#( I am sorry if this is very long and very chatty ^^;; )

[chaoticxbeast]

@raptorprowl

A van screeched to an aggressive stop next to them, and Donnie leaned out of the window with a little wave. "Hey guys. Hop in! Raph, you get in the back. Guests get to sit in the front."

"You just wanna show off the new computer, don´t you?"

"Well yea. And I think you mean Kusanagi. That´s her name you know."

"It´s not a she." Raph said, and got into the van, and took a seat behind the drivers-seat.

"That´s not up to you. She can be a she..it´s 2024." Don said.

To humans ( or to anyone who didn´t know them ) Don looked a lot like Raph, but for those who had a keen eye, their differences were several. Don was shorter, had a smaller, less stocky build and in general softer features. Looking a lot like a typical nerd, with headphones around his neck, a pair of black glasses on his beak, and a fannypack on his belt for extra storage. He also had a kind, honest and open expression on his face, and as a younger voice, as if he was a late bloomer. Nothing about that seemed to affect his self confidence though.

The van has space for about seven people, but three seats had been taken out to make extra space for storage. The inside of the van was pimped up with lights along the floor, modern sturdy leather seats ( that seemed easily customizable to make more room, or to turn around, if needed ) lot of little trinkets Don was working on, some bananas, anime stickers and toys from various popular anime shows, but most of all the high tech dash stood out.

The dashboard contained a long touch screen that stretched across the dashboard. The screen was buzzing with information, on things like reports on traffic problems, some news updates, text messages from Splinter, to a live map with twitters from the police, and some kind of AI; that looked like a green female form that slowly spun, floating in a fetus position. She looked just like the protagonist from the ghost of the shell anime movie. Yes..it was a naked lady.

"My name is Donnie. Nice to meet you. I like your style, it´s cool!" Donnie said with a smile, offering to shake Nero´s hand."

"Master Donnie. There is a stranger in the van. A human." The computer said.

"That´s right." Donnie patted the dashboard proudly, before swiveling the wheel. "Great job on noticing Kusanagi."

"Thank you." The computer replied, updating its memory in response to the positive feedback.

"Is there any problems in traffic right now, Kusa?"

"Give me a moment. Scanning.."

"Sure" Don said, contently.

"There is a traffic jam across George washington bridge."

"Do you have to chat with the van like it´s an actual person?" Raph said impatiently. I mean it´s cool with a computer and all but."

"Raphael, I am an actual person." The computer replied, and Raph rolled his eyes"

"Don´t mess with her, Raph, she´ll remember this you know. You don´t want her not to like you.. Anyways shut up for a moment, I need ask her for the best route to the junkyard."

"Memory updated. State which junkyard."

"Maybe you should get some more actual friends Don."

"Noted. Master Donnie should get more actual friends." The computer repeated, and Raph laughed.

"Big junkyard and Autogallery." Donnie then glanced back at Raph, turning the car. " Raph I´ve got more friends than you." Don said, with a little laugh."

"Noted. Master Donatello has more friends than Raphael." The computer replied, updating it´s memory.

"Remind me to work on your programming later, because I can´t let Raph fill your memory with his lies."

"Noted. Fastest route to ...big junkyard and autogallery is ready."

[edrurysz]

ooc. Seeing other people on the dash rb shippy memes and mourning because

a) Too new here to have any ships, rip

b) Shipping??? With Helaena? Is bound to be interesting. She does not love Aegon as more than a brother, but she still would have hangups about remaining faithful to the vows she took (even if Aegon doesn't...).

Considering that she has only had Aegon as her basis of comparison for both ''''romantic'''' and sexual interaction, she wouldn't really think it's something desirable to seek anyway. Something to be endured, rather. Not that she views herself as particularly attractive either (nor does she care much about that; she doesn't put much merit into any sort of outward appearances - there are other aspects of herself that she likes just fine, comeliness need not be one of her strengths), since Aegon certainly seems to have little interest in her.

She may have heard stories of chivalric romances and thought them beautiful as a child, but probably thinks that they are just that....stories. Certainly there was no love to be found between her own parents; marriage was a duty for them as well.

Not to mention she is very reserved with her inner self and affections, and is ever slow to show them. Anything with her would be the slowest of burns & require quite a bit of patience. And trying to imagine what might even garner her interest in the first place also gives me pause. Kindness, maybe, and a willingness to understand that she will sometimes be distant, resistant to all forms of physical affection at times, and be willing to listen to what she says without censure or goading.

But again, she would not seek out a romantic connection of any nature on her own 🤷🏽‍♀️

[babygirlmurdock]

A Moment of Serenity

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Matt comes home from a rough night as Daredevil, only to experience one of the most intimate moments of his life.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: None! A whole lotta feelings though!

a/n: This is inspired by that one reddit post called, “My girlfriend washed my hair today” and it’s one of the most Matt Murdock posts I’ve ever read. There’s not a lot of dialogue which is out of my comfort zone because I love being chatty! But anyway, I hope all my “someone give Matt Murdock a hug” gang enjoys!

——————————————————————————

It was late at night. You must have fallen asleep on the couch waiting up for Matt to make sure he got home okay after his night out as Daredevil. Your eyes slowly opened and you took a minute to adjust to the bright light from your phone. 2:27 am. God, he’s never out this late. You started to collect yourself from his couch and walked to his bed wrapped in his soft plaid blanket. You were almost to the bedroom when you heard the rooftop door open and felt a bit of the cold breeze of late autumn air.

“Hey,” you spoke barely above a whisper. Your voice was soft, probably due to the fact that you haven’t spoken in a few hours. You looked up at Matt adorn in his red Devil suit. His chest slowly rose and fell as he made his way down the stairs. He didn’t speak. Just gives you a small smile as he removes his gloves and cowl. He sat down on the stairs to remove his boots and you made your way over to him to caress his face and kissed his forehead. Usually when Matt kept to himself after a long night, that meant he didn’t want to talk much. Which, you respected. If you were out bloodying gang members and other sorts of criminals, you wouldn’t want to talk about it either. You stepped back as he stood up to move towards his closet and noticed Matt wincing in pain as he reached towards the back of his suit to unzip himself.

“Oh, here, let me help you,” you put the blanket on his arm chair and made your way over to him to the back of him to unzip his suit. You peeled the suit over his shoulders so he didn’t have to lift his arm or move his body much.

“Thank you,” Matt whispered to you. You hated seeing him in pain. You immediately noticed his new scrapes and bruises on his ribs and back. He stripped down to his underwear and put his suit back in the trunk and pushed it into the closet and gently shut the doors.

“You’re welcome,” you said back to him as Matt made his way over to the bathroom. You heard the shower start. You listened to the shower door open until you made your way to the bathroom as well to join him. You undressed yourself and opened the shower door to be met with a very mopey Matt. He reached for the shampoo as you grabbed it from his hands.

“Let me do it,” you said to him. You moved yourself so now your back was hitting the water and Matt’s back was facing the tiles. You squeezed some of his shampoo in your hands and you started to lather it in his hair. Matt’s eyes fell shut and his shoulders slumped a little at your touch. He needed this. You can tell he had a really bad night. He wasn’t angry at you, he was more so angry at himself. Cursing himself for not putting somebody in a coma tonight. Matt’s hands were resting on your waist as you massaged the shampoo deeper onto his scalp. His eyes were shut as he was fully indulged in you. Listening to your steady breathing and heartbeat helped him with nights like these.

You took the shower nozzle off the holder and began to rinse Matt’s hair. Your gaze was soft on him. Admiring the beauty he holds. God, he’s so beautiful. You were so lucky to have him. You used your fingernails to lightly scratch his head. He let out a soft moan chased by your name. You put the shower nozzle back and grabbed his body wash. Lathering it up in your hands, you begin to massage Matt’s upper body, being careful around his new injuries. You trailed gentle kisses along his shoulders and chest.

“I’m sorry you had a shit night, Matt,” you expressed to him as his empty gaze fell upon you. His eyes were glossy. Almost like he was fighting back tears. “Are you crying? Am I hurting you?”

“No,” he scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’m just so used to people who are cold with me. I’m not used to this kind of thing.”

“Oh,” you were caught by surprise. Matt was always so kind and gentle with you. He understood your feelings more than anyone ever could. You can’t imagine how anyone could be cold to him.

He cupped your face, your eyes met his. You and Matt have been intimate with each other but nothing came close to the intimacy you two are sharing right now.

“I love you. So much. I am the luckiest man alive. You take such good care of me, and I don’t think there are enough words in the English language to express how much I am in love with you,” Matt said directly to your face. Tears stung your eyes. You always knew Matt felt this way about you, but you never heard him say he was in love with you. You blinked away any tears trying to escape your eyes and Matt’s lips met yours with such delicacy and care. Like he was handling a rare flower.

You pulled away, “I always knew the Devil had a sweet side,” you slyly said. “I love you more than anything in this world, Matthew. You deserve every single ounce of love and care I give you. Even though your brain makes you think otherwise.”

Matt kissed you again, and again, and again. Until he was peppering kisses all over your face. He kept on reminding you how much he loves you. You had a feeling he wanted to spend the rest of his days with you.

You two finished up the shower and made your ways to bed to go to sleep. You climbed into the sheets after brushing your hair. You laid your head on Matt’s chest listening to his heart as you both drift off to sleep.

[ximmortalis]

A peak into the life of Ingellvar: Lucanis and Spite

Rook should mention to Lucanis that she could hear Spite in close proximity but there is something about the once Spirit of Determination, now turned Demon, navigating the world outside of the Ossuary. It’s dare she say almost endearing the way he is curious of most things. He is surprisingly chatty, and it’s become a guilty pleasure of hers to listen in.

The dynamic between Lucanis and Spite shouldn’t exist; Lucanis isn’t a mage and possesses no magical abilities, yet due to the extreme circumstances he managed to work out a deal with Spite. It’s fascinating, it takes everything she knows of abominations and turns it upside down.

She’s lounged in the common room book open in her lap; recently Rook has found it difficult to sleep it’s no surprise considering the weight on her shoulders. Rubbing the back of her neck to alleviate the tension stuck there, she sighs and takes a sip of tea. Chamomile with vanilla and a touch of honey for added sweetness, it was her go to drink when she was a student back at the Necropolis; a way to help her relax during her studies.

The door creaks open stealing her attention it’s Lucanis.

More accurately, it’s Spite.

He looks much like a child being caught doing something they shouldn’t, no doubt making another escape attempt.

“Hello, Spite.”

The spirit grumbles annoyed that he’s been spotted. Spite could easily make a run for it; wearing only her night clothes and without shoes, Rook isn’t prepared for an outing in the crossroads. However, Spite seems to linger and is watching her with interest; seemingly waiting for her reaction.

Rook pats the cushion next to her, “Would you like to join me?”

Spite moves in a way she would describe as predatory, fluid like and with grace, footsteps near silent. He’s nimble and appears in front of her within a blink of an eye.

“I. Want. To. Leave.”

She smiles softly, “I know, but Lucanis is needed here and so are you.”

There is a flicker of confusion on his face, “I. Needed?”

‘’Of course, may the Gods perish swiftly and painfully by your hand.’’

Face lighting up in sadistic glee, ‘’YES. GOOD!’’

Eventually she manages to convince him to sit with her and she places the book she has been reading between them. It’s nothing to fancy just a tome on the different types of magical properties of crystals for enchantments and spells. She doesn’t expect for him to take an interest, but he does pointing to the different crystals on the page and listens with rapt attention at her explanations.

‘’Jade, for protection and to repel negative energies.’’

‘’Taste. Like. Mint.’’

Rook hums, ‘’I suppose it could.’’

They go from page to page and with each one Spite has a guess on the flavour of each crystal. A garnet would be spicy, obsidian like liquorice, Citrine is citrus – obviously. He was particularly proud with that one, it seems he had a sense of humour, very dry but it was there. Rook has no clue how long they are at it, but she is more than happy to feed his interest, as she turns to another page; Spite tenses and then goes limp and a very groggy and confused Lucanis is with her.

‘’Rook?’’

Lucanis glances around the room, ‘’How did I get here?’’

‘’Spite tried to leave,’’ She explained, ‘’Don’t worry he didn’t get far; I’ve been teaching him about crystals.’’

‘’Amber. Taste. Like. Honey.’’

Rook tries to hide a grin as Lucanis pinches the bridge of his nose, ‘’No. We are not eating crystals.’’

Spite grumbles unhappily protesting loudly like a child throwing a tantrum; Lucanis makes a valent effort to ignore him, but the longer he does the louder Spite becomes.

‘’Now, now Spite; you’re going to give poor Lucanis an aneurysm.’’

Lucanis looks towards her with only what she can describe as look of pure horror and Spite goes silent. Rook on the other hand keeps her eyes on the page of her book, a smile on her face.

‘’You can hear him?’’ Lucanis questions.

‘’When you are this close, yes.’’

‘’I am so sorry.’’

No longer able to contain herself she laughs; Spite is clearly more delighted at this news than Lucanis. The Crow collapses further into the couch and slings an arm over his face and curses. He looks like a man in mourning at her admittance, a part of her feels slightly guilty at not telling him sooner but her Mourn Watcher ways had wanted to get to know Spite better, she wanted to see how he saw the world around him and how it influenced him. Rook pats his shoulder in sympathy and Lucanis removes the arm from his face, there is a small barely their smile breaking out on his face.

‘’Well, at least you can hear what I have to deal with.’’

‘’Rook. Rooook. The crystals. I want to. Eat!’’

Oh dear.

Rook isn’t too sure yet but she thinks she might have bitten of more that she can chew.

[deluxewhump]

Nightfall

August

CW: just vampire and bloodbag dynamics. a playful “threat.”

**

The interstate was quiet. Even the night air was a balmy seventy degrees in the final weeks of summer. He slept though the days the same as his master now, but if he woke briefly he could feel the heat of them, a haze that turned the blue sky white. Insects trilled in the grass all day long.

The trees in the distance appeared black against the orange cityglow of the sky. Eighty-five felt like nothing in Maxim’s sleek silver car, gliding through the air like the edge of a knife.

Carlo put his foot on the dash and took it swiftly down again. Maxim had reprimanded him for that once. At first he'd assumed it was out of a sense of preservation for his pristine car. He’d burned in shame for not having thought of that himself. It was a rude, childish habit. Yet in the next breath, Maxim told him it was because it was unsafe. And he was only mortal, after all. 

“Before any of this, I thought I’d rather a new vampire feed from me than an older one,” Carlo said. He was bored, and boredom made him chatty these days. “No offense, but the older you get, the stronger you get. And scarier.”

“And what about now?” the vampire asked neutrally. 

“Not now so much,” he answered. “The new ones are so… hungry. Rough.”

“It’s harder for them to control it when they’re newly made,” Maxim agreed. “Even the ones who want to control it.”

“Control what?”

“The reflex. When a vampire bites, it triggers a series of impulses. Immobilize, incapacitate, and feed.”

Carlo turned to watch him in the driver’s seat. The now-familiar shape of his profile in the dark was lit only by the orange high mast lights that lined the highway. “Every time?”

Maxim glanced at him and returned his gaze to the road. “Yes."

“But it goes away, when you’re an older vampire?”

“Mm. No.”

“You feel that?”

He hesitated, but it wasn't like him to be dishonest, even in the interest of placating Carlo. “I do.”

He changed lanes to pass a sluggish flatbed truck. Another Maine plate. Carlo had been counting, and it did not seem to be confirmation bias that there were an inordinate number of them on the Maryland roads. He forgot to add this one. 

“That disturbed you.”

“No,” he lied. “Sorry. I just didn’t know that.”

“Does that change something for you?”

Sometimes he got the sense that Maxim asked him things out of a very general curiosity. Like he was taking notes for a far future that didn't include him.

“No,” he said stubbornly. “I just didn’t realize you had the urge to incapacitate prey still.”

“Prey is an interesting word choice. And urge is the wrong word entirely. It’s information. Biological. It might be too generous to even call it a coherent thought. I notice it, it passes. I hardly observe it anymore, let alone wrestle with it. I have absolutely no conscious desire to hurt you, Carlo. Quite the opposite.”

Carlo nodded, arms crossed over his waist. He put his right foot on the dash. Maxim didn’t correct him.

“I’ve got instincts too,” he said after another mile of empty highway. “Sometimes I’m still afraid of you. Not you, but what you are. It comes out of nowhere.”

Maxim took a hand off the steering wheel and set it in Carlo’s hair, giving it a soft caress before returning it to the wheel. “Of course you do. That’s very deep in human subconsciousness. It’s just survival instinct.”

“So the word prey does apply!” he argued.

“Such an antagonistic little thing. Can I start making threats to keep you compliant, or is it too soon?”

Carlo turned his face toward the window so the vampire would not see his smile. Maxim had easily, graciously forgiven his human nature, blamelessly saying of course you do. He should return the gesture and forgive the vampire’s nature. It had never been anything but loving to him. The hand was on the back of his head again, checking to see if he was truly upset. 

“I am compliant,” he insisted playfully, and laid his head back in the vampire’s palm. 

“Good. I don’t have to send you to the trunk then.”

Carlo smiled as the vampire gently squeezed the back of his neck.

[multiheadcanons]

THE GOOFIEST SONGS I ASSOCIATE WITH THE MERCS

scout: frankly all of the offense classes get the same song, but it’s the muppet cypher hosted by the stupendium and it’s seven minutes long with multiple artists so guess what it’s all different songs to me today. and they all get this cypher because all three of these dumbasses are muppets in human form. scout definitely gets rizzo’s verse because if nathan didn’t exist skull from jt music is my canon voice for scout. also, “you can leave it to me to put the rat in the race”? “any kind of fourth wall i will happily break”?? dude that’s scout! that IS scout!

soldier: the second dumbass human muppet. y’all know he’s actually sam eagle in human form, right? so sam eagle’s entire verse is indeed soldier. down to the blatant misinformation in the verse because he’s just fucking stupid. i can just hear soldier saying the entire verse word for word as a monologue. “a bunch of weirdos and nerdies”. i bet he does call his teammates nerds. i know he does. the second they show anything more than like, a moderate amount of excitement he’s like wow… what a major nerd. i live and work with major weirdos and nerds.

pyro: the third dumbass human muppet. definitely gonzo the great’s verse, and literally what made me think of this entire post. if only because of the killer lyric combo of “am i he? am i she? am i omnigender? check none of the above, love, i’m whatever” (which is literally just a smooth ass, dope ass lyric and so very real and relatable) and “nobody’s gonna be telling me what is and isn’t canon” because actually yes pyro is my little doodle doll that i doodle on and go “hehe. nice.” and some days pyro is a dragon and other days pyro is a capybara and on the holidays they’re a faerie but really what pyro is is whatever i want them to be on any given day at any given moment. and nobody’s gonna be telling me what is and isn’t canon. honestly the whole cypher eats definitely go give it a listen.

demoman: i just have a question— are your lips dry? i think about demo, and i think about a song, about drinks…. and nothing else. get your mind out of the gutter. can y’all tell i love the stupendium yet? the vending machine of love is definitely one of many masterpieces in stupe’s discography. and the whole vibe of the song is demo the man. eloquent, and elegant, and so effervescent; bubbly, fast paced, with killer lyrics and a smooth, satisfying delivery. and very queer. just like our favorite demolitions expert. slot your pennies in his vending machine of love. and i think demo, like onlycans, the app for soda lovers, is a true chameleon in the sense that there’s really no such thing as not getting along with demo. you will find something about him just irresistible to be around! he’s a chatty, fun loving guy, he’s funny, he’s flirty but not creepy with it (as long as he’s not absolutely plastered), you cannot help but love something about the guy.

heavy: double homicide by cupcakke is heavy weapons guy. sorry not sorry. shut the FUCK up and show me how y’all hold the spot. actual lyric in this actual song. it literally opens with “treat every [REDACTED] just like a sloppy joe; in cold words, bitch we only finna meet for bread” like first of all that’s misha. that IS misha. and the entire first half of the song being so forceful /pos, while not being nearly as fast as it will get in the second half of the song. “head shoulders knees and toes, i bet this bitch won’t leave with those” “itty itty bitty when you’re standing against me” like good god cupcakke wrote this and then said “wow you know who would like this, heavy weapons guy from critically acclaimed game team fortress two”, also it literally ENDS on “motherfucker need a doctor” which makes me scream because i think about the fact that if heavy is dominating an enemy medic, he doesn’t have domination lines against the medic; he’s only insulting the rest of the team for not protecting him. it reminds me of that lazypurple clip where he’s like “don’t rush heavy without a plan, that’s what he wants.”

engineer: he does what he does cause he’s a total fuckin cunt-ry boy. bo burnham has this song. i literally don’t know what it’s actual title is, but it’s that fucking country song? frankly i think engie would like bo burnham in general as a comedian, when i think of engie’s sense of humor i definitely think of bo burnham. dry, dark, poignant, fast enough that you’ll lose him if you don’t keep up. i also heavily associate entropy by awkwardmarina with him too. i think engie is, at his core and at his best, morally grey. self-sufficient, self-serving, and willing to do anything to get him where he needs to go. i think him shifting too far into “good” or “bad” does little justice for who dell conagher is in my mind and removes so much of any facet of his personality that he’s not dell: an insanely intelligent man, who comes from insanely intelligent family, with a lot of secrets he is the sole guard of at this time. and i think engie does feel like he is out of place most places from the sheer amount of information running through his mind at any given point. he’s simply not generic in a way that would make him a real, true functioning member of average society. but for the place he carved out for himself, he absolutely is a pillar and cornerstone of his community. the team would simply not be the same if he wasn’t there.

medic: YOU’RE EITHER WITH ME OR DOOMED! pharrell williams has actually released nothing but banger after banger for the despicable me soundtrack, and the good doctor does indeed get hug me from the third movie that i never watched. what i can tell you though, is that in no case of any one on one interaction with medic, is he ever the straight man. this man is an instigator, a shit starter, and a shit ender with the grin to match. because who else will stay in trouble with you? the doctor will run into open fire with you if he has a 75% confidence one of you will make it to the other side. and if it’s below, he’s willing to try to figure out what you both can do to better those odds. the best part about medic is that he is not a runner. god tier partner in crime. he will get arrested with you and call the team to post bail for both of you. he can be stuck to your hip if you want him to be. the world is his oyster, and for the low price of your soul it can be yours too.

sniper: i don’t know why, but tom cardy’s perception check is sniper to me. other than the fact that i do believe snipes is literally the most perceptive mercenary, like i don’t think anything has ever not been registered in snipes’ subconscious that he was witnessed even out of his peripherals, but i also think that there is an odd algorithm between snipes doing well on the field, and the rest of the team doing well on the field. and there’s a spot where one can argue both parties do “well”; but if the team is absolutely massacring on the field, sniper has missed nine of his ten shots. but! when the team is eating shit on the field; those happen to be the days sniper has gotten nine hours of sleep. also, snipes is probably lethal with some of the insults he’ll hurl on the field. if he doesn’t just straight up point at engie sometimes and yell “SHORT!”. another one that sniper really embodies now that we have a canonical age for him that i will continue to only marginally respect? 30 by bo burnham. no explanation, you already know.

spy: yet another banger from the despicable me soundtrack. i could go on at length about how double life has also cemented itself as one of pharrell william’s absolute masterpieces not just in the despicable me soundtrack, not just in animated movie soundtrack, but perhaps his entire discography. and i see the edit in my mind, seriously. i see the mid teens edit style spycentric MEP except it’s not romantic it’s the fact that his team doesn’t trust him as far as they can throw him. i can see the edit so clearly in my mind… i really think about the line “it doesn’t matter to you if you get heads or tails, you just don’t like to flip all the time.” because to me, that’s a very canonically spy sentiment! and it’s why i personally justify to myself why spy would even bother to sign onto a team of mercenaries, instead of continuing to be a lone wolf. he wants to have a group he can align himself with. he’s looking for a reciprocation of the support he knows he offers. but his team greatly distrusts him for it.

[opalcicle]

In the Woods Somewhere

Ch. 2 Rainy Morning

trans male reader x Slimecicle, one bed trope, horror themes

Waking up to the smell of a fire already going, I turn to see that Charlie's already up and out of the tent. I'm feeling cold, and a little stiff. I check my phone and remove it from the portable charger we have set up, 8 am. It's early. With a big stretch and a yawn I find my shoes near the entrance of the tent and slip out to see a cloudy sky.

Charlie's tending the fire, and looks at me with a big genuine smile, "Hey, good morning!"

"Morning," I reply, stretching again. "Fuck it's early, how long have you been up?"

"Maybe like an hour,"

"Damn dude," there's a morning grumpiness in my voice that I try my best to shake off, "you eat yet?"

"Just some snacks," he admits, "thought it might be nice to wait for everyone."

"Snacks sound good," I yawn as I finish the words, walking over to the truck to fish out a bag of chips and a bottled ice coffee before settling in a chair next to Charlie.

Thankfully he allows me to sit in silence and finish waking up. Charlie's crashed at mine enough times to know I'm not a morning person. Time moves, but the clouds don't, painting everything in a light gray. The wind blows a cool breeze, and Charlie adds a couple more logs to the fire before I'm finally ready to be a whole person and interact.

"I was really hoping to spend some time at the beach today," I say, looking at the sky.

"I mean we can, but like, it might rain," Charlie frowns at the clouds. "Maybe we should set a tarp up over the picnic table,"

I groan out a complaint at the concept of getting up to do something.

"C'mon man, it'll take like 10 minutes," he says, standing.

"Fiine," comes out of my mouth in annoyance, and I join Charlie at the truck, collecting the tarp while he collects rope. He does most of the work, I just have to stand and hold things in place while he ties knots around trees and adjusts the tarp to cover the table. In my groggy state I can't help but imagine him tying me up instead. Just as we get seated back at the fire, Charlie adding another log, Ted joins us from his tent.

"Mmm-morning," he greets through a yawn, grabbing himself a coffee before sitting down. Somehow Ted is his usually chatty self right off the bat, and keeps Charlie entertained.

I sink down into the chair and pull my hood up to keep out the cold, tuning out the other two and closing my eyes for a quick rest.

When I open my eyes again after what feels like minutes, Ted's cooking pancakes on a frying pan over the fire, Schlatt's up, bottle in hand, and the three of them are laughing.

"Oh shit," I say, sitting up.

"Eyy! There he is!" Schlatt says, sounding condescending to my waking ears, "Good morning, sleepyhead,"

"Fuck how long was I out," I grumble.

"Like 30 minutes," Charlie responds, "you looked so cozy we didn't want to wake you,"

"Thanks man," I say, stretching out my now very stiff back, "Ah, sorry Ted I was gonna make breakfast,"

"No worries dude," he responds, eyes focused on the pancake he's attempting to flip. Glancing down into the fire, it looks like he's tipped a few in already.

By the time everyone's got their pancakes I feel a heavy drop of rain hit my head. We move quickly to get our chairs and the hammock under tarps, and eat while the rain comes down faster and puts out the fire.

"Good timing," says Ted, through a mouthful of pancake, "at least we got to have breakfast,"

Schlatt makes a noise that sounds like agreement as he chews. Then he asks, "Well, what's the plan today, boys?"

"I dunno man, it wasn't supposed to rain at all this week," there's a disappointment in Charlie's voice.

"We could always drive into town, it seemed nice," Ted suggested, refering to the small down with a grocery store, a bar, and absolutely nothing else. I silently thank myself that I'd recently changed my ID marker. A small town bar does not sound like a fun place to be noticeably trans.

"Yeah, I could go for a drink," Schlatt replies, deadpan, before taking a sip of his open beer.

Ted shoots him a disapproving look.

"I guess, I was hoping to spend sometime outside," Charlie says.

"Be my guest," Ted jests, motioning towards the water falling from the sky.

"I'm down to head into town, it's like 20 minutes out, we can always come back if it clears up quick," I say after finishing my pancakes.

"Yeah, let's check it out," Charlie shrugs. My lips curl in amusement at how easily he agrees with me.

From the backseat of the vehicle I peer our into the other campsites. Expecting to see the campgrounds empty and deserted, I'm shocked when I see two kids in rain boots running through the rain. A disgruntled looking mom with an umbrella is trailing behind them. There's a man in a portable gazebo reading a book. There's a couple walking a weiner dog that tries to get in every puddle. In the seat opposite of me Charlie's people watching too.

"How'd you find this place, anyways, Ted?" Charlie pipes up. From the slight furrow of his brows I assume he's got similar suspicions as me. Maybe we shouldn't have joked about it being haunted, maybe we both scared ourselves.

"I booked it online! It had great reviews and decent prices, the beach looked good. There weren't many spaces for RVs and I think most people camp that way now." Ted brags about his find.

Charlie and I exchange a look, uncertainty in both of our eyes.

"I still can't believe you guys convinced me to come out here," Schlatt grumbles. The high maintenance man had brought a lot of luxuries, and we'd all bought him a lot of booze.

"Yeah, you love it out here," Ted says.

"Yeah, whatever," Schlatt pouts. He does love it though. We all know he loves being away from city noise and people, the fresh air, and the ability to just relax. He'd been pretending to complain about it for weeks.

It's an old town. The bar is almost saloon style and the little grocery store has yellow cracking bricks.

Schlatt, of course wants to head right to the bar. I accompany him there while the other two check out the rest of the town. They give me a sympathetic look, but Charlie knows my snacks and Ted'll make sure we get anything we need and more. I shrug when they drop us off.

It's still early enough in the day that the only other patrons are a group of elderly men sipping coffee in a corner. Schlatt stops at the bar and I find us a seat in a booth by a window. The cold wooden bench and rain on glass makes me feel like I'm in a music video for a sad country song.

"So what's up with you and Charlie?" Schlatt questions, sliding me my bottle.

"Hmm?" I'm broken from my daydream with a start.

"You know what I mean," he takes a swing, "out till after dark, the looks you give eachother, the way he dotes on you,"

I look at his smirking face and roll my eyes, "I don't think it's like that,"

"Yeah, yeah, I saw you fuckers holding hands,"

"No, I mean, I was just scared," I mumble the end of the sentence.

"What'd you say?"

"I said I was scared," I turn my face away from him, back to the window.

"Oh no, I'm so scared, I need big strong Charlie to hold my hand," he mocks.

"Dude, serious shut up, it was freaky out there," I weakly defend myself.

Just then, a bird lands in the window beside us, directly in front of my face. It's small and yellow with deep black eyes that stare straight through me.

"Awe look at the little guy," Schlatt touches his fingertips to the window pane. The bird hops over to the spot Schlatt's finger is touching, tapping from its side of the glass. "He likes me!"

Tap tap. Tap tap. We both watch the bird. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap taptaptaptap. The feathery ball of sunshine ruffles itself up and stretching its wings before hopping farther down the sill. Another one lands where the first one did. It's the same bright yellow with black eyes. Thunk. It raps on the window hard, shaking it's head. Taptaptaptap thunk.

"Oh shit, maybe the windows not good for them," Schlatt stands to pull the curtain across the window just after a third joins the others.

"Weird little guys," I murmur, missing the grey light of the cloudy sky immediately.

"You should make a move," he returns to our prior conversation. "I bet Ted ten bucks you would first,"

"Oh my god. Drop it," I try to seem stern but the red in my cheeks is making it hard. "It's not happening,"

"Sure, sure," he says, pretending to back off. I know it's gonna come up again.

"He's only dated girls, were just friends," I mutter.

"Dude, seriously," Schlatt takes a sip, "I don't think he's straight,"

A flicker of hope wells up and dies quick. We're just friends. I repeat it in my head.

From behind me the sound of tapping grows in crescendo and I flick my head around to see the birds at the window next to us. There's maybe six now, all crowded up as close to me as they can get, pushing eachother to get closer. A chill passes over me as their eyes and beaks all point in my direction. Taptaptaptap, another lands, knocking one of its kin away from the sill. TAPTAPTAPTAP, then another, and another, and - SLAM! The sound of the bartender hitting a broom against the glass rings through my ears. I jump, making it most of the way out of my skin when she turns to me.

She's older, maybe mid-40s, with a look about her like she's been tending this place for years. She's comfortable, or maybe just oblivious; enough so to slam a broom against a glass behind someone's head. With a sour tone she says aloud, "Little fuckers!" When she catches the obvious fear on my face she sweetens herself, "Sorry love, gotta scare 'em off before they bring a whole flock 'round." With a sympathetic smile she returns to the bar.

As I turn back to Schlatt I catch the eyes of one of the men here for coffee. The whole group of them is looking my way. When they see I've noticed they all turn back to their table. Schlatt, on the other hand, is staring at me with a shit-eating grin.

"Scared of some birds?" he quips.

"Of a woman wielding a big stick near my head!" I defend myself.

"Thought you'd like a big stick near your head." he takes a sip, "or is it just Charlie's?"

"Oh my god!" groan in exasperation, kicking at his ankle under the table.

"Watch it!" He doesn't drop the smile.

"I know where you're sleeping," I threaten, pressing fingers into my temples.

By the time the other two meet us we're both three beers in and I'm about ready to strangle Schlatt.

"Hey!" Ted calls excitedly when he sees us. "You should have seen the store- it's got all these old timey display cases-" he slides in beside Schlatt to show him pictures.

Schlatt takes a glance at the screen, but not before giving me a side-eye as Charlie takes the spot next to me. "Yeah man, that's cool,"

While Ted goes through the pictures with Schlatt, Charlie raises an eyebrow at the empty bottles next to us. I silently convey my exasperation through a look that lets him know I'm maybe 10 minutes out from strangling our friend.

"They got anything to eat by here?" Ted's head turns towards the bar. The bartender is leaned on the back counter, going through her phone. "Should we stay for lunch?"

Shifting beside me, Charlie speaks up, "It look's like the sun was breaking, I don't wanna miss beach time." He tries to hide the slight whine in his voice but it's peaks through on the wanna.

An involuntary giggle leaves my lips and I cut it off with a hand slapped over my mouth. The look Ted and Schlatt exchange in response makes me physically cringe.

"Yeah, fine, let's go back," Schlatt agrees in his huffy half-annoyed tone.

While Schlatt pays for his drinks and I wait for my turn with what seems like an old and unreliable machine, I overhear the old men.

"Don't forget to lock your cows up this year, Bill," one of them says with a laugh.

"I fuckin' locked 'em up, the damn things knocked right through the old wall," another, presumably Bill, grumbles.

"Stupid things scared the shit out of us!" a third one joins the laughter.

"Trampled themselves too," Bill rubs a tremble, "no fuckin' cows getting out this year,"

Their conversation drifted on to new topics, but my mind hovered over the words this year. Trepidation makes space for itself in my gut as I mull over what I heard.

I'm brought back to the present by Schlatt's hand patting my shoulder, "Your turn, man,"

"Oh uh, yeah," I step up to the debit machine and absentmindedly make the payment.

We join the guys at Ted's truck and take off back to the campgrounds. The drive back is filled with music and singing and the weirdness at the bar fades out behind us.

After a lazy few hours the sun eventually catches up with the day, and it's not long before it's warm enough to warrant a trip down to the beach. I've managed to put back a few more drinks with Schlatt and a game of cards when Charlie comes bursting out of our tent with board shorts on.

"Beach?" He announces the question.

When my eyes find him I can't seem to peel them away. Fuck, is all I can think to myself until I get kicked under the picnic table.

"Ouch, what the fuck?" I swing my legs out to rub the shin Schlatt just booted.

"Yeah man, gimme like ten minutes," Ted answers from the hammock.

"I need a nap," Schlatt stretches, getting up to take Ted's spot.

"I'll get ready," I shoot daggers at Schlatt. His eyes are closed as he settles but his big goofy grin lets me know he heard the spite in my voice.

In the tent I dig through my bag for swimwear. I hold the shirt I usually wear at the pool in my hands, kneeled on the mattress, deciding. No one knows me here, could I just go without? Scars showing. I absently trace a finger over one of the surgery scars on my chest, then touch the little bit of stubble on my face.

Just outside the tent, Charlie grabs the zipper, "Hope your dick's away, I'm coming in!"

"Yeah, man," I respond, hearing the anxiety in my own voice.

He clocks it immediately, climbing in beside me and zipping us in, "Hey, what's up?"

"I-" don't know how to respond. I clutch the shirt in my hands and just hold it up.

I see his eyes look at the piece of clothing, the one he'd seen me in when we swim laps. It takes him a moment to understand but I see it click in his eyes when he does.

"Oh, uh, okay," he settles himself down next to me. He places a hand on my back in a way that I know is supposed the be comforting, but his touch on my bare skin makes it prickle.

I fight the moan trying to escape my throat and it thankfully comes out as a cough. Fuck, am I hard? Charlie rubs my shoulder and for a second I think I'm going to fall over.

"You don't have to wear it," he says softly.

"I know," is the only reply I can give.

"Here, let me see," Charlie moves to sit across from me and gently tugs the shirt away. My hands drop and my face goes red as his eyes fall over my chest. We're so close, and when he looks back up at my face and sees the blush he turns away fast. "You, uh, you look good man. I mean like, like a dude, no one's gonna say anything."

"Thanks!" I blurt out, sitting there stunned.

Charlie digs turns away to dig through his own bag. Awkward tension hangs between us. "Sorry dude I didn't mean to, like I wasn't trying to-"

"It's fine," I cut him off, turning to pretend to be busy with my own bag.

When he finds whatever he came in her for he leans forward to unzip the tent before leaning back, "Are you alright though?" the softness in his voice has returned.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good." I nod, tucking my shirt away, "I'm gonna go without,"

"Good!" He responds excitedly before correcting himself, "I mean like, good for you!"

I laugh, and push my luck to poke fun, "Sure dude,"

"I mean if anyone's a dick, we're already at a beach, they could totally accidentally drown," he attempts to dodge the gentle teasing.

I push it a little farther, leaning in, "Oh so you're gonna protect me?"

"Ah- that's not- uh fuck," he fumbles for something to say.

Laughter escapes me and I let him off the hook, turning back to my bag, "thanks man,"

"Yeah, no problem,"

Charlie makes his escape from the tent and I sit there for another minute. The buzz of booze his my head makes itself known in the silence. I slide a hand down my shorts and sure enough, my dick is at attention and there's wetness building between my legs. Fuck, Charlie. With my eyes closed I can only see his face as he looked over my chest. I finally let a quiet whine leave my lips. Maybe he does want me. Maybe it's the beers I've been putting back all day. With every inch of self control I have left I remove my hand from my shorts and leave the tent to join the others.

Ted drives us down to the beach, and we enjoy the sunshine, water, and sand for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. On the way back, we've got the windows down, singing some old country song along with the radio. In any other circumstance I'd groan at the twang, but something about being out in the woods makes it feel like it fits.

The rest of the evening and into the night we eat snacks, roast more hot dogs, play more cards, and drink around the cozy fire. Before it gets too dark each of us take turns heading down to the public showers. With the privacy and space of the stall I try my best to rub one out. The water is cold and I have to wear my flipflops on the slimey floors. I don't even get close before giving up.

When it's well into the night and everyone's heading to bed, I'm wide awake, drunk and hornier than I need to be. When I'm getting ready for bed I fumble out of my clothes and right on top of the blankets. Charlie's inside moments after me with his flashlight on, catching an eyeful of me in my boxers.

"Fuck man, I kinda tipped over changing," I laugh.

"Dude!" Charlie complains, "Put some pants on at least,"

I try my best to sit up, but fall right back on my face, giggling.

"Here, let me fucking help," Charlie sighs, looking through my bag for pjs, "Roll over."

"You're gonna put my pants on?" I say, unable to control the flirty teasing in my own tipsy voice, "Nice,"

"Fuck you're really drunk," he chirps right back. I can hear his smile through the exasperation.

I do roll over and manage to sit up, "You caught up to me not bad though,"

"Not even close the what you had," he tosses the pants at me.

I stand to try to put them on a flop back onto the air mattress before I even make it all the way up.

"Hopeless," he mutters, taking my pjs and trying to get my foot in through a leg.

"Charliiieee," I whine, resisting the help.

"Dude, seriously," he gets one legs through and starts on the other foot.

In the process of trying to dress me, Charlie ends up hovered over me between my legs. The whole thing has my dick throbbing and I just watch his mild frustration with awe. When he directs me to lift myself and pulls my pants the rest of the way up his hands slide up over my hips, stopping to rest on them. The squeak that leaves me sounds pathetic and I slap my hand over my mouth. One of my feet rests flat on the mattress, my knee up in the air. His body slides against my thigh when he does eventually sit up. Thankfully my hand over my mouth hides me biting into my bottom lip hard, suppressing more sounds.

"Dude, chill out," he laughs as he attempts to stand. The wobbly surface of the mattress takes him out and he falls forward, catching himself with hands on either side of my head.

I'm wide eyed as the sudden pressure on the inflatable bed bounces me up towards him. Our faces on inches from eachother. So of course, my dumb ass cracks a joke, "Damn, man, you didn't have to get me drunk to get me under you,"

"Fuck you," he grumbles, but I can hear the smile in his face in the dark.

"I mean, if you want to," I joke right back.

There's a pause from him before he pulls away again, this time rolling to the side to avoid falling. "Man, you are really wasted,"

"Guilty," I wait till he's off the mattress before climbing to my pillow and finding my way under the cozy blankets.

I hear him changing with my face turned away and my thoughts flutter over our day. Schlatt's words, Charlie in his swim shorts, his eyes on my chest, and that pause just now when I told him he could fuck me. God, there's something really wrong with me. I chastise myself. Then, after another thought, no there's not, he fucking wants me.

When Charlie settled into his spot, I consider briefly trying to hold his hand again before drifting off to sleep.

In the early hours I'm ripped from my dreams by a shaking. My hazy consciousness notices it's a hand on my shoulder jostling me awake.

"Dude, what the-?" I start, but Charlie's hand quickly covers my mouth. He's sweating.

"Shh! Listen," he whispers, letting go of my face.

I rub my temples with a hand, still a little drunk and in the early stages of a developing hangover. Then, there it is, in the distance. A barking. It's just a dog? In the dark, I shoot him daggers with my eyes for waking me. Suddenly there's another dog yapping much closer. Likely the weiner dog from a few campsites down. Then another from a different direction. Coyotes join in, yipping in chorus. The sound grows as canines from all over the woods join in.

"It's dogs, Charlie," I grumble under my breath. It's quite erie, but nothing unexpected for the middle of the forest.

"Wait," he whispers. The terror in his breath alerts me, and I also start to feel on edge.

Before long, the surrounding barking is cut off by a long howl. A wolf, but definately nowhere close to us. The dogs pause, the wolf bellows again, and the rest of the yapping group joins it. The howling comes from every direction in synch. I feel the hairs on my arms raise.

"Wait," Charlie says again. His hand never left my shoulder and it starts to squeeze, warning me that this isn't the worst of it.

When the howl dies I hold my breath in anticipation. The lone wolf starts, and when the dogs join in the don't howl, they don't bark. The sound they make is choppy, sporadic.

"Oh my god, they're laughing," I whisper. It's not a sound that should come from a dog's throat. The noise is unnatural, unnerving, but unmistakable.

Beside me Charlie is shaking. "They just keep doing this," there are tears in his voice.

"Hey, hey, it's gonna be okay," I say in an attempt to sooth him.

The shaking gets worse, and I take his hand off my shoulder. Working hard to move my body, I turn to him, sliding one arm under his head and wrapping the other around him. It's not hard to get him closer, he practically rushes into my arms. He settles his head on my chest and I stroke his hair as I hold him tight. Tears run down my bare skin, and I can hear Charlie sniffling.

"Shh, shhhh, I've got you, we're safe," I whisper as he curls up as close as he can get.

"I'm sorry," he whispers back.

"No worries, I've got you," I whisper back.

We lay like that for awhile, and eventually he falls asleep. My eyes are open, staring up into the pitch black of the tent. As I think about the days events I think instead of the birds on the window, the men talking about cows breaking down a wall, and the strange laughter of the dogs in the woods somewhere. I fall asleep too, but not easily, and my dreams are filled with little yellow birds with black beady eyes.

[simpy-simpers]

Montgomery Gator (Security Update)

If you can't tell from the low opacity text,

DON'T STEAL MY ART

(Chatty info below)

Hi!!! Sorry it took so long, this was originally going to be a simple sketch/concept piece, and turned into a month long process of working on it when I could. It was a struggle but I worked pretty hard on it. Roughly about 60 hours of work went into this, a bit much even for me, and some of the detail I put in isn't even seen, but that's ok, guys! Because I know it's there. In my heart. There are people in the background doing a heart I hope you know... very far back. Anywho! I am finally out of the competition season, as I said in my fic notes, so I will possibly have more time! I really do enjoy writing this I just don't have much time at all anymore.

Thank you to anyone and everyone who has read any of it at all! Forgot to link the Tumblr but also didn't link it on purpose in the chapters yet because there was nothing there. I'll make sure to edit and add it haha.

If anyone is from the fic, hi!!! Glad to see you.

Sorry about the word rambles, yall, maybe it's weird to you but I like talking about the drawing. Stay Simping! <3

[suzukiblu]

I just discovered your writing recently and it has been glorious! Thank you so much! I'm particularly a fan of your Billy raising Kon, and Billy/Damian soulmates works. I'm agog at your writing output and wanted to ask, how/when do you write so much? And secondarily, do you track your word count? How much do you actually write per week/month/year/arbitrary unit of time?

Thank you, glad to hear you're enjoying it! The Billy works do tend to come out pretty well for me, hah, just somethin' about the lil' dude I guess. 😆

also uh

also imma just put this ridiculously long response to those questions behind a cut, hahaha, save everyone some scrolling as needed.

Disclaimer one: I did NOT mean to write this much but sometimes I just get INTO answering a question, haha, sooooo either I'm sorry or you're welcome, depending on how much information you actually wanted here? And I just didn't wanna downplay or over-simplify my response and potentially make anyone reading it feel bad about not being as stupid-productive at their thing-of-choice as I am at mine, because I am this stupid-productive at my thing-of-choice for SEVERAL reasons and most of them are deliberately-cultivated or deliberately worked-with ones that I like, put a LOT of work into long-term, and the rest are just dumb luck/chance. Like man, I am pushing forty and have literally been very dedicatedly both coming up with and telling stories for longer than I could actually READ, much less write; I have had a LOT of time to learn how to do this shit and I have very autistically DEDICATED a lot of time to learning how to do this shit, hahaha.

Disclaimer two: a SIGNIFICANT chunk of the reason I write so much is a) a convenient dovetail of hyperfocus and hyperfixation, b) I have literally been writing for twenty-five years, give or take some phases of writer's block of varying lengths, c) I'm on my meds and take them religiously, and d) my actual collect-a-paycheck job is only part-time and also lets me write on the clock because there's usually a ton of downtime there. On top of that it's our off-season so we're on reduced hours right now anyway, so I frequently only work two or three days a week and almost always have time to write for at least a couple hours at my desk, and more often have basically my entire SHIFT to write, and frankly I'm probably more productive in the office than I am at home, barring the occasional REAL busy day. Generally when I'm actually locked-in on something I'm working on, an hour of writing time is gonna end up being around 1k in word count for me, and I actually get interrupted less often in the office than I do at home.

Also and VITALLY, I am very much a writer who THRIVES on feedback/communication/other people's interest and I have spent a pretty significant amount of consistent time and effort on doing my best to encourage people on here to talk to me and tell me what they're into and ask me for things on WIP Wednesdays and the writing memes that I do, and the combination of all of that interaction and the AO3 comments I get REALLY fuels me. Like I cannot TELL you how much those things fuel me, hah. Apparently I'm like . . . a decently popular writer, go figure, and I realize this is gonna sound like fake-humble shit but that is genuinely never something I really realize/remember as being a thing until someone gives me a pitying look about how oblivious I am, at which point I realize that no, yeah, most people have way more trouble getting someone to answer their random weird questions about random weird shit at random weird times and most people do NOT get triple-digit comments per chapter on multiple ongoing fics or triple-digit responses on their WIP Wednesdays no matter HOW good the narrative dick is, either metaphorically OR literally.

So like, as stated, I am very appreciation/feedback-oriented as a writer and I get a LOT of appreciation and feedback; I have been very lucky to get a responsive and chatty audience for a lot of my writing, and therefore I write a lot, lot, LOT more than I would otherwise. Legit, I would have gotten bored of/frustrated with SO many of these fics if other people weren't reminding me what I liked about them to begin with and thereby renewing my motivation for and interest in 'em. Like I know EVERYONE has said to death that fandom is a collaborative effort and you don't get fic/art unless you tell writers/artists that you LIKE their fic/art, but if you have ANY doubt of that actually being a thing, I am one of the purest examples of that particular feedback loop that I am aware of, because I write a lot because people engage a lot with my stuff, and people engage a lot with my stuff because I write a lot, so I write MORE, so they ENGAGE more, so it just goes around and around and ends up in insanely prolific amounts of word count and me saying things like "geez did I only write 50k this month, how did I even write THAT little" and genuinely MEANING it.

And like, that's an environment that I have specifically tried to cultivate on this blog, ngl, because I know it's the environment I'll write the best/most in and one that a lot of readers will find rewarding/engaging to participate in and/or follow along with, but obviously it only works because people are willing to do that engaging with me to begin with and thereby are keeping a lot of ideas and WIPs all active in my brain. I have written thousands upon thousands upon THOUSANDS of words because of, like, ONE kind comment or one or two especially invested/appreciative readers peekin' in on the regular or just legit a single friend who likes to cheerlead or that one guy in the back who always perks up when a specific WIP comes up, so like, yeah, very much I am a feedback-loop writer, and very much does the feedback-loop work for my writing process.

Also, I've actively considered myself a writer since I was like fourteen and even before that was already drawing comics/storyboards/sequential art basically from the day I STARTED drawing, and I was ALL the way a "play through storytelling" VORACIOUS reader of a kid, I KILLED every reading challenge I ever did in school/at the library and like, there were literal NARRATIVES to my playtimes, my playtimes were actually straight-up EPISODIC, haha. I legitimately read so much that strangers at the library would low-key try to shade my mom for letting me check out the multiple literal stacks of books that they thought I wasn't gonna get through by their due dates, and meanwhile we'd taken out at LEAST as many the week before and I'd already been bored for two days before we came back for this week's batch. So I am very well-read and very narrative-oriented and really, REALLY experienced at both constructing a narrative and just the actual act of writing, so at this point I intuitively/instinctively know what works to tell a story and have a pretty strong grasp of grammar and spelling, and I know what ( usually ) works to make me write.

I've also done a TON of text-based roleplay/co-writing with people in the past, which definitely has made me a faster and more responsive writer and also taught me a lot about dialogue/exchange and how to avoid weighing a narrative too heavily around one person/point of view even when they're my special fave, hah, and about the concept of unreliable narrators and also, like, just finding somebody to match your freak being WAY more engaging than writing stories that are watered-down one-size-fits-all and therefore not particularly memorable. I also had a "very into poetry" phase during a lot of my more formative years right when I first started writing prose, which I realize SEEMS off-topic, but the poetry phase definitely helped a lot, because, like, it gave me a much better sense of . . . rhythm, let's say? Pacing? So I kind of have a baked-in "beat" in my head to follow when I write, typically, and that helps me write both smoother and faster and just more effectively in general, and also makes it easier for me to get across the mood/emotion/feeling I'm going for.

I also don't edit my stuff all that much most of the time; I'm usually just checking for continuity errors and typos and occasionally adjusting the rhythm/flow of paragraph breaks or swapping out over-used words. Otherwise, though, a LOT of my fic just goes up with zero changes from the first draft, or maybe just a few added sentences to clarify some details and corrected typos. So like, that also means that I spend a whole lot less time on rewriting and editing than a lot of other writers do, which therefore means I have more time to pour into More Words. And I have ascended beyond being over-precious about my writing, FINALLY, and therefore am fine with writing things I think are junk just to get them out of my system and/or make progress in a story and then can revisit them a few days later and be like "actually this is pretty damn good, wtf were you so annoyed by, self, did you just need a snack or something, whatever, WELP we're puttin' this one up!!"

Also: ADHD and autism. It is amazing what ADHD and autism can get out of a guy, for real. Like god DAMN does the ADHD and autism one-two combo really bring it home for me personally, because I am juuuuust autistic enough to not need or want a lot of social out-of-house time and to have incredibly dedicated life-long hyperfixations and I am also so ADHD that my diagnostic paperwork specifically says I have more ADHD than a whole-ass ninety-five percent of the ADHD population and my new psych literally did not believe that anyone would prescribe me as much Adderall as makes me temporarily ALMOST "normal" until we worked our way up to it, and WOW does correctly-channeled hyperfocus really, REALLY pay off in the art of getting real good at doing something and real good at doing that something a LOT.

And eight million words of answer later, yup, I do track my word count! My memory is all over the place ( that being one of the LESS useful aspects of my personal flavor of ADHD/autism, hah ) but I like to have a rough idea of how productive I've been so I don't wither up and die of imposter syndrome. I actually keep a whole-ass yearly spreadsheet with a page dedicated to each month that I update daily with how many words I wrote in which stories, and then I add 'em all up at the end of each week and add 'em up again at the end of the month just to give myself a rough idea of how I'm doing in general.

Which, speaking of, I'm actually WILDLY underproducing this week, seriously, it's already Thursday and I've only written like 6.7k. Which, for reference, I have not written less than 22k a week in the past THREE weeks, and on average I'm usually up in the 16-18k area. Like, if I only write 10k in a week or write less than 2k in a day, that seems like not all that much to me, and I write EVERY day. Like. Every day. Literally every day. Every day EVER, or I get the friggin' itch about it and get cranky; it is legit a compulsion for me at this point in my life. I wrote when I had fucking COVID last month and only missed any days that month at all because I had to drive four hours out of town immediately after recovering from said COVID, and that was the first time I'd missed even a SINGLE day in I'm pretty sure LITERAL months, and I STILL topped out above the high end of my usual monthly word count, which is on average about 70-75k. And last year I only tracked my word count from mid-June to December, I actually wasn't keeping track at all before that, but I wrote 410k in those six-ish months.

So like . . . I did mention the ADHD and autism, yes? I mentioned those things as being things?

No reason. Just wondering.

[thepenultimateword]

Secret Santa 2023

For this year’s secret Santa I got @watercolorfreckles (I know you got mine too, but I promise I used a randomizer!) I’m sorry this is late, I’ve been traveling and just writing every chance I can get. I got a little overambitious and wrote several scenes instead of just one, so hopefully it doesn’t feel choppy and you like it!

"Hero's shy medic is the unsung and unappreciated glue that keeps the team together, magically repairing their every injury with her power to heal. What happens when Villain finds out how the hero's broken bones are always so quickly mending, and kidnaps the medic to utilize himself?"

Henchman was waiting in baggage claim when Villain arrived. His violet-dyed hair, thick mess of scars, and tall stature made him stand out against the crowd, but he still waved his whole arm over his head as Villain came through the doors.

Villain's glove creaked feelingless against his suitcase handle. This was getting tiresome. Probably for Henchman too. It was ridiculous that he insisted on picking him up from the airport every trip instead of looking for a new employer.

"Any luck?" Henchman said, seamlessly transferring Villain's bag into his own hand.

Villain's insides twisted. Maybe he should fire Henchman. That would force the underling to think about himself. Though Villain couldn't deny his reluctance to lose such loyalty. He wasn't sure he actually had the strength to enforce his own abandonment.

"Nah." He rubbed his numb hands together and forced a lighthearted tone. "Just another waste of money. I spent three weeks meditating away the damage, only for the so-called "power guru" to say I don't want to be healed. Apparently, if I did, I would have been able to banish the "bile" from my body."

Henchman gave the suitcase wheels a little bang against the ground. "Morons and scam artists.”

"Yes, well, it was a 50/50 shot in the first place. How's my bird?"

Henchman grimaced. "Still eating very little. She has stopped beating against her cage, but now she's very lethargic and despondent."

"You've tried cheering her up? Good food, nice things?"

"Yes, but she's not very chatty. Maybe we should have waited to get her until after your trip. This would have gone better with...some stability."

The automatic door swooshed open, and they stepped out into the chill winter air. Villain blew out a long cloudy breath and watched it disappear into the dreary, gray city landscape. Everything was so temporary. Here one moment, gone the next.

"The opportunity was too good," he said. "Besides, we couldn't leave her with our friend."

Hero had enough of an advantage without also having a decent healer on his side. No matter how many hits Villain divvied out, the heroic team always got back up unscathed. Perhaps without their golden goose, Villain could actually turn the tide. And maybe... Villain didn't want to get his hopes up, but maybe she could do something more too. He knew that Henchman knew that was the main reason he’d stolen her away in the first place. By this point he was just pretending to himself that there was a bigger purpose behind it all.

The crosswalk sign beeped its permission to cross the street, and Villain scanned the lot for Henchman's car, spotting its orangey paint job near the front.

"I am concerned she's been doing poorly this whole time. Why don't we stop by her enclosure first."

Henchman nodded and very kindly played along with the act that this was truly concern over an asset and not another cowardly excuse for himself. “I don’t think she’ll be very pleased to see you.”

She’s not going to help you.

“That’s alright.” Villain slid into the passenger seat. As Henchman loaded his suitcase into the trunk, he muttered under his breath, “I don’t have much left to lose.”

***

Villain called her Birdie.

Of course he knew her real title as Hero’s medic, but the nickname just encapsulated her so well.

So small. So skittish. Always flitting around the outskirts of a fight, the great folds of her medic’s cloak flapping at her sides like wings as she lighted briefly at each fallen party. The color was supposed to mark her as a noncombatant, take any targets of her back, but she had the instincts to remain wary always. Most villains didn’t follow the rules, and the gray was as likely to get her killed as not.

So why continue to wear it? Villain wondered, watching her through the one way glass of her cell's wall mirror. It was really more of a mini apartment than a cell--sitting room, bedroom, bathroom. The sitting room was the only room Villain could view into, but he doubted whether Medic knew that. Perhaps it was riskier to give a hostage so much blind space, but anyone worth keeping around couldn't be kept like any regular prisoner. Though, from the looks of it, Medic wasn't exactly grateful for the thoughtful accommodations.

She sat with her face buried in her knees, grey cloak nearly swallowing her little curled up body whole. He'd asked Henchman to prepare daily clothes changes, and the peeking green edge of sleeve implied she'd been taking them, but the cloak remained the same.

Villain moved around to the front of the cell and drew back the bolt on the otherwise regular door, taking a breath before swinging it open with a flourish. “Hello, Birdie.”

The woman leaped a little, head shooting up and fixing him in the inky black pools that were her eyes.

“Sorry for the delay." He locked the door behind him as casually as he could manage. "I’ve been out of town. But now we can finally chat."

Medic blinked then turned her chin into her shoulder.

Villain plopped down on the couch a couple feet away from her place on the rug. "Apparently you haven't been eating properly. Is the food not up to standard? Can I get you something else? Any favorite meals or treats?"

Medic didn't turn or respond.

"Hmm...what do birdies like. Worms?"

The healer's lip curled a little but still nothing.

"How about chocolate? Steak? Fruit tarts?"

Medic only tucked her chin tighter.

"Alright, I get it. The nice treatment doesn't work on you. Unfortunately, I don't have a mean treatment. Not for you at least. I can't asks favors from someone by relying on fear."

That got her attention. She still didn't unfold, but her eyes watched him sideways. Wary but curious. What could a villain need from a healer. He must have his own, so why her? She didn't need to speak for her thoughts to clutter the air.

"No, I can't just tell you," Villain said with a loud sigh. "You might go tell that precious hero team. I know you're quiet, but I don't believe for a second you're that quiet."

Medic swiveled her shoulders ever so slightly. "How...?"

Her voice was not so birdlike. Short yes, but like a rasped breath than a chirp. Still...

Villain grinned. "The very best of ways: by pretending I knew what you were thinking. Throw out a guess and you'll be right 80% percent of the time. That's also a guess by the way, I haven't actually researched the subject."

Medic retreated back into her cloak.

Darn.

Either he was totally unhumorous, or Medic was just that hard to entertain. Then again, she'd seemed interested by the prospect of a supernatural ability. She'd only clammed up again once she got the simple explanation for her question. She should've already known his Gift from the fights she'd witnessed, though he had held bad considerably this last year.

"You're not like other medics," he said, redirecting the conversation. "You have a Gift, don't you? And don't deny it, I've seen the recovery your patients. Scarless, rapid, perfect. One fight I saw a hero putting full weight on what, minutes previously, had been broken femur."

"And that's why you want me?" Medic squeezed her hands together, nails digging into the back of her knuckles like each word spoken aloud pained her. "Because I'm better than your medics? You want me to turncoat?"

"Not entirely. I took you because your good, yes. So good you've kept that ragtag trash hero team up and running way longer than it should have ever been allowed to go. Hero needs to be stopped."

Nothing.

"I'm going to the statue unveiling tonight." He watched her face closely. "I'm going to break it. And while I'm at it, break him."

"He's not that fragile," Medic said, her voice hushing a little further, and her brow furrowing.

"Ah, you know because you've tried?"

"I know because I' m his medic and I know how much treatment each fight requires." It came out quite a bit snappier than Villain expected and Medic must have realized it too because she set her jaw and looked away again. "I can't help you."

Villain pushed himself back to his feet. The declaration was firm, but hardly the denial of a truly devoted team member. Or maybe he was just reading to hard into things. Medic was shy. Maybe she wanted to make herself clear in as few words as possible. But if there was a chance only her fear was holding her back...

"I'll let you know how it goes," Villain said. With that, he made his way back outside the cell, bolting the door behind him with fumbling fingers. He flexed his hands a couple times, as if to warm them back to full function, but they felt as clumsy and disconnected as always. He shoved them gloved into his coat pockets.

Don't think about that. You have a hero to fight.

***

Villain couldn't feel his shoulders. He'd definitely overdone it. He'd overestimated his ability to fight with his arms as damaged as they were and he had relied too much on the power he'd been so careful to conserve.

He stumbled hard against Medic's door, sliding weakly to his knees. He didn't know why he came here. Henchman was probably having a fit searching for him after he'd bolted. Most of those heroes laid in shattered pieces at the scene. Or at least, parts of them did. Villain had found long ago that his Gift--the power to turn whatever he willed to stone--could be used strategically. The loss of limbs was usually enough to make a hero retire, no need to end a whole life. He wouldn't have minded ending Hero, but once again, the leader was the only one who escaped unscathed. Too this day Villain had only ever managed to take a pinky. It was a wonder no one found that suspicious.

Villain slammed his fist against the cell door, or more like tapped. He stifled a sob. “I don’t want to die.”

Not yet. Not without bringing down Hero’s deceit.

Villain strained to reach the bolt, fumbling it twice before finally jostling it outward. He practically collapsed onto Medic’s rug.

Dark spots clouded his vision but suddenly cool hands were running trails down his face.

“Villain?”

Medic?

No wait, the door…he needed to close…why was she still here?

“Uuughh…” Villain rolled into her knees. “It did not go well.”

“What did he do?”

“Besides use every other person as a shield?”

“I mean to your face.”

Villain squinted up into Medic’s dark eyes, so deep and concerned and…and infinite.

“My face,” he mumbled.

“Are these bruises?” Her fingers trailed a second time down his cheek. “It looks painful.”

“It’s in my face?” Villain barely restrained a wail.

“Villain,” Medic said firmly, her quiet rasp getting almost loud. “What happened? Do you need healing?”

Villain’s throat felt thick and swollen, too sticky to get out words. Of course he needed healing. But if she couldn’t help him…he didn’t know if he could take another failure. He didn’t know if his body could take it.

He extended his hand. When Medic only stared, he nodded at the black, fitted glove.

Medic’s thumb worked under the edge. Villain felt nothing but he imagined her fingers felt just as gentle as they had on his cheek.

She gasped.

Villain glanced at the bare skin for only a moment. The once caramel colored palm now a deep ebony. Like something rotten. Like something dead.

“Villain?”

Villain cleared his throat, fighting the words upward. “All powers have a price.” He forced himself to look at blighted appendage. “Mine’s is killing me.”

Medic turned his hand over in her own. “How long?”

“Always. It used to just be a little. Nails. Hair. Parts I could cut off. Then it hit skin…and it won’t stop. I can’t feel; I can hardly move. And no one…” He choked. “I’m going to die. All from trying too hard to rid the world of Hero, and I couldn’t even finish him tonight.”

Medic rested her fingers on the cuff of Villain’s sleeve, eyes meeting Villain's with some unspoken request for permission.

Villain nodded.

Medic's nimble fingers gently picked at the button, freeing the fabric and rolling it up to his elbow. Villain’s eyes widened along with hers. What had once had been dark veins was now as pitch black his hands. From the nothingness in his shoulders it was probably no different above the elbow.

Medic felt gently at the half-petrifaction. Most people, even his most loyal were afraid of the blight. Henchman was unfazed, but the previous medic had quit rather than admit they didn't want anywhere near Villain. And yet Medic touched him willingly.

“You can’t fix it, can you?” Villain said, practically plead. He didn’t care anymore. Even with the doubt in his gut and in his voice. He just needed help.

“I…I might…” Medic said.

“But Hero wouldn’t like it.”

Medic ducked her head. “It’s not that. Well, no…you’re right, he wouldn’t, but he wouldn’t have to know. And there are no specific rules that say I can’t heal a villain, it’s just…”

Villain blinked groggily up at her as she chewed her bottom lip.

“Like you said, all powers have a price.”

“And this one is too much,” Villain said.

“Yes, well, no. I don’t know.” She glanced toward the open door. “Maybe there’s a better healer…”

Villain closed his eyes, practically sinking with resignation. “No. Already tried. I don’t think I have the energy to search anymore.” He clasped numb fingers around his numb arm. “Or the time.”

A long silence stretched between them.

“It’s alright, Birdie. Fly away.”

It didn’t matter who she told now.

Medic pushed him carefully off her lap, clothes rustling as she rose. Two steps sounded toward the door way and then stopped.

“I’m not supposed to…but I’ll do it.”

Villains eyes shot open. “You will?”

Medic sucked in her lips but nodded. “Just…don’t tell.”

She knelt beside him, long gray cloak fanning out around her. The second glove peeled off easier than the first, and she held both hands in hers.

He’d always wondered what it felt it like to experience one of her gifted healings.

It was warm. Like drinking something hot. It spread from head to toe, and the numbness leeched out little by little. The skin lightened from black to charcoal from charcoal to heather grey from grey to brown.

Medic’s hands turned soft in his grip. He squeezed them lightly, his mouth parting in disbelief at the feeling of pressure of warmth of regular mobility. When he sat up, it came easy. Tears sprang to his eyes.

“You did it! You actually did it! Medic, you are—“

He stopped at the sight of her slumping figure. Sweat rolled down her temples, her face was flushed, and her teeth were grit as if in agony.

“Birdie?”

Medic only shivered.

“Birdie. Birdie, are you alright?”

Villain reached out, but she lurched back, stumbling toward the back corner. Veiny blackness spread from her fingertips, trailing up the creases in her skin. Her shoulders trembled. A small vein popped out of from her forehead. And she glared at the blight. Not like someone afraid of it, but like someone who’d like to peel it off and throw it away. Or burn it.

“No!” she cried and slammed both palms against the wall mirror with a feral cry. Immediately the glass crackled and, like a rolling wave, turned to cold, hard stone.

The black faded from dark ebony to a tan spot only

A few shades darker than her skin. She still glared.

Villain gaped. “You… That’s what I do. How did you do what I do? Did I…? Did you…?”

Medic’s eyes darted toward the door.

Villain jumped in front of it first. “Hey hey hey! I’m not going to tell!”

Another guess but apparently the right one because Medic’s shouldered untensed a fraction.

“I’m not going to tell,” Villain repeated. “I just… How?”

Medic wrapped her cloak tighter around herself. Her eyes had taken on a glazed shine suspiciously alike to unshed tears.

“It’s not exactly healing,” she murmured. “More like stealing. Taking injuries and making them mine.”

“The price.”

She nodded. “But this sort of injury…made from a Gift, it doesn’t work the same. It’s more like a build up of power concentrated in one place. And now that it’s mine…I can do what I like with it.”

Villain cocked his head. “And that’s…bad?”

“I don’t work for Hero,” Medic said. “I’m on the team because he’s supposed to watch me. Stop me from doing things like this.”

“Becoming too powerful?”

“Becoming a villain.”

Villain might have laughed if she didn’t actually look so scared. He took her hands carefully, savoring the sensation of skin on skin warmth once again. He fixed her with a hard stare that she seemed uncertain to hold or shy away from. He smiled, the first real one in a long time.

“What’s wrong with villains?”

Medic swallowed, looking away but not pulling back her hands. Her voice came out very quiet. “I guess…not everything.”

[themultifandomgal]

From 2010- Rumours Turn Into A Break Up

2011

Part 11

Band members

YN YLN and Harry styles dating?

12/05/2011 4;05

Band members Harry Styles (17) and YN YLN (17) were seen cosying up together on the recent episode of Alan Carr Chatty Man.

The band One Direction came 3rd in X-Factor last year and while it looks like everyone in the band have become close friends, two in particular seem to be getting on very well. Dating rumours have only gotten stronger when the pair were seen together out in London laughing. YN was seen linking her arm into Harry’s while walking down the street.

We wonder how YN’s high school and long term boyfriend James Madison is feeling with all of these possible dating rumours.

I close down the tab on my laptop with a sigh and look up at Simon who looks pissed

“Harry and I are just friends” I say in defence

“I know that, but if girls think Harry is in a relationship then we will lose many fans. Clear this up” Simon points at me and leaves the room

“How am I supposed to clear up dating rumours? If I say that Harry and I are just friends then I will be called a liar” I throw myself back onto the sofa next to Zayn

“Just send out a tweet to appease the big man. Then ignore anything else that’s said” Louis says putting an arm around my shoulders

“I guess that’s all I can do” I say getting out my phone from my back pocket and putting out a tweet, but almost immediately I see hate coming through.

“Hey” I answer the phone to Emma sadly

“Hey YN. How are you doing?”

“Not great to be honest”

“I’m about to tell you something that’s not going to make you any happier. Sorry”

“What’s up?” I ask frowning even though Emma can’t see me

“You remember that party James went to while your were in LA?”

“Yeah”

“Well Alex told me that Mia sent him a photo of James kissing someone” I can feel my heart drop almost immediately “YN it was with a guy. I think James is gay, or curious or… I’m not really sure, but Alex sent me the photo. I can send it you, but I’m not sure you want to see that”

“No no. I trust you. Thank you for telling me. I’ll have a word with him” I glance at the bedroom door where James is

“Ok. Do you want me to come over?”

“Maybe. I’ll ring you later” I end the call and make my way to the bedroom. I stand in the door way with my arms crossed watching James on his phone

“Are you coming in or you just going to stare at me?”

“I’m just trying to decided whether I’m going to yell or cry or maybe both”

“Why?” James frowns putting his phone down

“Who were you texting?”

“Does it matter”

“Yes it fucking does matter!” I shout “who were you texting?”

“A friend”

“Girl or boy?”

“Why does that matter?” James stands up from the bed

“Because I wanna know if your cheating on me”

“Boy! Ok I’m not cheating. I’m texting a friend”

“What about the party you went to while I was in LA? Emma said you were drunk. Who did you hang around with?”

“A friend. God YN I can have friends”

“So do you kiss all your friends or just your best friends?”

“What?” James looks shocked

“I’m talking about you kissing someone! You cheated on me! How could you?” My eyes start to tear up. James looks defeated and sits down on the bed

“YN…”

“I guess I’m not your type” I laugh sadly “why did you move with me if you were just going to cheat?” James looks up at me

“I… I made a friend over here”

“A friend? Or a boyfriend? God James if you were gay why couldn’t you have just told me? We could have split up on good terms, you could have still moved in with me, but instead you cheat?”

“You were busy and I thought you’d not notice since you and Harry…”

“Are friends!”

“Don’t give me that crap. I see the way you look at him”

“Like what?” I throw my hands in the air

“You like him”

“He’s a friend, and actually a friend unlike your version where you kiss and probably do more. You know what I’m done with this conversation. We’re done” I turn and leave our apartment and head over to Harry and Louis’ place.

"Boys suck" I say walking into their place huffing as I sit in between Harry and Louis. The other boys are here also

"Gee thanks" Zayn jokes laughing, but once he sees my face he stops

"What's happened?" Harry asks frowning

“I just found out that my boyfriend would rather kiss his friends than me. His male friends by the way”

“He’s gay?”

“I think so. Maybe? I don’t care if he is, I care that cheated on me”

"Are you ok?" Liam asks and I give him a shrug

"I don't know how to feel to be honest. I think l'm pissed off more than anything”

"What a dick" Niall sighs

"I'm sorry YN" Zayn gives me a small smile

"It's ok, but thanks"

"Let's go get ice cream, watch as manny chick flicks as ya like and I'll even let ya paint me nails" Harry says standing up "tha's what girls do innit?"

“What?” I chuckle looking at Harry

"Well if Emma can't be here to cheer you up, then we will become your girlfriends for the night" I give the boys a smile feeling so happy that I have not only the best bandmates, but also best friends.

[emmaofnormandy]

~A Medieval Tale: The Rogue & His Lady. Part I~

Plot: Y/N is a damsel who captures the heart of a rogue, misunderstood prince named Aegon Targaryen in 14th century England… with no civil war to disarray the family.

It’s fluffy, very mediæval like; smut; long post.

(+21)

***

The bells are heard. The sound echoes through the county, reaching the ears of high and low born alike. It indicates that another part of the day comes with other demands to attend.

You are occupied this first part of morning, busied hands using the needle skillfully. You are followed by your mistress’s other ladies, for the task given is about producing a tapestry. The scene chosen to be sewed usually is biblical, but the princess of Wales is too fond of Greek allegories to let them be prevailed over by her piety.

It’s all about a story concerning a damsel of pure heart who captivated the heart of Apollo. He struggles to conquer her, as far as you know it—which you don’t know much, preferring chansons and sweeter stories to old “pagan” ones.

“My ladies, we are required at court”, the voice of your mistress breaks the pleasant silence that has been helpful in the work. Lady Rhaenyra is dressed in her usual clothes, lately preferring black robes in opposition to the Queen’s green ones.

“There is a lavishing meal to be offered by the king, my father. Dress yourselves the best for we expect my husband and our children to return from the hunting trip.”

You quickly stand, prompted to do as told. Quiet and introspective, you are overshadowed by the usual bubbly and chatty ladies, whom you judge to be far prettier—and snobbish to be around.

Discreetly you part of the others, preferring the way that leads to the gardens. It’s when you and him cross paths first.

Aegon is the king’s second son, treated as the presumptive heir by many in spite of His Grace’s evident preference over Rhaenyra. Often overshadowed by his siblings’s gifted minds and brilliant sword skills—as is the case of both Aemond and Daeron—, this prince found solace in wayward manners overlooked by the court.

However, out of people’s sight—and mind—, he is a fragile, broken prided man. Aware of his flaws, Aegon is lost in thought, not really preoccupied in masking his lostness underneath arrogance when he bumps into you.

“I am sorry, lord…!”, your words die by half an agony when seeing whom you collided to.

The prince is about to retort something, irritated by what he judges as being caught off his guard, when he looks at you. A lustful man, drowned in the darkness of his heart and slaved by his flesh desires, he suddenly feels the weight of his sins just by looking at you.

Your wide-eyed gaze, your red lips that form in a small “o”, the shyness behind your delicate features… signs of a sweet tempered soul. A rogue he is, but Aegon is a poet when he is not too occupied being someone everyone expects him to be.

Your y/c curls that are partly loose in rebel-ish locks that run free like a cascade behind your back, reinforce your heart-shaped face, matching the y/c that paints your eyes.

So mesmerized, like struck by the arrow of an invisible Cupid—oh, winged being! Shall thou be the one to receive the blame for this another misfortune that befalls my fate?!— he forgets his own selfishness.

“Lady”, his voice comes out unusually dusky, carried out by a different sort of embargo.

You, hardly before a royal company who is not the mistress you serve—albeit discreetly so—, too are affected by this intense and disruptive encounter.

To stand before a Targaryen prince equals to stand tall before a living dragon. You are afraid of the fire, even though part of you is led to wonder what would be like to be burnt by it—a sinful thought you are quickly to dismiss, though.

“Lord”, you lower your eyes down to the floor and, recalling manners, dip to a curtsy.

Your heart is troubled by this view, this singular captivating instant where destiny seems to play with one another. Thus you wish to disappear, trying to get your steps moving you out of the way.

But someone like you must not be lost out of his sight. Softening, Aegon says:

“I apologize if I scared my lady. Never before I saw such a handsome creature of your sex.”

You lift your gaze, carefully checking your emotions.

“I fear to doubt the sincerity of your words, lord. Nonetheless, you find in me with honest gratitude for an unworthy praise.”

“Unworthy praise?”, there is a shadow of smile playing in the prince’s lips and you suddenly remember his bad reputation—so to preserve yours, you begin to walk away, but to your dismay he follows. “I believe many poets have described your beauty, Madame. Your gracious moves, your cascade locks and your y/c eyes are unmatched!”

Rather unaccustomed to be praised like this, you think wise to stop this before it goes to a path where there is no going back. Thus you sigh heavily and, retracing your steps back inside the castle, you say:

“Lord, I ask you to save your praises to someone of your station. Little I am in comparison to a prince like you. Leave me be, this I ask. And forget my existence.”

Aegon is left thus annoyed, almost angry, by a rejection that never before occurred. But if you think that by preserving your heart of his misdemeanors, you’d soon know how wrong you were…

After all, the Cupid had other intentions where you and the rogue prince are concerned…

***

The following day he finds you again. Here’s the scene he sees through his eyes: a damsel of long y/c locks in blue, long sleeved silk gown twirling and dancing merrily with her lady companions. She seems oblivious to the attention her presence attracts and this itself inspires a new sensation of despair in this prince who is used to have it all.

According to hierarchy, a prince like Aegon should court and espouse his womanly counterpart. But where men know rules, what is to say concerning their hearts and desires?

Somehow, his overconfidence breaks him. Aegon is more than acutely aware of the glances bolder ladies cast him—some of them even married by now. But you? Too busy dancing, smiling merrily as if bumping to the kingdom’s next king was a random encounter designed by fate.

Aemond, seeing the melancholy his brother is, takes no more than few moments to realize the cause and says:

“You’ve had women in your bed before. Why is this one an obstacle for you?”

“She is not like any other, Aemond.”

“Certainly far less wench like”, says the other slyly.

Aegon shoots his brother a glare.

“She is anything but worthy a comparison as this, Aemond.”

“Then pursuit her already”, Aemond retorts, not inclined to these courtly games. “What’s there to lose?”

“My dignity”, he grumbles, detesting his fragility.

Aemond doesn’t bother responding the drama. He shrugs his shoulders, occupying himself with his secret liaison as their sister Helaena casually passes by, giving the prince a long, meaningful look.

***

At the gardens, the prince is after his damsel once more. This time, he hopes to look far less obnoxious than before. He is determined to have you by every means—even if doing so requires reason to acknowledge some spell cast on him to humble this proud lord.

Here he is. Ready for a chase.

And here you are. Prompted to be chased.

‘Tis all fair in the game of love, is it not?

“Lord Aegon”, you cry out before the sight of the handsomest man you’ve ever laid your eyes on, even if he’s the devil himself. “My prince!”

“‘Tis I who should bend my knee before my lady, not otherwise”, says the king to be, quickly helping you stand.

One touch is enough to electrify both parts, with neither knowing what to do.

“I know naught about my lady”, whispers he, thirsty for you.

And you cannot withdraw of his presence, because it burns too much and it feels good to burn this bright.

“My name is Y/N”, you give in partly.

Because his eyes are locked with yours, the purple there is in his irises seemingly holding the color that paints yours—as if pressing you against the wall is the solution to denude the soul you refuse to give.

But Gods be cruel. You want him too.

“Lady Y/N”, you’d think he smiles because he gets what he wants and is soon leaving you, but what do you know, sweet child of summer? “I am Aegon. But my friends call me Egg. May I have the honor to get to know you?”

That sharp side of yours is ready to rebel. Your reasonable self recollects his scandals, prompted to riot. But when you dive in these purple eyes… every resistance dies.

So this is how defeated your pride is.

“Aye, lord. Though I do not think I am interesting to a prince such as you.”

“Allow me to disagree, my dear.”

Locking arms with him never seemed so sinful. And yet here you two are, finally in harmony.

“Here we are”, you smile at him. “Shouldn’t you be elsewhere? Perhaps with your wenches?”

Aegon snorts at your sharp tongue. Indeed, sharp as a blade, under which he would gladly let in his skin crave.

“Nay. They interest me naught”, and when gazing at you this broken king feels whole.

Indeed, it all indicates that this could not have been arranged by other than a divine being. Never before this attraction crossed the limits of the flesh and soul.

Aegon has no explanation for reason cannot conceive why you have messed up with him. And you two barely met.

“Do you like poetry?”

He asks.

And it all begins with this.

One simple question.

Your heart skips a beat. Your lips pull out a smile.

“Aye, lord. I do.”

This is how it begins.

***

The chase must follow the typical etiquette: poems here, poems there, no matter the longing, the lord must be after his lady in between court sessions, gardens plays and theatrical dancings.

No one seems to think this is going truthfully far more than a mere court love fare.

“A day without the sight of you is a divine punishment”, says the besotted Aegon, surprisingly tamed by your sweet temperance. “It pains me physically to be distant of you.”

You two are underneath this pomerade this day. It’s sunny and cloudless. The scenario is ilidic, dreamy like. With none to trouble the peace of this day, you count the Gods as your witnesses.

In the summer breeze, you dress in the colors of autumn, embellished with the jewels he gifted you.

Leaning your head against his shoulder, you drown in his words, paradoxically warmed in this sinful contact against his protective body, locked in his arms.

“You tend to exaggerate the words, my dearest”.

“Hardly exaggerated these are when they truthfully express how I feel towards my lady. Imperfect I may be, but not the love you inspire me.”

You turn lightly at him. The tenderness in his gaze is genuine and it makes you beam. Seeing the delight in you inspires Aegon likewise.

For the very first time there is peace within and when he kisses you, serenity is exhaled.

But it only lasts briefly. For soon passion ignites and his old self comes to surface—albeit in a different manner than before, not the rogue he used to be.

However, temptation comes, sinfully so. Where is, one might wonder, the resistance of conscience? Nowhere to be found, for sure.

You want more and so does he. Though inexperienced, you move to his lap, striding over him, moved by a strange instinct never before known that now takes the reins of you.

Aegon smirks at the urgency with which you now kiss him, leaving aside decency and prudence. His hands take the opportunity to play with your braid, resting thus in your hips all the whilst his lips follow the rhythm dictated by yours.

Your hands are now wrapped around his neck, your fingers hesitantly play with his short locks. Decorum is not in your mind when these move impatiently to his chest and before he knows…

“Oh!” Aegon throws his head back, eyeing you with a mix of pleasant surprise and lust.

But something about his “oh” confuses you. And you stop what you are doing.

“Why’d you stop, dear Y/Nickname?”, he inquires when seeing the deep shade of pink that colors your cheeks.

You lower your gaze, noticing the unlaced pants that are nearly showing his manhood. Your blush deepens.

“I’ve never done this before.”

Aegon blushes too. Has this courtly love gone too far? The prince fears the answer.

“I lament that it has caused you embarrassment of any kind”, he rests his chin over your shoulder, trying to read your composed face.

“This is not about embarrassment, my love. You should be properly praised. Come here.”

Saying so, Aegon helps you laying down in the grass. He soon follows, on his elbows by your side. You giggle softly, blushing to be under his intent gaze, but every smile dies when his lips touch yours, barely brushing before moving to your jawline and neck.

When his tongue moves to your neck, this prince is soon eagerly showing his devotion to you. He wants to make this memorable—even if this isn’t about consuming the aching passion that burns in each of you.

You sigh heavily, playing with his silver locks all the whilst his tongue takes his time against your neck. Only then his right hand moves to your chest, brushing his fingers over your nipples quickly—much to your dismay, for this new discovered feeling, sinful as it is, makes you want to explore it further. How to voice it, though?

The confusion that is your mind is solved when his hand is now lifting gently the skirt of your gown.

“Very bold of you, Egg”, you admonish him in a playful tone, short breath cut the moment he rests his hand over your womanhood.

When Aegon lifts his head to meet your gaze, his hair dropping over his forehead giving thus a sensual look, you feel already dropping wet.

“Should I stop, milady?”, he side smirks, perceiving what is not being said by your red-ish lips, but so clear behind your y/c eyes.

Your blush is the answer he needs. Aegon chuckles, before pecking your lips.

“If we best not engage in this intercourse, voice me your denial and I shall respect it”, he vows it.

You, however, meek by nature—and sinful, if taken in consideration the words of the clergy—find too much tied to this experience to refuse him.

In other words, it’s to say you want him.

Badly so.

As if this prince is capable of reading your thoughts, Aegon chuckles quietly. He dives in your lips, slowly kissing you, letting your tongues intertwine perfectly.

But he wants to see you. He anxiously wants to see the effect he has on you.

And here you are. Right under his command, experiencing new experiences, you burn the dragon fire.

“Oh!”, your eyes are barely open, eyelashes fluttering as bliss opens pave to Heaven.

Aegon too is aroused when finally having a taste of you. Knowing too that he’s giving this to you only makes his bone ache. But it’s about you, his lady. The one woman who made possible his redemption.

By the time you are arching your back, sounds resulting from this pleasurable intimacy, he comes to your aid like the dreamy knight he’s become.

One kiss is enough to seal this spiritual vow you and him now exchange.

But a question is yet to be answered… What will be of the two of you?

(To be continue)

[snorky]

trent frederic x f!reader? your writing is so so good

Break Up With Your Crappy Boyfriend

Hey y’all, and hi hi to the lovely requester! Thank you so much for the compliment, it means everything and beyond to me :') and I hope this lives up to your expectations. This is a Trent Frederic comfort-sorta fic, platonic for now, but it’s just something I scrapped up real quick since I’ve been overwhelmed with finals and exams, so I am really sorry if this isn’t the quality y’all are looking for. There may be a second part that will be sweeter and lighter than this piece, but I am not too sure yet, so let me know if you want one :) I hope you enjoy the fic, and remember to take care of yourself!

Word Count: 1.5k

Pairing: Trent Frederic x F!Reader

Warnings: Bad Relationships (not with Trent), Angst, (let me know if I need to add anything)

—

—

“Break up with your crappy boyfriend.”

“What?”

She looked at him with a bewildered expression, the ice cold drink in her hands amplifying her emotions. It was a homemade strawberry daiquiri, tart and bitter, a sweet distraction. 

He nodded at her like it was the most obvious thing ever, but his eyes had a glint of gentle concern, leaning against the kitchen counter during a cookout-get-together with the team.

The kitchen was an unspoken safe haven between the both of them, somewhere they would often start discussing serious, in-person matters, ever since their teenage years where secrecy became common. It was unconventional, but it was the most non-obvious place to discuss something.

Trent and her had known each other for ages, childhood friends grown into familiar companions, reading one another like a book known by heart, passages and prayers etched into their tongues.

“You look exhausted, and whenever he’s brought up, you shift the topic.” The way he talked with his hands emphasized how truly sober he was, which was not.

Trent got much more chatty with alcohol in his system, friendlier, but he seemed to be much more blunt, more raw.

She looked at him with a slightly offended expression, but allowed him to continue his little rant. He had good judgment, knowing what was right and best for her, evident in the past when he could tell that a first date for her with someone would be the last.

He held a genuineness that was purely caring, but at the moment, her mind couldn’t seem to think straight, and she wanted to truly be in an unbiased stance. “Trent, I appreciate your support, and we can talk about this tomorrow when you’re sobered up, but right now, let’s set the topic aside—”

“Does he check on you often?” He looked at her, searching for an answer on her face, eyes dark.

Her eyes shifted nervously as she moved towards the sink, avoiding eye contact with him, and attempting to busy herself with the dishes. “He’s been busy ‘n stuff—”

“And what sad excuse of a ‘man’ doesn’t make time for their darling?” He emphasized the bit with air quotes, causing her to let out a small soft chuckle. “Am I wrong?” The smug look he had on his face was flushed, most likely from his drink.

She shook her head, letting out a sigh. Putting the dishes away, she wiped her hand on the rag that hung on the oven handle. “I mean, you’re not right either, Freddy—”

“I’m more right than you.”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right!” Jake quipped as he walked by in the kitchen, grabbing a snack or two.

Both of them were startled by his sudden presence, unsure of how long he had been listening. He had a tendency to be very quiet, slipping around cracks and corners easily.

She shrugged with a tight-lipped smile, agreeing with Jake. “He has a point though,”

He set his drink down on the counter, looking up at her with a more serious look. “Okay, but, what kind of guy forgets their anniversary?”

His words seemed to hang in the air dully, the answer known but not spoken between the both of them. It was set uncomfortably in the atmosphere, and yet the party and conversations around them didn’t seem to diminish it.

The night shifted, with people having gone inside and settled down, yet still lively, happy. Lights throughout the house were dimmed, the atmosphere more calm and peaceful, and yet, she still couldn’t figure out how to ease her tension.

Fumbling with her phone in her hands, she scrolled through the messages that went unread by him, delivered and unseen. She bit the inside of her cheeks out of habit, nervous and unsteady.

Her worth wasn’t determined by his responses, or lack of, but it felt as if he didn’t care anymore, taking things for granted. She could feel so much, and yet nothing at all, seemingly mourning a relationship that was once there.

As she got up from the couch, she put her phone back into her pocket. “I’m going to go for a walk,” she said quietly to Katrina, who was sitting next to Brad as well. She simply nodded and shared some quick words of reassurance before they parted, and she gave her a soft smile in return.

Opening the back porch door, the cool air greeted her, filling her nose and lungs. It felt cold, something she was much too familiar with, and yet, she basked in it. The gravel crunched beneath her shoes as she walked down the secluded path, leading into the woods.

It wasn’t a dumb decision, she tried to justify. She knew the path well to her spot, and it was only hers. It gave her a feeling of control knowing that it was a place that she could come and go to, different from the warm kitchen ambience. It was rough, gritty, cold. Familiar, familiar, familiar.

The tears threatening to prick her eyes were also familiar, too familiar. Settling down against a boulder, she looked at the small pond that seemed to glimmer under the moonlight and stars, still and unmoving.

Her breaths became more ragged, harsh, and she knew it was best for her if she just let it out in the solitude that she was in.

And yet, the tears never came despite the looming threats and signs she was familiar with. She couldn’t bring herself to cry, or even shed a tear. It made her feel uncomfortable, a bad taste in her mouth. The sadness that never fully came, could never be justifiable. Her breath felt tight, and she couldn’t seem to get a full inhale.

Her dreariness was quickly replaced when she heard the bush rustling, the sound of leaves crunching and sticks snapping.

“Crap.”

The familiar voice of Trent made her let out a sigh of relief, but then shifted into confusion and concern.

“Wait, how did you find me?” She called out.

He came out of the shrubs, a gentle smile plastered in his face as he sat down beside her, slumping against the large rock. “You think I wouldn’t know your spot?”

She slowly nodded, confusion still laced in her expression.

Adjusting the hat on his head, he fixed his hair slightly before putting it back on. “You also think that they wouldn’t send someone out on multiple occasions when you vanish, just to make sure that you didn’t get kidnapped?” He looked at her, lightheartedly trying to get a response.

Realization and guilt sunk inside of her, eyes drifting towards her shoes. “Sorry,”

“Don’t worry, I’m not mad,” he said quietly, calmly.

Tears started to stream down her face as she broke down, the last bit of his sentence sending her off the edge. The weight she didn’t know that was piled on her shoulders lessened, forgiven, acknowledged, taken care of. Everything she could’ve begged for, and he did it simply, little to no words or complaint. 

She attempted to wipe away her tears, but was quickly stopped by Trent as he engulfed her in a hug. It was sudden, everything seemingly moving too fast, but she welcomed it, leaning into him as she tried to calm down.

“You’re okay, you’ll be okay.”

It became quiet between the both of them, her breaths steadying as the minutes passed. He murmured comforting words every now and then, hand placed on her upper back as his thumb moved in lazy patterns.

She melted into him, her fist grasping onto his hoodie, too exhausted to try and force herself away, his touch the only thing grounding her.

After a few more minutes of silence, he picked her up with ease, and started making his way back to the house. “I’m going to bring you back inside, and don’t worry about everyone else,” he said. “Everyone has already headed home, and you need to get some rest.”

Simply nodding, she allowed herself to relax and try not to put up a fight, limbs worn out and tired. The drink most likely clouded her judgment, but she trusted Trent, never afraid.

As they both made it inside, the home welcomed them with warmth, scented candles lit and placed on the kitchen counter that was already all cleaned up. Everything was neatly put away, and there wasn’t a single piece of trash that she could spot.

She looked up at him, grateful, but still feeling guilty that he had to clean everything. “Did you—”

“Just for you, take it easy, please.”

Making his way into her bedroom, he placed her down on the bed, being careful with his movements to not shake her too much, and tucked her in, pulling the covers over her shoulder.

“I’ll leave a glass of water for you on the nightstand for you to drink, let me know if you need anything.” Walking away from her bed and to the doorway, he turned back once more to look at her again. “I’ll also be sleeping on the couch if that is alright with you, wanna make sure that you’re okay by morning,”

She hummed in response before drifting off to sleep, eyelids heavy and muscles tired, while Trent slipped away into the living room, extinguishing all the candles before falling asleep on the couch shortly after.

[marianamystery]

Post-Time-Travel PureShadow nsfw

Whelp, for once, this one isn't part of my ongoing series A change made and an offer taken (how I came to be with you). It's actually from a time-travel idea me and a friend had, where Awakened PV goes looking for a spell that'd let him peek at the time of the Virtues to try and get answers for how to deal with the Beasts and the threat they pose.

Except the spell is a time travelling spell instead, and he gets taken to the Kingdom of the Fount of Knowledge.

There he meets the illustrious sage, makes friends with him, then they become close friends, then romantic partners, and finally Husbands.

And then, sometime later, PV gets brought back to the present, leaving his poor, lone husband behind, to eventually fall to despair and be turned into the Beast of Deceit we all know and love.

PV is distraught to find himself back in the present, sitting in the middle of a smudged, ruined spell circle. Distraught upon learning he's just lost his husband to the sands of time.

Only for a familiar presence to manifest behind him. A certain Jester floating there, staring intently with tension on his shoulders, as if waiting for something.

Something that turns out to be the recognition in PV's eyes and actions as he reaches forward towards the Beast with a pained, heartbroken call of "My Bluebird."

Cue hugs, plus declarations of "I've waited for so long to get you back" and "I'm sorry, I swear it wasn't my choice to leave."

As well as reassuring caresses to the face, reaffirmations of love, and a particularly honest "It's not a fading dream nor a sweet lie you created for yourself. I am here, with you at last, and I'd very much like to kiss you again, if you'll let me.”

Which leads to Shadow Milk grabbing onto him to kiss him and nibbling on his lips, which, in my typical fashion, leads to PV taking a little control, by grabbing the Jester's hair in a hand, and nipping at his lip in retaliation.

Cue the scene below:

Which made Pure Vanilla grin as he licked his lips, tongue pressing lightly to where the beast's fang had scratched him, before he gave a soft smirk, eyes practically smoldering with desire “My my, are you quite alright my dearest?”

Shadow Milk froze in surprise, eyes going half lidded with hearts at the action, trying to ignore his issue down below very quickly growing interested. "Y-you haven't lost your touch Vanilla."

Chuckling quietly, Pure Vanilla let the hand on Shadow Milk's lower back move to rest over his hip, thumb tracing the hip bone in little circles “To be fair, it has been much less time for me than it has for you my heart. Especially considering how alone you've been.” loosening his hold on the beast's hair, he brought his hand to the jester's cheek, and caressed it with his thumb as he let his voice dip into a slightly lower register “With that in consideration, I have half a mind to whisk you away back to my chambers, and lay you down among my sheets, so that I can peel your outfit off you and reacquaint myself with your form.” letting his gaze trace down from head to thighs and then back up, the healer grinned with clearly salacious intent “The way your thighs and ass look in that skintight bodysuit are a crime my dear, I'm shocked no one has launched themselves at you, trying to take a bite.”

Turning bright blue, hair spasming like crazy as he leaned into the touch, hips twitching under Pure Vanilla's hand, slitted pupils widening like a cat's would. "Oh Oven Pure Vanilla~" Thick with want the normally chatty Jester was struck speechless, hissing at the pressure of his 'skintight bodysuit' leaving nothing to the imagination and very restraining on his shaft. "Don't m-make promises you can't keep my little King."

Grinning like the cat that got the canary, Pure Vanilla let the hand on the jester's hip stroke down the outside of his thigh, kneading the plush muscle while his gaze was divided, the four eyes on his face focused on his lover's flushed cheeks, while the eyes on his cloak and shoulders were very intently focused on the jester's crotch, his voice a low murmur just for the two of them to hear “Bold of you to assume I wouldn't be willing to rip the fabric of your costume off right here and now, so I can pull your cock out and suck you off until you're coming on my tongue and the back of my throat sweetheart.”

The words, said with such genuine promise, had the jester's face flushing dark blue, hair flaring around his form and curling in the air as a comically tiny puff of steam seemed to emit from the top of the jester's head, a quiet whimper slipping past his lips as he shifted his hips in place, his length twitching where it was confined by his suit, voice a weak thing as he looked at the healer with needy eyes "Nilla, please."

And in response Pure Vanilla grinned, and brought his hand from the jester's face to rest over his hip, squeezing it lightly before he leaned forward to nudge his nose with Shadow Milk's "Hmm, I suppose it'd be better to do this somewhere more private. Wouldn't want anyone to catch you whining my name as I go down on you, would you sweetheart? No, this sight is for me and me alone. Now, can you be good for me and hold onto my shoulders darling? I think we're due for a change of scenery."

Shadow Milk keened, panting as he hissed out a whimper, trying to shift even as he did as Pure Vanilla ordered. His bodysuit left nothing to the imagination and was very constricting on his shaft almost to the point of being painful. "Heh..y-you haven't done that Nilla s-since our w-w-wedding night." Unable to resist giving one last quip he was 'rewarded' with a harsh thrust upwards, a scream tearing itself from his throat as he collapsed on his lover.

Feeling his beloved slump onto him, Pure Vanilla leaned his head down to nuzzle the jester's neck above his neck ruffles, as he allowed for a deep gold cosmic looking portal to engulf them, taking them to his chambers, and depositing them on his queen-sized bed, before Pure Vanilla leaned forward to deposit his shaky husband atop the bed, letting his hands settle at the jester's hips, and pushing him down into the vanilla scented mattress, keeping him from thrusting up as he chuckled, his tone a purposefully sultry murmur "Goodness, how I love that runaway mouth of yours darling. So very cheeky, even when I'm promising you a good time."

Grinning widely, he summoned three pairs of disembodied white hands, and had them lock the door before they moved to quickly drawing the same soundproof enchantments in their old room at the Spire of Knowledge, but onto the walls of his own room here, and once it was done and the walls shimmered with the effect, he turned his attention fully to his flushed, needy soulmate, his gaze a near physical thing as he stared down at him "Makes me wonder if I should just make you ruin the inside of your little jester outfit with your own cum before I take it off you, or if I should just rip a hole on it and get to licking my prize right away."

Unable to thrust up, to get any kind of friction the Jester of Deceit could only shudder at the filthy promises, both of them sounding so good to him right now.

"Please, please Nilla it's been so long." Needy, whimpering, tears running down his cheeks from everything, from having his soulmate so close. He reached up with his left hand to the other, his ring catching in the light, the diamond embedded glittering like the other's magic. "Please my husband."

Expression softening at the gesture, Pure Vanilla let go of the other's hip with his right hand, and lifted it up to grab onto the blue hand reaching for him, bringing it to his mouth, and pressing a reverent kiss to the gold diamond embedded in the silver ring, with the very same adoration as he did in their honeymoon, yellow and sky blue eyes flashing with desire as he smiled against his lover's fingers, voice softening "Oven damn me, you know exactly how to get me to do what you want, don't you my starlight?"

Shifting himself down on the bed, he didn't even bother with changing out of his robes or tying his hair back, he simply tossed his hat off, and leaned down to lick a long stripe over the line of his husband's cock through the stretchy fabric, placing that blue ringed hand atop his head, before he began to nuzzle, lick and nibble over the fabric with practiced movements, delighting in the loud whimpers his actions caused and in the desperate grip over his blond hair, his mouth soaking the fabric of Shadow Milk's crotch in a matter of minutes.

All while his hands grabbed at those black-clad inner thighs, and squeezed, nails digging in just the tiniest bit in the process, and making his husband suddenly wail as he shook under his hands, cock twitching beneath his tongue as he saw beads of white liquid seep through the stretched fabric, which he happily licked up, always so very hungry for the taste of blueberries, cream and fait cinnamon that he'd grown so addicted to throughout their escapades.

Only to then pull back, and look up at his panting, whining husband with a grin, the blue diamond on the gold ring in his left hand seeming to catch the light as he purred out a pleased "You still taste just as decadent as you ever did my light."

Be it his loud panting, struggling to intake air or the loud ringing from his sudden orgasm, the first one he's had since his and Pure Vanilla's last night together, effectively prohibited the other from doing anything.

Hair splayed out like a star, every eye dazed with heart pupils struggling to focus on the healer Shadow Milk could only twitch as his husband cleaned him off through the fabric, near arching off when a loud rip echoed around the room.

Pure Vanilla watched the blue shaft spring free on either side of his hands, having ripped the crotch of the bodysuit open from front to back, his Beast sobbing in relief at the constraints vanishing.

And oh how the blond's mouth watered at the sight of that lovely prick stained with remnants of white, calling to him with the promise of a long familiar song and dance, which he wasted no time in following, grabbing it with a hand, before opening his mouth, and wrapping his lips around the head as he began to lick and suck, making his way down further and further until he felt it slide down the back of his throat as he buried his nose in fuzzy dark blue curls, before pulling back, and sinking down again, bobbing over his husband's prick with an efficiency born out of dozens of experiments and repetitions, knowing just how much his Bluebird enjoyed the feeling of overstimulation, as well as the sensation of the healer's throat swallowing around his length.

Which suited Pure Vanilla just fine, because the rush he always got from seeing his beloved slowly being reduced to an incoherent puddle of begging noises as their nights went on? Oh, it got him hot under the collar every single time without fail.

"Vanilla!" Arching once more, struggling to get closer and further away from the stimulation, the warmth around his shaft. Claws tearing holes into the bedspread as he struggled not to grip at the other, whimpers and growls going in tandem. Everything felt so strong to him, not knowing if it was just the length of time between when they were last together or if this body was that new, both most likely.

The healer, for his part, just grinned through his mouthful of cock, not even bothering to try and keep his movements neat, letting spit and precum leak around his lips and to the mess of curls at the base of the shaft, the slick noises from his throat seeming to echo even under the growls and whimpers falling from his lover's lips, filling the space with a symphony of desire that had the lifejam in both their bodies rushing through their veins with intent.

All while Pure Vanilla's hands grabbed and squeezed at the blue thighs, massaging and occasionally pinching just the tiniest bit, while the six hand constructs moved to do their own thing: two caressing Shadow Milk's hair in slow, petting potions; two cradling his cheeks and rubbing tiny, soothing circles over his cheekbones, and the last two taking his hands out of the sheets to instead clasp with them, the claws digging into the white flesh harmlessly, and allowing Pure Vanilla to keep enjoying himself without worry, knowing his beloved was being tended to by his constructs.

And just as Shadow Milk's whining began to rise in pitch with his encroaching second orgasm, he felt a warm finger dragging down the central line of his sac, before there were three fingers rolling it gently and insistently, the feeling alongside the throat swallowing around his length causing the jester to be pushed over the edge once again, hands squeezing hard around the constructs.

The hands on his hips prevented him from arching up, near screaming from the release and stimulation to his most private areas. Under his fingers Pure Vanilla could feel the sac twitch as it emptied from their overfull state, still drinking deeply from the Beast Cookie, groaning at the blueberries and cream, the hint of cinnamon thick on his tongue, the screams fading to whimpers as the other shifted, panting as he squeezed the constructs, claws flexing in the fake flesh. "Y-yellow love."

The gasped word had him immediately pull off without hurting the other, checking on him. The other, crying as he was, was smiling, breathless and flushed. "I'm o-ok love. Just need a moment to-to breathe. Heh, I had forgotten how talented you are, how quickly you know how to play with my strings."  Shadow Milk giggled to himself as his breathing began to calm, "I feel like you're trying to bring me to my sub-state love as fast as you can, going to succeed. Feels like you're sucking out my brain and soul." Breathing back to normal despite his racing heart he reached forward to the other, drawing him into a deep kiss, groaning deeply at the vanilla and blueberry taste.

[moderndaylestat]

I MET SAM!!! AGAIN!!!

Yesterday was a fever dream. I didn’t think I’d get to see him let alone talk to him but it happened! Here’s the whole story:

@suikamelon6 found some info saying the base camp for the Newsreader filming has been set up. I decided to go check it out after work since my office isn’t very far away. It was raining all day and I had no clue if Sam was even filming that day but I decided to take the chance anyway. And I’m SO glad I did!! turns out Sam was filming and I found out the actual filming location (it was a completely different place from the base camp). I made my way there.

They were mainly filming inside a venue so I couldn’t see anything, but there was going to be an outdoor scene too so I stuck around. I was there for around 15mins and then a crew member came over to tell me that Sam and Anna would be arriving soon. Then a car pulled up right in front of where i was standing on the street and Sam was inside!!!!! Thank god I was given a heads up beforehand because otherwise l would’ve had a complete meltdown if Sam in full costume just got out of a car right in front of me 😭

I said hi and Sam looked at me like he recognised me and was like “you were at the Newsreader premiere!” HE RECOGNISES ME!!!! he knows who i am!!!! This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!!! Anyways, I asked for a photo and he said yes as long as I don’t post it until the season is out. We took some selfies and i’m short so he bent down to fit in the photo 😂😂 I’m sorry that I can’t share the pics yet because OH MY GOD HE LOOKED SO FUCKING GOOD!! He was in full costume, Dale wig and all. He was ✨glowing✨ !!!

He then filmed inside the venue and in the meantime i met up with Suika and another friend as we waited for the outdoor shoot. It was a short scene of just Sam, it was done in 4-5 takes and we saw the whole thing! He was so focused during the entire shoot, it was evident that he puts a lot of thought, effort and concentration into his acting.

Afterwards we talked to Sam some more. He’s so down to earth and easy to talk to! For someone who’s supposedly introverted he’s actually very chatty, he jokes around and makes you feel at ease. It’s like talking to a good friend! I asked him if he’s going to the Newsreader event on the Gold Coast and he said he’s not sure yet and then he was like “wait, are you going?” Gold Coast is like a 2hr flight away from Melbourne, it’s kinda far! I said “I’ll go if you go” and he was like “haha you can just see me here”. He’s so right, i’d much rather not spend all that money on flights and accommodation if I can just keep seeing him in my hometown.

Anyways ahhhh Sam is so lovely and engaging in conversation! And so humble and hardworking too! He grabbed food immediately after he stopped filming, he probably didn’t get to eat between takes. i was like “you must be exhausted” and he just shrugged and smiled. What a sweetheart!!!!!

I had such a wonderful experience, Sam was amazing and all crew members were incredibly lovely, telling us where to go and what was happening. I had the time of my life!! Forever grateful to my crazy good luck about being at the right place at the right time. Sadly I didn’t take any pics of the set, I didn’t want to get in trouble. Maybe next time they film in public (IF there is a next time!!) i will have more pics and things to share with you! 🥰

[shyfairies]

Hello! Hope you are doing well! I would love to get a male romantic matchup from you.

So, about me. I am a very shy, introverted girl. I usually go out of my way to avoid social interactions and at times I freeze when I have to go up to talk to someone I don't know very well. But that dosent mean I hate socialising! I get chatty with the people I'm closest with but I still prefer alone time more than anything. I've been told I'm a very sweet but very sensitive person, i also cry very easily. My hobbies are crocheting, reading and listening to music. I have my headphones on so often that I definitely see hearing loss in my future. I'm daydreamer and I zone out a lot of the time, I'm also very introspective and self aware which is my own personal downfall.

My physical attributes:

Female

160cm

I have an hourglass figure

I have long dark brown hair

Hazel eyes

When looking for a partner, I guess I'm looking for someone who is confident and a people person, someone who will balance me out in that regard. Someone who I can read with and talk about anything. Someone who will take the time off day to really listen to me and share their inner most thought with me.

Thank you so much if you take up my request! I really appreciate it!

i match you with...♡

☆Jonathan Joestar☆

i felt deep in my soul that i needed to match you with jonathan

he thinks its so cute that you're shy

i think he's the perfect amount of people person to go with your shyness

when you guys are out in public together he will do all the talking for you

most definitely will order your food for you (and pay ofc)

he's a gentleman!

he loves that he can just wrap you up in his arms, the size difference makes his heart melt

loves loves loves to sit and read with you

even if he loses interest in his book and ends up just looking at you the whole time instead

he just thinks you're the most attractive person in the world

uses petnames like sweetheart, dear, and my beloved

will sit next to you and listen to you talk for hours while gazing at you with the most pure look of love in his eyes

everyone can tell how in love he is with you just from looking at how he looks at you

he'd totally be into slow dancing

wants you to teach him how to crochet (he'd be terrible at it)

would probably only be able to make chains lmao

but he loves to try just so he has an excuse to be with you

he wants you to crochet him a sweater but it takes you forever because he's literally huge

loves to ask what you're daydreaming about

he just wants to know what's on your mind!

when he notices you're sad, he'll come up to you and just hold you, he'll let you cry in his shoulder for as long as you need to, gently caressing your back and kissing the top of your head

SO LOYAL

wants to try to make you breakfast in bed

the toast might be a little bit burnt but you can tell he put effort into it

puts your life before his

you're his world

he is a VERY affectionate man and loves to cuddle

if you're okay with physical touch, he will probably hold you all night long

very much a big spoon, but also enjoys when you full on lay on top of him

will talk you to sleep

he is your biggest supporter and will support you in everything you do

would definitely propose to you like... pretty early on😭

he is SURE he is going to marry you

and honestly, he would be the most faithful, loyal, and loving husband you could have

like seriously you will always be taken care of

lowkey would spoil you so hard🤭

p.s. SORRY THIS WAS SO SAPPYYY😭❤️