulled it from you. 

You accept his tongue in your mouth eagerly, letting him take the lead and pulling more moans from you, absolutely kissing all of your resolve out of you.

“Fuck me, Ade,” you whisper, puling your lips away from his for a moment, ready to scream the same words if he asks.

“Me?” he asks, “You want me? Jesus, I’ve been waiting so long to hear that.”

“Not as long as me, I promise,” you laugh, and pull him back down onto you, fingers threading into his curls again.

You tug on his hair again as his teeth graze your bottom lip, earning an absolutely sinful groan from his lips. You've heard this man yell and scream and groan in pain but nothing like this; this is like heaven itself, better than any drug you could think of. Better than the indica strain in your vape that Adrian always yells at you for hitting in the Vigilante-mobile.

He bites down on your lip, not worrying about whether or not it hurts, reveling in the yelp you let loose against his mouth. Adrian’s hands travel up your thighs, over your hips and those little sweat shorts, squeezing right against your pelvic joints, and then finally they dip under your sweatshirt, his hot calloused hands against your smooth skin. 

“You know,” he starts, open mouth working its way back from your mouth to your jaw, “It kinda sucks they aren’t watching anymore. Woulda been hot.”

Your brain fries and short circuits at his words. You peek an eye open at him, eyes blissfully closed and still continuing his kissing as if that was the most normal thing for him to say. Honestly, you figured Adrian had to be into some kinky shit. You've heard him discuss his threesomes with Chris, and you've seen what the trunk of his sebring looks like. He can protest all he wants but you know the fuzzy pink handcuffs aren't for any kind of “bad guy” he could be up against. Plus, he just kills them. He doesn't exactly take prisoners.

“You wanted an audience for this?” Surprise more evident in your voice than you meant it to be. Part of you thinks you might have slipped and fell in the shower and this is some sort of hallucination or fucked up knock-out dream. 

His hips twitch and buck into yours, and you easily respond with a roll of your hips in return. 

“Want those fucks to see I finally got the girl,” he responds, rocking his hips back up into you again, but on purpose this time. His hands travel to your chest and your heart breaks for him a little. You know if this goes well you'll be his first real girlfriend. The first girl to spend more than one consecutive night, the first girl to do dishes and laundry with him, the first girl to not run because you know all the ugly shit he’s done and you already don't care. 

“Always had me, babe,” you pant. Your back arches off the mattress as you meet the movement of his hips, now working up a rhythm against each other.

“We both just needed to pretend to be married to get it right,” you joke, pushing him back only enough for you to wiggle out of your sweatshirt and throw it towards the edge of the bed. Now you know what Adebayo was talking about on the phone. You guys just work like that. Like a married couple, like a real couple. He laughs and starts kissing down your chest, immediately latching himself onto one breast while he grabs at your waist. You tug on his hair again as your other hand starts to travel his toned back. He’s absolutely beautiful, you think, running your fingertips over the freckles along his shoulder blades that you've memorized at this point.

“Need to-,” you gasp as he bites down on the underside of your breast, and you're sure youll be covered in marks by dawn, “Need to feel you.”

You aren't sure when you became a beggar, or maybe Adrian just made you one. 

“Oh you’ll feel me,” he promises, starting to kiss his way down your ribcage, down your stomach. He’s much more of a kisser than you imagined, much more attentive and much more loving. You almost feel bad for not thinking of him like this when you used to touch yourself to the thought of him. That feeling immediately dissolves when he then bites at your hip, his hands pulling at your shorts to give him more access to your skin. 

It’s awkward and fumbling to get you out of your shorts, not unlike two teens going at it on prom night, all nerves and fear and curiosity bound in eagerness. He tries to whip them off of your calves, resulting only in jerking your ankles up awkwardly, and the two of you burst into a comfortable laughter as you remove them yourself the rest of the way.

He freezes for a moment, finally seeing you completely bare. At first, it’s extremely flattering, his lips hanging open and his eyes wide as they search your form.

And then you find your arms slinking from their position on his shoulders to try to cover yourself, only to be stopped by Adrian himself. His rough hands wrap themselves around your wrists, pinning them down so they can’t go where you wanted. 

“Can’t hide from the Vigilante,” he jokes, bravado evident in his voice. 

You only roll your eyes and giggle in response.

“Please don’t tell me you’ll be Vigilante in bed too,” you counter. 

“Might chase you.”

You know he’s serious, just like you know he’s serious about wishing the camera was still watching. 

Heat floods your body, and suddenly all of this is so real, Adrian, his hips pressed against your bare body between your legs, his dusting of curly brown hair on his chest, the warm eyes behind glasses staring straight back into yours.

“Adrian…” you trail off, not sure what you're trying to say or ask. It's all just, the Adrian of it all.

“No, I’m serious, babe. I might chase you,” and everything in his tone tells you he’s serious.

“Please… Adrian,” you don't even finish the sentence, because he knows exactly what you're asking for. His hands abandon your wrists to find themselves on your hips again and his lips find your own. He kisses you deeply, like a promise, hard and slow as his fingers move eagerly. Featherlight touches you didn’t expect him capable of trail from your hips to the apex of your legs. You’re so thankful you shaved in the shower; you know Adrian wouldn’t actually give a fuck about body hair, but there’s just something about a first impression you can’t help but feel. 

You gasp against his mouth the moment his finger dips and bumps against your clit, clumsy, but perfect. He doesn't stop kissing you as he explores further, tracing circles against your clit delicately, and then more forcefully.

You can tell by the way he kisses you that he’s studying, testing the waters to see what gives you the most pleasure, what you react most to. He switches from his circular motion to a rocking back and forth of his fingertip over your clit, and you think it's lights out for a second; Fuck, it feels so good. 

“Oh, that's it,” he whispers, lips still smashed against yours. You can only whine in response, high pitched and needy. You try to arch your back, try to move in any way you can to get Adrian better access to you. He only pushes you further, his grip of one hand so tight on your hip it could bruise, the other working hard to make you feel good. But he doesn't even need to work that hard, with the way you are moaning and crying against him. Your skin burns under his touch, and freezes with the absence of it. You come alive like a wire tripped and electrified under him. You love it, and you knew you would,  but it feels so different from the idea of him and the real thing. There's so much romance here, even if Adrian’s lack of romance could possibly deny that.

“Fuckin’ love it,” you moan against him, and he tries to roll his hips, incapacitated by his own hand. Quickly he pulls himself away letting his sweatpants clothed cock shove against you.

You can feel it, sort of. You can feel that his cock is big and that he knows how to move his hips but you want to know everything about it, want to memorize every ride and twist and dip of his body.

You pull your lips from his, ripping yourself to the side just long enough to speak.

“Gimme all of it,” you beg, and he absolutely does not hesitate. Adrian removes his hand from where he's working you over to the waistband of his pants so he can free himself for you. 

He wiggles his sweatpants down awkwardly, fumbling and tangled up, but frees himself without any comment from you. You can’t say that you were exactly graceful either, the eagerness taking over your motor skills momentarily.

Adrian pauses for a second, letting the moment sink in. You’re bare before each other for the first time on purpose. It’s not like when he would come in through your window unannounced after work and you’d scream and throw shoes at him. It’s full of lust and love and sheer nerves. For both of you, it isn't your first time, but as he pushes into you without weird decorum of virginity, it feels almost alien, but at the same time, this is how it's supposed to happen. He bottoms out with a little smile, searching your face for any sign of pain or discomfort. If he finds any, it fades away quickly with a kiss. His eyes are the prettiest shade of brown, you think, feeling your own little smile grace your lips. 

“Guess the newlywed cabin is living up to its name finally,” you joke, stopping again to press a kiss against his lips, “only took, what, multiple missions?”

Seven. It took seven missions.

Adrian snaps at this point. His hips move, completely without warning to thrust back out and into you again, so roughly and perfectly Adrian that it feels too good. It's everything you imagined and more.

“Wish this was happening every time,” He thrusts more, “Imagined us actually married.” 

He moans, relinquishing his self control to how good it feels. All of your nerves were already on fire, but his words kick you into overdrive, the same way that when you hold your finger over a candle too long it feels almost cold. Your nails rake down his back as his pace picks up, your legs around his back giving you leverage to thrust back on every snap of his hips. 

“Wanna be yours,” you moan, your head thrown back against the pillow to give yourself better leverage to arch your back.

“Wish that fuckin’ camera was still on,” He groans, “Want everyone to know you’re mine.”

He dips his head down, first connecting with the underside of your jaw, then to the side of your neck where he bites down, hard and unapologetic; You know it's gonna bruise up to a dark purple by morning.

“Fuck,” you moan, “Keep that up and they’re gonna.”

Adrian only laughs against your skin, and bites down again. He doesn’t falter or change his pace, his hips always snapping recklessly against you. You feel more full than you ever have, something about Adrian invading all of your senses and overwhelming all of them has you a mess already. You’re sure he’s gonna last longer than you, already your body feeling like it’s floating in space and already your mind drowning in everything Adrian.

“Adri-” you whine, but off by your own voice, as your body jolts under his touch. More accurately, his slap. Its light and playful and just enough to drive you that much further towards the edge.

“Oh… You liked that?” 

You nod.

He laughs, scrunching his nose to try and push his glasses back up his nose.

“I knew you would. Had to be kinky if you were into me,” he sighs, before slapping your cheek again a little harder, and you find your moan melting into a laugh. He’s so effortlessly hot while still being adorable Adrian. He knows you so well.

“Fuck me harder, babe,” you beg, finding it harder and harder to form words as tension rises in your body, your body overheated and every nerve like fireworks. Adrian seems to be spurred on even more by the pet name, immediately pushing into you even harder the second you call him babe. 

You can feel your orgasm building quickly, now completely sure you're gonna finish before him. He pistons into you, hips pressing flush against you, his balls against your ass. He’s no longer pulling all the way out, instead staying deep inside you and grinding his hips harder into you. It's absolutely driving you wild, moans and whines spilling from your lips. You're close, so incredibly close, and there's no way he can’t feel it from his position. He presses his whole being against you, his sweaty chest against you, his forehead pressed against yours. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is even more perfect than you ever could have imagined. And now you see it, the way Adrian could so easily pretend you were actually married. How easily all of this came to you both, how well you knew each other's bodies without ever doing this before. That deeper feeling without a name.

Your fingers move from his back, surely scratched and maybe even a little ripped up from your nails, and to his scalp, to those bouncy curls that you always look for in a crowded room.

“Fuck!” Adrian practically shouts as you pull at them, rutting harder into you even still. That pushes you over the edge, and you barely register the shaking of your legs or the low moan in your throat as your fist tightens in his hair. 

“Goddamn,” he chuckles, hands leaving their place on the mattress to cup your cheeks as he lets you come down from your high and finishes off himself. You whine almost pitifully as you can feel the searing heat of him spilling inside you, and he just soothes you with the sweetest kisses you've ever tasted. He stays there a little while, a lot more gentle and intuitive than you expected of him. He wipes away tears you hadn't realized had fallen and he lets you catch your breath. 

“My pretty wife,” he sighs, moving slowly as he finally pulls out of you, the sting of his departure and the cool air of the cabin knocking you like a wave. 

“Not your wife,” you correct him, but your voice is full of love and exhaustion. 

Not your wife, yet, at least. You can't afford to get ahead of yourself, especially not when you work on this team, but you let the thought pass through your mind without punishing yourself at least. 

Adrian just laughs, full and boisterous as he pulls you into his chest and holds you there in an iron grip. You think for a moment, that maybe he does that so you won't leave. You weren't planning on it anyway. 

“I still wish the camera was on,” he sighs, pressing a kiss to your hairline. 

“I know, babe,” you mumble, eyes getting heavier. 

And then. 

“Wait, Adrian, can we circle back to the thing where I don't think you own a smoke detector?”

[estrelladeishtar-archive]

Catch me resurfacing after 5000 years only to (maybe) slip back away & into the void of space like some kinda cryptid

Also I updated the desktop blog themes for here & my personal bc it’s about time I got off my ass & did that

Anyway

I guess we’ve been long overdue for an updates post yeah? Last one I made was legit Nov 2021... I think I should at least leave another update post before seeing if I’m still around or end up vanishing yet again, lmfao But regardless, getting to the point...

Tossing shit under a read more just so that in case of a lengthy ass post it doesn’t clog people’s dashboards (dashboards? timelines? ...I’ve been mostly on twitter lmao so). TL;DR, life’s come swinging hard at me so it’s kept all of my focus mostly on personal matters, less on art, even with still creating things in the distance despite taking a lengthy hiatus (that’s arguably still ongoing? a semi hiatus now perhaps) so.

So I mean, for starters its kinda. Obvious that I’ve been more active on other social media sites rather than here, & tbh whether I really stick around here for long or end up disappearing back into the depths once more for whatever unforeseen reason is yet to be seen, especially since I only really use this place on occasion (for my mental health’s sake, mostly, whether that’ll change over time or will always remain in this “appears only occasionally” cycle is something we’ve yet to see, but for now... just don’t count on me really being consistently active here)

But even with being more active on other places I’ve still taken a semi-hiatus/hiatus, with a major part of that being attributed to uh. Health issues coming back with a vengeance & tryna crush me lol. I mean that’s, kinda par for the course with chronic illness I guess? But it’s put a heavy emphasis on me having to look after myself even moreso than before, & this amidst still processing some really heavy shit I mentioned in my last update that I won’t get into (bc it’s both deeply personal & very trigger heavy), on top of other things life keeps throwing at me (because of course it would), well I’ve just taken priority on taking care of that & making sure I’m fine &... thus not really being too present on here or anywhere really. Sometimes showing up on occasions because I engage with astrology related communities (since I’m learning more on that & other personal practices I won’t bore y’all with), sometimes showing up to support other artists, but yeah.

I do admit tho I’ve still been creating stuff in the background. Be it practicing with stuff art wise or working on other personal OC stuff or projects, I’ve had that still, & its one of the things that helps keep me afloat whilst also navigating, well, life itself. It’s admittedly been difficult navigating shit also tho because due to my health situation, I can’t really do comms (& I’ve been on break from them due to burnout), so income’s been... troublesome to say the least considering medical bills & all that. So trying to find ways to get that & sometimes getting help from others has been another thing that’s kept me away, but yeah.

Ultimately tl;dr of it is that I’ve just had life itself as a priority above all other things. & it’s bound to stay that way for a while, so yeah. But I still do want to see if, on occasions I’m on here posting art, I can maybe share some stuff around the OCs I’ve worked on/created/etc, as well as maybe lore for personal worldbuilding stuff?

I mean I need to share it on my toyhouse eventually anyway LOL, & AT LEAST on here I can make posts about OCs without being constrained to a fucking 280 char limit per post if I opt to do so 💀 Or see what else I choose to share as well as the art I make from time to time? Especially since I’ve been majorly revamping my own OCs & even with my sona I’ll soon be showcasing their proper ref in full with all forms of them/versions of em, both in & out of fandom but. yeah. Things to come.

Also- do expect more of this acct to start turning more OC focused or, IF I share fancharacters, its more centered around them... It doesn’t mean I’ll stop doing fanart no, since I do enjoy doing that on my spare time too, BUT I want my focus shifted primarily on OC content more since that’s my own personal passion anyway (be it OCs, fancharacters, self ship stuff too, or other’s OCs also) & cause I usually have more to ramble on about when it comes to OCs? So yeah. I plan to also implement other changes later into this acct but I’m presently just figuring that mess out while still being on semi-hiatus so yeah.

I hope all of y’all have been doing well & I do appreciate those who’ve stuck around still despite my routine appearing & disappearing bs lmao, & I wish y’all well also

...This update turned a lot longer than I anticipated but hey, least it’s not me updating at some weird ass fucking hour bc of being wide awake at strange times (my sleep schedule’s still broken as hell) (no its not ever going to improve probably) (Its been this way since 2010) (so don’t count on it improving)

[timelesslords]

So Under Freezing Stars is finally done 😭I’m incredibly sad it's over but also so happy with the finished product and with the response it's gotten over the past few months <3 

I thought it might be fun to compile some little details about the fic- easter eggs and callbacks to the original books, little thematic details and symbols I included, chapter parallels, stuff like that! Everything is below the cut to avoid spoilers, but hopefully y’all find it fun and it’s an interesting way to top everything off :’) 

Symbolism/Theme

the first time Annabeth drinks nectar, she can’t put a taste to it. This is because she’s in a transitional period with her identity, where she hasn’t quite solidified a sense of home. When she wakes up after being given nectar for the second time, her mouth tastes like apples because her and Perseus had split one together back on the ship. It’s the first food they shared together after she starts associating him with the concept of home, so the nectar takes on that taste. also apples are a sacred fruit of aphrodite so, ya know ;) 

Water plays a big role thematically. There’s the obvious connection to Perseus (whenever Annabeth is looking out into the sea during an unrelated conversation, it’s sort of supposed to indicate that he’s on her mind) but also the more traditional symbolic meanings of water— washing someone/something clean, renewal, rebirth, etc. all of which are themes of the book anyways so it worked out!! Chapters to watch for water symbolism would be 18 and 32 in particular but really anytime there’s an emphasis on the sea

the quote I chose for the epigraph (”Understand this if you understand nothing: it is a powerful thing to be seen”) is from Freshwater by Akwaeke Emezi, one of my favorite books! In the context of Freshwater, this quote is when the main character (spoiler) meets someone from their culture who helps them realize they’re a god. It just felt like a particularly perfect way to start off the story, given how many parallels there are to that moment in Freshwater to the entirety UFS. Even without context it frames the story of one of self discovery, but particularly self discovery in tandem with another, which is exactly what I think UFS is about at its core. Freshwater is an incredible book that I owe so much to in terms of inspiring UFS thematically and I def recommend it, though please look up TWs for it beforehand bc it does contain a lot of triggering content.

another more obvious meta thing, the chapter titles switch from Latin to Greek after Annabeth realizes she’s Greek and not Roman 

Chapter Parallels 

 ch20 is called divinity because Annabeth views the sex as akin to a religious awakening— sleeping with her lover is both an act of worship and a revelatory experience wherein she comes to terms with the godly side of her identity. But chapter 33 is called mortal because the thing that makes them special together isn’t necessarily their parentage or their godliness, it’s their humanity. Gods can’t bare their souls to one another because they don’t have one. But mortals— vulnerable and breakable as they are— have that advantage, and when they sleep together the second time Annabeth is fully cognizant and appreciative of that fact.  

The drooling in sleep thing is obviously a callback to the OG books (it’s such an iconic first line I had to include it somehow lol) but it also has a thematic parallel (one that Annabeth actually points out within the narrative). That was one of the first moments she recognized he was human and not some unattainable figure, so it comes back to her later in ch33 when she's thinking about their mortality

In ch14, Piper offers to fix Annabeth’s hair as a peace offering. In ch33, Perseus untangles her hair for her because the idea of doing it herself is overwhelming for her. I just really like the idea of caring for someone else’s hair being an act of love towards that person :’) 

Easter Eggs/OG Book Callbacks

Blackjack asking for fried dough at the end of chapter 4 is a reference to him always asking for donuts in the original books (yes I did google “did they have donuts in ancient rome” for that lol)

The way they fight the hellhound in ch6 (Percy distracting in the front and Annabeth sneaking around the back) is their go-to fighting strategy in the books, which Percy comments on in BOTL

Obviously Jason passing out every 30 seconds is a reference to Jason getting knocked out like 3x a book in HOO (#brason)

Fai turning into a lizard in the Athens chapter is a callback to Frank the Iguana from MOA

the masthead of the ship being a dragon is meant to be reminiscent of Festus  

Other stuff!

Chapter 16 is named calm and chapter 17 is named storm bc 16 is the calm before the (literal) storm

Annabeth saying “is your head full of kelp” to percy in ch13 is the closest I could feasibly get to her calling him seaweed brain lol. I think in chapter 15 she also comments to herself that she feels like his brain is made of seaweed sometimes <3  

When Annabeth decides to let Jason and Piper wake up on their own instead of waking them up herself in ch32, it’s sort of a callback to previous comments she’s made about Jason not being a morning person. She’s still scared that he’ll be mad at her, and she doesn’t want to exacerbate that by waking him up early because she knows he’s in a worse mood in the morning. 

In the final conversation with Jason, Annabeth says “you’re always too hard on yourself” which is kind of a play on her last words to Luke in the original books (“you always pushed yourself too hard”). I don’t know why but I’ve always really liked that line, it feels very Annabeth, so I wanted to include it somehow. Jason isn’t dying but she does love him like a brother so that felt like a good place for it to go. 

something to generally look out for is how reliable or not reliable Annabeth’s narration is. She’s not like a Holden Caufield where she straight up lies to the audience, but her thoughts and observations are not always the most true version of what’s going on. This is probably most obvious in the Luke conflict (particularly chapters 21 and 23) but also when she has to read other people’s emotions and make assumptions about what they’re thinking based on that. A lot of times she’s straight up wrong and just doesn’t realize it (this is particularly relevant in ch14 lol)

another general thing to look at is chapter titles, particularly in the second half of the book. A lot of times the title of the chapter is one of the main themes of the story and that chapter is either an important plot point for that theme or a resolution of it! 

That’s all I can think of right now! I might update this later if I remember more but this is already stupidly long lol. I would apologize for turning my fic into an English assignment but if you made it this far you probably thought it was at least a little interesting, so 😂 

thank you guys again for reading <3 love you all!

[in-superbloom]

did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen? (a.i.)

right where you left me: prologue

pairing: ashton irwin x olivia jones (oc)

warnings: uhh a kinda grieving theme i guess? but no deaths. it has a sad tone overall, but nothing major (in this chapter hehe). foul language because i can't help myself. the tiniest mention of alcohol, but as a memory. think i should probably warn you that this contains a very sad ash. also not much dialogues. this is mainly for explanation and introduction, but very important for the story. if you find anything else that might be triggering, please let me know so i can add it here !!

author's note: oof okay. so. this is the prologue of a series very very dear to my heart that i've been working on for what it feels like my whole life but really it's been just a few months. but i'm in love with the story (which rarely happens with my own writing) so i hope you can enjoy it too !! this is also my very first time posting a fic since 2013 so pls keep that in mind <3 no i am not shaking as type this ofc not also: although i have the full story ready in my head, this is the only chapter that's written. i wanted to wait until i had at least a few ready before posting this but i'm too anxious for that lmao just saying this bc it will take a good while until i have any more chapters, so <3 (p.s.: i went over this thing a million times since may so if you find any errors pls look away, i'm not fixing this thing anymore. thanks <3)

another note: anna from the future here to say that i completely forgot about the playlist i made for the story lmao here it is in case you're interested k thanks bye <3

credits: title is from taylor swift's song right where you left me. model in the picture: paola locatelli. banner by me.

i also wanted to take a minute to thank some really nice friends that i've made here over these past few months & that i'm extremely grateful for @wastelandcth @suchalonelysunflower @littledrummerangie i cannot thank you babes enough for inspiring me the way that you do & for letting me yell about this to you && for encouraging me so much 🥺 i'll never be able to explain just how much this means to me, so i'll have to settle for saying thank you at any change that i can get <3 i love you all 💜 also gem my baby, thank you for the inspo with the banner 💚

@bluesdelis look babe i did it 😌 you know how grateful i am for you & for you letting me have a breakdown every week about my writing for the past 8 years so let's not dive into that or else i will write something bigger than this prologue jsjsjdjd love you 🖤

i hope you all have a good reading and a nice day ♡

let me know what are your thoughts about the fic ! ♡

word count: 4.1k

☆☆☆

Cold. That was the first thing that Olivia’s brain processed.

Still with her eyes closed, she buried herself more into the duvet, while her arm blindly reached for the furnace in human form that she calls boyfriend. However, as soon as her arm was only met with cold sheets, her eyes shot open.

Blinking the sleep away, she sat up on the bed, searching for the infamous red clock resting on Ashton’s bedside table that was supposed to look like a vintage alarm clock. Olivia had ordered it online at an auction website a couple of years back, as a gift for his 23rd birthday, since it was something he had mentioned multiple times prior that he was looking for, but still hadn't found. But when it finally came in (two weeks after the due date), it looked nothing like the picture she saw on the website. Feeling beyond frustrated, she wanted to send it back immediately and ask for a refund and maybe leave a not so polite review on the seller's page. But Ashton stopped her right away, laughing like the situation was absolutely hilarious to him, while saying, 'I like it, it’s quirky'. So, the clock stayed and found a home right next to him in their room.

Some days, however, she would wake up at some ungodly hour because of the blaring noise of the only ringtone the clock had. But whatever annoyance she could feel towards the object, it always vanished as soon as she felt Ashton's lips gently touching her face in a good morning kiss before he would get up to start his day, leaving her to catch some more hours of well deserved sleep.

As the furthest from a morning person as a touring musician could possibly be, Olivia had always feared that living under the same roof as Ashton would turn her into an early bird like him, but she's thankful that it never happened (not that he needs to know about that).

When she sees the red clock, she smiles at the sudden but welcome memories of them flooding her foggy brain, but frowns slightly when she realizes it reads 12:13 pm. Ashton rarely lets her sleep past 10 am.

Gathering all her strength and will, she rises up from the bed, smoothly picking up a grey wool sweatshirt from the chair (way too baggy on her slim body, but it smells like him), pulling it over her head and relishing on the soft material warming up her body. Making her way to the door and calmly going down the stairs, she can’t help but stop for a minute to admire the picture frames on their walls, one in particular catches her attention – probably one of the most prized pictures and memories they had. It felt older than it actually is, but it was around 4 years ago, she's sure – a little while after the two of them met. The picture was of their group of friends that still remains the same: Ashton and his best friend, Luke; Olivia, her best friend, Calum and their old hometown friend, turned into Calum’s new friend at college, turned into everyone’s friend, Michael; and her then newly band members, Suki, Eli and Ravi. Together, their group was the life of the party through all their college years, and it showed by the big smiles and drinks in hands they all had in the picture. It was a very special night, the first time Olivia’s little band played for the public – for a small audience sure, but it was a wonderful night nonetheless. What a long road it had been since that night.

Her nostalgic thoughts were interrupted by a shiver that went through her whole body, and it made her realize how oddly cold the whole house was, not only their bedroom. Which, granted, it was November in New York and the weather was just getting colder, but that’s exactly why Ashton always made sure to keep the house warm enough. As much as she loved the chilly season, the warm weather always reminded him of his hometown, and who was she to deny him that?

The smell of fresh made coffee could be sensed even before she reached the kitchen. Arriving there, the curly haired woman still found no signs of her boyfriend, so she went straight after the coffee maker pot sitting on the far left corner of the cream marble counter. Smiling softly at the tons of memories of Ashton's sleepy figure making their favorite beverage, she reached for a coffee mug on the cupboard on top of the counter and poured the remainder of the hot liquid on it (it's her favorite mug, if she must choose – it was a gift from a fan, and it had printed on it a collage of the pictures of her and Ashton that were posted on social media through their first year of relationship).

Moving to the glass doors that lead to the mini garden they cultivate, she didn't have to open them to spot the 6-feet-tall man sitting on a bench outside, looking oddly small in his oversized clothes, coffee mug tightly held between strong hands. Something about his figure made Olivia frown, however: he was staring with an unwavering look at her small but eye-catching pot of yellow daffodils that were almost as much of a pet to them as Stitch at this point. Sensing that there’s something definitely off about his semblance, she made a mental note to talk to him and find out what’s wrong later. So she goes back to the kitchen, knowing that he might need this quiet and private moment for himself.

She lost count of the minutes that went by (couldn't have been more than five) before she hears the garden's door opening and closing, and then his bare feet are dragging his brawny body to her. Except, he goes over to the sink, walking right through her, not showing any sign that he even saw her hunched figure over the counter table in the middle of the room.

Alright, someone's in a mood.

Olivia tries to swallow the annoyance already bubbling inside her – he knows how much she hates to be ignored, no matter how mad he might be – by trying to think of what she can say that won't piss him off. This is always a hard feat to accomplish when Ashton gets in these moods, but there’s a reason for them to work so well together.

“I missed my favorite body heater when I woke up,” she says in her best sweet voice, knowing how quickly his resolve crumbles when he hears that voice.

Still, no reaction.

That settles a worry at the pit of her stomach, because Ashton is never like this. Even when he's not in the mood to talk, he always gives some kind of reaction to her words; it doesn't matter how small, just enough to make her feel acknowledged.

When he's finished washing his mug and the few scattered dishes across the sink – she noticed that he already had lunch, if the lone plate in the drying rack is anything to go by –, he dries his hand in a towel, turns around and throws it on top of the same counter Olivia was leaning up against. Once again, he walks away not even sparing her a look.

Indignant, she leaves the now empty coffee mug on top of the table and follows him as he walks up the stairs, any determination to not aggravate his mood now well gone.

“Hey! In case you didn't notice, I'm right here. Whatever got you in this sour mood, I'm certainly not to blame, so can you stop being a child now and talk to me?!”

Ashton just keeps walking – more like sluggishly dragging his body – until he reaches their bedroom and suddenly stops just merely two feet inside the room, looking around with vacant eyes; like he was expecting to see something that wasn't there.

“Okay, that's really mature of you. Are you planning on ignoring me all day then?” Olivia questions exasperated, staring angrily at the back of his neck, where the condor tattoo lives – her favorite of his, but that sight doesn't bring her any peace today like it usually does.

Her glare only breaks when she hears the familiar sound of dog tags swaying on her right side. Shifting her gaze to the direction of the sound, Olivia notices Stitch, their small, black & white French bulldog – who she thought was outside in the garden – slowly trudging his way from around the bed until he stops at Ashton's feet, looking up at one of his humans with sad eyes. That realization only makes the worry in her stomach grow uncomfortably.

“Hi buddy,” Ashton's voice cracks a bit from the lack of use, but he smiles softly at the sweet dog, and crouches down to pet him.

Olivia can't help but gasp as she notices three things all at once that leave her overwhelmed: first, how she didn't even notice Stitch was in the room when she woke up – which never ever happens, in fact, most days he wakes her up whenever he deems her bedtime as finished and can't ever contain his excitement when she finally gets up; second, how the windows blinds are closed, which, again, rarely occurs under their roof, not if Ashton can help it. And third, how sad and melancholic the whole scene in front of her is – how sad and melancholic Ashton is. Pointless to say by now – that's also a very rare occasion.

A chill creeps up Olivia's spine, putting her body into high alert and also serving as a reminder of how everything looks out of place today. Trying to keep her head from spiraling down way too soon, she wraps her arms around herself and crouches down beside her two favorite boys, trying once more.

“Ash? Can you hear me?” even with her throat closing, she softly asks, purposefully putting her face in Ashton's point of view. Her only answer is the low whispers he's letting out to Stitch, while cradling the tiny dog in his arms, spreading gentle kisses on his head.

“I know, bud, I know. I miss her too,” is the only whisper she could understand and immediately wishes she hadn't. The weak wail that comes from Stitch's throat seems to fit perfectly with how the three of them feel.

Ashton then looks up and for a couple of seconds, and Olivia can swear he’s staring right into her eyes. But when he shows no reaction, she knows he’s just staring ahead and not at her, with that look that says there’s too much going on inside his head. She feels the urge to embrace him and get him to talk about whatever is on his mind, so they can share that weight like they always do, but when Ashton gets up from the ground and settles on the bed with Stitch, Olivia can physically feel the crack in her heart caused by the feeling she’s left with.

While Ashton is pulling the duvet over him and the dog, with clearly no intentions of getting up anytime soon, Olivia stands up on her feet with a new-found determination – she needs to figure out what the hell is going on.

This nightmare had to be just that, right? Nothing but a very vivid dream – she's had those before. Scary sure, but they always go away, and soon enough she's back into Ashton's arms, with Stitch jumping on the bed ready to lick their faces off. She just needs to wake herself up from whatever fucked up dream this is – right?

She's running down the stairs this time, frantically in search of something, of what exactly, she doesn’t know – but she knows she needs an answer. The more she looks for something, the more desperate she gets, not knowing what to look for. Then suddenly, something catches her eyes.

The white and blue calendar that's held up by magnets on the side of the fridge. She knows their calendar is red and yellow. They got it from their favorite flower market. Slowly, as if scared of what it might be there – “It's just a calendar, for fucks sake” – she approaches the damn thing. Upon inspection, she deems it as a normal calendar – she really doesn't know what she was expecting – until.

She knows what's wrong with it now.

It's November. She knows it, because the Asian and last leg of her first world tour is about to begin November 21st, eleven days from today. Right after Mike's birthday, she knows this.

Then why does the calendar say today is January 14th?

☆ ☆ ☆

Ashton woke up with a jolt. He quickly sat up, frightening the little Frenchie that was asleep right next to him on the bed. Trying to make sense of his surroundings, he roughly rubbed his face to get some sleep off of it and soon reached for the dog that was staring at him with sleepy but sad eyes. Ashton is sure Stitch understands far more than a dog is supposed to understand about their current situation.

The room is covered in shadows, almost pitch black, but he can see the sunlight even through the thick dark grey blinds covering up the windows. Ashton knows he won't be able to sleep again at that moment, so he gets up from the bed – much slower than he used to. His heartbeat is still out of control because of the nightmare that woke him up, but he can't bother to pay attention to it when Stitch is softly wailing beside him. Ashton lets out a ghost of a smile when the dog rests his head on his right upper thigh, looking up at him with an expression Ashton knows all too well.

“C'mon you little ravenous creature, let's feed you,” the bulldog excitedly jumps to the ground, already running his way down the stairs, not even waiting for Ashton to get up.

That gets a real smile out of him, but it vanishes as soon as he glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It reads 5:13 am, nothing out of the ordinary for him. But that small and inoffensive clock, with its red paint peeling off, holds a lot of memories for him. Memories that two months ago would bring joy to his heart, but now he almost wants to throw the object across the room.

It was a stupid thing, really. He had been wanting a vintage alarm clock and Olivia got one for his birthday. But the product they received was definitely not the one she bought, and if he's being honest, he didn't like it as much as he made out to. But seeing her so excited in the weeks before it arrived, and how disappointed she was when it did, he couldn't help but try his best to make her smile that luminous smile again. It's part of his nature by now.

That's also the reason why he lets her think that he doesn't notice when she wakes up at some ungodly hour (her words, not his) along with him, because of the annoying and only sound the alarm clock is able to produce. He always leaves soft kisses in every inch of bare skin he can find on her sleeping figure, so she goes back to the dream land and doesn't wake up before 10 am. No one wants to deal with that kind of bad humor, not even him.

As much as he likes being a morning person and absolutely enjoys her company in the mornings, he knows she'll take any and every extra hour of sleep she can get before starting the day. And that's why he loves that she's so stubborn that his early bird tendencies never got to her – he knows she feared that this would happen when they moved in together, but he met her like this, fell for her like this. He wouldn't change a single thing about her.

Ashton drags himself out of the bed, wincing slightly at how cold the wooden floors are under his bare feet. He doesn't bother putting some socks on, or a sweater – the cold weather in the house is uncharacteristically comforting to him. Nothing feels warm without her anyway.

While descending the stairs, he mentally curses himself for not being strong enough to look past the picture frames on the wall. One in particular catches his eyes – a picture from the night of Olivia's first concert with her band. The memories of that night are still painfully vivid in his mind: the laughter among their group that eventually infected everyone at the pub, Suki and Luke's first kiss and the silly smile that didn't leave his best friend's face all night, the standing ovation Olivia got after her three-songs set, and her captivating and breathtaking smile that made him realize right then and there, while watching her sway to the music, that he was definitely falling in love with her and there was nothing he could do to stop it – not that he wanted to.

So many memories held up on that wall, in the relatively short time since they met, that he can't help but wonder if that's all they'll get in this lifetime.

Ashton is abruptly taken out of his thoughts by Stitch's barks coming from the bottom of the stairs. He quickly jogs down the few steps left and goes straight after the dog's food in the kitchen's cabinet. After Stitch starts to happily devour his breakfast, Ashton goes to make his coffee, doing enough for two people like he always does, since Calum drops by most days for a chat or to drop Duke before going to work. Although all three of them know he just can't bother to make food for himself in the morning, while Ashton is the group's elected chef. Ashton always says he just needs a boyfriend – Olivia says Calum already has one who makes him breakfast every day.

He grabs an apple from the fridge and makes his way outside to their garden. Even though a lot of their memories took place there, the garden is the only space in the house where he doesn't feel like suffocating all the time. At least here, he can breathe some fresh air and look at the sky when he's feeling overwhelmed – which is basically all he's been doing for about a month now.

Yet, a lot of the garden has Olivia's name written all over.

He remembers vividly the day she came home after spending two weeks in LA doing some pocket shows, with a pack of daffodil seeds and the largest smile. She excitedly told him that a friend gifted it to her when she mentioned the little garden they were planning to build together at their new house. The friend told Olivia that daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings, so as the good lover of symbolism that she is, Olivia loved the idea of having those flowers to symbolize their new beginning.

Ashton, on the other hand, wasn't a fan of the flowers at first – he just didn't see the appeal to them. But nonetheless, he indulged her, letting Olivia plant the seeds near the bench they used to sit during the quiet and unrushed afternoons, so they could admire the sunset, and she could happily look at the daffodils.

Pointless to say – the damn flowers grew on him.

Now, however, looking at them without Olivia and her contagious joy next to him, they were back to be as dull as they were before, if not more so.

Still lost inside his head without any sense of how much time went by since he sat down, Ashton doesn't hear the front door closing, and doesn't notice that he's no longer the only person inside the house until someone sits next to him on the bench. Yet, he doesn't show any sign of acknowledgement to them.

A few minutes go by before either of them speaks up.

“Luke said you didn't go to see her yesterday,” Calum starts softly, not wanting to disturb the calmness of the morning.

Ashton takes a few seconds to respond, “No point in doing that.” The black haired man licks his lips while thinking carefully about his next words.

“You know staying inside this house all day by yourself won't help either,” Calum turns his head to his left and takes a good look at Ashton's uncharacteristically hunched over figure, and immediately thinks that anyone can tell this man is not himself anymore. His second thought is that Olivia would hate seeing him like this.

“And what exactly do you expect me to do? Move on with my life like nothing happened? Like I'm not slowly and painfully losing the love of my life? Just because it’s easy for you doesn't mean it's easy for me.”

Calum closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He knows Ashton doesn't mean it, it's the anger and frustration talking. He knows it. Doesn't make it sting any less.

“I'm not telling you to move on with your life, because that's far from what I'm doing, and I certainly don't expect you to do it. I'm just saying you need to occupy your mind or else–”

“I'll go insane? Think it's a bit too late for that,” Ashton interrupts with a bitter tone that doesn't belong to his usual chirpy voice.

“You know it's not,” Calum sighs and drinks the rest of his coffee, moving his body slightly, so he's facing the blonde man, “I got a job interview for you at that school you talked about so much last summer, the principal said you can go any day this week. I went ahead and sent her your resume as well as explained everything that she needs to know about Olivia, so you don't have to. You just gotta put on some decent clothes and show up.” he sees Ashton's face softening a little and takes it as a victory. A few beats go by and then, “Maybe take a shower too. That's gonna make you feel better.” Calum leans in closer to his friend's personal space and takes a sniff, causing Ashton to deflect from him slightly, but not to push him away – another small win.

“Definitely take a shower, you stink. When was the last time your hair saw shampoo?”

“Fuck off,” is Ashton's only reply to the younger man's inquest. But Calum can see a smile creeping up on the blonde's face, which brings out a smile of his own.

“I'll send you all the details later today,” he checks the hour on the watch on his wrist and gets up, “Just please, Ash, go. I can't lose you too.”

Calum gently lays a hand on Ashton's shoulder and squeezes a little. The man doesn't look up, but gives a curt nod to his friend, who's satisfied enough. Calum stops on the threshold of the garden glass doors to give some kisses to Stitch – who came to make Ashton company as soon as he finished his food –, and then he puts the coffee mug on the dishwater. And soon enough, he's on his way out of the door. But not before snatching a tangerine from the fridge.

Ashton is left by himself once again. As he hears the sound of the front door closing, he thinks that this might be his life from now on. Just him and Stitch, trying their hardest to make it through another miserable day without the love of their lives. While everyone else comes by just to make sure he's still breathing. Breathing, maybe, but alive?

Swallowing the tears, he looks up at the sky. It's a deep, beautiful mix of orange, pink and blue, but he knows that it won't last long and soon the rain will be pouring down. He thinks about how much Olivia loves the rain.

God, he needs to pull himself together. She would hate to see him like this. Maybe he should take Calum's offer after all, he really needs to occupy his mind.

Making a mental note to thank Calum later, and also to apologize for how rude he was to him this morning, Ashton slowly gets up from the bench to put his mug on the sink and makes his way to the living room, with the small dog loyally following his every step. He puts on some cartoon that for once doesn't remind him of her (she always lovingly made fun of him for still watching those) and cuddles with Stitch on the couch. He can take a shower later.

Not half an hour goes by, he falls asleep and has a good dream for a change. He dreams of the days he spent with Olivia in the Philippines last February, right before her first world tour started. Some of the most magical days of their lives – surrounded by delicious food, a whole new culture to learn about and the warmth of the sun. Infinite counted days full of love and passion, where they were the only people in the world.

Even his subconscious knows to hold on to that brief moment of happiness, because he might never live that again.