#Not to say that doesn't hit I mean how heavy the thing itself is. Not what it triggers bc there it's def heavy

[zoekrystall]

Hello hello excuse me why the absolute fuck can you not mute words on bluesky I am going to combust that is such a basic thing?? What the fuck?? I might not use it until they implement that bc what is this. I just tried to mute bc I glanced at my timeline and read bg3 and remembered oh. Right. The thing that makes me avoid all streams rn. (good game, specific character brings bad thoughts up, don't ask, twt is already agony since but not anyone's fault the mute function there sucks). Also like me and a lot of other people got more standard bad stuff they don't wanna see and don't want to start muting whole accs we follow??? There is a free extension I need to figure out how to get on mobile (shouldn't be too hard for me) but I shouldn't need to do that for such a basic and no brainer function. Idc if it comes later stuff like that should be there from day 1. Like even if no-one would post abt the most standard triggering topics literally everything can be a potential trigger for someone even the most harmless stuff.

[countcvnt]

Experiment

Chapter One: Scrambled

[Poly!TF141/Fem!Reader]

Summary: Your memory is hazy, almost nonexistent, after being plucked out of a safe house and experimented on for months. When you're finally rescued you don't remember the people closest to you. Warnings: Canon Typical Violence (not much else this chapter), me using an english to scottish translator, not beta read Word Count: 3.3k A/N: Had this silly idea and turned it into a serious/angsty fic. I hope you all will like it as much as I do! Also, Reader has a call sign! It's Ace. If you prefer, you can read it here on AO3

Your eyes are heavy, your body burns, and you can't stop shaking. You aren't even sure of where you are. Your eyes are trained ahead of you, looking at what you assume is a two way mirror. A scientist is standing to the side of you messing with some needles and medicines. Your half lidded eyes cut towards him and you see a thick blue substance in a syringe.

“What's that?” You croak, voice hoarse.

“Hm?” The scientist doesn't even look at you, “curious now, are we?” He asks, pulling the syringe up and turning to you. He doesn't answer your question though, not in a way you would like. “We are about to figure out what this is.”

‘We’. Your stomach flips. He didn't even seem to know what it was. You accept your fate. You have from the very beginning. You don't know how long you've been part of this ‘program’, and to you, it didn't matter anymore. The only thing that matters is trying to get out alive. No one seemed to be coming for you. No one has in all of the days you've been hidden away. You didn't expect anyone to save you now. So, you had decided to save yourself. Figuring out how to do that was becoming difficult though.

You know that behind that two way mirror are a bunch of guards. You know they're heavily armed. You know, no matter what they have juiced you up with, you aren't beating a bunch of armed men. So, you sit idly. Letting them poke and prod and decide you are going to wait until the perfect opportunity shows itself. You just have to hold on until it does.

A loud alarm suddenly rings throughout the building and you cover your ears, flinching. The scientist seems more agitated than anything. He doesn't seem as bothered as you are, by any means.

“Guards!” He calls out, looking towards the large mirror. “Guards?” He questions.

He puts a finger up at you, asking for you to wait a minute. As if you have any other choice. A loud bang comes from outside the room and chills run up your spine. The guard walks towards the door and he peeks out. He quickly shuts and locks the door before returning back to you. He scurries over towards the metal stand beside your seat. He grabs the syringe and picks it up.

Something clicks in you. The alarms are still blaring and the guards seem to be gone to check it out. You watch as the syringe comes towards you, headed right for your neck. You move faster than you're used to, and grab the man’s hand and push him back. A lot harder than you had meant to. He slides back and hits the wall. The syringe does not leave his hand.

You rush towards the door. You wiggle the door knob and try to rip the door open. It doesn't budge. You turn your head back and see the scientist steadying himself. Fear kicks in.

“Help!” You scream, slamming your fists into the door. “Please, help me!”

“That was really stupid,” the man behind you says. “No one can hear you, no one is coming to save you. They haven't yet, have they?”

Tears prick your eyes. You turn back around and your back hits the door.

“Y'know, I'm going to be honest.” He stalks towards you. “I know they picked you because you're so… compliant. But really? I think that big guy with the mask would have been a better choice.”

That stings. “Who?”

“Which one?”

“Both.”

“You know I can't give out classified information. But if this works, I promise, you'll know everything. As for the other guy? I'm surprised you don't know who I'm talking about. But honestly, after all the brain scrambling you've had done to you, I understand how you don't remember him…”

You lose it. Something in you snaps. You lunge forward and grab the man. The both of you tussle briefly. Until you get him pinned. Your body slams into his and you hold him down. You raise your fist and bring it down, slamming it into his jaw. Screams, pleas fall from his lips. He's begging for you to quit. But you don't. You, at that moment, decide you are going to do that to every single person who has harmed you, who caused this.

The door behind you blows open, but you don't falter. Your fists continue to slam into the scientist’s face. Until you hear someone with a Scottish accent say your name. You freeze. You turn to find a man in the doorway, his eyes wide. You furrow your brows when he whispers your name again. You move to get up, without thinking about the man below you. You don't realize he's moving. His hand comes up and the needle is pressed into your neck. Whatever the liquid was is quickly administered into your bloodstream.

You hear your name again, louder this time, but you fall to the side, eyes too heavy to hold open. Your head slams into the now bloodied white tile and you're out.

So much for escaping. _____________________________________ You wake up to beeping. A sound you had grown accustomed to recently. You feel monitors hooked up to you, and an IV in your arm. You twitch ever so slightly, every muscle in your body contracting. And then it hits.

Anger.

Your eyes snap open. Your legs swing over the side of the bed. You rip every single monitor off of you, the IV flying across the room. The monitor begins to beep loudly and as you rush towards the door, exiting the isolated room, an alarm blares. You flinch momentarily, but do not let the sound stop you. You are looking for someone, anyone to give you a hint of what's going on. Nothing around you looks familiar. But from all the ‘brain scrambling’, that's normal. You're used to not knowing as much as you figure you used to.

A man in a bucket hat turns the corner, rushing towards what can only assume is you. You let out a low growl and begin to sprint. Your body slams into his and the both of you are sent sliding across the floor. You grab his vest and lower yourself to him, all of your weight holding him down. “Where the fuck am I?”

He's looking at you with confused eyes. He doesn't make any sudden movements. He immediately presents himself as a friend, not a threat. You squint and then see someone else coming around the corner.

“Price! Oh my-” the young man freezes. He says your name and your world is instantly rocked.

You haven't heard your name in god knows how long. The Scottish man had called out for you earlier, but before that? You really can't think of a time when someone had called you something other than some experiment number. “Who are you?” You hiss.

You feel the man under you tense up. He swallows hard and he says your name this time, slow and soft. He isn't showing any signs of wanting to throw you across the room or knock the shit out of you. You take it he isn't a threat and shift.

“You don't remember me?” The man in the ball cap asks, brows furrowed. “You don't remember us?”

Your heart jumps into your throat. You push yourself off of the man below you and you stand up. You brush yourself off and watch as he stands up. He radios someone to cut off the alarm and it's promptly stopped. You are thankful for that. You stand in the hall awkwardly and watch him and the other, younger man talk to each other with facial expressions.

“You're probably hungry,” the man in the bucket hat turns towards you, “how about we go get you some food?”

You aren't stupid, you know that also entails speaking with them about everything you just went through. Despite not wanting to talk, you nod. You are hungry and haven't had an actual meal in possibly months. The man reaches out to touch your lower back, to lead you to wherever he wants to go. You flinch away from him, everything in you tensing. You can tell it's a reflex. A habit. He's used to doing that. Your eyes scan him and you're searching your brain for everything, anything about him. But there's nothing.

“Sorry.” Is all he says. He leaves it at that. “Gaz,” he looks away from you and towards the other man. “Please go grab some food and meet us back at room 2B.”

“Yes, sir.”

The tension is palpable. You want to run. Fast. You can. You know you can. But something is keeping you tethered there. You follow a couple feet behind the man who had yet to introduce himself and keep thinking about ‘Gaz’. Your mind is reeling. You keep thinking about his name, his face, everything. You close your eyes tight and inhale sharply.

“Kyle.” It's all you say. It stops you dead in your tracks. Your eyes open and your breathing is heavy. “His name is Kyle.” Your breathing is suddenly ragged. You can't catch your breath and feel like everything is crumbling in on you. You fall to your knees and try to keep yourself from wailing. “I don't even know your name!” You whisper to keep yourself from sobbing. Your voice cracks.

“Price. John Price.” He drops in front of you. He reaches for your bicep. You don't flinch away this time. “Hey,” his voice is low, “look at me.” Your eyes cut up to him. “We're gonna help you through this. I promise.” You nod. You want to trust him. You need to. You feel like you can. You inhale slowly and Price helps you up. “We're going to go to room 2B, you're going to eat some breakfast, and we're going to ask you some questions.”

You nod and start following Price again. You make it to the room in silence and Price opens the door for you. You walk in and find four beige walls, a table, and four chairs. Nothing else. Until you look in the corner of the room and find a little camera. You lock onto it and squint.

“Why?” You point at it.

“Oh,” Price walks in and closes the door behind him, “it’s protocol. Security and all.”

“Fair enough.” You sit down at the table and look at the Price. “You gonna sit?”

Price holds onto his vest and leans against the table. “Not yet.”

You shrug. “Suit yourself.” Your stomach growls. You touch it through the thin white shirt you're wearing. “You think Gaz will be here soon?”

With that, a knock comes from the other side of the door. Two knocks, a pause, and another knock. Price opens the door and Gaz walks in. He has a tray filled with food and you are growing antsy. He sits across from you and slides the tray towards you. You try to not immediately dig in, but you can't help it. You grab a glazed donut first and begin to devour it.

“Oh,” you pause your munching, “thank you, Kyle.”

Gaz freezes. His eyes widen and he turns towards Price. It's your turn to freeze. You look up at him mid bite and blink. Gaz motions towards you and asks, “Did you tell her my name.”

“No.” Price shakes his head.

“You remembered?” Gaz seems ecstatic. “What else do you-”

“Nothing.” You snap. “I don't remember a damn thing.” You huff as you move onto the muffin on the tray. You unwrap it and begin to devour the sweet. “All I know,” You speak through bites, “is that I was locked up for God knows how long and they were experimenting on me-”

“Four months.” Gaz speaks quietly.

“Huh?” You question him. “How do you know?”

“We looked for you when you disappeared. It was four months ago when they got you. You really don’t remember anything?”

“Like I said,” You huff, “I just know they were juicing me up.” Before they can question you further, a light bulb goes off in your head. “Wait.” You squint at them, “The Scottish one. Where is he?”

They tense up. Gaz talks first, “You remember Soap?”

“Huh?” You cock your head. “Is that his name? He’s the one that found me. I assume he’s here. Or did he not…” You trail off.

“No, he’s here…” Price begins, “…We don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Oh.” You shrug. “I guess that makes sense. How am I supposed to, uh, assimilate without being overwhelmed. I mean, why don’t we just rip that band aid off?”

“Trust me,” Price locks eyes with you, “we do not need to rip that band aid off right now.”

“Okay, okay,” You put your hands up. “Do you wanna ask your questions now?” _____________________________________ “This cannae be healthy,” Soap looks at Simon.

Simon shrugs, “Don’t care.” He’s watching the cameras closely.

“Thay aren't even in th' room yit! Ye'r peepin' an empty room!” Soap’s eyes move from the screen and back to Simon.

Simon’s eyes cut from the screen and to Soap, “Shut it. Price wants us to stay away from her for now. He didn’t say we couldn’t do this.”

As he says that, the door of the room opens. Price is visible first. And then, another figure walks in. You. Simon and Soap both tense. You look directly at the camera and point, asking why it’s there. You’re so clear. Soap’s heart jumps. Simon shifts.

“She remembers Gaz’s name.” Simon speaks through gritted teeth.

“A'm sure that's a targeted attack against ye, Ghost.” Soap is trying to find humor in this situation. He’s grasping for straws.

Simon is not enjoying it. “Shut the fuck up, Johnny.” Simon growls.

Soap focuses back on the screen and notices you aren’t even sure how long you’ve been gone. As Gaz gently tells you four months, Simon grumbles the amount of time at the same time.

“If Price doesn’t wanna overwhelm her, why the fuck is Gaz in there.” Simon is seething. “Why can’t we all be in there.”

Simon shuts his mouth as you say they had been juicing you up. He tenses. Soap does the same. They both need to know what it means. Simon feels like he’s going to combust. His eyes narrow once you mention Soap. Soap looks like he’s about to jump with joy, until he realizes you don’t actually remember him. Not past him saving you.

“Fuck this,” Simon pushes past Soap. “I'm going in there.”

“Hey! Price said-” Soap starts. He doesn't finish. “Fine-” he rushes out behind Simon. He guesses they're just going to bust into the room and Simon is going to make you remember. He isn't quite sure what Simon has planned really. But he decides he can't sit in the security room and just watch. He needs to see you.

So does Simon. _____________________________________ You reach for a fork for your eggs and lean back in your seat, plate in hand. You relax (as much as possible) and you look at Gaz and Price. You are studying them. Really digging into their features. You want to remember so badly. You have no reason to trust that they used to know you, a part of you is ready to attack in case they are lying. But most of you trusts them. How else would you remember Kyle’s name?

“Listen,” Price inhales sharply, “we want to help you, without overwhelming you. We need to know what you know.”

“Listen,” You mimic his tone, “I don’t know what you aren’t getting. I remember nothing, nada, zilch.”

“Okay,” Gaz interjects, “What’s your last memory?”

You're sent into deep thought. You place your hand on your chin and look off. “Well-” You begin, “I remember-”

The door of the room busts open. You tense, ready to pounce. Your palms hit the table and you stand up straight. The fork clangs against the ground. Two men walk into the room. The one who saved you and-

Words play in your head over and over again. ‘I think the big guy with the mask would have been a better choice.’ For a moment, your world is completely rocked. ‘I’m surprised you don’t know who I'm talking about.’ Your eyes lock with the large beast of a man. His eyes soften. Briefly. You swallow hard.

The entire room is silent. Until you open your mouth. “He wanted you…”

“What?” Soap is the first to question you.

“The scientist, the one doing the experiments on me-” You are tense again “-he didn’t want me.” Your head hurts. You place your hand on your forehead and groan. You are thinking too hard. Remembering too much.

“Hey,” Price motions for you to sit down, “it’s alright.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ghost,” Price looks over his shoulder, “not right now.”

Ghost stiffens. He doesn’t say anything else. You sit down and inhale slowly. Your eyes move from the floor, past Price, and they hit Ghost. You feel something stir inside you. Like your emotions know more than your brain does. You want to scream. Every single man in that room seems to think so highly of you, and you don’t even remember them.

“I think I need to sleep.” Your voice is a whisper.

You don’t know the last time you got a good rest. You figure sleeping will help you. Price begins to grab for you, before freezing. You lean into him, letting him help you up. Price moves past the men and you tag along beside him.

“I’m going to show you where your room is. If you need anything, please let one of us know. But for now, we’ll leave you alone.” You are led down the hall and towards the barracks. It’s silent between the two of you, until you reach your room. “You have this room to yourself. I had some things rearranged, if it needs to be changed, and you aren’t comfortable alone, let me know.”

You nod at him. “Thank you. For everything. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“0600 sharp.” Price begins to leave.

“Wait,” You stop him. “You don’t happen to have my phone, do you?”

Price turns back to you. “No, that was not recovered. But, we can get you a new one. I’ll work on that while you rest.”

You nod. You head into your room and close the door behind you. You look around. There are two beds. You groan at the fact you can’t remember who used to be your bunk mate. You’re scraping through your brain, really searching for just an inkling of a memory. But… Nothing. Nothing at all comes to your mind.

Nothing about the four men convinced that you know them, anyway.

You lay down in bed and cover up. It’s not the most comfortable bed you’ve ever been in, but it is the most comfortable bed you’ve laid on in the last four months. Your head hits the pillows and you close your eyes. It takes longer than you’d like to go to sleep, but not as long as you expect it to take. You only hope you don’t dream of anything at all. You can’t be that lucky. _________________________________ “Price!” Simon shouts at the captain. His face contorted with anger and pain, and he is more glad than ever that they can’t see him through his balaclava. “What the fuck was that? We need to know-”

“No,” Price stops him immediately. “We do not need to stress her out further. We will figure this out eventually, on her time.” Price reassures his team. “You did not see the look in her eyes, the way she tackled me to the floor-”

“She what…?” Soap tenses.

Simon bristles instantly. He’s seething again. “What do you mean?”

“Ghost,” Gaz starts, “I know you want to know what happened. We all do.” He’s trying to get through to him. “But something is not right. The way she easily took Captain Price down- That wasn’t the Ace we know.”

“Of course!” Simon growls, “She was gone for four months, being poked and prodded-”

“Ghost,” Price interrupts, inhaling sharply, “she pinned me down and I could not get up. They did more than poke and prod at her. They-”

It clicks. “They were making soldiers… Enhanced soldiers.” Simon whispers. His face contorts again, this time with confusion, “Why did they pick her?” He remembers what you said. ‘He wanted you.’ Simon momentarily feels a pit in his stomach. “Ace couldn’t have been the only one… There’s no way they did this experiment on one person.”

“She was the only one at the underground compound.” Soap shifts. “Maybe she was the only success?”

Simon is stuck on why they picked you. It’s not like you weren’t capable. But you were never on the field fighting for your life. You were always on the sidelines, helping them get into the places, helping them get information. How had they spotted you and decided you were the best candidate? He knows that question is going to keep him up at night.

“Come on,” Price brings Simon back to reality. “We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

[uchihaharlot]

Yandere Uchihas with an innocent S/O who doesn't know that he wants to baby trap the S/O.

I think that when an Uchiha wants to get you pregnant… there’s really nothing in the way of stopping them, that being said.

NSFW; Uchiha’s pumping you full of their hot sticky baby batter; Madara breeding; Obito ignorantly blissed; Shisui manipulation; Itachi sexual coercion.

Madara:

lol. This ain’t a baby trap for him. Your body was designed to specifically carry his offspring. Plus it’s the Warring States Era… everyone was fucking without protection. And that includes when Madara has you bunched up beneath him.

He’s not really shy about this either. While sex talk is hot as hell, Madara makes no laughing joke about how fucked out and stuffed full of his genes and babies you’ll be. You’re the perfect woman and you need to be his flesh light. His baby factory, so to speak. Bred until you can hardly breath.

And ma’am, he’s rough when fucking your overly used cunt. Day after day of incessant breeding, him hitting it all the way to your cervix when he cums to make sure his swimmers are close as close gets to your womb. Excellent thing you’re a good little girl and take it all night. The sheets get changed regularly since you have about six or eight loads pumped into you and each load gets fucked out as the other is pumped in. It also takes Madara a looong time to cum inside of you, so you’re basically cumming several times, prepping his cock to empty itself. He just really enjoys seeing how overstimulated you get and how that pussy massages his cock dry. ‘Just a bit more little bird…’ And it sounds so sweet to your exhausted self, but he’s so menacing when it comes to it.

Obito:

I hate to say this but if there were ever an unfortunate enough Uchiha to get baby trapped…. It’s this man here. Our poor Obito is a bit too trusting and a little dense at times. But like, sex feels so so good and he’s touched starved. So when you sit on his fat cock for the first time and fuck him stupid. Any and all sexual education he did have, is wiped free from his mind. You just feel so good in his lap, so wet and warm on his aching length. Especially when you own him this way, Obito can’t think.

Tobi, is a good boi. And if you tell him that, he’s gonna burst fast and heavy in your plush velvety walls without a care. It’s just feels so damn good for Obito to actually cum inside of you, and since he’s rarely sticking his cock often in anyone. He won’t feel the slightest bit nervous when you joke about wanting a little Uchiha in you because, well, it’s hot as fuck. So as many times as you want, he’ll coat your insides until gravity works against his cum and it drips out of you as you ride him through each of his and your orgasms. Which it’s safe to say that if you’re cumming, he is too.

Shisui:

He didn’t really want to do this to you. I mean, yes he wants everyone to see that cute belly of yours cradling his Uchiha baby but also… he knows you’re not entirely ready. So Kotoamatsukami for you, miss. You are none the wiser since Shisui doesn’t even need to look you in the eye while using his ultimate technique. This is a very egregious act and an abuse of power. Shisui justifies it because you have talked about children of your own. Just not making them yet. Shisui, I think, has a heavy conscience over it but when you’re whining for him to fuck a baby in you because your mind has been inundated with thoughts of his hot cum. It’s a non issue in that moment.

Palms splayed all over your stomach when you both cum. Admiring the flat of your stomach and visualizing how plump and delicious you’ll look with his growing seed. Holding your hips roughly when you squirm from being so taut and full of his cock pumping you raw and full.

You just look so sexy like this. Begging him for an Uchiha baby, even if it is manipulative, Shisui is in heaven. ‘Please, Shisui…’ is your vocabulary for the next few hours. This is his passion now. Shisui gets really into filling your soft hole with his seed, very desperate soft whines each time he cums inside of you. That much closer to his goal . If you end up squiring on him, well that’s another two loads to make up for the one you washed out. ‘Tisk, there goes all my hard work, baby. You need more now…’ Gods, his sex out voice is so low and hoarse too 🥵

Itachi:

Any sort of insolence on your side about having his baby is just ending with you tossed into Tsukuyomi. You should have agreed with this man from the get go. Though you might think this is a safe zone for acting out his deplorable behavior. He will fuck you into submission until your willing and eager for it. Just throws you in there and locks the key until he is done. Fucking you senseless until you are in agreeance of him cramming your insides with a baby. It takes only three seconds for him to coerce you from an outside perspective, but yet it’s been nearly a lifetime in there for you.

Consider yourself more fortunate with his good graces if you end up in this situation, agreeing and whatnot. Itachi is persistent when it comes to actually making sure you fall pregnant. Though he doesn’t believe that the more loads of cum you take in a single session actually makes a difference. He will breed you for the novelty of it. It’s just been one of those things whispered in the shadows and plus. It feels so damn good having you whining underneath him this way and hey, yea. Baby making sex is hot as hell. So you really are wanting this. Itachi is typically a soft lover. Very sensual, but like this? Now you know why he was so desperate for your cooperation. The man is insatiable and ends up cumming several times over, especially when he sees how into it you are. How quick you climax the first time he raws you. 🫠

[lavenderfilledcoffin]

apologies

noun

a regretful acknowledgment of an offense or or failure.

•*¨*•.¸¸♪✧•*¨*•.¸¸♪

Sebastian Solace.

Your heart ached for him.

He was perfection in itself—no, he's better than perfection.

Your sole purpose in life is to love him, you're sure of it.

How could someone like you deserve someone like him?

He's too good for you.

You never deserved to be with him.

There will always be someone better than you.

The thoughts turned sour immediately, running through your head all at once.

Your heart hurt, too heavy and fragile to handle these horrible thoughts that plagued your very being.

You needed Sebastian's attention, bad. You craved it. It's all that gave your life purpose and meaning.

Why does your mind have to spiral when he's gone?

"I'm back—oh." Sebastian's eyes ran over your body. Your face was tucked into your knees, arms hugging your legs closely.

"You hate me, don't you, Seb?" Your voice felt small, too weak to be deemed a voice. How pathetic could you possibly get?

"I—" You cut him off, "don't lie to me." Your eyes stared into his bright blue ones, you couldn't even recognize him. His face was nothing but a giant mess, obstructed by your tears of pure anger.

"[Name], I love you, don't say that." His words felt like a lie. Everything he told you felt like a lie. How could he hurt you like this? Didn't he love you?

"You're a fucking liar." You spoke through gritted teeth, angry tears streaming down your face.

The only thing circling in his head was what could have possibly went wrong. You were so sweet and happy earlier, what did he do wrong? Sebastian tried to reason with you, but you stormed out of his hideout. He didn't bother chasing you, figuring that you needed alone time.

Sebastian stared at the spot you were curled up in. He knew you didn't mean those harsh words... Right?

You ran as far away as you could from his hideout. You hated him. You hated Sebastian. You wanted him dead.

He didn't care about you. He wouldn't even run after you. You would have done it in a heartbeat—

Oh.

Oh.

You ruined everything. You sabotaged a beautiful relationship because of your selfishness. Why...?

You hadn't even realized it. Your legs gave out, stopping right in front of an office room.

You quickly scrambled into it, hiding in the corner next to a locker. Your body curled up into fetal position.

Everything hit all at once.

Guilt.

Anger.

Sadness.

It felt horrible. Your emotions controlled you as if you were some puppet. Why? You felt so helpless. You just wanted to be in his arms in the safety of his hideout.

'Shit...' Sebastian was getting lost, he realized he shouldn't have let you run off like that.

"[Name]?" His voice called out for you, yet there was no trace. It was almost as if you had vanished into thin air.

His tail slithered faster and faster, desperate to find you.

Something bad could have happened. Had an angler come by? Oh, fuck.

Muffled sobs stopped him in his tracks, he followed the noise.

Sebastian had to catch his breath before he entered the opened room. "[Name]?" He spoke softly, noticing your once again curled up body.

"D—Don't look at me! Go away!" You cried out, hugging your knees even tighter.

The sight made his heart break. Sure, he's seen you like this numerous times, but that doesn't lessen the reality of the situation.

He moved closer to you, scooping you up into his arms despite your broken sentence telling him not to.

You punched his chest, sobbed, and screamed while he held you. "I— don't deserve..."

Your cries came to a halt. You had exhausted yourself enough to where you fell asleep.

Your cheeks were tear stained, but Sebastian wiped them away.

"I got you."

You woke up, were you dead?

A blinding yellow light came into view. It was Sebastian's lure.

The memory of your actions came flooding back, and you nearly started crying again before he held you close.

"It's okay. I promise. I love you, and I always will no matter what."

"You don't mean that." You sniffled, a tear falling from your eye.

"I do. I mean it. I love you with every fiber of my being." His left hand made its way onto your face, gently caressing it.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." You shut your eyes, hot tears falling down your cheeks.

"It's okay, I promise. I know you don't mean it." Sebastian leaned back so that you would be half lying on him.

"I love you, okay?" He pressed a small kiss to your forehead.

In the blink of an eye, you felt somewhat better. No hatred or guilt enveloped your being. Ah. Finally.

Peace in your mind.

[familyvideostevie]

october eighth

day eight: remus lupin you and remus fool around on a spooky path at night | 18+, minors dni, fem!reader, semi-public sex, unprotected sex | 1.9k detailed content warnings: fem!reader, semi-public sex (risk of being discovered, doesn't happen), unprotected p in v sex, fingering, little bit of dirty talk, little bit of praising, remus is a tiny tiny tiny bit mean, creampie

“Are you trying to torture me?” you ask. A cold gust blows down the forest path and you shiver, pressing harder into Remus’s side.

“Me?” he says. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Never.” His arm is warm and heavy around your shoulders. You’d walk faster if you were less glued to him but you’re not about to pull away. The path is scary.

“Why are we doing this, again?” You look over at him. Remus looks lovely every second of every damn day but in tonight’s light from the full moon he’s practically glowing. The scars on his face stand out and you want to trace them.

“Because I have something to show you.” The harvest festival you’ve left behind is a dull road back down the path. You haven’t seen another person in almost ten minutes, even though you’re still technically on the fair grounds.

“You better not have something scary planned.”

Remus smirks at you and presses his lips to your temple. “Have faith, love,” he says. “I’m not going to terrorize you.”

You roll your eyes. The path is well traveled though deserted. The trees around you are tall, the color of their leaves still visible in the moonlight. It’s not quite a proper fall night but it’s pretty close.

“Why isn’t anyone out here? Whatever you want to show me can’t be that great if no one else wants to see it.” You’re teasing and Remus can tell. He tugs on your earlobe.

“We used to come out here in the summer, actually,” he says. “Not so much this time of year. Bit nippy.”

“Yeah, and creepy.” You’re speaking in a hush for no reason.

“Well, we came to see who would be brave enough to sneak into that.” He points in front of you and as you see a massive house rising out of the shadows at the end of the woods.

“Remus!” you gasp. “Fuck, that is scary!”

He laughs. He laughs at you. Unbelievable. He tugs you close, arms around you.

“Rumor says it’s haunted.” You believe it. The house itself looms in a way that cannot be natural. The siding is chipped and rotting, the windows nothing but broken glass with torn curtains flapping in the wind. It looks like the perfect place to get murdered.

“We are not going in there.”

“No,” he agrees, “we are not.” His hand rubs up and down your spine, warming you through your coat.

“Did you ever go in?”

“A few times, with James and Sirius,” he says. “Most everyone else who came down here was only interested in the house.”

You frown. “Is there something else more terrifying and more interesting that you idiots hung around for?”

Remus smirks and you know he’s up to something. Your buttoned up, calm, collected boyfriend has a devious side that still manages to surprise you.

He leans down and presses his lips to your ear. “This is where we’d come to snog girls,” he whispers.

Your breath stutters in your chest and you swallow and embarrassing noise at his closeness. “Oh?”

“Among other things,” he adds. He turns you in his hold and walks you backwards until you’re back in the trees, off the path a little bit. Your back hits the bark of a trunk.

“Other things?” you swallow. You see where this is going but you’re not sure how far he’ll take it. Already you feel hot under your layers.

He steps back into your space, pressing you against the tree, and drags his nose down your throat, nipping at your skin as he goes. “Would you let me do other things to you, darling?”

“Remus,” you gasp. “Remus, really? In the woods? Here?” Anyone could walk by. And yet…your legs clench at the idea.

“No one will see us,” he says, pulling away to look at you full on. “We’re off the path enough, I swear.” He rubs the skin under your eye with his thumb. “If you don’t want to I will happily take you home and fuck you in bed instead —”

“I want to,” you rush out. It’s the truth. Your sex life is healthy and fun and you like trying new things with him, but this is…something different. This is hot in a way you didn’t think fooling around outside would be. You like it.

“I thought I was the only one who went a bit wild under the full moon,” he teases. Smug bastard. You slide your hand down his chest and palm him through his pants. He’s half hard already.

“Nope,” you say, popping the p. He grins wolfishly.

“Going to be quiet?” he says, whispering. The woods aren’t silent, but all you can hear is your own heartbeat and Remus’s breaths. You nod. “Good girl.”

You surge forward to kiss him. It’s teeth and tongues, sloppy but hot. Remus manages to undo his belt before leaving the button and zipper to you as he goes for your own pants, mouth never leaving yours until you pull away to spit in you palm.

He hisses when you get under his briefs to grasp his cock. It’s warm in your cold hand and you jerk him as best you can with his pants still on. “Fuck,” he gasps.

“What was that about being quiet?” you mutter. He kisses you again, tonguing into your mouth as he pops the button on your jeans. His long fingers find their way underneath your underwear and into your cunt and you moan against his mouth.

“Hush,” Remus chides. You pant into his neck, your grip on his cock haphazard as he circles your clit. “You’re soaked, darling,” he says. “You like this? Being out in the open like this? Where anyone could see how wet you are?”

You grasp his bicep with the hand not in his pants so you don’t fall over. “Oh my god,” you gasp. Who knew you were so into this?

“Not quite,” he teases. He slips two fingers into you and you bite down on his collar. “I’m going to fuck you right here against this tree,” he says, voice deeper than usual in your ear. “And then we’re going to go home and you’re going to ride me after I lap at your cunt until you scream.”

“Busy — ah — night.” Remus sucks on your pulse point and you clench around his fingers. He thrusts into your hand and then his touch is gone and you whine.

“Can’t have you wrecking my plan with those hands,” he says. “Step out of your jeans?”

You look around and see no one in the darkness. Remus pulls his boxers down a little further so he can free his entire cock and his balls. If you weren’t so desperate for him to fuck you right now you’d get on your knees, but instead you shimmy your pants down and step out of one leg. It’s not like you’ll be able to pull them up if someone comes by but not being totally bare makes you feel better.

“Now what?” The cool air makes your cunt clench and you can see that Remus’s pupils are totally blown. He crowds you against the tree so your back is against it once more and hooks one hand around your thigh to lift your leg. The mechanics of fucking like this worry you a little but you’re perfectly content to let Remus arrange you how he likes.

“Now I fuck you,” he says. He strokes himself a few times then lines up near your entrance, the tip of his cock brushing your clit for a few breaths.

You moan low in your throat. “C’mon,” you whine. Remus doesn’t wait any longer. He slide inside you in one movement, stealing the air from your lungs. He wraps one leg around his hip and taps the other. Between his firm hold and the tree, you’re fairly secure with both legs around his waist.

“So tight,” he says in your ear. “I’ve been inside you hundreds of times and you’re still so tight.”

You’re about to retort when some twigs snap in the darkness. You freeze and Remus stays where he is, face in your neck and arms steady, palms on your bare ass.

The trail is almost certainly out of sight but not far enough that you can’t hear a group of guys walking down it. “It’s not that scary, dude,” one of them says.

“Be quiet,” Remus reminds you and then he starts moving his hips. You swallow your moans as he drags his cock out and then in again, torturously slow.

“People used to fuck in these woods when we were younger,” another guy says. Their voices are already fading but it feels like they’re right next to you.

“If only they knew,” Remus continues. His lips are pressed to your ear, tongue darting out between every sentence. “I can’t believe they aren’t hearing how wet you are.”

You might explode. You might bite through your tongue. The group keeps talking but you can’t be bothered to listen anymore. There is laughter and under the cover of the sound Remus snaps his hips hard and you swallow a scream.

“Good girl,” he tells you. You clench around him. “They’re gone.��� You can’t hear anything anymore except your blood pounding in your ears. Remus finally picks up the pace. The sounds must be obvious — your slick, his balls smacking into your ass, your panting. But you don’t care. The angle he’s getting is so good and it’s so hot that anyone could walk by and see you taking him and —

“How close are you?” Remus grinds out.

“Close,” you manage. “Close, Remus, keep going —”

“Me too,” he says after he licks a stripe up your neck. “Dirty girl, letting me fuck you against a tree, I’m not going to last long —

“Inside,” you blurt out. “Please, inside me, Remus.”

Your eyes are closed but he shifts his hold on you and uses one hand to grab your jaw so you’ll look at him. His pupils are totally blown and his eyes are wide.

“You want to — fuck — walk out of here with my cum inside you?”

You nod frantically and he grabs your ass again, picking up his pace.

“Anything, Remus,” you moan. “Anything, just — ah — don’t stop, I’m —”

His cock hits that spot inside you once, twice, three times, and you’re gone. Over the edge, head thrown back far enough that you thump it against the tree as you clench around him. He says your name like a prayer and his hips still as he spurts inside you.

“Fuck,” he hisses. You’re both panting and he gently guides your legs back to the ground even though you’re weak in the knees. Your jeans have almost come off the remaining leg entirely but you don’t care. Remus pulls out of you and without tucking himself back into his briefs he leans down to pull your panties back up your legs and around your hips, your jeans following. “Can’t lose any,” he says.

You laugh. “That’s filthy,” you say, breath still returning to normal. You can’t believe you just fucked in the woods.

He shrugs and puts his cock, shiny with you, away and fastens his belt.

“C’mere, Remus.” He obeys and cups your face with one hand. You kiss him gently, chastely compared to what you were doing before. “Let’s go home,” you say. “So I can blow you because I’m not kneeling on this nasty forest floor.”

He laughs loudly, so loudly you know that anyone walking by will hear. Good thing you’re not fucking anymore.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

[lestappenforever]

DROP THE TEXT EXCHANGE FIC 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

I would like to preface this by saying that threats are not a good incentive to get me to write anything, anon. But, you're in luck this time because I was already feeling inspired as hell.

The text exhange in question.

Dedicated to @f1writingbyme, for once again being my muse, allowing me to scream ideas at her, and helping me decide on the very important details along the way.

AO3 link.

---

There's a hand on his shoulder during his post-qualifying interview in the media pen; a firm squeeze followed by equally firm pats, and Charles knows who it is before he even lays eyes on Max. After all, he could recognize that touch anywhere, at any time.

His face lights up with pure glee at the sight of the Dutchman, the way it always does.

Green eyes meet blue, and despite Max's own disappointing qualifying landing him in a measly P6, the Red Bull driver looks at Charles with nothing but genuine joy and pride. Because in spite of his own struggles, Max is irrevocably, endlessly happy for Charles.

Max knows how much this means to him — has been there for every single disappointing weekend the Monégasque has experienced in his home race over the past few years. He's seen the heartbreak in his eyes, listened to him raging about the mistakes made there in the past; both by Charles himself and by his team. As with practically everything else in his career, Max has been right there with him. And for that reason, Charles is absolutely certain that even if Max had ended up having to start tomorrow's race from P20, the Dutchman still would have found it in himself to be as happy for Charles as he would have been for himself had Max been the one to secure pole.

They clasp hands like they have done hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. Max's grip is tight, but Charles' is even tighter, as he is overcome with a realization that has hit him so many times before over the years:

He doesn't want to let go. And he can tell by the way Max squeezes his hand one more time that the feeling is mutual.

Charles sees his own emotions, his own desires, reflected in those beautiful blue eyes — can feel the electricity simmering between them, just beneath the surface, the way it has done for so many years. Always there, close enough for them both to reach out and grasp and yet, just out of reach. It's a line neither of them have dared to cross, both highly aware of the fact that if — when — they do, there will be no going back.

The unasked question that has always been there, but never spoken aloud, lies heavy between them.

'Are you feeling this, too?'

'No,' the other would always answer, just as silently as the question itself. Even if it's a lie. Even if it has always been a lie; one they've both told themselves and each other as a way to ensure they don't step over that line.

But, in that moment, Charles is sure he would never even want to go back. Sure that if there is one thing he wants almost as much as winning his home race tomorrow, it's crossing that line with Max. To give into that oh-so-powerful pull between them they've both been trying and failing to ignore for God knows how long.

They maintain eye contact only for a mere few seconds, but it's enough for Charles to see that flash in Max's eyes.

He wants to cross that line, too. It's about time. It's long overdue.

Max lets go of his hand and walks away, and Charles looks down at the ground briefly, trying to will his cheeks not to flush with the intensity of such a brief exchange in front of the camera, before returning his focus to the interviewer.

His mind, however, never lets go of Max.

If Charles hadn't already felt like he was flying, he sure as hell is now.

***

His phone vibrates in his pocket a little while later, and Charles feels his heart picking up the pace as he reads Max's name on the display.

'Congratulations on pole! Well deserved!'

His heart flutters.

'Thank you! I'm so happy 😊'

He sends a second text immediately after.

'It's a shame you're not up there with me, though'

Max doesn't leave him waiting long for a response.

'Still 78 laps to go, mate. You think I won't do everything to get into the top 3 tomorrow?'

Charles glances around, making sure nobody is paying attention to him as he tries and fails to bite back a smile as excitement starts coursing through him.

'You really think you can overtake two Mercedes, at least one McLaren and a Ferrari?'

It's a stupid question, Charles knows, because if anyone can do it in Monaco, it's Max fucking Emilian Verstappen. But he can't resist the jab; can't resist the urge to try to get under Max's skin, just a little. Just like he hasn't been able to resist since he and Max first met back in karting when when they were literal children.

The bubble with the three dots appears briefly before disappearing and reappearing a few seconds later. Then:

'To get to share a podium with you in your home race?'

'I could overtake Michael, Seb and Ayrton if I had to.'

The smile turns into a full-blown grin, and Charles feels giddy as he reads the two messages over and over again. The anticipation thrumming within him, bubbling just underneath the surface of his skin, is so overwhelming he needs three attempts to send his next message that consists of a single word:

'Yeah?'

Then, with more confidence:

'Prove it.'

Max's response is immediate.

'Oh, I will.'

As he pockets his phone, his heart beating wildly in his chest and his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, he knows Max isn't just talking about the race.

He hadn't thought he could feel even more excited about tomorrow than he already did, but as he has done so many times with so many things in the past, Max proves him wrong.

***

On Sunday, Charles is preparing to leave his driver's room and make his way to the garage to get ready for the race. But as he opens the door, he's met with the familiar face of Max Verstappen.

"Max, what are you—,"

The Dutchman places a hand on Charles' chest and firmly pushes him back into the room, following him inside and closing the door behind him with his foot in one swift movement. Charles barely has time to process what's happening before Max has grabbed a hold of his shoulder, turned him around and pushed him up against the wall by the door.

Charles has effectively lost his ability to speak as he watches Max lean in until their lips are mere inches apart.

"I needed to see you alone, before the race," he says, voice barely above a whisper. Max's hands drop from his shoulders, instead sliding down his chest, his stomach, coming to a halt on his waist. "To wish you luck."

Charles swallows past the lump in his throat. "You think I need it?" he asks, trying to sound calm and collected, but his voice betrays him almost as much as his dilated pupils do.

"No," Max says immediately, allowing his lips to brush featherlight against Charles'. It's not a kiss, and even if Charles so desperately wants it to be, he doesn't cross that line.

Not yet.

"But I wanted to do it anyway," the Dutchman adds, moving one hand from Charles' waist and raising it to cup Charles' jaw instead, letting his thumb drag gently over the Monégasque's bottom lip.

It sends a full-body shiver through him; one Max notices if the way the small smirk on his lips is anything to go by.

"Good luck, Charles," Max whispers, thumb still on Charles' bottom lip as he leans in closer, closer, until his lips are touching the back of his own thumb, the digit being the only thing separating them.

Charles' heart is beating so hard that he's sure Max must be able to feel his pulse against his thumb. The Dutchman's other hand tightens on Charles' waist, his pupils practically making the blue of his iris disappear altogether.

The thumb moves and Charles thinks that Max will finally — fucking finally, after far too many years — kiss him.

Only for Max to lean his head to the side and instead presses a gentle kiss to Charles' cheekbone; a careful brush of lips against soft skin.

"I'll see you on the podium," he breathes against the skin of Charles' cheek, before pulling away completely and turning to put his hand on the door handle. He pauses before opening the door, looking at Charles with an expression the Monégasque doesn't think he's ever seen before.

"Hey, Charles?"

The Monégasque blinks at him.

"Are you feeling this, too?" Max asks him then, voicing the question that has only been asked through looks up until that point.

And Charles, knowing there is only one correct answer — knows there is only one answer that conveys the truth — sticks with the lie.

For now.

"No."

Max smiles at him, a soft and private thing. Charles' own expression morphs into one of adoration and longing. He returns the smile.

"Me neither."

And with that, Max opens the door and walks out of Charles' driver's room, as if he hasn't just turned both their worlds upside down.

[anianurst]

can we have a mini series for the sun and the moon ??? :(

Summary: if you were the moon, Yuji the sun, Megumi the stars, then Satoru was like the earth

A/n: hi anon! hope you like this small conti of my first post. maybe if I can think of another part I'll make a pt 3. this actually turned out to be heavier angst than what I was originally planning (I apologize in advance) I'll say it again: major spoilers for JJK that won't be covered by the anime (yet. probably season 3)

Warning(s): spoilers for the second season (the start of the Shibuya arc), as well as manga chapters 136+, mental breakdown(on readers part ig), megumi's unrequited feelings brought up again, misdirected anger and all-around messy feelings

A lunar eclipse happens when the Earth moves between the Sun and the Moon. As the Moon orbits, it falls into the Earth's shadow, which causes it to temporarily darken or change colors.

'How did all of this happen?' you think to yourself. There's a stillness in the air as you hug your knees closer to your body, trying to hide from the cruel and unforgiving world.

People mindlessly stand around you, an after-effect of being hit by Satoru's domain expansion. Their eyes roll into the back of their heads, and grumbles of nothing slip past their lips. But, you don't pay any mind to them. Not when you're trying to soak up the residues of Satoru's cursed technique, the last things left of him.

The crater left by Satoru seems to keep you tied to the ground. The scatterbrained people, spilled blood, dead, twisted corpses left behind by that patch-face curse, and the insurmountable damage don't mean anything to you. Not when Satoru's been ripped out of your life.

".....!......"

".....y.....!"

"...y/...!...."

"...y/n-chan...!"

You lift your head, eyes blank and body feeling so heavy, to see Iori. Her shoulders rise and fall as heavy breaths escape her, and you wonder where she came from. Her hair's disheveled, a good representation of the shit show that just went down in Shibuya.

Her mouth moves as she speaks, but nothing seems to be heard. Her hand touches the side of your head, and it's covered in red when she pulls back. Oh, so that's why you can't hear very well; you probably had some severe head damage.

The next couple of moments pass in a flash as you let her pull your body up from the ground and out of that forsaken train station. Everything's hazy as your eyes take in the damage down to the city: buildings destroyed, ash basically covering every, blood that's seemed to dry up and turned an ugly brownish-red, and bodies littering the ground.

"y/n!" Yuji says, his voice full of relief as he rushes towards you. His hands quickly come up to cradle your face as he inspects the new scar underneath your right eye. His eyes shine with a bright reassurance at the fact that you weren't killed in Shibuya. It doesn't take long for his oh-so-bright smile to reach his face as he quickly wraps his arms around you, burying his face into your hair to seek comfort.

Megumi stands some ways back as he watches Yuji gush all over you. A heavy pain fills his heart, but it's quickly replaced with relief that you're okay. He steps towards you, and places a hand on your head and says a quiet welcome to you.

You'd break down right about now if it weren't for the fact that your eyes land on a tall, blonde woman seated on the couch. Yuji and Megumi are pushed away in a blur as you quickly grab Yuki by her collar.

A nasty sneer makes it to your face as you glare at her. A destructive aura surrounds you as a vein pops out from your neck. As quick as you were to move, the others in the room swiftly tried to de-escalate the situation.

"y/n! Calm down! She's here to help us!" Yuji says, his hand coming to place itself on your shoulder.

"Help us? Where the fuck was she when all of your friends were dying, huh?" you spit back, eyes never leaving Yuki's as her face turned blank. "Where the fuck were you?" you repeat. "You're a goddamn special grade sorcerer, and yet the only time you fucking show up is after everyone's dead? You fucking slacker."

Your words cause a heavy shift in the room as everyone listens to your tear into Yuki. They all know it's not her who you're mad at, but it's easier to let you lay all your anger into her.

"We're going to go see Tengen-sama," is all she says as she removes your hand from her shirt, quickly rising to her feet and being the first one to leave the basement where you've all sought shelter.

Yuta (ever the good upperclassman) takes a soft step towards you as he ruffles your hair. "I know it's tough, y/n-chan," he tries to comfort.

But instead of thanks in return, all he gets is a scoff of disgust as you turn to look at him with an indescribable look in your eyes. With a suffocating gaze, you move to follow after Yuki. "The only thing she can do for now is give herself up as tribute when it's time for someone else to die," is all you say, your back facing everyone.

'No! No! No!' is all Yuji thinks as he watches you walk out of the basement. This cruel world can't take away your soft smiles from him. Your kind eyes, warm embrace, and ever-radiant warmness! You are supposed to be his shining moon that he looks to for solace, a safe place where he doesn't have to carry the burdens he's been cursed with.

He's stuck in place before Megumi knocks his arm with his elbow and tells him to follow. With a grave heart, he obeys, hoping (no, praying) that this is just a phase, and you'll go back to the girl he loves.

[richeeduvie]

Baby punishing roman for having his jealous and bitchy outbursts during an event by only just having sex in positions where shes not facing him for a week 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️☝️☝️ horrible time for him but he needs to learn his lessons. Baby enjoys hearing him whimper and almost cry in frustration

NSFW BLURB - Roman Roy x Reader

You're allowed to smile in your pillow as Roman fucks you. He fucks pathetically, weakly. Whatever strength he had in the beginning of this - this and this week is good.

You want to coo at his whimper.

"Fuck."

"Roman, faster."

What's worse is that you know he's trying and he's panicking in how he fails. But he can make love roughly and faster, just not when he's not able to look at you.

You almost hiss at the way he gropes your ass as it jiggles, as soft, wet slapping noises sound out through the room.

"Fu-fuck. Fuck."

It's almost a cry. You feel your hole clench around the way his cock lazily stretches you out. In, out, in out - with a whimper and curse and cry.

"I wasn't even that fucking bad. You were just a whore. You were a slut-"

"Get off."

"No."

Roman thrusts faster and you moan high in response, his hips hit your ass with quicker noises. It feels good, and his whines make it all the better. Your back stretches and arches more.

Roman. Poor thing.

"This is the last day, baby. Just fuck me. Fuck-"

Roman doesn't say anything after that, but your pussy just leaks with him and you as he ends up fucking you faster. You can feel the movements of his hips come wider and harder against your body and you push your head into a pillow.

God. Fuck.

Your body moves with every quick thrust and Roman's cock barely leaves your hole before slamming back in, but even in his harshness, it's focused and pathetic. Perfect.

"Yes, Roman. Yes! A-"

His hand gropes and it's already a bruise as the heat flickers itself into a fire, a high as his thrusts grow faster - then jilted. Sputtered and mean. Needy.

He spills out into you. You feel his cum hot as it fills you, leads you into the way you cum on Roman's final hump.

"...Roman."

You breathe heavy into the pillow, your back curves and collapse onto the bed. You let Roman's wet, softening cock leave your leaking hole.

"...Good boy, Roman."

You're stomach and face into the bed for a minute, waiting for Roman to collapse and whine into you. But doesn't come.

And you coo at why.

"Roman. Come here."

When you turn over, you see glossy eyes and curved brows. Roman tries to cover himself with a blanket.

"I don't want something like this too hurt so fucking much. I'm not a fucking newborn, but it's like I-" Roman's head twitches, he mms. "It's like I just popped out a pussy because..."

He blinks fast before he doesn't blink.

"Roman. Come here. This was the last day, come look at me."

And you know, with how you took him tonight - with how he is with you, with the tears, he'll still come to lie on your body.

This time, there's no insult or whine along with him. Your need to comfort is instant, trained and embroidered on your skin. Roman's head rests on your collarbone and neck and his soft cock drips on your thigh.

Your smooth down his hair as he cups your breasts. His need. His hand never moves as the hours count down.

"Last day?"

"Last day."

"...Thank fuck. Fuck you."

You don't have to hide your smile still. You can only enjoy his punishments for so long, but when you're able to - it's nothing more than perfect.

Which is why you'll take his gratitude and insult all the same.

"You're welcome."

[copperbadge]

Hello! I live in Chicago but didn’t grow up in the Midwest. The tornado sirens recently really freaked me out, but it seems most Chicagoans were just going about their business. Is there a way for me to know when stuff is about to get serious and I should actually run and hide? I was scared and checking the news, but with everyone else acting normal it felt like overkill. Any advice appreciated!! Thank you!!!!

I actually didn't grow up here either! But I have been in Chicago for about fifteen years now, so I guess I can speak with reasonable authority.

The sirens are for tornadoes, though they have also been set off for high winds, bad storms, etc. They are tested at ten in the morning on the first Tuesday of each month, so a lot of us are conditioned to hear them and think "Must be ten am". I've only ever heard them "for real" a handful of times but I've always paid attention. Probably what you were witnessing was people just...incorrectly not giving a shit.

So, first off: if you hear a siren, get inside. Don't worry about what anyone else is doing. Most people will look around and go "nobody else is freaking out so I guess I don't need to" and that's how you end up dead of Insufficiently Freaking Out. The trick is proportionate freaking out. You want to get inside to safety -- a store, the lobby of an office building or hotel, the nearest El stop, even a car or bus is better than being out on foot. If you can get there safely, go home, that's best, but if you can't get home, get indoors. Once you're in safe shelter you can pretty much stop freaking out unless a storm is actively hitting the building. Take the time to check your phone, figure out how to get home if you aren't, check weather apps to see how long it'll last, etc.

It's not impossible that a tornado would make its way into Chicago, but most of the time when weathermen say "Chicago" they mean "the suburbs". The city itself is so built up, and the lake has such an impact on that kind of thing, that it's unlikely, at least currently. If you are not in a suburb or on the outskirts, the odds of an actual facts tornado are pretty slim. That said, Chicago is subject to high winds at times and the sirens can be set off for that, and high winds in Chicago are no joke.

So for me, the siren is a "stay indoors" warning; the one time I heard it while outside, I didn't freak out, but I did stop what I was doing, turn around, and go home. If you're indoors then you can turn your worry down low, though it doesn't hurt to have the weather on the TV. Just as a matter of course, living in the world, you should have a battery-powered lantern or flashlight and know where it is, make sure your phone is charged or start charging it, and keep an eye on the TV.

If you DO need to get to heavy shelter because a genuine disaster is happening on top of you, it's good to know where to go. You don't generally need to hang out in the shelter pre-emptively unless the weather reporter says to, but it helps a lot to know your options. Most high-rise buildings, office and residential, you want to go to the stairwell; they're reinforced and ventilated. If you're in a house that doesn't have a storm cellar or an apartment like my old one, that was just "top floor of a three-floor walkup", go to an interior room without windows, preferably the bathroom, and get into the empty bathtub.

It's tough to strike a balance between necessary caution and anxious overreaction, and I say that as an anxious over-reactor. But the longer you live here the better your sense will be of what is a genuine emergency. I think it took me about two winters here to get a sense of proportion. Occasional murderous heat waves aside, most of our truly dangerous weather happens December-March, so that's good training in when to wig out.

But yeah -- if you're out in the world and you hear a siren, or you see smoke, or you get a bad vibe somewhere, it is okay, encouraged even, to hit the bricks. Don't wait to see what other people do, don't tell anyone else what to do, just be the person everyone else sees and thinks "Hey, maybe I should be concerned about this."

I once walked onto the northbound platform of the Grand Red Line station when it was actively on fire. I looked around at the smoke and the people casually standing in the smoke waiting for their train, went "Fuck all this noise, I'm not dying for a Red Line train," and went right back out again. Roughly half of the stand-arounds saw me heading purposefully for the stairs and started following me; I had just reached street level again when we heard the evacuation order over the loudspeakers. People make dumb choices until they see someone making a smart one.

ANYWAY IDK how long you've been in Chicago but if you're relatively new, welcome, that kind of shit doesn't happen very often I swear, and if you've been here for a while, sorry for overexplaining. :D I am just very into the idea everyone staying safe and paying attention to the sirens. :D

[mournersandfunerals]

Alice Oseman's Solitaire is a very important book and here's why:

A lot of the time when mental health is being depicted in fiction, it centres so much around the person struggling with it. Which, of course, makes sense. It's important to show what people go through when they suffer from mental illnesses, and it helps others in similar situations know that they're not alone in dealing with it. But it isn't very often you see something from the perspective of a friend or a relative and what they go through when someone they care about is struggling. Solitaire is a book that's so important for this specific reason.

Here, you have Tori. A teenage girl who spends 50% of her time worried about her brother, Charlie, and the other 50% of her time trying to convince herself that she isn't worried about him. She puts so much pressure on herself to keep everyone's heads above water that she doesn't realise that she, herself, is starting to drown. Their parents don't know how to handle everything that's going on with their son, so they act like everything is fine, relying on Tori to be the problem-free "normal" one. That's a lot of pressure to put on your 16/17 year old daughter. Tori takes on the responsibility of keeping her family happy and together, which ends up having the opposite effect and drives them further away from each other. So now you have two siblings that are so near but not within reaching distance when they need each other the most.

Which leads us on to the themes of guilt within the book. This is something that is so well executed and hard-hitting and absolutely crucial.

Tori is someone who feels a lot of guilt and regret when it comes to what Charlie is going through. She feels partially responsible for everything that happened to him. It's not her fault in the slightest, but when someone close to you is hurting and struggling, and you notice but don't do anything because you don't know how, it takes its toll. A lot of the pressure that Tori's under comes from the crippling guilt that she's trying to hold in. It manifests itself into something entirely different. She suffers with anxiety, she has negative thoughts, she hyperfixates entirely on solving the Solitaire mystery so she has something to do while her family is barely holding it together. She spirals.

And what's super interesting about this is how Charlie has a similar reaction at the end when he eventually comes to terms with the fact that his sister isn't okay, either. He mentions how he noticed but didn't do anything, and he feels awful about it. The Spring siblings have a remarkable way of avoiding what's right in front of them because who in the world would want to admit that their brother or sister is the opposite of okay?

And to add to this, I think we really need to note the importance of Michael Holden within this entire situation as well.

Michael is there for Tori consistently. He shows up when she doesn't even realise she needs him, he comes back whenever she pushes him away, and it's almost as though he's her only form of stability within the chaos. And that's exactly what she needs. She doesn't know how to handle what she's feeling about her family so she's pushed everyone else away. She needs someone.

Because it's so easy to ignore the state of your own mental health when someone you love is going through hell. So now we have Michael, a character who essentially says, "I'm here. Let me worry and look after you, while you unwittingly take on the weight of the world." Of course, Michael has problems of his own but if he and Tori can share their burdens between the two of them, maybe the weight of all of it won't feel so heavy.

Alice Oseman created something so underrated and special with Solitaire. It tackles things that can be difficult to talk about but need talking about. It reminds you that it's okay to not be okay. You shouldn't feel bad about feeling bad. And just because someone you love is struggling, it doesn't mean that you're entirely responsible for them. It doesn't mean that you're not allowed to grieve and be upset about it. And it doesn't mean that you're not allowed to struggle through your own issues either. But it does mean that you can find your own support system and let them pull you out of the metaphorical and, I guess in this instance, literal fire that's burning around you.

[windsweptinred]

OK I had to do these for Corinthiel cause they're the pinnacle of crack prompts.  

who controls the netflix account and what have they dominated the suggestions with by watching 

Well, since Danny has every streaming service living rent free in his mind, it's got to be Cori. You've got to have all the modern luxuries when out doing your Lord's bidding in the Waking, including the best streaming has to offer. His watch list is full of the usual you would expect for THE nightmare paramount. A chocolate box of horrors so psychology damaging, one wonders who or what the director had to fuck to get it green lit. His suggestions however, are curiously dominated by the suspiciously twee likes of the ‘The Great British Sewing Bee’ and the ‘The Secret Life of Cats.’ He blames Ruin… Everyone knows it's not Ruin.

who snores

Daniel, oh yes, perfect little princess face Danny boy with all the grace, poise and finesse of an expert geisha… Snores like an alcoholic sailor with severe sleep apnea when he's out. That ‘unique’ laugh of Morpheus's had to go somewhere. And it chose make a new home for itself in Danny's nasal passages. Eldritch horrors live in fear of hearing it, demons tell stories of it in hushed, reverant tones. It's the most horrific sound to ever take form. Cori adores it. 

who has an embarrassing ringtone that the other calls them in public just to get to go off 

Wait, you think Cori's phone blasting ‘Pour some sugar on me’ while his phone  flashes a salacious lockscreen photo of Daniel, isn't meticulously planned? For his own delight and everyone else's discomfort? He's purposely arranged callbacks from sales companies, just so he can stand there like a smug git while a Jpeg Lord of the Dreaming flashes his sugar tits. He's done it with Constantine, Hob, the archangel Michael… That one time with Destiny. He doesn't talk about that though… 

who sleeps on the top bunk if given the chance 

If by top bunk you mean the finely sculpted pectorals of one blonde nightmare.. It's an all out war between Danny and Madison about who gets to curl up and purr themselves into oblivion. Trust me, those catfights gets naaasty! They're the closest thing the Dreaming has to bloodsports. Trauma for the eyes in a flurry of white hair. 

who plays the piano at 6 in the morning to wake up the other 

Matthew once spent a month making Mervyn hit a piano repetitively with a heavy duty chain whip to get them out of their bed chamber. Does that count? Would you want to face an enraged librarian on the warpath because their peace has been heinously disturbed? Well neither did they. It was the only way to get them to put their pants on. 

who has accidentally set something on fire by attempting to cook a birthday meal 

Well, since Cori is the accomplished male wife he is, I'm going to say with no canonical proof ( but we all know it's true) his skills in the culinary arts could make Gordon Ramsey renounce swearing in euphoria. And Daniel should be able to pull from an encyclopedic dreamer knowledge of this stuff. So… Ruin did it. How did Ruin set fire to the deep fat fryer when making a romantic icecream  sundae for his Lord and mentor in all things night terrors? Well, let me tell you, he has a particular set of skills! 

[whiskeyswifty]

What’s your favorite thing about folklore?

oh my god what a question. I'm just gonna riff off the dome here because if i try to go at this in any kind of organized way, i'll write a deranged thesis paper. (this is about the album proper, sorry to the lakes. too bad she never released it and we'll never know what it sounded like)

Gut reaction to this question is just how complete it is. It's an idea and concept, a writing prompt if you will, compiled neatly and cohesively in a way that's the perfect digestible length for it's form (music/an album) and also all killer, no filler. All the vignettes are not a "story" (save for the love triangle which i largely ignore because it's shoehorned) but come off like an anthology; that is to say that they're a series of emotional vignettes across a range of life experiences, but explored through the motifs and styles of one writer. I cannot jump around with folklore, i must press play on the 1, which has never happened before with a taylor album. It has no skips, every single one flowing smoothly but efficiently with the ebb and flow pacing of a babbling brook. (i do skip mad woman occasionally cuz its not what i wanna hear at the moment or epiphany cuz it's too heavy and too soon to go back to that mental place, but they're both excellent and fit perfectly within the album when i'm casually listening)

The sound is also just so perfectly aligned with my tastes. I contain multitudes, but unfortunately one of those is being a sad indie white girl lol. I love soft rubber bridge guitars, and whining violins and piano and minimal but expertly layered textures. atmospheric ones that carry the mood and the fill the space like fog but let you feel close to the artist, as i've said once before, as if she were sitting next to you and talking directly to you. There's a lushness to live instruments played softly and as pieces of a whole, and it makes any additions from a moog softened and supplementary. It just, for me anyway, really helps to hear the tactile nature of the instruments and mistakes and the breaths and the pedals on the piano and all the rest. it's the perfect mix of what i love musically from that genre, akin to Sujfan or Lucy/Phoebe or imogen heap or the xx or lana at times. even as way back and like dashboard, which shows my age a bit. you know the vibes. And i love how jack leaned into his more orchestral side, which he doesn't often do with taylor, still to this day. august in particular is just outstanding and he's great at stuff like that and i wish they would do more like that together!

I think its the PERFECT use of her voice. it's not blasphemous to say of all her artistic talents, she does not have a voice that can stack up against her peers vocally. But, as i've also said a million times before so sorry to bring it up again, she has a very emotive voice when it comes to the tiniest and most nuanced of emotions. maybe because she's less focused on vocal runs or hitting notes, but this album has her voice really shine. it's textured and rough and soft and smooth at the same time, fully bringing you whatever raw emotion is on the page. its the voice of a scribbled journal entry if that makes sense, off the cuff, unpracticed (even though i'm sure it is), and so intimate. you can hear her smile and hear when her throat is thick, it's just a showcase of her voice like nothing else. the pared down sound really lets all those tiny moments rise to the surface.

visually, i mean what can i say. her second best album cover ever. Fully removing herself from the center of it, diminishing herself with the trees for scale. Trees that have existed before her and will outlive her, as if to say this, the act of making art and ultimately the art itself, is so much bigger than me. my life and my problems. but everything is bigger than me, and it's important to not lose sight of that. which, if you were an adult at that time, particularly of a similar age to her at least, you commiserate with that sentiment. the black and white isn't actually black, but more of a warm gray, which i also love. i also know it was mainly out of necessity, but embracing how dressed down and simple her styling was. wrinkled dresses and limp, unruly hair. really suited the look of someone who's going to spin you a tale. NO TEXT TOO LIKE YEAHHHHHHHH god it's perfect and so well designed.

rapid fire now, lets see. i love that peace was done in one take, and you can tell, in a good way! and it's her HEARTBEAT???? i'm a sucker for that, no matter how played out that trick is, and imo it's justified because they disguise it with a dissonant tone of sorts. i love the PERFECT knee jerk answer opening of "i'm doing good" and then proceeding to delve into some of her darkest emotions she'd explored thus far (and in some ways since). i love that illicit affairs is missing it's final chorus, a song that is structurally unfinished and just peters out, the way doomed affairs always do. the way she never mentions the location or even the event, but the soundscape and the lyrics of my tears ricochet paint a perfectly clear church and funeral in your mind!! i love the word ricochet and i love how easy it is to spew it with vitriol. as corny as it is in the context of the rest of this more subtle album lyrically, i love the swiftian turn in the bridge of tlgad like.... damnit it's always so delicious. that harmonica in betty is just like a glass of sweet tea on a muggy summer night, it's SO bright and fun and puts a smile on my face every time!

But all that to say I think my favorite thing is seven. seven is a perfect song. her best song. the best version of a taylor swift song. a song so emotionally poignant and transcendent it wins over, however begrudgingly, even the biggest haters of her and indie music as it pokes at that one spot that will always be soft, and it's blank space's spiritual successor and therefore foil in that way. incredible feat to use the motif of your childhood self and not come off trite, like most other attempts by other artists can be. the most opaque she's ever been lyrically, which is a huge risk to take. small in scale but massive in it's implications and intentions. a song where the meaning and gravity exist in your reaction to it and not the song itself. perfect art. an opus of a song on an opus of an album.

[limeade-l3sbian]

Sorry, this is probably a heavy thing to put on, feel free to delete if this is too much for you to handle, I promise it won't upset me. I'm really considering suicide. I have a lot going on in my personal life and now that my eyes have been opened to how much the world hates women I find it difficult to cope. I truly don't know how to navigate the world knowing half the population wants to cut me up, use my reproductive organs, rape me, kill me, slather me in makeup, mutilate me, beat me, degrade and humiliate me just for being female. I can't trust or make friends anymore. I feel hopeless. Idk what I expect you to say, I just need to get this out and know that at least one person sees it and understands.

I don't know how helpful this will be, but I hope you know that I've been feeling the same way as well. It's part of why I haven't really been super active lately. I've been going through it as well, so I at the very least, hope you don't think you're alone.

This is a very shitty world and we are in this strange limbo right now of things either staying shit or getting shittier. And it's important to me that I don't give you advice that wouldn't personally help me. I think the best advice I can give you is this:

You're not going crazy. This hopelessness you feel is happening in record numbers. And your feelings about all this are completely valid. I hate that they're valid. I wish I could tell you, "But why do you think that's what's happening?" I wish i could be indignant and suggest that perhaps you were just looking too deeply into nothing. But you're not, and that's the biggest curse in being aware of the world around you.

I don't have the perfect answer for you. I wish I could write three paragraphs worth of inspiration and you hit me up two minutes later and tell me that after reading all that, now you want to conquer the world and nothing was going to stand in your way. I don't even have the perfect answer for myself.

I guess the best answer I can give you is that if you left, the world would just be a little more shittier. It would have just a little less sparkle to it that it is already sparse on. Someone's life (including mine, now that I know you exist), will dim in its quality if you were to do it. That hope that everyone grabs onto will lose just a little more grip without you. The world itself would shift in a way that isn't perceivably to you or me.

And that's not to say that you would be selfish to do it. An argument that I absolutely hate. But life would just go from 480p to 360p.

You should stay because what you are contemplating is going to come anyway. I have a post somewhere on here where i talk about how if you are suicidal, the best way to go about doing it is to live. Go out and live more than you ever have. That's when most people die. When they are out living and something out of their control happens. I would rather you die while ziplining with friends than crying and alone in a bathroom.

This sounds harsh, but I would rather all of this than give you some bullshit, "Oh, it's okay, sweetie. Have you talked to anyone? What about therapy? Did you do breathing exercises?"

You should go out and live, anon. And that doesn't even mean spend money. A full life isn't inevitable, but death is.

[ninja-muse]

This month's last-minute review is brought to you by something of a reading slump. I've read a fair number of good books this month, if you look at the ratings I've given them, but no books that I've gotten excited about, that I've felt were unexpectedly good enough that I had to talk about it.

Until now.

Lovecraft Country was my first Matt Ruff, and it's not going to be the last. It's well-written, with strong characters and good humour, and a really interesting structure. It's a smart book, and feels very grounded and real. Is it an astounding book? No, but it does its thing very well and I enjoyed reading it more than I thought I would.

Let's start with the structure, because that's one of the things that impressed me most. It's a novel-of-stories, with each chapter being a different character on their own adventure, but there's still a narrative arc for the book, clues the characters gather and the readers pick up on, and nastiness that builds and builds until the final showdown. It's a tough structure to pull off, but Ruff's done it.

I also liked that the structure lent itself very well to a sort of puzzle-box story. You get all these clues and hints about what's truly going on, even if you don't realize that till later, and even though you kind of know where the book is going, watching everything slowly slot into place and trying to put everything together before the characters do is a good part of the fun. It's a lot like watching good SFnal TV, which Ruff's author's note says this was meant to be; you get invested in the characters and the individual "episodes", but there's meaning in that key, that comic book, that thing in the forest. Surely there must be, but how?

And the characters! I loved all the point-of-view characters—they're smart, opinionated, complicated, aware of the forces acting against them and doing what they can to avoid them. I was scared for them, I wanted them to succeed, all that good stuff. The white people are also believably drawn, in that they're self-important, greedy, and used to power, but also, when the story allows for us to see it, sympathetic and complicated all the same.

It's hard to say whether this is science fiction or fantasy, but it's definitely in that wheelhouse rather than being a straight-up historical novel. There are ghosts and monsters and grimoires and secret dimensions and a lot of other stuff you might expect to find in a book that's influenced by pulp fiction and early sci-fi and horror. But, as with a lot of genre work that tackles such things these days, Ruff has fun with this stuff while also adding a social twist to them. In this case, having a Black cast allows Ruff to illuminate and comment on the racism inherit to the 1950s. There's humour to it, but in a way that helps the points hit home.

And that brings me to the last thing I need to mention: that this is a book about Black people written by a white man. It's also written primarily for white people, as far as I can tell, because while the characters take redlining and sundown towns for granted, Ruff doesn't assume that his readers will even know what those are or, if they do, be aware how they actually impact people. However, Ruff's also done his research and tackled the subject thoughtfully. The characters don't conform to stereotypes but are definitely informed by their pasts. The stuff they face goes beyond the usual talking points of Black History For White People; there's mention of boycotts of racist businesses, the Tulsa race massacre, the intricacies of buying real estate while Black, the difficulties of loving science fiction when everyone who writes it hates you. And of course he acknowledges that dealing with racist BS on a daily basis and constantly being underestimated puts you at an advantage when there's some really massive BS going down. I thought Ruff handled it all very well, without being heavy-handed or going into anything that he couldn't do justice. (Well, maybe Ruby's story. I need to think about that one more.)

So yeah, I was surprised by this book on a few fronts, and I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. The humour and love of SF tropes, balanced with the antiracism and social commentary, was right up my alley, and the way Ruff told the story was the cherry on top. Like I said, it's not an amazing book—it might have pushed the boundaries of speculative fiction when it came out but it certainly doesn't now—but it entertains and enlightens and does so cleverly. This won't be my last Matt Ruff, like I said above, but I'm also not likely to pick up another one for a while. Maybe in a year or two when I get a hankering for the sort of stuff he does.

[uss-genderprise]

This review of First Time #5 has been in my drafts for over a year

First Times 5 was published in February of 1986 by Merry Men Press, and is, of course, the fifth issue of First Time. It boasts 193 pages, 7 fics, 12 poems, and 7 drawings (not including the covers). It's spiral bound, which isn't my favourite but gets the job done nonetheless.

First impressions are very easy because I pulled this out of my box of fanzines and was immediately smacked in the face by Kirk's naked ass. The cover art is pretty nice but quite shocking. The back cover is weirdly proportioned and that doesn't look like the most comfortable position but okay. It starts with a poem before the editorial, which is unusual. The editorial itself is pretty funny, as the editor suggests that all trekkers band together and buy shares of Paramount to control what the company makes - very let's buy tumblr vibes.

Warnings: rape, non consensual drug use, mild sex.

Disclaimer: as usual, all of this is my personal opinion and should not be taken as an attack on anyone involved in this zine.

A Thought for Christmas

by Ellen Thacher

Christmas fics my belothed. It's hard to enjoy them when I keep thinking that both Kirk and Spock are Jewish. Thankfully, Spock also doesn't seem to like it. In the very first paragraph I already found two punctuation errors, which did not bode well for the rest of this zine, though I found no others. The fic was pretty sweet. 4/5

Logical Decisions

by Faille

It only took one page for me to be certain that Kirk and Spock would end up stranded on some planet with Spock entering pon farr, and I was soon proven correct, even if it happened in a slightly different way than I had expected. I'm not complaining, I like this trope. This is a long one, and it's mostly romantic, mushy, lovey-dovey stuff (in the best way possible) interspersed with some light humour. Plenty of relationship negotiations, which is always a plus. The only complaint I have (other than the considerable amount of typos) is that it made me crave apricots, and they're currently out of season. 5/5

On Our Beach

by Vera Barga

After Pike leaves the Enterprise Spock takes shore leave and tries to go somewhere quiet. On the same night, Kirk is enjoying his last night before becoming Captain. They meet in a casino and hit it off (if you know what I mean) and are then surprised to meet again on the Enterprise. They take it slow and eventually become lovers again.

People say you should sandwich the bad things in between good things but I have to get this out of the way: as a trans nonbinary person reading fics from the 80's is hell. It's all "male" and "female" and being into "males" or "females" and "women are exotic and strange". This is literally my only complaint for this fic and it's incredibly common in this era but in this one it was even more heavy-handed than usual. Other than that I had fun though. I like how important the explicit consent was, how at no point either of them tried to pressure the other and even went out of their way to point it out. I liked it. 4.5/5

The High Price of Love

by Ann

Spock disappears and Starfleet considers him a deserter. Kirk, of course, can't believe that, and keeps looking for him. It takes six months and Bones dragging him to a brothel to find Spock, selling his body to feed his addiction to an aphrodisiac. Turns out he was kidnapped by Orion slavers, addicted to this drug to "train" him as a sex slave, and sold to this brothel. Kirk and McCoy rescue him and help him fight off his addiction. There is a lot to unpack here.

As far as stories with this kind of premise go, the relationship between Kirk and Spock was natural, fairly pre-established, and fully consensual. McCoy played a fairly big part, which I personally greatly enjoy, and even had some heavily subtextual scenes with Spock, which I enjoyed even more (Spones? In my K/S zine? It's more likely than you think).

Graphic descriptions of rape were graphic, graphic depictions of consensual, romantic sex were less so. All in all, not too bad. 4/5

High Time

by Jenny

Kyle's bachelor party is made infinitely more interesting by someone slipping a drug that lowers inhibitions into some people's drinks. Scotty tells terrible jokes, Sulu does a strip tease, and Kirk seduces Spock. A great time is had by all - except McCoy, who wakes up with a hangover.

Honestly, I had a great time reading this. Despite drugs being involved everything was fully consensual, and Kirk and Spock were incredibly sweet. I also liked Scotty's joke, even if it was quite long-winded. 5/5

Where You Find It

by Zoey Brook

Kirk and Spock get stranded on a planet crawling with Klingons and are forced to hide in a cave and huddle for warmth, while a mysterious, empathic, shape-changing entity attempts to help them and learn from them.

I tend to like "stranded on a planet" stories. They're not usually my favourite, but when they're well done they can be spectacular. Personally, I felt that despite the interesting premise, this one was somewhat lacking. There was so much more that could have been done with it. 4/5

The Wall

by Kathy Tipton

Apparently, every five years Starfleet forces their officers to do a "check-up" which involves potentially risking their lives in a very harsh environment. Kirk and Spock are lucky enough to go together. They nearly fall off a cliff and get attacked by a vicious animal, and then they have sex for the first time while waiting for rescue before Spock dies from blood loss.

And despite all that (or maybe because of it?) I enjoyed this fic. I like the angst, I like the descriptions, the smut wasn't bad, and it had a happy ending. What more could I ask for? 4.5/5

Final thoughts

Pretty enjoyable zine, all in all. I think it has the highest typo count of any zine I've read so far, but most of them were pretty unobtrusive. The little art there was is all very nice, and the poems were generally more to my taste than in other zines I've read. I hate the comb binding, but I think that's pretty universal. I didn't actively hate reading it, which is good enough for me.

[intrulogical]

Perceptiveness and Power: A Remus Essay

While this could just be me reiterating what was already presented in canon, I just wanted to acknowledge the semantics of Remus as a side, and how his sense of perceptiveness provides him a semblance of power to influence both Thomas and the other sides.

In DWIT, to explain how Remus was able to garner anxiety from Thomas, Patton, and Virgil, Logan describes him as someone who “plays to [Thomas’] sensitivities.”

And, well, fucking duh. I think majority of the fandom acknowledges that Remus uses fear as a means to gain control or get the attention of the other sides and Thomas. But a thing I think most people don’t acknowledge as much is how skilled Remus is at understanding fears in the first place.

[rest of the essay is under the cut!]

Because random, stereotypical R18 stuff is generally scary; it appeals to what the status quo collectively thinks is inhumane or awful. But to me, this isn’t actually what provides Remus power to influence the others. He garners control via understanding personal fears. And, I mean, double fucking duh because it would hit more if someone can thoroughly sniff out the insecurities you keep secret from the world.

But I still think that Remus’ perceptiveness of one’s fears generally goes unnoticed. I think it’s underestimated, even, both in the fandom and in Sanders Sides itself. We think this man is Silly, he said so himself, but I think we also have to realize that Remus is deliberate. Yes, his goals can be silly and can change on a whim, but that does not mean that Remus is dumb. He commits. He commits in the way that he creates complicated traps for Thomas to feel more and more insecure about himself. He commits in the way that he plays into Virgil and Patton’s fears, toying with their warped sense of black-and-white thinking to make Thomas become more insecure.

If Remus wants to do something, he’s perceptive enough to know which insecurities he has to feast on to make it work.

Rewatching DWIT, I’ve noticed that, besides his random comments, he makes comments that directly describe the insecurities of everyone else in the room. It’s interesting, because he can make a string of comments unrelated to the matter at hand, then he’ll drop a heavy fucking bomb calling out the insecurities of another person. Here are the different examples I caught in DWIT and WTIT:

Reaping Thomas’ morality crisis:

His awareness of Logan’s neglect:

Two instances of his awareness of Virgil’s internal morality conflict:

Even Roman tells Thomas that Remus reminds him of his own insecurities. What a fucking madman. (all /lh btw, I fucking LOVE devious schemers):

And the scary part about this is that... this is the first time we see him. Of course, the sides would know him way before this episode, but the fact Remus can read them well without being close to them is terrifying.

The question is, what becomes of Remus’ perceptiveness and harvested power? While I am a Remus and Logan-centric blog, I do think there’s enough scenes in both DWIT and WTIT that could potentially foreshadow the future of their dynamic, and the execution of how Logan comes to terms with the others’ neglect towards him.

First scene:

Like, this feels a little… too on the nose. Knock on wood, Logan, especially when you acknowledge what happened in WTIT.

Second scene, to provide more context on what I want to explain: I can’t just provide screenshots for this, and I can’t attach a video, so please watch DWIT from 29:42-29:55. If you can’t, here’s a transcript:

[Logan: And THAT is precisely why the Duke feels like such a threat. In part, at least. The feeling that you may be a bad person who doesn't have control over yourself or your destiny causes you to fear that you may actually act on these thoughts.] 

An important part to denote is that Remus shifts is eyes when Logan says “feelig that you may be a bad person who doesn’t have control over yourself.” There’s something very mischievous and cheeky about that eye shift, from looking directly at Logan and looking away as if saying, well isn’t that hypocritical?

Look at the transcript again, too. Even without Remus’ eyeroll, doesn’t the person Logan describe feel a little… familiar to you? Of course, they all shared the loss of the audition, but think: which of the sides has hinted anger issues (“doesn’t have control over yourself”) and has lost the opportunity to heavily influence Thomas’ life, especially in terms of career (“or your destiny”)?

Of course: Logan.

While Logan is correct in saying intrusive thoughts don’t have real-world impact, Logan is also correct in saying that Patton and Virgil are at fault for reacting intensely against Remus’ funneled intrusive thoughts, causing Thomas’ mental health to dip further. 

But Remus does not just invoke fear via horrors that the collective status quo would consider as horror. Remus understands and is perceptive of the other sides and Thomas’ personal fear, just like I established a while ago. And with the way he calls out other sides’ insecurities, sometimes he just... does it, because he wants to. Not just as his role as intrusive thoughts, but possibly just a personal agenda to fulfill.

So, in essence, Remus as intrusive thoughts may not hurt Logan, but Remus as a perceptive, cunning, committed, goal-oriented person still can.

If he sniffs an insecurity out of Logan, would you think he still has no “real-world impact”?

Yeah, thought so.

While I don’t actually know what Remus would want out of Logan, I do think that, at a meta-angle, Remus can provide... a lot of insight and advice for Logan in terms of gaining power and handling mistreatment, whether it would be beneficial for Logan or not.

All I’m gonna say is, Remus’ character is very interesting, and I’m heavily intrigued to know how he would continue bothering the other sides, especially Logan.