#i love death note and seeing people continue to post about it makes me love it even more

[mazojo]

The Jojo’s as my fav mysoginists

[norrizzandpia]

i am Politely Asking for the lando post-race imagine you mentioned 👀👀👀

Your guys’ wish is my command 🤭

All He Needed Was Her (LN4)

Summary: Following the Vegas ‘23 crash, Y/n and Adam find Lando in his hospital bed, yearning for the comfort of his girlfriend’s touch.

Warnings: a panic attack, inferences of death, Lando crashing

Note: that crash was so hard to watch and i still have not recovered

Silence encompassed the space around her, her mind sick with the images of Lando’s crash. What she thought could potentially be his first race win had turned into her worst nightmare as Lando’s car laid smashed against the protecting fences. Her mouth stayed agape as she listened to her boyfriend’s broken “I’m ok,” followed by concerning whimpers and groans. Her eyes frantically searched the room, the faces of his loved ones burned into her brain with their watery eyes and panicked looks. She couldn’t bear the tension within the space, the expressions of the people around her like he had died. The room closed in on her quickly, allowing for no space to breathe or get out of the anxiety filling her lungs. She felt trapped, a panic attack coming on inevitably when she saw the way his hand shook, his arms trying to push himself out of the car yet failing continuously.

She shoved the headset off her ears, shutting out the taunting sounds, before throwing herself into the crowd behind her and pushing them to the side as she tried desperately to claw herself out. She couldn’t turn her head back to see the screens, not even when applauding emitted and a good sign emerged. Y/n reached the door, her hand grasping the handle and hesitating. A large hand grasping her shoulder called her back, willing her to open her eyes and see the survival of her love. When she turned around, her eyes looking up, she was met with the soft look of Adam, Lando’s father.

No matter how comforting he was trying to be, his bloodshot eyes reminded her of the risks her boyfriend took, the chances of him not getting out of that car after a race.

It was too much.

Her heart beat out of her chest and she struggled to find air, her impending anxiety surely, gradually, painfully encroaching her being.

Adam, being familiar with the anxiety attacks his son got, saw the signs, opening the door behind her quickly and shoving her into the empty hallway. His hands landed on her biceps, gripping them as he shook her gently.

“Y/n?” His voice was distant and Y/n wanted to run toward it, however nothing was ever that easy.

He tried again, “Y/n, breathe with me.”

Her mind understood, her lungs expanding shortly as he began to inhale. Tears seeped through the crack of her lips, adding to the drowning she felt she was enduring.

She blubbered and sobbed as she tried to follow his pattern, proving difficult when suffocation seemed probable.

Nevertheless, Adam’s determination triumphed, her mind slowing down as her body caught up.

He looked at her with pity as she came down, his eyes swimming in a certain sympathy she didn’t recognize. This was deeper, he was seeing the pain she was bearing, relating to it because of the exact connection they both nurtured with the boy.

His hands left her arms, stilling at his sides as he began to coax her toward his driver’s room, “How about you rest for a while? That seemed really bad.”

She shook her head immediately, “No, I need to be awake for Lando. What if he needs to go to the hospital?”

Adam closed his eyes as he nudged her into the small room, “Then, I will come wake you. But, for now, he’s going to go to the circuit’s medical center and there’s nothing we can do. It’s best if you allow yourself to relax after that.”

She knew he was right, more so because he sounded exactly like his son. When she had these horrid experiences, Lando was right beside her immediately, gently leading her to any surface where she could lie down. He knew exactly how to make it go away, she never expected to have to do it without him or because of him. He was consistently advocating for her rest after an attack, something that always helped her recover more quickly.

That memory, those habitual instances, persuaded her to give in to Adam’s pleas. He smiled at her as she brought a blanket over her body, Lando’s scent encompassing her body.

“I promise I’ll be back when I have updates.”

She nodded, trusting him like she had for the past few years, “Okay, thank you.”

He closed the door with a nod, the dark haunting her enough to close her eyes and lean into the quiet, peaceful embrace of sleep.

—

She was awoken by shaking, more specifically Adam’s hands shaking her upper body.

“Y/n, wake up.” He whispered, his words guiding her back to the world.

Her eyes fluttered open, “Yeah?”

He seemed stoic, rigid and stressed, something that made Y/n truly wake up, “Lando’s at the hospital. They said we can meet him there.”

She shot up from her laid down position, “What?! The hospital?! Is he okay?!”

His father sighed beside her, getting up and showing how antsy he was to move when he lingered by the door, “I don’t know.”

—

The pair burst through the doors of the hospital, launching themselves at the nurses who sat behind the desk. Their words mixed together as they sputtered out his name, occupation, and situation. This proved to be inefficient because the women looked back at them blankly.

Y/n tried again, “We are here to see Lando Norris. He is a Formula 1 driver and he was involved in an accident.”

It dawns on the employee and her head tilts slightly, “I can’t give out information on him because of his status and occupation. I am sorry. Unless you can prove you are family to him then I can’t give you anything.”

Adam’s hand flew to his pocket, whipping out his wallet and showing her his identification, proving his blood relation to Lando. Y/n watched with a heavy heart as she realized she had nothing to show, she wasn’t family. She was crushed as she realized he would be able to go on to see their boy without her.

When the woman gave him the room number, she gave it to him on paper so as to deter anyone overhearing, he bolted. He was right at the door that led to another hallway when he stopped and turned around, motions for Y/n to follow him.

“I need to see your proof of family relations.” The nurse beside her said expectantly whilst Adam moved back over to the desk.

She shook her head, “I’m his girlfriend. I don’t have proof of blood relations.”

The nurse shrugged, “Then, I’m sorry, I can’t have you go through.”

Y/n opened her mouth to fight back, but Adam interrupted her, “No, she has to. I’ve just shown you I’m his father, take my word for it. Please. My son needs her right now.”

The nurse seemed to be at a crossroads as her gaze flickered between Adam and Y/n. Finally, she nodded curtly and the two were running throughout the building. Down different hallways within the floor, they quickly reached his room. Without thinking, Adam charged in, a strong wave of emotion hitting him when he saw his son wrapped up in a hospital bed.

“Lando,” He sighed, arms falling around Lando’s body as he squeezed him softly, careful with him.

“Hi, dad. Thank you for coming. I’m sorry if I scared you.” He mumbled into his shoulder, hand laying loosely over the back of his father.

Y/n watched from the corner, tears pricking the sides of her eyes at the sight of him. She watched as they pulled back, Lando’s eyes meeting hers and softening with relief before Adam was coughing and excusing himself from the room.

When they were left alone, she walked slowly to him. She stood in front of him for a moment, both individuals taking in the other after the traumatic time apart. When he had had enough of not holding her in his arms, Lando reached out and pulled her closer to his body, arms linking around her hips as he stuffed his face into her chest. She breathed out as her hands tangled in his hair, both of them memorizing the way the other calmed them in such a state.

He clung to her, breathing steady as she whispered sweet, quiet words of love and encouragement to him.

“Sit with me?” He asked with a low volume, pulling back slightly and looking up at her.

She could never say no to his deep green eyes, “Always.”

He shifted to the side as she slid in next to him. She watched the way his eyes lingered over her lap. Chuckling, Y/n sat further against the wall, “Lay your head on my lap, baby.”

He smiled at her brightly, a childlike grin as he shuffled down and set his curly hair over her pants.

A silence passed before she was whispering again, “I love you so much. It was so scary seeing you crash today and I just could not live a life without you. I love you, Lan. You’ve ruined my life for the better. There’s no way I could ever go a day without you.”

He nodded below her, “I can’t either. I kept asking for you when I was at the circuit after the crash, but they kept telling me I couldn’t have any visitors with the impact I had just endured. I was so angry, all I wanted was you. I’ve been like a sitting duck as I stared at the wall and waited for you to arrive. But, now that you’re here, I already feel like I’m getting better. That’s your impact on me. I love you too, love. Being without you for that was worse than the crash itself.”

She looked down at him, leaning over to kiss his temple. When he felt the pressure, he turned his head. She had been pulling back, but got the hint when he looked up at her expectantly. He giggled as she leaned back down, meeting his lips with her own in an intimate, soft kiss.

When they pulled back, she watched his eyes slowly close when she began massaging his scalp and tugging gently at his brown hair. He moaned quietly at the feeling, stroking his hand over her leg as she comforted him with just her presence.

He buried his face further into her lap, breathing her in. By the change of angle, she lost sight of his face, only relying on the monitor to tell her he had fallen asleep when it evened out, reaching a rhythm.

Only then did Adam return, smiling lightly at his sleeping son laying in the lap of his girlfriend. Truly the sweetest sight, he thought, something he would’ve taken a picture of had Y/n been asleep as well.

He sat in the chair beside them, cocking his head at her.

“Thank you.”

The two words caused Y/n’s eyebrows to draw together, confusion etched into her face, “For what?”

Adam sighed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “For being there for him. Not just now, but all the time. He’s always put everyone else first. He’s always made it the biggest priority to make others feel good when he wasn’t at all. Cisca and I always wished for someone to come along and take care of him right back. Turns out our wishing wasn’t in vain. Here you are and he’s finally understanding what it’s like to be loved that way.”

Y/n stared at him for a moment, eyes averting back to her sleeping boyfriend strewn across her lap, before choking out, “Thank you, Adam. That means the world from you.”

“Just speaking the truth.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair before kicking his legs up toward the end of the bed. He watched her lean her head back, scumming to sleep just like Lando, her hands still buried in his hair.

That was when he took the picture, sending it to the Norris Family group chat, it including Y/n, and assuring the members of Lando’s wellness.

Adam (2:35 AM)

Image Attachment

Adam (2:35 AM)

Lando’s okay! Don’t worry! All he needed was some medication to calm his nerves and Y/n 🧡

[siyzuii]

⨳ 　 ʾ apps/sites 4 shifting 　 . 　 ♡

hi! this will be long but i made a list of apps/sites that might be helpful for your shifting journey. reminder that you don't need these to shift but they can be helpful with manifesting, keeping track of stuff, etc.

enjoy! divider cr

NOT SPONSORED BTW LMAO

﹒ 　 ⊹ 　 🝮 　 OO1: NOTION 　 ✩

description:

basically notion is an app for documents and stuff. i have to say this one's relatively known and it's such a huge life saver and i know that probably everyone knows about it already (as they should) but i'm gonna recommend it once again.

useful for:

scripting

dashboards you can add life goals & stuff here you can look up some templates/ideas and see what i mean LOL

cons:

i personally can not think of any major ones because this app is just that good

you do have to make new accounts for the text ai generating feature but i don't know if anyone would use that

additional notes:

i personally love how customizable it is! like you can make each page have a custom icon & header, add widgets, images, and so much more. it is so so so insanely helpful for scripting i'm telling you. or you can just be basic, that works too. there's also a bunch of script templates online including specific ones (like a better cr, fame dr, fantasy dr, fandom-specific drs, bla bla bla) and it's literally the only thing shifttok is good for imo. i'm a big fan of shifterium's templates but there's other people who make them as well and i'm sure you can find some recommendations!

★ 　 ₊ 　 ➲ 　OO2: CANVA

description:

a website + app where you can design stuff from headers down to presentations, posters, covers, etc..

useful for:

album covers for singer/idol drs

book covers for writer drs or something

fake social media posts but there's better apps out there and i'll list them here as well

and much more!

cons:

a lot of things (most of which i think are the good stuff) are paid but you can find similar replicas if you scroll long enough i guess..?? and there's a free trial but i don't know if that helps

additional notes:

definitely my favorite place to go when i need to design something tbh. there's a bunch of templates you can use and the layout is very easy to navigate through! and it's pretty easy to find free alternatives for the paid stuff you do have in there

₍ⁿ⑅..ⁿ₎ 　 ˇ 　 ⩩ 　 OO3: PARROT 　 ❀ 　

description:

parrot is an app where you can record yourself saying literally anything and play it on a continuous loop

useful for:

affirmations (manifesting??)

cons:

i'm pretty sure it's iOS only

additional notes:

personally i haven't used this app (i don't like my voice so i will not be recording myself saying affirmations thank yew) so i can't give it a rating but from the looks of it and based off of recommendations i've seen it's pretty useful. should be a white icon with a pink circle that has a white parrot in it!

≥≤ 　 ﹕ 　 ⤷ 　 OO4: BEHINDTHENAME 　 ◍

description:

a site where you can generate names & even life stories if you choose it (including height, weight, blood type, birthday, nationality and more i think?? at least it gives those for me). you can choose from different cultures and stuff like fantasy & mythology.

useful for:

finding a name & info for your dr self (which is literally you by the way don't forget that!) and potentially other people you'd like to script in

cons:

it really just helps to make a basic profile of a person so the things you can do with it can be a little limited

additional notes:

i prefer using this site for ocs instead but i think it can definitely help with shifting! oddly enough it also shows like a lifespan & cause of death so.. cool i guess!!!!

✦ 　 ﹕ 　 OO5: SOCIAL MAKER/dummy

description:

social maker & social dummy are both apps where you can replicate almost basically anything from the internet from twitter posts to facebook posts, youtube posts, and more!

useful for:

social media stuff especially useful for fame drs, streamer drs, idol/singer drs and so much more

cons:

both apps were deleted so you have to have had installed them before if you want to get them back

social maker is ios only i think?

additional notes:

yeah both apps are deleted but there's alternatives out there like twinote (for twitter) photonote (for instagram) canva (has fake social media templates as i said lol) and others that you can look for (because i personally only use twinote)

⋆ 　 ᶻᶻ 　 　 OO6: HELLOFACE 　 ﹒ 　 ★

description:

basically an app for ai face swapping

useful for:

seeing what your face claim (if you have one) would look like on for example dances, fancams, interviews definitely useful for idol/singer/maybe fame drs

cons:

uses ai (i'm personally not a big fan of ai)

pretty underground so the chances that you might not like it are not low

✭ 　 　 ❒︎ 　 OO7: ROOM PLANNER 　 . 　 ♡

description:

basically what the name says. it's a 3d home designer

useful for:

making your dr room/house

visualizing your dr room/house

cons:

has paid stuff

┊ 　 ‧ 　⬭ 　 OO8: COMBYNE

description:

an app where you can combine items you like from a wide selection of stuff to make outfits!

useful for:

making outfits for your dr

visualizing said outfits

additional notes:

there's other things you can do on the app like challenges where you can compete to make the best outfit i think?? looks pretty fun i might try it HAHAHA

yuh so i got a little lazy here at the end & i know this is prolly not very helpful because most of these apps/sites are pretty well known but maybe just maybe.. i helped someone out...

HAPPY SHIFTING!!!!!

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

pairing: cult leader!joel miller x virgin!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 8.6k

summary:

You think you’re as good as dead when a band of raiders find you. In what you think are your final moments, an angel appears.

His name is Joel Miller, and he is here to deliver you from evil.

author's note: a huge thank you to my fellow cultist @atinylittlepain for listening to me scream about this. without them, we'd probably be on version 5 of this story. and to everyone who has been excited about this, i hope you enjoy!

warnings: DARK CONTENT - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dub-con: power dynamics, dub-con: cult mentality, age difference - 60M and 27F, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, post-outbreak, canon divergence, canon typical violence (knife wounds, gun shot wounds, numerous mentions of blood), minor character death(s), blood cult ceremonies, religious themes, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, loss of virginity, oral sex - f receiving, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, cum play, dirty talk, pet names, praise, joel really has a loose screw ok? if there are any tags missing, please let me know!

“I don’t think you should go out there by yourself,” you say, watching as your dad inspects his gun. He looks up at you with a pained expression.

“I gotta see where we should head next. I don’t want to lead you out in the wrong direction, accidentally get you in a bad spot,” he says. “I’ll be fine, buttercup.”

There’s a heaviness that settles in your stomach at his words. He sounds confident enough, but his eyes tell a different story, expose his fear. He stands with a sigh, a wince of pain washing over his face.

“Maybe I should—“

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m going. I won’t be gone long, okay? We can’t stay here forever. Who knows what’s out there in the forest.”

That’s exactly what you’re afraid of. At least inside the rotted cabin you stumbled across you could pretend you were safe. The forest is alive in a way you’ve never experienced growing up in a QZ surrounded with barbed wire and steel. You hear the snap of twigs and the howl of wolves, or the flutter of wings and the call of birds, and sometimes you think you feel the weight of eyes watching you if you venture out too far in your exploration.

“We’ve made it this far. We got out of Denver and that was half the battle,” your dad says. “You got your knife, right? And enough rations.”

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. He kisses your forehead, dry lips lingering on your skin. You have an aching feeling this is a goodbye, some sinking intuition that he’s making a mistake that you can’t correct.

“Be back soon. I love you.”

Joel’s been keeping an eye on the people in the woods for the last three days. There was chatter on one of the radio stations that the Denver QZ was facing an uprising and he knows that once those walls come down, the survivors that venture out are bound to stumble across his town.

The cabin door opens and the man steps out, venturing into the forest. Joel waits to see if his female companion follows, but the door remains shut. He longs to see you, the girl who’s image has been burned into his brain since his first glimpse, but he has a duty to fulfill first.

He walks quickly and quietly through the forest, sure feet catching up with the man less than a mile from where he’d started.  Joel clears his throat. 

The man turns, fumbling with a gun that he clearly has no experience using, pointing it at Joel with shaking hands and shouting, “Move and I’ll shoot!” 

“You lost?” Joel asks, holding his hands up and keeping his face trained in a mask of concern. “Lookin’ for somethin’?”

After a pause, the man seeming to have concluded that Joel isn't a threat, he says, “My daughter and I…we escaped the Denver QZ."

"That must've been difficult." 

"We....we're running out of food," he continues, dropping his arms, limbs hanging heavy at his sides. "I-I don't know what else to do, man."

Gun no longer pointed at his face, Joel approaches the man, stopping when he's within arms reach. Up close, he can see the dismal state the guy is in -- sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes, tattered clothing hanging on a thin frame. Joel places a hand on his bony shoulder.

"I can help you," he says. The man looks up, a brief glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes. Joel watches the slow realization, the way his brain catches up to what's just happened, a choked noise spilling from his dry lips. 

Joel tugs his knife from the man's gut and steps back, watching as he collapses to the ground. Desperate hands smear the blooming red stain across his abdomen. Joel circles the man, positioning himself at his back, and pulls him close with a hand slapped over his mouth.

"I'll take good care of her," he whispers before dragging his knife across his neck in one clean slice. The man twitches once before growing limp and Joel releases him, body hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. Not one to waste, Joel gathers anything of use from his person. 

Something catches the light against his neck. Curious, Joel tugs the bloodstained neck of his t-shirt to the side, finding a silver chain. He pulls, revealing the length of it. 

A cross.

The clasp snaps with a sharp tug and Joel stuffs it in his pocket. Standing and shouldering his bag once more, he begins his walk back towards the cabin.

You're running as fast as your legs will carry you, lungs and limbs burning with the effort. You made the mistake of not listening to your dad when he'd told you stay where you were, to stay hidden, that he'd come back. Your nerves had gotten the best of you and you decided that you would catch up with him, but you didn't know which direction he'd gone. You figured you would travel a little ways and see if you could find him and if you didn't do so quickly, you'd rush back to the cabin and wait, just as he told you.

That's when the men saw you, two large figures with rifles that reminded you of FEDRA soldiers slung across their backs. 

You duck behind a thick tree to catch your breath. You can hear voices calling out through the forest above the rush of blood in your ears, taunting tones carrying through the air.

"C'mon out, pretty girl!" 

You chance a peek out from your hiding spot, only catching a brief glimpse of one man through the trees. 

"Where ya hidin', sweet thing?" 

His voice sounds far away and that gives you the courage to move forward, a tentative dash for another tree. 

“I might be nicer to ya if you just come on out, but if I have to hunt ya down…well…you know what a hunter does to its prey, don’tcha?”

You press your hand over your mouth, muffling the cry that claws its way up your throat. You start to run again, faster, not caring if he can hear you so long as you're able to maintain that distance, hoping that if you can outrun them for long enough, he'll just give up and then maybe you can find your--

You crash into something, the world sliding out from under you and the breath rushing from your lungs as you land on your back with a pained shout. A hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you across the rough ground before you have the chance to recover. 

"Gotcha," a man says, the voice different from the one that had been taunting you before. A figure stands over you, a foot on either side of your hips, looking down at you with a sinister smile. "Pretty little prize, huh?"

You twist your body, scrambling away from him. He laughs, following after you with unhurried strides.

“Now, don’t play hard to get,” he admonishes. A hand wraps around your ankle and he drags you toward him, kicking and screaming. Your foot connects with some fleshy part of him and he curses. 

“You little fuckin’ cunt,” he hisses, dropping your foot. He kicks you, heavy boot colliding with soft flesh and bone, a sharp pain blossoming in your side, shooting down to your very marrow. You curl in on yourself, wounded prey trying to protect its most vulnerable parts.

A shot rings out, the sound startling in the relative quiet of the forest. You sit up, sudden movement making you light headed, and it takes you a long moment to register the scene before you.

The man that had been chasing you, the one that had caught you, the one that had hurt you on the surface but planned to do far worse, lies on the ground, eyes wide open but unseeing. Above him stands your savior, an older man with gray streaked dark curls and tan skin, broad shoulders and hard brown eyes. He reminds you of a painting you saw once in a book your dad owned, long before the outbreak.

“Death On A Pale Horse,” he explained when you showed him the painting that caught your eye. “Based on the Book of Revelations. You remember that one, right?” 

“Yeah.”

“This one,” — he pointed to the central figure, a dark creature on a white horse — “is Death. And this one” — he pointed to a figure on the right that rides a dark brown horse, the dark colors making him blend among the horrors breaking from the sky behind him — “would be famine. You can see the emaciated man below him.”

“What about the other two?” You asked.

“The one of the red horse would be war.”

You pointed to the remaining figure, a man with dark curls and a determined expression. “And the white horse?”

Your dad paused. “Conquest. Pestilence. The Antichrist. The first horseman of the apocalypse.”

The man before you today looks like that figure on the white horse and despite his choice to rescue you from one horror, you fear he may be something far worse.

The man kneels and you flinch away from him. He sighs and says, “I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”

“Who are you?” You ask, voice weak, throat on fire. 

“My name is Joel,” he says. “I want to help you.”

“How do I know you weren’t with those other guys?” Your eyes grow wide and you rush to stand on shaky legs. “Wait, there’s another—“

“He won’t be an issue,” Joel assures you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist. “C’mon.”

“I can’t—“

“Men like those two ain’t the only things in the forest to worry about, and I’m afraid we can’t sit around and find out. That gun shot could send a horde runnin’.”

“Wait!” You snap, pulling out of his grasp. He holds his hands up, as if in surrender, or maybe like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not sure which. “My dad is out there. H-he went to figure out where to go from here. We were in a cabin…” Your voice trails off. “I told him I would wait for him.”

Joel’s eyes are soft as he says, “We need to get ourselves to safety. I can send someone out to look for your dad first thing in the mornin’.”

“Send someone?”

“There’s a group of us, down in the valley. Survivors, like you.”

“Really?” Relief washes over you, eclipsing even the ache in your belly and the burn in your throat and the pain in your muscles. “How far?”

“With the state you’re in, probably about a two hour hike.”

You don’t have much choice but to go with him, do you?

“Okay.”

“Where’re you comin’ from?” Joel asks, glancing over his shoulder at you. You’ve been following quietly behind him, head down and eyes fixed on the ground. 

“Denver,” is all you offer in response. He knew that much already. He wants to know more.

Maybe he has to give more first.

“‘M from Texas, originally. Was in a QZ in Boston for a while before makin’ my way out here.”

“Why’d you come out here?” You ask.

“Had a friend once tell me, ‘Save who you can save’,” he says. 

“What does that mean?” You ask.

“You’ll see.”

Joel had mentioned survivors, but you're shocked to discover that just past a wooden sign proclaiming WELCOME TO CRESTONE in chipped yellow paint, a whole town is tucked away, surrounded by a wooden gate that opens for you as you approach. You feel the weight of curious eyes as you walk through a town square, Joel's palm between your shoulder blades steering you towards a more residential area until you reach a two story adobe home.

Once inside, you’re led upstairs to a sparsely decorated bedroom, a large bed in the center with a faded quilt tucked around the mattress with precision and a dresser against one wall covered in yellowed wallpaper. Joel gestures for you to sit, kneeling on the wood floor in front of you to work on the laces of your sneakers.

“What—“

“You need rest,” he says, removing your shoes. He looks up at you, brown eyes full of concern. Your stomach flips.

“But—“

“No,” he says sternly. He stands and walks to the side of the bed, tugging the quilt free and folding it down. “I have duties to return to, but you’ll be safe here.”

You don’t have it in you to continue arguing. You haven’t seen a comfortable bed in more than two days and the exhaustion catches up to you in one fell swoop, eyes halfway to shut as you crawl into the space Joel’s made for you between the sheets. He pulls the covers over you, the warmth of a hand smoothing across your cheek the last thing you feel before falling asleep.

You wake to the sun high in the sky, streaming through the open window of a room that you don't recognize.  You push yourself to sitting, your ribs protesting the movement and your head pulsing just behind your eyes. Your mouth is unbearably dry, so much so that you start coughing, further aggravating your bruised ribs.

"There's water on the nightstand," a voice says, startling you.

You look to your left, finding a young girl sitting in a wooden chair by your bed. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, wayward pieces falling across pale skin. Her sharp brown eyes watch you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl.

“I’m Ellie,” she says. You mumble your own name.

“Did Joel save you?” Ellie asks. 

“Uh—“

“He must have. That’s what he does,” she continues, cutting you off. 

“Ellie!” A familiar deep voice calls out. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles from her seat, rushing for the door. Heavy footsteps climb the stairs, Joel appearing in the open doorway. He looks at her with a stern expression, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Thought I told you not to come up here.”

The look on her face isn’t fear, like her reaction would have led you to believe. No, she looks up at Joel with reverence as she says, “Sorry. Wanted to see her.”

Joel nods. “Head to the mess hall. I’ll bring her down shortly.”

Ellie casts a lingering look in your direction before disappearing through the doorway. 

“Sorry about her,” Joel says. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Could be better,” you say honestly. “How long was I asleep for?”

“A little more than a day.”

Your eyes go wide. “My dad—“

“We’ve sent out a search party. No luck yet, I’m afraid,” he says. You curl into yourself a bit at the news, shoulders tight with worry. He reaches forward and places a hand on top of your own where it rests on the sheets. “You should get some food. I brought you some new clothes, too. I’ll let you get dressed and we can go down to the mess hall.“

He leaves the room before you respond and you drag the pile of clothes closer to you, finding a neatly folded t-shirt, jeans, underwear, and socks. It takes you a long moment to work your way out of your dirty clothes, your movements slow to not aggravate your injuries. You keep your bra on, pulling the clean shirt over your head, followed by the jeans. You're thrilled to be wearing something that's not caked with dirt and sweat.

You're working on putting your socks on when there's a knock at the door, Joel entering when you call out for him to come in. He smiles at you.

"There, that's better," he says. "C'mon. Let's get down to dinner."

You follow him out of the room and down the stairs. The first floor of the home has a kitchen that opens up to a living and dining area, the space filled with worn mismatched furniture. The walls are wood paneled and there's a massive stone fireplace with elk antlers mounted above it.

The sun is setting as you step outside and get your first real look at the town as its bathed in gold. Narrow residential streets give way to wider roads once you reach the town center, where commercial buildings are pressed together advertising long forgotten businesses, their windows dark. 

"That's the butcher up there," Joel says, pointing to one of the wooden buildings. "He gets the meat from the traps prepped for us." He points to another building with a sign that says RESTAURANT. "That's the bakery."

"A butcher and a bakery?" You ask. "Do you have electricity here?"

"Sure do. Solar panels, just outside the gate."

You continue walking through the town until you come up on a large white building, people entering and exiting through a set of thick double doors. The shadow of a cross remains above the door, perhaps scorched by the sun where a crucifix once sat. People welcome Joel as he enters, heads turning in their curiosity. You press a little closer to Joel's side.

The large room is bursting with noise and activity -- a flurry of conversations, the clink of cutlery, and laughter. You've not seen anything like it before, the mentality in the QZ not conducive to camaraderie. You can count on one hand the number of people you would have considered friends within those walls, and even that was a stretch. You and Joel join a line of people retrieving plates of food from a single window. 

"How long has all of this been here?" You ask, gesturing to the room. He looks around proudly.

"Ellie and I came across this town on accident after we went through hell leavin' Boston. The folks here set up their own quarantine zone and with bigger fish to fry, FEDRA sort of left ‘em alone. They were kind enough to take us in," he says. "After that, more people started showin' up lookin' for safety. Lots of people who escaped the QZs or had been on their own for a while and were tired of runnin'."

"Ellie says you save people," you comment, taking a step forward as the line moves. "What's that mean?"

"Every flock needs a shepherd."

You’re at the front of the line now, standing in front of the window. A woman appears, her face lighting up when she sees Joel.

“Joel! How are you?” She asks, leaning onto the ledge. Behind her you can see people moving quickly and efficiently around a stainless steel kitchen, large pots of food simmering on the stovetop. 

“Well enough,” he says. He places a hand on your shoulder. “We have a new guest. Make her plate nice and full for me?”

“Of course.” 

She gathers a plate from a precarious stack, loading it with a heaping pile of food ranging from mashed potatoes and stew to colorful vegetables that you haven’t seen in ages, not since before the outbreak when you were seven and your dad would make dinner rather than pass you a ration package. You’re speechless as she hands you the plate with a kind smile, a mumbled thank you the best you can manage to show your gratitude.

Joel is handed a plate as well and you follow him to a table where Ellie sits next to a man with white hair, her plate already empty in front of her. The man looks up at Joel as you approach, his expression closed off and wary. 

“Michael,” Joel says in greeting, jaw ticking. You take a seat beside Ellie, who to your surprise moves closer to you, arm brushing yours. “You botherin’ Ellie?”

The man, Michael, shakes his head. “No, sir. We were just having a little talk.”

“What about?” Joel sits on the opposite side of the table. He rips his bread roll in half. 

“Just some concerns I was having.”

“You bring your concerns to me. Not to her.”

The two men stare at each other, the tension thick and impossible to ignore. Finally, Michael gets up, leaving the table without another word. Ellie’s shoulder’s lose their tension and Joel catches her eye, the two of them seeming to have an entire conversation in just a look.

The moment passes and Joel’s features relax, a smile tilting the corners of his lips as he returns his attention to you and gestures to your plate.

“Dig in,” he says.

Joel walks you back to his home after dinner, the sky now dark. Ellie’s already closed herself in her room by the time the two of you return, having left the mess hall before you had finished eating. 

“Tired again?” Joel asks when you yawn, mouth open wide as you stretch your arms above your head. 

Your expression is sheepish as you say, “A little bit.”

“That’s to be expected,” he assures you. “You fought a hard fight. It’s okay to relax now. I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle in the hem of the t-shirt he’d given you earlier. “I don’t know if I’ve said that already.”

“You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get you back upstairs. You can use the shower and get to bed.”

“Oh my god, a shower sounds amazing.”

He shows you the bathroom and helps you get the water running. Once he shows you where to find a towel, you smile gratefully before shutting the door on him.

Dismissed, Joel makes his way to Ellie’s room, knocking on the door. She answers quickly, opening up only enough for him to see her face.

“Yeah?” She asks.

“Can I come in?” 

She rolls her eyes but opens the door further, allowing him inside. Her room is smaller than his but far more decorated, pages ripped out of old magazines and comic books tacked to the wall. She takes a seat on her single bed, folding her legs beneath her.

“What did Michael talk to you about?” He asks. She shrugs her shoulders. Joel bites back a sigh. Sometimes he forgets what it was like to reason with a teenage girl. “Ellie.”

“He said” — she pauses, scratching at her wrist in the way that she will when she’s anxious — “he said that you were full of shit. That your fucked up ceremony isn’t helping any of them.”

Joel’s teeth grind together. “That all?”

“Called me a stupid kid for following what you say,” she mumbles. “Said everyone in town was stupid for believing you.”

“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he says. Rage burns in his veins as he turns to leave. 

“What are you gonna do?” Ellie asks as he reaches the door.

“I’m goin’ to teach him a lesson.”

He pulls the door shut behind him, tilting his head against the wood with a sigh. The click of a latch down the hall precedes your quiet, “Joel?”

Joel turns to face you, surprised to find you standing just outside the bathroom door with a towel tucked around your body. Water glistens on your skin in the low light, drawing his eyes down your neck and across your chest. He clears his throat.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks. 

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you murmur. “I…could I get some new clothes?”

“Of course, should’a given you some before you showered. Sorry about that.” 

Joel walks past you, entering his bedroom and approaching the dresser. He tugs the top drawer open, full of clothing he’d gathered while you’d been asleep for more than a day. He piles together another t-shirt, sleep pants, and underwear, setting them on the bed for you. 

You’re standing in the doorway when he finishes and he fights the urge to go to you, to pull you close, to run his wretched hands over your body like he’s wanted to since he first saw you in the forest. 

He doesn’t, though. Not yet. You still have much to learn.

“Here you go,” he says. “Some more stuff in the drawers for you if you need it.”

Joel leaves you to get ready for bed, shutting the door behind him. He heads downstairs to grab what he’ll need, essentials shoved in a bag thrown over his shoulder before venturing off into the night.

Only a few lights continue to illuminate windows as Joel walks through the residential area. The house he approaches at the end of a street is already dark, quiet beyond the wood door that he knocks on three times. The door opens slowly, Michael appearing in the small space. 

“What?” He grunts.

“Come take a walk,” Joel says. Michael rolls his eyes, moving to shut the door but Joel’s boot blocks his effort. “I ain’t askin’, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?” He challenges. Joel throws his weight against the door, catching Michael by surprise enough for him to step into the house.

Joel throws an elbow into the man’s gut, making him double over with a groan. He circles behind him, kicking the back of his knee to send him to the ground. He pulls a length of chain from his pocket, looping it around Michael’s neck and pulling the ends.

Michael struggles, clawing at the garotte and thrashing wildly, but Joel holds strong. He tightens his grip further until Michael’s fight becomes sluggish, lack of oxygen finally causing him to go limp.

Joel releases the chain and Michael’s body slumps to the ground. He removes his backpack, digging through the contents until he finds a rusted pair of handcuffs that he uses to bind Michael’s arms behind his back. Next, he places a strip of duct tape over his mouth.

When he wakes, Joel will lead him out past the gate. He will find an unassuming home that rests outside the boundary of Crestone. He will open the hidden doors of the cellar, the ones covered in a layer of leaves and grass. From the darkness he will hear the echo of desperate groans and the rattle of chains and the angry attempts to break free from bindings. He will lead Michael down the dirt steps, the smell of rot and fear and death clawing at his olfactory nerves. 

He will place a burlap bag over a struggling Michael’s head and the man will beg and plead in words muffled by tape. Then, Joel will offer him for judgment.

A hand on you shoulder shakes you awake, the room still mostly dark when you manage to open your eyes. You groan, pulling the quilt up over your head.

“C’mon, we gotta get to breakfast,” Ellie says. The cover gets yanked down and she gives you a mischievous grin. 

“Where’s Joel?” You ask, sitting up slowly. She shrugs.

“Probably there already.”

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, stretching your arms up. You grab the same jeans and socks from the day before, changing into them quickly and sitting down on the floor to pull your sneakers on. Ellie watches you, her foot tapping impatiently.

“You can go without me if you’re in a rush,” you offer. She shakes her head.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “You ready?”

“Sure.”

You follow her out of the house, her clipped pace difficult to keep up with due to your lingering pain. As the sun starts to rise and you pass by more of the houses, you notice something peculiar about some of them.

“What’s that?” You ask, pausing in front of one the houses. There’s a streak of what looks like dark red paint across the top of the door. Ellie doubles back and stands beside you.

“Protection,” she says. 

“From what?” 

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with your line of questioning. Rather than answer, she walks away, leaving you to catch up to her or be left behind.

As the two of you start to walk through the square, there’s a rush of people around you. Shouting can be heard up ahead as a crowd comes into view, gathered around the front of the mess hall building. People press in close together, craning their necks to see over each other and catch a glimpse of whatever spectacle has their attention.

Ellie pushes through the crowd and you follow close on her heels until she manages to break through the other side of the wall of people. You catch glimpses of something writhing on the ground, something animal but not quite, something failed and fetid and foul. Another peek affords you a view of an arm littered with bite marks shaped by blunt teeth, deep gouges into their skin that shine red with blood and fester with disease.

Joel appears, stepping around the side of the building. The whispers cease, the crunch of Joel’s boots and pained groans the only noise to be heard in the stale air.

His dark eyes scan the crowd. People shrink back from his gaze, pressing closer to each other for relief. He reaches down, curling his fingers into the burlap material and yanking it off to reveal a man, familiar and yet not recognizable. Unseeing eyes, ashen skin, and dark red veins now the hallmark characteristics of the man you now remember as the one who had been talking to Ellie in the dining hall.

Joel draws a gun from his back, aiming it at Michael’s head. “Let this be a lesson,” he says, pulling the trigger.

The shot rings out, making you jump. The agonized sounds come to abrupt halt and his body goes limp, eyes still open as blood blooms on the ground around him. 

“No blood spilled. No blood saved,” Joel says. You look up from the horrible scene and meet his hard gaze. You step back, turning and shoving your way through the crowd.

Then, you run.

You’re frantically shoving clothing into your bag when a door slams downstairs and heavy footsteps climb the stairs at a quick pace. You can feel the burn of Joel's eyes on your back, his presence in the room thick and cloying as you refuse to turn around, even when he murmurs your name.

He moves closer, a hand on your shoulder prompting you to turn to break the connection. He holds his hands up in surrender, taking a step back as he says, "Let me explain."

"Explain? Explain?! How the fuck do you explain that?!" You snap. 

"If you'll just listen--"

"There's nothing you could possibly say that will--"

"Ellie is immune!" He shouts. Your words die on the tip of your tongue, lost to ether as you stare at Joel. 

"W-what do you mean? Immune?" You ask. 

He takes a deep breath. "I told you what my friend said. 'Save who you can save'. The first person I saved was Ellie."

"I helped her out of Boston, kept her safe, nearly lost my life if it meant keepin' her alive," He continues. "That's what I offer here."

"So you think you're....what? Some kind of god? That you can grant immunity?"

He huffs a laugh, the noise devoid of any humor. "God abandoned his worst experiment in their time of need. There is no god anymore, just the poor creatures he left behind. Someone had to take up the mantle."

"But how?"

"The ceremony," he says. 

"That’s not a fucking answer, Joel!” You shout. “What fucking ceremony?!”

“Blood spilled for blood saved. You can’t make it in this world without givin’ your everythin’ first.” He lifts the bottom of his shirt, just enough to reveal a jagged scar to the right of his belly button, shiny scar tissue disrupting smooth tan skin. “I did this for Ellie. Now everyone else has to do it for themselves.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You take a small step closer to inspect the wound, raising your hand and reaching out with a tentative touch. Joel inhales sharply as you run your fingers across the puckered flesh. 

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand up and holding it against his chest. “It’ll be easier to show you, okay? There’s a ceremony in a couple days.”

“I don’t—“

“You’re just afraid because this is somethin’ new, but I promise you that you got nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll take care of you.” He lifts a hand to your face, tilting your chin with his thumb. “I just need you to trust me.”

His eyes are honest, earnest, pleading with you to believe him and the longer you search them, the more truth you seem to find. He will take care of you. You just know it.

“Okay.”

Dinner is served early on the day of the ceremony, the room buzzing with excited conversation. You haven’t seen Joel much the last few days, just passing glimpses, and Ellie says it’s because he has a lot to prepare for. Tonight there’s a woman at his side wearing a white dress that flows to the floor, black hair braided down her back. She smiles at Joel, hanging on every word you can’t hear. It makes your stomach clench in a weird way when her hand curls around his bicep and her head leans against his shoulder.

“That’s Marcy. She’s volunteered for the ceremony,” Ellie says. She’s sitting across from you, a smirk on her lips. “S’why she’s been hanging around Joel the last few days. Joel’s gotta prepare her.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to reply, picking at the vegetables on your plate. “What does…what does he do? To prepare her.”

She shrugs. “Dunno.”

You glance at the pair. Joel leans in close to the woman, whispering into her ear. Your fingernails dig into the meat of your palm, your hands curled into tight fists beneath the table. He stands, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he calls the people to attention, voices fading until silence envelops the room. 

“Tonight,” Joel says, “another is to be saved. And we will all bear witness to the gift of deliverance that only self-sacrifice can grant.”

It’s only a few words, but the power in them is palpable as you glance around the room at the entire town watching him with rapt attention. His eyes meet yours.

“Save who you can save,” he intones. A chill runs down your spine.

“Save who you can save,” the town echoes back. 

The sun is already low on the horizon, twilight casting a soft glow on the scene. You stand at the back of the crowd, watching as Joel leads Marcy onto a raised wooden platform. Another man joins them, passing something wrapped in cloth into Joel’s outstretched hands. 

“The thing about the world today,” Joel says, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a large knife, “is that there ain’t a single guarantee.” He looks out over the crowd. “Except here, within these walls. Why? Because here you’ll make the greatest sacrifice and earn the greatest reward.”

He begins to pace the length of the platform, knife in hand. “Givin’ your blood in exchange for your safety? That doesn’t sound so bad, right?” The people around you nod their heads in agreement. “You’ve seen what that sacrifice can do. I did it for Ellie. I did it for myself. And tonight—“ he places a hand on Marcy’s shoulder “—another has made the choice to earn that gift of protection.”

A cheer erupts, spreading through the crowd through shouts and applause. You find yourself joining them, clapping your hands together as you continue to watch Joel. 

“Marcy,” Joel says. “What brings you here today?”

“No blood spilled, no blood saved,” she recites dutifully. 

“Are you afraid?” He asks.

“No,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because I trust in your protection.”

Joel smiles at her, beaming with pride, and that knot in your stomach from earlier returns with a vengeance. You want him to look at you like that.

He stands in front of her, blocking her from view with his body. A hush falls over the crowd and from the silence erupts an anguished scream. You flinch, the sound piercing and painful and petrifying, though it seems to have taken nobody else by surprise.

Another scream as he jerks his arm back, the knife in his hand now stained with red that slides down the blade, dripping to the wood beneath his feet. He steps to the side and you can see the woman now, her hands pressed to her belly. Crimson blooms beneath her hands, marring her pretty white dress and leaching the color and vitality from her face. She drops to her knees and so does Joel, who wraps an arm around her shoulders and gently guides her until she’s lying on her back. He holds her hand and smooths her hair from her face as she just repeats, “Thank you.”

Slowly, the strength in her voice fades. Her arm goes limp in his grasp, dropping to the floor with a dull thud as her eyes flutter shut. Joel whistles sharply, three men rushing up the platform and lifting the girl into their arms, careful not to jostle her too much. Joel remains kneeling, his head turning to scan the crowd.

“We are born covered in blood,” he says. “It gives you protection from the outside world when you’re wrenched from the womb. And it will protect you now as it is wrenched from you.”

He steps off the platform and walks past the crowd, heading for the residential street. Everyone shuffles forward, moving en masse like sheep following their shepherd or cattle to the slaughter. You’re led to one of the smaller homes and you watch as Joel smooths the flat of the blade across his hand, gathering blood in his palm. 

He places his palm on the door, smearing the blood across the faded blue paint. When he’s done, he turns to face the crowd.

“Marcy has earned her protection. Those of you among us that have not yet made your sacrifice, may you return home this evenin’ and realize that each passin’ day is a wasted opportunity for your salvation.” His serious expression softens as he smiles. “No blood spilled.”

“No blood saved,” the crowd says.

To your surprise, the words fall easily from your lips.

Joel shuts the door quietly behind him. He’s just finished checking on Marcy and was pleased to find that her wound has been dressed and she’s recovering well. At the kitchen sink he runs the water as hot as he can tolerate and scrubs his hands clean.

He can hear faint footsteps upstairs, the sound of your pacing back and forth in his bedroom. He’s pleased that you stayed through the entire ceremony, didn’t run away filled with fear or disgust like you had watching him make an example out of Michael. 

There’s hope for you yet.

Joel dries his hands on a towel and heads upstairs. He glances at Ellie’s room out of habit, though he knows it’s empty. She likes to help out after the ceremony, usually sticking beside the town nurse, Shelly, as she monitors the person who participated in the ceremony over night. 

The door to his bedroom is shut but he can see that the light is on, the glow of it seeping out from the gap beneath the door. He knocks, three sharp raps of his knuckles, and waits.

You pull the door open, and Joel is once again struck by how much he wants you, how much he’s craved you since the first time he saw you. You look up at him with wide eyes but he doesn’t sense any fear as you pull the door open further and step back to let him enter.

“You doin’ okay?” He asks, shutting the door quietly behind him. You’re standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, nodding quietly. Joel moves closer, tentatively reaching out to tilt your chin up so that he’s looking into your eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I….,” your voice trails off. You take a breath. “I want that protection.”

He was hoping you would say that. Relief floods through him.

“I can’t do that,” he says. Your brows pinch together, hurt flashing across your features. “I won’t have your blood on my hands.”

“But—“

“Listen to me—“ his hands frame your face, thumbs smoothing over the high points of your cheeks “—you’re meant for somethin’ different here.”

“Something different?” You repeat. You shake your head slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“From the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you lose a drop,” he whispers. “You don’t need to bleed, sweetheart. Not like them. I’ll protect you myself.”

Your mouth drops open the slightest bit, drawing Joel’s gaze. He slides his thumb across your bottom lip, mesmerized by the softness of it. There’s not much about his life the last twenty or so years that he would call soft.

There was his brother, Tommy, even though they couldn’t see eye to eye and had to part ways. His daughter, Sarah, before the outbreak. She took care of him, made sure he took his vitamins and packed his lunch and didn’t miss a parent-teacher conference. She was light and joy, his heart outside of his body, and she was ripped from his grasp.

There was Tess, who was not a soft person but was a soft place to land among the carnage. Bill, ornery though he was, and Frank, arguably his better half. They were a breath of normalcy, even when Bill had a gun trained on him. Ellie, once she quit being a pain in the ass and wormed her way into his heart with her promise to follow him wherever he went.

And now there was you.

“Will you let me do that?” Joel asks. “Protect you?”

You lift your hands, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrists. He wonders if you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse pounding beneath your grip. Finally, after a long moment, you whisper, “Yes.”

Joel captures your lips with his, swallowing your gasp of surprise. You’re tentative, a bit clumsy with your movements as you kiss back and he pulls away, leaning his forehead to yours.

“I-I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’ve never—“

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

While his words don’t stop your pulse from racing, they do calm your nerves the slightest bit. It’s not that you’ve never been interested in sex, there was just never a good opportunity. Going through puberty in an apocalypse where a militant government faction monitors your every move in exchange for basic necessities wasn’t exactly conducive to forming intimate relationships. 

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Joel moves you backwards until your legs hit the mattress and he urges you to sit down. He kneels in front of you, working on the laces of your sneakers, removing them and setting them to the side. He looks up at you as he removes your socks and you’re not sure if you're supposed to find the sight of him kneeling at your feet as sexy as you do, but a rush of warmth rolls through you all the same.

He runs his palms up your legs, across your thighs, until his fingertips find the waist of your jeans, popping the button of the fly and pulling the zipper down. 

“Lift your hips a bit, sweetheart,” he says, working the denim down and off your legs, tossing them aside. His hands return to your thighs, goosebumps erupting along their path to your hips. 

“No one’s touched you here?” He asks, here being the soft skin of your inner thigh that his thumbs sweep across. You shake your head. He moves higher, a featherlight touch over the elastic of your underwear that makes you gasp. “What about here?”

“N-no,” you manage to whisper. He smiles at you, the same proud smile he’d given Marcy that you were so desperate to have for yourself. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. He kisses the inside of your knee quickly before sitting up higher, reaching up to lift your shirt up, tugging it over your head and dropping it onto the growing pile of your clothing.

“Lie back for me,” Joel commands. You shift up the mattress and follow his instruction, bringing your arms up to cover your exposed breasts. He makes a dissatisfied click with his tongue, pulling your arms away as he crawls up the mattress to settle between your legs.

“None of that,” he admonishes, planting your hands by your head. He kisses your lips again, butterflies erupting in your stomach when his tongue tangles with yours, hot and demanding. He palms one of your breasts, hands rough on the delicate skin. “This is mine, do you understand?”

Joel brings his mouth to your breast, tongue swirling over your stiff nipple. You cry out, the foreign sensation making more heat rush through you, leaving you throbbing between your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes as he sucks your nipple between his lips, releasing it with a lewd pop.

“Mine to touch,” he says, leaning on one arm to trail his fingers down your stomach. “Mine to kiss.” His lips trace the same heated path. “Mine to protect.”

When he reaches your underwear, he pulls back. “Look at that,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing across the gusset, making you whimper and squirm. “You’ve soaked your panties, sweetheart.”

Your face feels hot with embarrassment. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry? Ain’t nothin’ you need to be sorry about,” he says with a chuckle. He sits up, working your only remaining barrier between you down your legs. He spreads your legs with his hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you look so pretty, baby.”

“Really?” You ask. His answering grin is wolfish. 

“So pretty,” he repeats. He settles on his belly, face so close to your pussy you can feel the warmth of his breath against your heated flesh. “Gotta get you ready.”

Your response to the question is cut off with a high pitched moan as Joel runs his tongue through your folds, circling your clit with broad strokes. You try to close your legs against the sensation but his strong hands keep your thighs pinned down near the mattress.

He groans as he sets a slow and measured pace, alternating attention to your clit with dipping his tongue inside of you, dragging your essence from the source. Your hands clench in the sheets, chasing and retreating from the overwhelming sensation in equal measure.

There’s a blunt pressure that turns into a slight pinch as Joel slips a finger into your tight heat. Your head tilts back with a high keening noise and you’re panting, desperate for breath as he moves his hand in tandem with his tongue.

One finger becomes two that thrust and curl and part inside of you, stretching you in unfamiliar ways. It feels good, and all you want is more, more, more.

Joel’s hand moves quickly and he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves until that flood of relief that you’ve only accomplished a handful of times on your own washes over you, your back arching sharply off the mattress as you shout his name like a prayer to the heavens.

His motions slow to a stop and he leaves the bed. You hear the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothing being removed before his weight returns between your legs, a new heat to be felt against your flushed skin with his clothes no longer in the way. With shaky hands you reach up to touch him, starting at his shoulders.

You trail your hands across his warm tan skin, down his hard chest and softer belly. That scar, the one that frightened you before, leaves you breathless as you run your fingers over it now. He’s so strong, so powerful, and he wants you. Wants to protect you so that you don’t know that same pain.

“Joel,” you whisper. He leans forward, hands on the mattress beside your head. He kisses you, slow and all encompassing. You can feel the hard length of his sliding through the mess he’s made of you and you gasp.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he says, face serious, “there ain’t any goin’ back from this. You’re mine. You got that?”

“I trust you,” you reply. Your response earns you a deep groan from the man, a kiss to your forehead that precedes the blunt head of his cock pressing to your soaked entrance.

His cock is thicker, much thicker, than his fingers were and you whine at the intrusion. His shushes you, peppering your face with soothing kisses. 

“I don’t think—“

“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart, I know you can handle it,” Joel says. “Take a deep breath, just a little more.”

Tension gives way, a sharp pinch that turns into an ache as Joel presses his hips firmly against yours. He kisses your neck and trails his nose across your sweat damp skin, holding still as you adjust to his girth.

You shift your hips the slightest bit and Joel’s moan echoes your gasp. “Tell me I can move,” he begs, another desperate kiss pressed to your lips. “Please, baby.”

There’s something heady about the power you have in this brief moment, a man like Joel begging you for something when he’s used to having everything. You nod and that’s all the encouragement he needs to draw back slowly, that fullness leaving you inch by inch, before thrusting sharply.

It’s unlike any experience you’ve had before — the way his body moves with yours, the flex of his muscles above you, the intense look in his eyes each time he presses inside of you.

“Made for me,” he murmurs. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you agree, moaning as each drag of his cock presses against a tender spot inside of you that has your stomach tightening rapidly.

His effort doubles, hips slamming hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. You dig your nails into his back, watch the clench of his jaw against the sting, and moan his name as you succumb to the feeling of free falling into bliss, clenching around his cock.

“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck,” he growls, hips stilling against yours as warmth pulses inside of you, his mouth dropped open on a groan of your name.

Joel takes a moment to catch his breath before withdrawing from you. He reaches his hand between your legs, pressing his fingers into your swollen pussy as you gasp.

He holds those fingers up, the light catching on the red staining them.

Perhaps you’d spilled blood for your safety after all.

You wake to the early morning light filtering through the window, a noticeable ache between your legs as you begin to stir. You’re naked, having fallen asleep in Joel’s arms last night, his lips caressing your neck until you’d drifted off and dreamt of blood and wolves. You stretch your limbs, encountering only cold sheets as you do.

As you sit up, you realize the sound of rushing water is the shower and surmise that Joel must be in there. With stiff movements you leave the warmth of the bed and approach the dresser, tugging open the top drawer to find clothing for the day.

You’re reaching for underwear when your fingers catch on something cold, metal in a sea of fabric. You pull on the object, unearthing it from its hiding spot and holding it up for inspection.

A cross, hanging from a silver chain. A chain you would tangle your fingers in as a child, a cross that a thumb would rub across as a deep, familiar voice muttered prayers.

The shower turns off and you take one last look at the crucifix before setting it back into the dark corner you’d unearthed it from.

Then, you shut the drawer. 

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

[thefrogman]

Back in the olden days, if you used the "keep reading" function on a Tumblr-dot-com post, it would

not get very many notes.

At all.

I am not sure exactly why.

I think people hated pressing an extra thing.

But maybe it was also a psychological phenomenon where, given the choice, they were unwilling to trust me with their time.

But if I sucked them in with a good story or a compelling image, they would get serious FOMO.

When I created a super high effort post-of-length I would get comments like, "This was way too long but before I realized it I was reading the last sentence."

That was a really good feeling.

I used to do tests to figure out the best posting strategies and I think I figured out you'd lose about 90% of your notes if you did a "keep reading" post.

So that notion was ingrained in my brain again and again from when I was very note-obsessed and I have since avoided the "keep reading" option almost like a conditioned response.

Just seeing that squiggly line appear still induces a Pavlovian fear.

But that was probably a decade ago and I did a new experiment. My story about replacing my mailbox did reasonably well with a strategically clickbaity "keep reading."

This was a promising result due to the fact that some people like to send me hate for writing a lengthy post.

I recently got a death threat for writing too much, which was a fun reminder of my M&M days (I melted men's rights activists' brains with a poorly worded analogy and they launched a years long harassment campaign).

It seems in present-era-Tumblr-dot-com many more people prefer pressing an extra thing rather than scrolling a bunch on their smartphone. The collective behavior has changed. And maybe I don't need to use tricks and running gags in order to get folks to "keep reading".

Unfortunately I started writing that ring light post a few months ago so I wasn't able to include that in the experiment. But I am going to try using the keep reading function in the future and as long as the average number of folks that usually read my longer posts continue to read my posts, that will be the standard approach.

I also tag these posts with "long post" so you can flag that if you wish.

While I am no longer in the audience-building phase of my Tumblr career, these essays and stories and educational posts take a considerable amount of time and effort to create, so I do want to make sure everyone who wants to read them is able to. But posts without hearts and reblogs can quickly die a gruesome algorithmic death. Even my most ardent followers would tell me things were not showing up on their dash. (I think replies help mitigate that, so if you like a long post, you can help with engagement.)

The collective noun is a "business" of ferrets.

Do you want to see a business of ferrets ready to do some business?

KEEP READING

I love writing and it is a huge catharsis for me. And I love sharing any knowledge I feel like I have the earned expertise to speak on with authority (technology, photography, light, fun ferret facts, etc). I wish I had the energy to be a photography teacher, but long posts on Tumblr are probably the best I can do for now.

I know my posts are super long, but I try to make them as fun and informationally dense as I possibly can. I don't like wasting people's time if I can avoid it. Though maybe I should trust my follower's attention span a bit more. I have this fear that if I am not constantly entertaining, people will click away or unfollow.

I think a good business for a business of ferrets would be selling pool noodles that look like ferrets.

So as long as I get roughly the same amount of notes I will do the keep reading. And then maybe people can lay off on the mean comments and occasional requests to end my own life because I bloviated about soft light.

100% true ferret fact..

If you ask a ferret what their business is, they will crawl on your shoulder and whisper in your ear...

[gr1mstar]

Timeless lover - part II

notes: this is a second part of an one shot i did a few days ago. i don’t think it will be a part III because my account is dying? i think i was reported once and from then my post don’t get much the attention anymore. how can i fix this?

contains: sukuna ryomen x f!reader, reincarnation, past lovers, curse words (not a lot of them), sfw, human sukuna (from that time when he was actually human), flashbacks, lovers to strangers, mentions of death, sick reader (in the past), sorcerer reader (present time), sukuna has sentiments?, sukuna is soft for reader, past sukuna looks kinda like itadori yuji, not the same tho, but very similar, mention of pills, slightly an au because sukuna will never be this nice, reader is older than yuji but sukuna is older? that makes sense?

check out the first part first if you didn’t already - here

“sukuna”

“sukuna. that’s my name, keep that in mind, doll” the man in front of you spoke, taking your chin in his big hands and forcing you to look him in the eyes.

‘what a shade of red…’ you thought, analyzing the irises that looked at you with almost hatred. ‘i despise red.’ you continued, continuing to look in his direction, seeing that he was not backing up.

“not afraid, i see. what a particular sight,” he muttered, finally leaving your chin alone. after some time, he took a few steps back, running his hand through his hair. “what are you exactly?”

“what do you mean?” you found yourself asking, now looking at the tree that stood tall beside you two.

“are you not afraid to die? people usually are scared of me, fearing that i would fight them and win, resulting in their death.” the man continued, taking a few steps just to be beside you.

thinking back, when you were younger you were afraid of death. it was a terrifying thought, but after all the bullshit you went through, you found yourself not having the exact same mentality.

your time was limited, death being the only thing you were certain it was coming for you. what did you have? nothing. so that’s why you set out to live your life to the fullest, or well… how much is left of it.

you were strong. stronger than others.

“no. only the weak are afraid.”

the familiar man that stood in front of you, one intimidating, now was a big puppy, his eyes showed emotions, emotions that a curse should never have. so what was different?

“my love, no time no see…” he stared, taking a few steps in your direction, his arms parting, beckoning you to come closer to him for a hug.

‘is he crazy? what happened to yuji?’ but you were never able to answer your question, because he interrupted your thoughts.

“didn't you miss me? i've been waiting for you for hundreds of years… love-”

“don’t. i am not such a thing.” now was your time to interrupt him, taking a step back. looking at your surroundings, you found megumi looking at you with shock, a light line of blood staining his face. “megumi,” you continued, addressing the back-haired boy, “run.”

“i think i will remember you always,” you confessed, looking at the man who stood behind you, a hand on your waist and the other in your hair.

looking at the sky, you could see the millions of stars smiling happily back at you. the night was peaceful, but you knew well that the following morning would not be.

“and you will never forget about the scolding you will receive tomorrow” he continued, placing a sweet kiss in your hair.

“maybe. but it was worth it. you deserve all my time”

“and you deserve all the world, my love.” was his response, closing his eyes and praying that you would be fine.

the stars were bright and you could not stop yourself from asking: ‘when i become a star too, i will shine this beautifully?’

“so. where is it?” the white-haired man asked, hands in his pocket and looking between me, megumi, and now-yuji-really-yuji.

there was a moment of silence, the sensei looking funnily at the three sorcerers. you found the silence ironic, so you tried to break it using a fake cough, but yuji beat you to it, speaking.

“i- i kinda ate that thing.”

another pause. now you were eyeing megumi, who looked somewhat constipated. it was true really, it was a very shitty moment-

“really?”

“yes, really. i am fine, kuna. you don’t need to worry, go to your mission, beat some ass, and came back to me for my cuddles, okay?” you tried to make a compromise, but the red-eye man that stood in front of you didn’t want to listen.

“i’m not going. the maid told me that you were feeling lightheaded all morning, i want to be with you-”

“but people would die if you’re not going, sukuna. i don’t want-”

“let them die fucking hell. who is more important?” he interrupted you, his angry face making you roll your eyes. he was a stubborn bitch when he wanted.

after a moment of silence, he started approaching you, taking your neck gently with his hand and making you look at him. “answer me. who is more important?”

you wanted to scream in his face that ‘the rest of the world is more important than me. who i am? a sick woman simping over a handsome man”, but you could not do that. it was going to make him more angry than he was already.

“me. i’m the important one.”

“good girl”

“so… what’s your relationship with sukuna? the king of curses, really?” the principal asked, looking from behind his glasses at you, with an eyebrow raised.

“i really don’t know. he looked at me… somewhat differently than the rest. i think he knew me from somewhere, but i don’t know.” was your response, signing and putting your head against the couch cushion.

“in any case, we must be careful. it's sukuna after all, we have to expect anything.” gojo responded, playing with his blindfold.

it was strange to see gojo wearing a blindfold reader than the glasses you were used to. the first time you saw him, you asked about it, his response making you feel bad for him.

at the same time, you could not resist asking him: “kinky much?”

“gojo is right. let’s be careful.” yoga spoke, and then continued. “now, what about yuji?”

“what about him? he would not be a part of the jujutsu high?” you found satoru asking, his now naked eye looking at yaga.

he looked so… intimidating without something covering his eyes.

“the elders want him killed.” the principal continued.

“no”

“what do you mean no?”

“i said no, kuna. meeting my parents would be a bad thing,” you said, looking at your pale hand. sukuna was playing with your fingers.

“but why?” he complained, looking like a kid who just got his candy stolen. “it could be a great opportunity to show them you are in good hands-”

“no, sukuna.” you interrupted him, taking a break from his attitude. “they would freak out and probably never allow me to meet you ever again.”

“i could kill them-” he started speaking, but you interrupted him harshly.

“absolutely not.”

“how are you feeling?”

“the same really. i mean it was pretty gross at the beginning but it went away.” yuji spoke happily, making his way to sit beside you on a bench.

the conversation you had a few minutes ago was still fresh, but you were glad that gojo was able to convince the higher-ups to not execute yuji.

“i’m glad you are okay, yuji. i heard you can control him too?”

“yes and no. i feel his presence in my mind, i can feel him too.”

“so you… you have any idea how he knows me?” you asked, a little bit of hope lingering in the air.

“not really. he always bothers me about you, but at the same time he doesn’t want to talk with you.”

“why you don’t wanna talk with me? kuna!”

you were met with silence. you could feel that he was annoyed, but somewhat you liked how he looked all… angry. he was sexy. the red eyes that stared at you a few minutes ago were now filled with jealousy, and the little crease on his forehead was just too cute to ignore.

“are you jealous?” you continued your question, tilting your head a little bit to the right to look at him better.

‘i would kill for this man’ you found yourself thinking, admiring his attractive features.

“no. i just don’t like the way he looks at you.” and then he continued, taking your head in his big hands, leaving a little kiss on the tip of the nose. “you are mine.”

“yours always.”

“he what?” you shouted, tightly clutching the phone to your ear as if it was ready to fly out of the blue.

“he ripped his heart out.” magumi answered again, then continued “you should come here, maybe say goodbye? i don’t really know.”

and so you did, and in a few minutes, you were at the jujutsu high, ready to see a poor boy who fell pray in the hands of a curse.

“you were with him?”

“yes.” the black-haired boy answered, immediately sighing. “i saw everything.”

“where was gojo?” you asked again, getting on your feet and ready to kick the white hair man’s ass.

“i don’t fucking know.”

seeing a dead person on the table was not something you were planning to see on your holiday in tokyo. yuji, now fully naked, was lying cold on the operating table. gojo just left the room to bring shoko to examine the boy, so you were all alone with a dead corpse and possibly a curse inside.

“sukuna…”

you were not sure what got into you, but somehow you found yourself talking with yuji and in the same time with sukuna.

“i know, you hate humans and shit. and i’m sorry i don’t remember you, or that i know you? i’m confused. i just… can i ask something?”

you sighed.

“can you bring yuji back? for me?”

a few minutes passed in silence. it was childish, really. thinking that ‘the king of curses’ would respond and listen to a human.

but it did. sukuna brought yuji back.

“happy birthday, princess.” started your lover, holding out a bouquet of wildflowers to you. it was not well done, some flowers were poorly placed and some even had some weeds next to them, but you appreciated the gesture.

“it’s so beautiful, kuna.” you responded, making your way to him for a kiss. “when did you have time to make thus?”

“i’ll always make time for you, you know that.” he responded, taking another sweet kiss from you. “nos, make a wish.”

“a wish?” you asked, “but didn't we need a cake for that? and candles?”

“just pretend, you know. we don’t have a cake right now, and it’s almost midnight. you show to make a wish.”

“okay, okay.” you laughed, taking the bouquet and hugging it.

‘i wish… to be with him forever’

“no! i can’t be with you. you are-”

“i’m what? last time we met, those weren’t your words, love.” the red-eyed man spoke, taking a few steps in your direction.

“it was all in the past. last time we met? that was a few weeks ago, sukuna. i don’t know you!” you shouted, keeping a fair share of distance. “i’m not your love anymore, so just give up, forget all about it.”

“i can’t do that. you know that, my love. i can’t”

“bring yuji back,” you commanded, looking at the man in front of you with despair.

he told you the truth. all your dreams and all your nightmares were just memories. memories from your past life, and so you lied to him that you didn’t remember anything, too afraid to tell the truth.

your life has just been turned upside down by a boy who ate your ex-boyfriend's finger. what a beautiful life you have, isn't it?

“kuna,” you asked, playing with your lover's hair.

“yes, princess?”

“i want you all to myself. i want to always be with you, together.”

“bring yuji back, you monster!”

“you are not a monster, kuna. you are a beautiful man, with a big heart. people just misunderstand you.”

“i hate you. i hate you, you broke me. because of you, i have insomnia, because of you i’m miserable. because of you, i used to think i’m crazy, you piece of shit”

“i love you. i will always love you. because of you, i smile more, because of you i feel alive again and because of you i will die at peace, knowing that you will be here when i wake up again, waiting for me.” you spoke gently, taking his rough hand in yours.

“promise me, kuna. promise me that you will find me in my next life, and we will be together again, even though i will not remember anything.”

“i’m not breaking my promise, princess.”

© 2024 gr1mstar — all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, repost, translate, or claim my content as yours.

the photos were taken from pinterest

tags: @wr4inn @cyzvx @sunnshinie @guinevere666 @periodbloodmanipulator @esauritamaviva @uhnanix @shadowstar123

[lina-studen]

"something floral": literature student blabbering about the usage of flower symbolism in "nevermore", how it ties to the theme of insanity and a little bit (a lot) about shakespeare.

from lenore's perspective, flowers are closely associated with isolation caused by her trauma and supposed "hysteria". floral pattern wallpaper accompanied her loneliness for days, months, even years. image of the flowers signaled that lenore's position would remain unchanged, that she was stuck, that she would continue to slowly loosing the clarity of her mind.

having torn the wallpaper off the walls, lenore believes that she will never see this image again, but flowers continue to accompanying her. lenore sees them again during her first meeting with annabel lee. and during the last one, too. she may have managed to get out of her lonely room, gain more strength in her legs, find a new friend, but lenore is still trapped. she's the daughter disowned by her parents, a stain on the family reputation that must be hidden forever. the image of flowers doesn't let her forget about it.

similar symbolism is also not alien to annabel lee. episode 66 is interesting in particular, because it directly quotes ophelia's monologue. I'm a big fan of shakespeare, it was he who instilled in me an interest in floral symbolism. a year ago, for a conference on foreign literature, I wrote an article about flower language of "hamlet". it's not available in english, but I'll list down some points that I considered relevant regarding "nevermore".

• rosemary can serve as a keepsake between lovers and also between the dead and the living. it could be seen at both weddings and funerals. in the old days it was also believed to be helpful in mental illnesses treatment.

• pansies, just like violets, symbolize innocence and devotion. ophelia doesn't consider the people around her worthy of violets, since she blames them for the death of her father.

• rue is a symbol of eternal suffering; grieving over her murdered father and the loss of her beloved hamlet, ophelia leaves some of the flowers for herself.

• the image of daisies has a close connection with the concepts of innocence, fidelity and eternal love. in shakespeare's tragedy, this symbol is overshadowed by the fact that in the world around ophelia there's no place for these beautiful things. for "nevermore" the symbol is also not so positive, since the readers are already familiar with daisies. they were on that wallpaper in lenore's room.

it's impossible not to note that annabel lee recites the monologue while in the bath, in the water. ophelia decides not to resist the river flow. her life turned into a tragedy: she was left without a father, her lover has seemingly lost his mind. her own sanity is also called into question. ophelia sings cryptic songs, goes into the field to weave a wreath, gives flowers to other characters. in the eyes of those around them, hamlet and ophelia seem crazy, while being the only sane and honest people among them. there's no place for tender, innocent ophelia in a cruel, deceitful world, so she drowns.

annabel lee also reflects on how both she and lenore are considered madwomen. her meeting with "leo" is accompanied by floral pattern on the annabel's dress. their madness is contextual, they both are perfectly sane, but don't fit into the system that could be leading to real madness with time. "all madwomen die twice. at least twice".

now about the arboretum. it obviously has a lot of flowers, but in my opinion this place is interesting in a different context. lenore and annabel visited the arboretum twice to discuss upcoming plans and such, and there are many parallels, both visual and narrative. not much time has passed since last time, but their situation has changed. they seem to look on their past selves from the upper level, having their conflict more acute now. I'll make a more detailed post about it later.

and now I'll just focus on how the characters in this arboretum full of roses behave as lost and confused as in the phobia-inducing flower labyrinth from earlier episodes. “the closer you get to beautiful flowers, the closer you get to their thorns,” says duke in episode 38. the flower imagery haunting the main characters doesn't let them forget that their sanity is always on a verge of slipping. and once a flower falls from its stem, it cannot be fixed.

p.s. guess which writer’s works I chose for a new article this year?

[lornaka]

My five cents on Tech’s fate in TBB

It’s been over three weeks since the show ended and I’ve been writing this in my head ever since, mostly to have it summed up in one post for posterity lol. I considered letting it go at this point but I know it’ll drive me crazy if I don’t get it out of my system so might as well.

So here we go, some of my rambly post-finale thoughts on Tech’s death (and a few other issues) under the cut!

Disclaimer: while this post is in critical spirit (because that’s how my brain works), I want to make clear that I have nothing but respect and gratitude towards everyone who’s worked on the show. My criticisms are of the final story as a whole as I interpret it (art is art, everything is subjective, you know the drill), but one never knows what goes into the process of making it behind the scenes, so I’m not holding anything against the creative team. I love this show dearly and am in awe of how good it is at its best, despite certain things I wish they did differently.

To begin, if I had to sum up the biggest problem that TBB writing suffers from, it would be lack of closure, and too many red herrings. Not just for Tech, but many things. Major plot threads as well as little character moments are cultivated or thrown in just to never culminate in anything or to be immediately discarded after serving the plot, some of them incredibly misleading. Some of the top examples:

- Crosshair’s chip. We never get an exploration of how the trauma of his chip activating and being left behind not only affected his motivation and choice to stay with the Empire, but his relationship with his brothers. While it was made fairly obvious, if subtly, that Crosshair became free of the chip’s influence after getting hit by the ion engine on Bracca, the narrative treated this change as if it didn’t matter at that point, while it obviously mattered a lot within the context of Crosshair’s character. Add to that all these little details with him clutching his head in s1 finale, Omega expressing her disappointment in him, and Tech’s comment on how “it is just his nature” (as if it matters!!! See what I mean about the narrative treating Cross’s chip as if it didn’t play the key part in his trajectory? They throw in this line, like we are supposed to take away that it’s simply Crosshair being Crosshair and not like, the results of brainwashing and abandonment), Wrecker blaming Crosshair for not going back to them, all while we as the audience have been shown and told repeatedly how these chips work (and so were the Batch), we ended up with an incredibly confusing situation with lots of mixed signals from the writers. And once Crosshair makes his choice to stay with the Empire in s1 finale, his chip and the confusion it brought to his relationship with his brothers is never brought up again, because the plot simply moves on.

- Cid’s betrayal. After her being a major character for two seasons with a continuous relationship build-up with Omega in particular, she is discarded as soon as her betrayal serves the plot, with all that character development getting thrown out of the window. You can be mad at Cid all you want, but to me it’s incredibly weird and wasteful to end two seasons worth of build up on that note without it having any closure for the characters, especially Omega whose whole theme is trusting people and bringing out the best in them. It’s fine if they decided to make Cid exactly what she appeared on the surface (untrustworthy and self-serving) after playing around with her potentially growing through her fondness of Omega, but then at the very least the betrayal should’ve had an impact on the characters, Omega most of all. Even just one casual line from Omega in s3 about how Cid’s betrayal impacted her emotionally, however minimally, would have solved that problem. And no, CX-2 mentioning how he extracted info on Phee from her off screen absolutely doesn’t count as closure, because I’m talking about emotional closure for the main pov characters as well as the audience. Cid had a presence for two seasons, then as soon as she executed her role as a traitor to further the plot, she was discarded like she was a random extra.

- Emerie’s relationship with Hemlock. We are led to believe that he basically raised her, instilling in her the idea that she had no chance without him and owed her purpose and “safety” to him. You can’t tell me that this didn’t deeply affect her struggle and eventual decision to break away from all that and choose to help the kids, basically betraying Hemlock. I get that the show only had so much screen time and Emerie is a supporting character in season 3 at best, but common, she has more tension with Dr. Scalder than Hemlock while the potential for this rich deep conflict between them is right there.

I can probably list more smaller examples but this is getting long and I don’t want to go on any more tangents, so, finally, the biggest example of lack of closure and tendency of TBB writing to display foreshadowing that leads nowhere:

Tech’s death.

First of all, I’ll die on the hill that it wasn’t denial or delusion that led to such a big portion of the audience to believe that Tech didn’t really die in s2. If we look at the facts:

- there was no body

- it’s the finale of season 2 out of 3, pretty early for one of the main titular characters to get killed off

- the only/last character to allegedly see Tech after his fall is a villainous scientist who is known to experiment on clones specifically

- not a fact but: the whole scene with Hemlock presenting Tech’s goggles to Hunter was incredibly suspicious. In hindsight, I think the whole purpose of it was so that the Batch got Tech’s goggles back in their possession as a memento (and to show how evil Hemlock is to rub it into Hunter’s face like that) but it was executed in a way that read as something much more. It read as if Hemlock was going out of his way to convince us/Hunter of Tech’s death, but with us knowing who Hemlock is, his background in experimenting on clones, everything screams at us to not trust a word he says. Is it really so surprising that so many of the viewers immediately jumped at the conclusion that something more was going on there?

- Hunter’s (lack of) reaction/immediate narrative fall-out. More on that later as I address lack of emotional impact of Tech’s death in s3.

- it’s Star Wars. And there was no body.

So yeah, to me, it is completely justified that so many people read that whole thing as open to speculation at the very least, foreshadowing Tech’s survival at most.

Personally, I was 70% sure Tech was truly dead prior to s3, but not because the text told me so, but because at that point I was used to the show’s writing regularly sending out mixed signals, and a part of me was resigned to Tech’s death becoming another example of the writer’s intent clashing with their accidental empty foreshadowing.

As season 3 aired and the whole CX-2 plot was unfolding alongside continued lack of closure for Tech’s fate, my hope for Tech Lives reveal grew and grew, but in the end my initial doubt was proven right, unfortunately.

Oh, CX-2.. what a mess. You can’t tell me the creators went over all of these scenes, all of these lines, looked at the whole picture and *didn’t* see how it was incredibly easy to interpret CX-2 as potentially being Tech with all these little potential parallels. “Domicile” alone.

If they didn’t want us to entertain the idea that it could be Tech, they could’ve done it differently, but for some reason, they chose to leave that space for speculation. My question is, why?

If they truly wanted us to believe Plan 99 was it, Tech’s Noble End that we were supposed to take as this dramatic super emotional ultimate sacrifice and all that, then why would they not make it clear that CX-2 couldn’t be Tech? Why breed confusion? And breed confusion they did. It’s hard for me to believe they didn’t foresee the “ohh is it Tech?” speculation.

When so many members of the audience immediately and individually jump at a theory or have the same take away from the story they are being told, yet the authors say it wasn’t meant to be taken that way, something went seriously wrong with the writing.

I don’t like to speculate on such things because we will probably never know for certain, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they had at some point considered CX-2 being Tech or at least something more for the whole CX plot thread, but changed and reshuffled things at the last minute for whatever reasons.

Which is fine and understandable. But it brings me to the heart of my biggest issue with how Tech’s fate was handled:

lack of impact and closure.

Let’s disregard all the Tech Lives theories for a moment and focus on what we did get: Tech, one of the main characters, getting killed off at the end of s2 out of 3, for stakes and consequences and NOTHING else. When I say nothing, I mean nothing.

Imagine, for a moment, he survived and stayed with the Batch. Nothing would have changed, in the grand scheme of things. Nothing. We wouldn’t have had a few obligatory “Tech mention, everyone feel sad now” throwaway lines/goggle shots and whatnot, sure, but that’s it.

Tech dying didn’t change the trajectory of the plot in any way, nor did it affect any of the other characters in a way that changed their trajectory. And anything less is simply not enough to justify killing one of your main characters. Stakes and consequences ain’t it.

Consider Mayday, for example: a supporting character, but his death in s2 affected Crosshair in such a way it completely redirected his journey, AND in s3 we got an episode that cemented the impact Mayday had on Crosshair and provided emotional closure for them. That’s a narratively meaningful death.

Tech’s death was not meaningful to the narrative beyond removing him from it. That’s why so many Tech fans insist he deserved better treatment: not only was he not present in one third of the show physically, but he lacked any sort of presence even in death. His absence was never processed or grieved by any of the main characters and so by extension by the audience.

And before anyone starts with the whole ‘they are soldiers/they had no time to grieve/etc’ arguments, it is the responsibility of the writers to provide the space for all of that emotional impact. It they don’t, there is no impact.

A few reactions here and there, moments of missing Tech as a person and a brother, not an asset, anything would have made this whole thing easier to accept.

The lines that we did get, from Omega mentioning the stuff Tech taught her to Echo commenting on how decryption would be easier if Tech was with them to “Clone Force 99 died with Tech” from Crosshair - each and every single one of those lines linked to Tech’s functions as part of the squad, his usefulness, but we didn’t get a single line in remembrance of him as a person of his own, no one missed or remembered him for himself or his personal impact on them.

Just one line from Omega about how he taught her about change being a constant part of life or whatever, or Wrecker making a comment on how Tech used to info dump about stuff, anything would have instantly provided that much needed sense of “he was here, he was a person and is still a part of us”. Instead, Tech was killed off to show that messing with the Empire is dangerous and risks are real, I guess, and immediately lost any and all presence within the story.

We never even got to see Crosshair’s or Phee’s reactions to losing him.

Speaking of Crosshair, that’s a whole other example of complete lack of closure: they never closed the loop on the family being reunited again after initially leaving Crosshair behind, and with Tech dead, it’ll forever stay broken.

They could’ve given this a bittersweet yet meaningful spin if they developed the angle of Tech dying on a mission to bring Crosshair home, making a sacrifice so Crosshair had a chance.

Instead, the moment Tech dies, we get Hunter (and through him, the narrative) immediately abandon the idea/plot thread of going to rescue Cross all while saying “let’s not waste Tech’s sacrifice”. Sacrifice for what? Clearly Hunter doesn’t see it as a sacrifice for Crosshair’s sake, so, what, to make sure the rest of them makes it from the mission? The mission to save Crosshair. That mission. Right.

I see people talking about Tech’s noble sacrifice that ensured his family got to live and eventually have their happy ending, but all I can think about is how the creators chose to have him die on a mission that was immediately abandoned and the only take away from that whole sub plot was Tech’s own demise.

And after Crosshair is back with the Batch, his reaction to Tech’s death is never explored at all.

So yes, to me Tech deserved so much better. If you are going to kill off a major character, it must be necessary to be compelling. The way I see it, Tech’s death was not necessary at all because it didn’t change anything. And if it was meant to, the creators failed to communicate that by choosing not to explore the emotional impact of it and not structuring certain story beats in a more precise manner.

To wrap this up, if the way Tech’s death was handled was satisfying for you, that’s valid and I’m glad for you. For me, unfortunately, it’s completely the opposite and will forever remain the biggest and most unfortunate low point in the story.

And while I welcome anyone to share their own perspective if they wish, please don’t take this post as an invitation for debate, since there is no one right or wrong way to interpret or be affected by art.

[fulltacs]

fuck it. free the blocklist.

tw for ableism, death threats, cw for general rage-inducing behavior

this is not exhaustive, this is a starting point. BLOCK these people, do not interact.

- literally anyone who interacts with @/ladygoth at this point. I don’t doubt that she and her friends are responsible for at least half of the hate anons received by darkfic writers

- as for the people who were “protecting” codslut/Myka… they’ve all been in my notifs liking my update post and un-liking sheheals post and deleting anything they might’ve said on the situation. yay, I guess. I may have unblocked you, but the other nosy people following everything certainly didn’t.

- on a related note, anyone who goes by “Myka” or “Hannah” gets blocked ON SIGHT (half-joking). I don’t care if that’s your name (please don’t put your real name on the internet) you better make up a new one 😤

- /bookobsessedram, /mothymunson, @starry-eyedblog , /ghostsbimbo, @ghostlywhiskey and @ghostly-whiskey, /angelofacidx, and @ladyxtiger were all involved in being assholes in the discord as seen here. not pictured: /bjornthebearguy and someone going by “spiders” in the server (not to be confused with /notspiders, my bad). and i’m sorely disappointed in /bunnyreaper, as mod, for letting them continue to chase people off, even though it had been brought to their attention before.

AND ESPECIALLY @simonrillleyyysss and @simonrillleyyyysss2 and @joostyklein (all their known alts). As a matter of fact, fuck everyone who’s friends with them (including /konigsblog). Jordi, G***, whatever the fuck you’re going by, I am so fucking sick of seeing your name in my DMs. So many people messaged me to say it was you and your gang’s hateful behavior that drove them away from the fandom, and I can vouch for some of them because I was there the whole time. What the fuck is wrong with you guys. I have a hard time believing your apology means ANYTHING when you used the discord to lead a brigade on Bo back in January, and CLEARLY HAVEN’T STOPPED being an asshole since then (“I still don’t like soapskneebrace either way”). Bo and Madi were not your only victims, again, there were quite a few others who came forward. You bullied anyone who disagreed with you and at the end of the day you only care about your follower count.

The craziest part is that most of the people we watched you bully are open about their autism diagnosis. And this was just a casual observation I made, not even an accusation, but five minutes later you make your first-ever very casual not-at-all-sus claim of having autism.

do you think we were born fucking yesterday. Trying to get ahead of ableism accusations by suddenly claiming to be autistic, even if true, is not gonna have the effect you thought it would, cause I wasn’t the only person who clocked that as WEIRD. (Internalized ableism is still ableism, btw.)

Just shut the fuck up. For once. It’s THAT SIMPLE. Leave everyone alone. Make your little posts without feeling the need to be assholes to other people.

Fun fact: I have received no death or rape threats in my anon mail, and maybe that’s because I’m not a very big blog. Or maybe it’s cause I know what all your fucking faces look like (hello, internet safety where?). I said fuck all y’all yesterday and I stand by that. Hopefully your time here is met with the same amount of love you’ve shown your peers.

[loserboyfriendrjl]

marauders era unpopular opinions, once more

i really don’t like fanon regulus. i don’t like him being helpless and kind and a sirius variant. he’s morally grey, leaning towards morally dark, he’s selfish, he agreed to his parents’ and voldemort’s ideologies, having joined the death eaters most likely by his own will (unlike draco malfoy). but obviously, everyone is allowed to characterise characters the very way they want to

and while we’re on it, i don’t like evan and barty either, for the same reason. maybe i would, if they were realistically characterised (i LOVE reading morally grey or morally dark(er) characters), and once again, i believe that just because one likes a character, that doesn’t always mean that the character is a good person

and continuing on the same topic, the sunshine james potter, although being a topic that i like and delved deeper into myself, is nice, but i would also love to see more of arrogant, spoiled james potter, too

not liking severus snape and peter pettigrew but liking evan, barty and regulus is kind of hypocritical

i don’t like jegulus

i also don’t like the casanova, bad boy characterisation of remus, and the helpless, needy characterisation of sirius either. to me, they’re out of character, overly done and absolutely not enjoyable

and because i earlier mentioned severus snape, i think he’s an interesting character, actually. that doesn’t make him a good person (once again, i believe him to be morally grey, too) and i can’t call myself a lover of his, however i find his story and character very interesting and compelling

i don’t like a lot of the wolfstar dynamics in current fandom

“we need more content about the girls!” literally do it yourself. please. whenever i write content about the men, i get a wave of new followers, and whenever i post about the non-men, suddenly i have tebs of people unfollowing me. oh, and my posts about the men have twice or thrice the notes of the other ones

sirius > regulus

and speaking of which, sirius is such an interesting character, and he was reduced by many people to nothing, or whatever is relevant to the plot

james would pick sirius over regulus any time, with literally no hesitation

i don’t care about popular fics (read or don’t read, i generally don’t read popular fics to be honest), however i do care about the way creators, especially writers, are treated in this fandom. i made a few posts about this topic, feel free to ask me to link them to you, but the way some people feel entitled to fic and fandom content is horrible

“x is the female version of— !” please stop. i’m going to stop you right here.

stop tagging jegulus and wolfstar and other mlm ships with wlw and nmlnm tags, for god’s sake. you’re just clogging the tag, and if i came looking for a certain ship, that’s what i’m going to expect to find. besides, why would you tag jegulus with, say, pandalily, when jegulus is by far more popular?

jegulus < jily

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

01/15/2024 Crew Recap

Hey all, today has been a very very very long day. I’m typing this with my eyeballs glazed over and half open. However, so much has happened in such a little amount of time I wanted share a few things before I pass out I know a lot of you are in different timezones, are busy with life, and taking a break, so maybe this will help with parsing through some of the crazy stuff the crew has been up to.

The petition hit 50K, and is at 52.5K at the moment

Fundraisers: I didn’t even realize there were two different fundraisers for Palestine/Gaza going on but we blew both out of the water. (Note: the second picture is from a November campaign but I think its just as important to highlight— ty for the correction anon!)

The Emmys hashtag turn out was great tonight. There was some pretty amazing and creative stuff going on across all the platforms. Some can be seen on IG, but if you wanna see the majority of it, check out twitter #SaveOFMD #75thEmmys

---We have new ways of protesting and advocating for our show, see here for the thread on tumblr (from twitter):---

And to support that @saltpepperbeard was kind enough to put together a wonderful guide on how to Call It Through as a Crew: Alleviating Some Phone Anxiety which as someone who is socially anxious and sometimes verbally vomits on people when on the phone, is AMAZING and thank you so much for doing that to help.

-- > There is also this new thread on some new places to call into. Don't quote me on that being an official thing we should do, I'm sure @renewasacrew and others will have more in the AM, I just wanted to share it so people could follow if they wanted to.

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

New Articles!

Our Flag Means Death: Here’s why season three deserves to be aired

Petition to save BBC show with rare Rotten Tomatoes score gets 50,000 signatures

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

There's so much more that's happened today-- but I can't write it all down because my brain is couscous.

<---So instead, I'm going to use this last part to gush over you all and your amazing contributions in all your unique ways. The community support the last few days has been SO INCREDIBLY UPLIFTING.-->

I saw (and experienced) people reblogging asks where random followers, anons, and mutuals just reached out and sent love because they could tell people were struggling.

I've seen comments all over the place on Tumblr, IG, Twitter, and Facebook where each and every person is encouraging each other to speak their mind, or complimenting their artwork, encouraging them if they were feeling uncomfortable with things outside their comfort zones, coming up with new and exciting ways to fight back, people reaching out to the cast/crew just to say hi and remind them we love them.

I've seen Self-Care checkpoints all over, reminding people to drink water, take a break, block your notifications for a while, not engaging in negative behavior.

I've seen people being so nice on instagram posts that the people who were being dicks about all our comments turned around and decided to watch OFMD!

I saw so many people doing new analysis of scenes and characters, and having really deep and friendly discussions that make everyone think in new ways.

I saw people digging through old tumblrs to bring life back to old posts and artwork.

I saw so much NEW artwork, new FICS! New GIFS! So much new art and love!

I could literally go on and on, but I've just...I had to dump this out of my brain otherwise I'd explode. I've just seen so much today that continues to make me so proud of our little safe space ship and so happy to be apart of this community.

You all continue to be the best of the best of humans, and I am so very grateful to get to witness and be apart of it. Rest up lovelies and have a good day / night, wherever you may be. May you dream of sexy middle-aged gay men kissing, or hugging, or whatever else you want them to be getting into.

[lacrimosathedark]

THAT'S IT! This is a Janet Drake Defense Post

As may be obvious, I spend a lot of time reading fanfic. And there's this trend that drives me nuts, and it's villainizing Janet Drake.

I'm not gonna say she's an A+ mother. She's not. She chose her career and adventures over spending time with her child much of the time. But fandom portrays her as some rich pompous ice queen, which is never shown.

Janet Drake mostly appears in the story Tim's introduced, and in the story she dies.

So, let's start from the top: Haly's Circus.

This event is the only time we see her really interacting with Tim before her death, but it shows that at least when he was young, she was an active part of his life. She was worried about bringing Tim because it might scare him. And then rightfully scolds her husband for being sexist because Jack Drake actually IS a jerk.

...I don't like the art in this comic. Or that the writer doesn't know how kids speak.

But Janet is being supportive of Tim's clear interest in Dick's performance.

And then tragedy strikes and she acts like, y'know, a mother.

Her priority is getting her son and herself out of there.

Also worth noting that the Drakes sent a copy of that final photo of the Graysons TO Dick, which is how he has it at all. If both of them were stuck up pricks, would they even bother sending a photo to a grieving child performer they hardly know? I can't imagine Jack really bothering, but I don't see why Janet wouldn't.

And then, by the time she's dying, we know that Tim's parents have been away for a very long time, he never knows where they are, but they've communicated enough that he knows that they've been fighting.

They're passive aggressive to say the least. This marriage is clearly not working anymore.

EDIT CUZ I REMEMBERED A THING:

It's worth noting that this is a time before smartphones. This comic was released in 1990, which was when pre-paid mobile phones had just started existing. Coverage isn't universal NOW, so back then it was even less, and Jack and Janet are archeologists (or archeologist adjacent?) so they're going to be in less developed and populated areas most of the time. It's unlikely they'd have consistent access to a functional phone that could call the states to talk to Tim regularly.

This isn't to defend their absence, because fuck that, but it's to give it some context. I don't think they were trying to ignore or abandon Tim. Communication was just not readily available and Janet seems to get wrapped up in work...and Jack's an asshole.

Also for note, Janet is probably the one sending Tim postcards in the first place. It being signed "Mom and Dad" is what makes me think that. Jack would have put himself first if he wrote it, it woulda said "Dad and Mom". That's admittedly pure speculation, BUT IT FITS SOOOOOO

My thought is if this were made modern, Janet would be sending extremely scattered texts and Tim would get next to nothing from Jack unless Janet prompted him.

END EDIT

(Fair warning, this story is a few levels of Yikes, but I'm gonna stay on topic)

Bad guy Obeah Man does...something? to the pilot, and they crash, and he has a group of people kidnap the Drakes and their assistant Jeremy.

Danger really puts some things in perspective, for Janet, at least. And that continues for her. Jack is a bit delusional and in denial, thinking he has any control of the situation.

They are tied up and filmed for ransom, their assistant killed right in front of them.

Jack just keeps raging, but Janet is having regrets. Notice how she doesn't cry until Tim is brought up. Could be nothing, could be something.

And then she dies.

Her only other major appearance is when Tim is having a fever dream from the Clench and everything is kind of okay for a minute.

Tim very clearly loves his mom. And we may not get a lot of characterization for her, but she's not cold or callous like people write her constantly.

And now, we finally have a little more about her as of Batman 134.

I haven't really been keeping up since the Gotham War stuff because What The Fuck Was That My Guy, but I recently saw this specific comic.

The multiverse is fucked up again, some way some how, and Bruce is lost (again) and Tim has to get him back (again). This time, Tim is going in after him. But he doesn't end up going straight to Bruce.

He goes to see an alt of his mom.

Tim missed her so much that he ended up going to her before Bruce.

And her immediate reaction is to run up and hug him. Does that look like a mother who doesn't love her son?

"Do you have anyone to take care of you?"

"I don't know how this happened, this miracle...but I just know, in my heart of hearts, it was to show me...that every version of my son is a good one."

Tell me again that this woman is heartless and didn't want her son, I fucking dare you.

And we get more meaning to the name "Robin" and a little crumb about Tim's grandmother. As a treat.

This is all to say, please stop writing Janet Drake as a cold, heartless bitch.

Small final note though: Jack Drake is, in fact, a shitty person and a shitty father. He does still love Tim and Tim loves him AND THAT IS NOT UP FOR DEBATE, but the relationship is a mess. If either parent is actively abusive, it's 1000% Jack "smashed a TV because my son wasn't listening to me and threatened Bruce Wayne at gunpoint" Drake. Probably part of why the marriage was falling apart.

Anyway, yeah, let's retire the "Jack and Janet Drake are Bad Parents" tag and replace it with "Jack Drake is a Bad Parent" and "Janet Drake's C+ Parenting" or something.

[lycheedr3ams]

Death's Angel

Part 6: Escape

royal!fem!reader x executioner!konig

Summary: It's 1554. You're one of the eight daughters of the Austrian royal family, and your parents do everything they can to ensure their kingdom is prosperous and peaceful. No royal court is complete without their hand-picked executioner, one who stands out against the sea of black, faceless bodies that make up the profession. It just so happens that your family's new executioner, one who has made a name for himself far and wide for his skill with the axe, has caught your eye and ruined you for good.

Warnings: MDNI! smut, mutual pining, forbidden love, death (konig is an executioner duh), mean sisters, mentions of medieval-type violence, overbearing parents, konig is brooding and a perv, some predator/prey dynamics, possessive!konig, maybe dark themes bc reader likes seeing him kill people and bc he's a perv?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 7

IMPORTANT NOTE: the taglist is getting too long for me to manage, so this will be the last post that I will have a taglist for. i appreciate all the support!!! just be sure to check my blog for future updates. if you aren't on the taglist but asked to be here, either i missed you or tumblr won't let me @ you also, we are nearing the end! I think this is gonna have 8 parts. thank you for your support!!!!

.......

series inspired by the art below!

konig's promise of taking you away at any moment you asked him weighed on you for weeks. the more you grew attached to him, the harder it was to hide your relations with him. you couldn't exactly go on proper dates in his cold, dark room in the castle basement. he couldn't take you on picnics, take you on carriage rides, or anything that any normal couple would do. you weren't a normal couple. you were a princess, and he an executioner. you two were never supposed to even speak with one another.

the one thing, the one romantic thing that you could do in his room, was dance with him. konig didn't know how to dance. he only knew the dance of an axe over the chopping block and how to sharpen its edges with stone. he was hesitant at first, but loved how close to you he could be. he was quite clumsy, and he'd frequently step on your toes every now and then. but each time he did it, you smiled.

"it's okay, konig. you'll get the hang of it," you'd say as you smiled up at him sweetly. he would quietly nod and furrow his brow in concentration as he danced with you.

his hand would be so gently laid on your waist, and his large hand on your shoulder grounded you and kept you in the moment. it didn't matter what mean thing your sisters had said to you, or the fact that you couldn't care less about your provincial duties. when you were with konig, when he was touching you, you were there, and that was all you knew.

but his hood always remained on. you asked him, once, if you could see his face, and all he answered with was a quiet "no" and you never broached the subject again.

...

"konig," you said to him after you two had danced and then made love. truly, made love. it was so soft, and he pressed so many kisses on your neck and boobs and back. konig always grew a little soft after you two danced.

"ja, liebe?" he asked as he gently stroked your hair.

"do...do you think we could...leave, soon?" you whispered as you gently balled up your fist.

his hand stopped in your hair for a moment, but he quickly resumed his gentle caresses. he breathed deeply. "it's as i said. say the word, and we go."

"i...i want to go soon, konig. i don't know where. just far from here."

"how soon?" he asked.

"next week," you said before he could even finish his question. this had been on your mind for so long. konig changed you, the night he asked what you would do if you weren't a princess. you'd been fantasizing about having your own cottage with him, being able to garden and tend to your animals everyday while he was a blacksmith, maybe, or a mercenary. the cathedral ceilings and polished dinner plates of your castle no longer appealed to you.

konig kept caressing your hair. "and how far?"

you gulped. "could we...leave the country? just go to a neighboring one. right near the border."

konig thought for a moment. "ja, we can. i know of a village just beyond the mountains. you will like it. i will build a house for you."

you smiled against his bare chest. "i'll build it with you, konig."

he shook his head gently as he squeezed you. "nein. i will build a house for you, by myself."

"if you insist," you said as you pressed a gentle kiss to his chest. "a house for us, konig. us."

konig was silent for a little while. you were growing worried, but he finally replied. "a house for us, meine Engel. i will build a house for us."

"i've already begun to stow away some of my savings," you whispered as if you feared the stone walls had ears. "we will be set for life."

"do not worry about that, Engel," konig said confidently. "i will take care of you."

"i know you will," you said gently. "but you'll be giving up your profession for me. i want to repay you in anyway that i can."

"there is no need for that," he said quietly as he held you closer. "you are worth more to me than all the riches in the world."

your heart fluttered as you closed your eyes and relaxed against him. your cheeks grew warm and you smiled.

"i love you, konig," you whispered as if it were the most normal thing in the world to say. once you processed what you just said, your eyes shot open, but your face stayed glued to his chest so that he couldn't see. you held your breath.

"and I love you, meine schatz," he said as he gently pressed a kiss to your head through his hood. you looked up at him with gleaming eyes, and he lifted his hood up slightly to kiss you.

you made love again that night. the words that had lingered in silence for so long had finally been spoken. he put you in missionary, focused entirely on your face as he filled you so gently yet so fully. his hard, smooth cock dragged slowly along your slick walls, and you moaned into his mouth as he kissed you.

"i will do anything for you, Engel," he rasped into your ear as he filled you. "i will take care of you."

"konig!" you moaned. you looked up at him, cock-drunk and in love. "i'm yours. i'm yours." a few tears escaped your eyes.

you kissed him again, and your fate with him was sealed.

...

a few days had passed since that night. the day you and konig were planning to run away was quickly approaching. you had packed a few things in a spare backpack, including the trinkets he gave you through the course of your relationship. you hid the gold entitled to you interspersed through socks and underwear in your backpack. you looked out the window of your bedroom out over the castle grounds, and felt resolved. you were ready to leave this life behind, and just be. with konig.

you got dressed in your room as normal, and made your way down to the banquet hall for breakfast. but when you reached the banquet hall, you found three of your sisters shouting to your parents. your other sisters sat as still as statues at the dining table. all heads turned towards you as you stepped in.

"what's going on?" you asked nervously.

"you harlot!" one of your sisters exclaimed. your mother and father looked like they had seen a ghost. you looked around, and the room was spinning.

"you've been sleeping with the executioner!" another sister yelled as she held up a black executioner's hood. that was one of konig's gifts to you, and you thought it would be kept it safe in your bedside table.

"you went in my room!?" you yelled.

"guards! get the executioner at once!" your father yelled. time began to move slowly. your sisters were screaming, the guards' metal armor clinked and clacked as they ran down to search for the executioner, your mother hugged you tightly in fear. but all you could think, the one thing that managed to keep you grounded in the ensuing chaos, was konig.

you thrashed out of your mother's embrace and ran faster than you ever had in your life to find him. the guards could run, but not as fast as you in their armor. you ran to the only place he would be at this time in the morning.

you burst through the castle doors and ran, panting, up to konig, who was sharpening his axe in the blacksmith's hut. he looked up at you happily at first, but his expression changed when he saw the tears flowing from your eyes.

"konig! konig! they know! they know!" you yelled as you panted. konig looked over you and saw half a dozen guards running towards him with swords drawn.

you looked up at him, your eyes wet and puffy, your dress wrinkled and heels broken.

"come," he said as he picked you up in one motion. you yelped, but held onto him as he ran towards the stables. the alarm bell was ringing in the castle as all guards now saw the executioner running off carrying a princess towards the only escape. your siblings and parents watched from the great porch with horrified expressions.

"i'm so sorry konig," you cried into his shoulder as he ran.

"shh, shh," he soothed between breaths. "i told you i would take care of you, didn't i?"

you nodded and gently squeezed him. you finally reached the stables, which had been unattended momentarily during the chase, and konig threw you on top of the biggest horse before putting on its bridle and getting on in front of you. there was no time to put on a saddle.

"hold on, Engel!" he yelled before smacking the reins against the horse's neck. you held onto his hard, tree-like torso as he kicked the horse with his heels, and it shot off through the stables. the guards that had made it to the stable doors were swept back as your horse sprinted through.

you looked behind and saw that there were now three mounted guards following you. "konig!"

he spurred the horse on faster, but the main castle grounds gate was already closed. "hold on, this will be bumpy!" konig yelled. he sharply turned the horse around and you flew over the castle grounds as he guided the horse towards the hidden exit behind the grounds, past the gardens. the guards' horses were fast, but no match for the bestial horse konig had chosen.

you buried your face in his back as the wind whipped by you and the ground rolled under your feet like waves. the alarm bells sounded louder over the grounds as panic rose, echoing against the stone walls of the castle, and screaming could be heard from servants out in the fields as you passed.

your horse jumped over the hedge at the edge of the grounds, the guards far behind, and you fled with konig through uncharted wilderness with nothing but the clothes on your backs.

taglist: @kneelingshadowsalome, @plumdreadful, @dumb-dumb-idiot-girl, @elichisstuff, @konig-breedme, @tr4psta, @cutiecusp, @konigsleftkidney, @local-vampire-s1ut, @ihaveaproblematicbrain, @twice360noscope, @madzeesstuff, @crazy-phan-girl13, @babygirl-panda19, @warrior-of-justice, @eluffi, @mooniesthings, @elowynnlane, @zaxlrza, @red-bed-bug, @alexdoesntlikeyou, @helmipss, @11aplacesange11, @rouge-swears, @pasta-m1lk, @ghostinvenus

[angelofsmalldeaath]

work song — a.h.b.

a/n: full disclosure, i've posted this before on tumblr for something else. but i love this piece very much and i think it fits for him and this song so well 🤍 (it's gone under quite a few edits too, though)

cw: mentions of death but of well that's a given

the artist flicks through the feature. 

her name is printed in big letters on the cover of the monthly issue, her face—smiling and excited—next to the centrepiece of her latest art collection: cupid and psyche. 

the painting is stunning, a riot of bold colours and patterns, but at the centre is a man, his face hidden, his red-brown curls tousled. his body is relaxed, she thinks there's an air of carefreeness about him. 

and she'd know that for sure, after all that day is etched into her memory. 

when she feels a familiar pair of arms wrap around her, she smiles. 

“you're rather proud of the feature, aren't you?” his voice holds a little teasing note. she's stared at the feature for close to thirty minutes now, discreetly pinching herself in the same spot on her arm. (it sports a tiny, barely-there bruise now) 

“good,” he nuzzles his face into her neck, softly kissing the skin, “you should be. the exhibit was fucking gorgeous.”

“mmm, because you were the centrepiece?” fondly, she teases back, but the memory flashes in front of her eyes—the bustling art gallery, him in a corner, wearing a plain hoodie and jeans and a cap hiding half of his face, absolutely brimming with pride. 

she remembers the journalists asking about the man in all the paintings, the one whose face no one can see. “he's my muse,” she says every time, “this collection is dedicated to him.” 

“someone's going to connect the dots,” he walks around her, settling himself next to her on the settee. instantly, they rearrange themselves into a tangle—her legs on his lap, his arm around her, her head on his shoulders, his head on hers. “if they looked carefully, they'll make the connection.” 

“sweet boy, we have been each other's muse for years now and no one's found out. i don't think they're going to start now. besides,” she snorts, “i think the art world thinks i've made you up in my mind. won’t be the first time an artist's gone insane.”

he laughs a hearty laugh. “maybe you have. you always say i'm too good to be true.”

when she can't think of a retort, she sticks her tongue out, shrieking away as he smothers her in kisses. 

“seriously though, it's fun writing about you. singing about you. and i love seeing myself through your eyes.” suddenly he sounds all sober and serious. she thinks his voice even wavers slightly at the end. he blinks quickly though, and just like that the brightness in his eyes is gone. 

“love it when you write about me too,” she teases, “love being told i give you a toothache just from kissing you.”

“oi! i put my heart into that! it's a precious memory for me.”

“the memory of me taking care of you when you were burning up a fever? the memory of you demanding more kisses?”

he giggles like a teenager, hiding his face in her hair. it's fun to rile him up like this, so she continues, poking him in the ribs. “oh, oh, is it the memory of you passing the flu to me?” 

“we took care of each other though!” he traps both her hands in his so she won’t be able to poke him more. a second passes, and he can’t resist kissing the knuckles. “and so you deserve to have a song written about you. or a whole album works too i think.”

he pauses for a little then tuts. “actually, no. don't wanna tell anyone it's about you, that'll ruin the magic.”

“ruin the magic?” 

“of being your muse and having you as mine. a hundred years from now, when people would see your art as the artwork of this generation, and my music as the tune of our times—”

“tune of our times...”

“yeah, quit laughing at me!” he flicks her nose, kissing it right after. “so when my music becomes the tune of our times, i think people will see it then. they will make the connections.”

secretly, she loves the idea—that their love might transcend time and space, heaven and hell through their art. that decades from now their names might be whispered together, even though they aren’t just yet. 

“of course, we'll be buried together by then. same grave by the way, very romeo and juliet of us.”

“that's morbid!” she laughs sharply, “what will the epitaph say?”

he hums for a bit, thinking. his eyes flutter shut for a second or two, almost like he needs to focus on the half formed thought until it's a complete sentence. then he excitedly clears his throat and gently holds her face between his hands. 

“here lie the artist and the muse; inspiring each other in death as they did in life.”

[theabysss]

Hearts

pairing: sagau!Childe x Reader

summary: After Child completed your task, he returned to you with a gift.

warnings: religious + cult themes, possessive & obsessive thoughts, cannibalism, mentions of people's deaths, suggestive.

word count: 850

note: I post again at night, it seems it is becoming a bad habit. I need to do something about it. And I, successfully survived more than half of my exams, there is still a little bit left and I will be free. ＼(￣▽￣)／

Childe enters your throne room, bringing with him the thick, iron smell of blood. In his left hand, he firmly holds the casket by the handle, slippery with blood. Inside was his gift to you and he hoped you would like it. His eyes light up when he sees you sitting on the throne. Your elegant posture, full of superiority, the feeling of your power at the border of his consciousness - you were perfection, a true deity.

You gesture to him to come closer and he immediately obeys. The soft carpet leading to your throne muffles Childe's steps, he kneels in front of you at the very throne and bows his head.

"Ajax, have you dealt with those infidels?" His real name escaping from your lips will ignite the blood in his veins.

"Yes, Your Grace, no one is left alive and I gave each of the apostates the most painful death." Childe's voice is full of pride, he carried out your order, maybe you even praise him, he would really like it.

When you lift his chin and Childe meets your eyes, your beautiful eyes, he swallows noisily, enjoying the sight of your features.

"Good boy, I knew you wouldn't disappoint me." You put your hand on Ajax's cheek, completely oblivious to the blood.

Childe blissfully closes his eyes, and tilts his head, trying to cling to your palm even stronger. There is nothing that he could not do for you, because you were his everything. Give him any task and he will complete it no matter how difficult it is, just to hear you call him that again.

"I have a present for you Your Grace." Childe hands you a fairly large casket with both hands. His blue eyes, half-closed with fluffy eyelashes, burn with loyalty and reverence.

You place the carved casket on your lap and open the lid. When you see the contents you take your breath away; human hearts lie one on top of the other on scarlet velvet. You touch one of them, heart is warm and quietly continues to beat, as if not realizing that it has not been in the chest of its owner for a long time.

"It's beautiful." Your voice is full of admiration and you smile at Childe happily like never before.

"I'm very glad about that Your Grace." Childe smiles back at you and your imagination draws a fox tail wagging from side to side behind him.

Childe tilts his head and rubs his temple against your knee, silently begging for affection. You chuckle briefly at his behavior, but yield and bury your blood-stained fingers in his hair.

"I hope you enjoy the taste, Your Grace." Childe lets out a pleased hum as you scratch his earlobe with your fingernails. Your hand running through his hair made him feel butterflies in his stomach.

"Do you want to try?"

You whisper this question into Ajax's ear and a wave of goosebumps runs down his spine. Your warm breath, lips lightly touching his ear and your wonderful seductive voice, Childe hardly suppresses a sob that almost breaks from his lips.

"I would consider it a great honor, Your Grace." His voice trembles, he would take anything from your hands.

You take out one of the hearts and bring it to Childe's lips, he obediently takes a bite and blood splatters on his face. The rest you quickly eat up with your mouth wide open, much wider than a human could, and for a second you demonstrate your sharp fangs.

"Sweet." Childe licks his lips and looks into your eyes faithfully.

You absolutely love his blood-covered face, those blue eyes that make him look innocent and hide the monster from the abyss that he was. His chaotic nature, passion for battle, cruelty and complete immorality, which is why he was one of your favorite followers.

You run your thumb over his lip, smearing the blood and Childe playfully tries to lick your finger, after which you put the casket on the floor to make it more convenient to perform your next steps.

Childe's breath catches when he feels your lips on his and when you deepen the kiss, passionately responds to you. With trembling hands, he clutches at your shoulders, desperately trying to pull you closer. When, due to a careless movement, your fang scratches Childe's lip, he only groans, welcoming the taste of blood, which is now even more intense. The hot dance of your tongues, the way your palm moved from his neck to his chest, made his legs tremble and give way.

As you pull back, Childe looks at you with thirsty eyes, like a human who hasn't had a drink in weeks, desperately, hungry.

"Please Your Grace again… I've been a good boy, please." Childe's voice trembles as he reaches out his arms to you in the hope that you won't reject him.

You grin and give him another kiss, and then another and another. Until eventually Childe sits on your lap and anyone who walks past the door to the throne room can hear his moans.

Reblogs, comments, are always greatly appreciated! ヽ(o^ ^o)ﾉ

[lanafofana]

Colossus

Day #7! I spent the majority of the weekend writhing in unimaginable pain so it doesn't count as late. Those are the rules I've just made up! Pairing: Halsin/Tav(f) Summary: He's just so...big Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI Warnings/Tags: Porn, Smut, Cunnilingus, Size kink, Hand job, blow job, foreskin play, inappropriate use of colossus elixir, shotgunning No beta we die like Yonas (RIP Yonas) And the AO3 link, with love Special note: Hysterically this is colossal compared to the others I've posted for HalsinTav week. Additional note: I'll eventually post the one i started writing for Day4 (?). I took the prompt "wildshape misuse" in a completely different direction and it's taking me longer to write because it's more angst than romance. Probably no romance at all but we'll see. Enjoy!

Halsin was a big guy. Like a really big guy. 

Until she met Halsin, Tav had not been aware that people even came in sizes that large. It did not help that he was as thickly muscled as he was tall. No part of him was too skinny or unproportionate which always sent her dirty mind tumbling straight into the gutter wondering just how proportionate he was where she couldn't see. 

All of this was just harmless thinking on her part, she knew how to mind her manners and keep her hands to herself after all. He was a great ally and becoming an even greater friend so, despite the turn of her lustful thought from time to time, she’d never overtly act in any way to make him uncomfortable.

That didn’t stop her from laying in her tent late at night, calloused fingers strumming her sex, brain full of how’d she’d whimper and shake trying to take his thick cock. What if he was too big? The thought drove her wild, picturing him tensed up beneath her while she used her hands, her tongue, to bring him to release. Pussy drenched, skin flushed, breathing thready; the thought of how he’d stretch her near to breaking always pushed her over the precipice of her climax, choking back her moans while she writhed with her desperation. 

All of this was fine, probably a healthy outlet all things considered, and a welcome distraction from the horrors of their day to day adventuring. She was completely content with keeping her own company and it seemed unlikely her fortune in that regard would change any time soon. 

So if his larger than average hands brushing hers when she handed him a plate of dinner set her stomach fluttering. Or when he towered over her just slightly too close and she felt dizzy with fantasies about that large frame fucking her to the feywild and back, well, nobody needed to know it but her and her hands late at night in her bedroll. 

Things might have continued in this fashion till the conclusion of their little adventure but for one critical incident. 

The fight with Ketheric had been awful in more ways than one but when the avatar of Myrkul threatened to completely devastate them Tav had pulled out all the stops. Her focus had narrowed down to each fighter, her desperation providing her with all manner of tricks up her sleeve to, if not turn the tide of the fight, at least tread water till Aylin could finish smiting him to death. Or undeath. 

When she had spun on her heel and thrown the elixir to Halsin she hadn’t really been thinking too much beyond the immediate threat and how to keep her companions alive. Hadn’t been thinking about what the “after” of their fight would leave her with. So when the fight was over and that line of thinking evaporated she was chagrined and thrilled to realize what she was left with was a druid of colossal size and embarrassingly damp panties. 

Halsin had been huge before but now the sight of him was enough to break her brain a little bit. 

His hand could completely engulf her head and the thought alone was enough to have her lashes fluttering, her breath whooshing out of her in a pained sigh. And when she imagined his enormous cock, well, it was best she didn’t think too hard about that till she was safely ensconced in her tent that was for certain. 

Her companions may have joked from time to time about climbing Mount Halsin but actually seeing him so…engorged, had even the wittiest among them speechless, tongues dry behind their teeth. He was very good natured about it of course, the man didn’t seem to let anything phase him. He excused himself after they decided to camp for the night, the tenor of his voice deeper than usual and each step as he left camp was like a gentle tremor that climbed up her legs and tapped insistently at her clit. 

When her companions scattered to their own bedrolls for some much needed rest and he still hadn’t returned, Tav's mind began to worry. It wasn’t like anything out in the wilderness would be a challenge for him to deal with in his current state but still the worry gnawed at her. Isolation could be just as dangerous to one’s mental wellbeing as an enemy was to the physical form after all.

With this thought in mind she shoved her lust to the side and went to find him. It didn’t take her long. Halsin was down by the water’s edge, sitting on the sand and gazing out at where Tav was surprised to see stars twinkling down from a nearly cloudless sky.  

When he turns to see her a kind smile breaks across his face and Tav’s worry dissipates in its warmth. 

“It’s late,” she says chidingly when she’s close. She climbs a large rock to put them on more even ground, sitting on the edge of the damp stone closest to him and letting her legs dangle over the water. 

Halsin hums in agreement. “I find myself overwhelmed,” he says softly. “Overwhelmed and grateful for this chance to see these lands begin to heal. For once I think my rest will not be found in my meditations but here, watching the fruits our labors unfold.” 

Gods, even the way he spoke had a sexy appeal that left her heart hammering in her chest. “Right,” she says skeptically, “I guess. You could just say you’re too excited to sleep. Or trance or whatever.” 

Halsin laughs and shrugs. “I suppose I could.” When she meets his eyes there’s something in them she doesn’t recognize immediately but it warms her clear down to her toes. “You have a gift for seeing to the heart of things. A trait you share with Karlach I feel. One could learn a lot from seeing the world as you do.” 

Tav feels herself blush though she’s not sure why. She coughs. “Ah, right, well. Thanks. Myself, I quite like to smoke a little flower to help me relax if I can’t sleep. Something I’m sure you’re acquainted with.” 

“Indeed,” he agrees. “The stresses of leadership can take their toll and as Archdruid I became well acquainted with medicinal herbs to soothe the mind when rest was beyond my reach.” He gives a thoughtful hum. “Pity I left my pipe behind.” 

“Oh I don’t know,” says Tav slyly pulling out a familiar pipe from the small pouch at her hip. 

Halsin laughs, a booming thing that vibrates low in Tav’s belly. “How did you–?”

She fans a hand out and wiggles her fingers with a grin. “Sticky fingers I’m afraid.” She digs in her pouch a little more until she pulls out a little snuff box the size of her thumb and a match. “I snagged it after talking with Lettie, I honestly didn’t have a whole lot of faith you were still alive.” 

With the skill of someone who is well acquainted with the action she packs and lights the pipe, sucking at the stem till she feels the familiar curl of smoke burn in her throat. She turns to offer it to him but realizes his predicament in the same breath he declines with a rueful smile.  

“Too small for these fingers,” he tells her. If he notices how her dark eyes seem to zero in on his hands for a beat too long he is gracious enough not to shame her for it. 

Tav, as is her nature, puts zero thought into the consequences before she offers the easiest solution that pops in her tadpole’d brain. “Come here then. Let me show you how it’s done in the Gate.” 

Halsin stares at her but she beckons him closer impatiently until he complies. 

“Come on, scaredy cat.” She sucks at the pipe for a long moment before she pulls his face close and puts her lips close to his, tapping at his bottom lip till he opens his mouth and she breathes the smoke between his lips. When he sucks it in her lips graze his, only lightly, like the brush of a feather. 

She lingers then, checking his expression and the moment seems to slow down and draw out as if they’re locked in a slowing spell. This close she gets her first real look at the peculiar shade of his eyes and what was once a harmless way to share a little smoke between friends turns into something heavier, charged. 

Leaning back she sucks at the pipe again, a shorter puff to give herself something to do before she opens her fat mouth and says something insane. Halsin breathes out the smoke slowly, turning his gaze from watching her to instead watch the curl of smoke twist and dissipate in the evening air. 

“Inventive,” he says, voice a tad rougher than he normally speaks. 

Humming in assent she smiles, enjoying the pleasant buzz that hums along her frayed nerves, soothing the disjointed clamor of her thoughts. “I wasn’t sure about you,” she confesses after a beat. He looks at her with interest. “The other druids in the grove were so…” she trails off, weighing her words. She settles on frankness. “Rude. Possessive of their time, their grove. Willing to follow Khaga rather than risk speaking up against each other. Even after you came back I tried talking to them but besides the few that were relieved most were more than glad to see the back of me and ballsy enough to say it to my face.” 

Halsin frowns but lets her continue. 

“I was worried you were going to turn out to be the same. Sure, you accepted the tieflings and all but, still, I wondered when your patience was going to snap. We’re not exactly the most cohesive group on our best days. You surprised me though. You take everything as it comes and never lose sight of what you want while sticking to your scruples. It’s admirable.” 

Maybe it’s the way the moonlight shines in his eyes or maybe it’s the flower working its magic, untangling her tongue but she pushes on, a light flush suffusing her cheeks. 

“You’ve become something of a hero to me. Someone I can aspire to be like, especially now. With the bloody cult and all. Gods and curses and monsters. You’re someone I can look at and be reminded that, even against these absurd, impossible odds, I don’t have to lose sight of myself. You look at me and it’s like you really see me. See the me that I want to see in myself. I, uh, I’ve never had that before.” She breaks off with a rueful chuckle. “Sorry, I just had to say it. It’s just…I’m really glad you’re here is all.” She rubs the back of her neck and looks away from his stare. 

A finger as large as her wrist brushes her chin and her gaze snaps back to his in surprise. 

“I feel the same.” He swallows and Tav tracks the movement before meeting his eyes again, feeling something like anticipation welling up within her. “About you. Before you came to the grove I had all but lost sight of who I was. Being Archdruid consumed me so entirely I had…cast off who I was. It didn’t seem to matter, not when so many things needed doing, people needed the skills and diplomacy of the First Druid, not me. It’s been a long time, longer than I like to think about, since I had a…friend. Someone I could just enjoy the company of without the distance of my station playing some role.”

“Sounds lonely.” 

“Yes. It was. You pay me a high compliment, calling me a pillar to look to but it is you, my friend, who has been my guiding light. You showed me that ‘Halsin’ still has value, beyond the title and everything else. It means a great deal to me, what you’ve given me. You mean a great deal to me.” 

Tav shrugs a shoulder, lopsided smile bashful in the face of such open praise. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” It’s a crude attempt at brushing off the heavy feeling that has settled over the moment but Halsin’s eyes crinkle at the corners, charmed. Producing another match she gestured with the now-cold pipe, “Another hit?” 

Halsin’s chest expands as he takes in a slow breath, as if conflicted and thinking too hard about it. Tav, who has perhaps never thought too hard about anything in her entire life, ‘tsk’s’ with a teasing smile and lights the pipe, sucking on the lip of the stem. Holding the smoke in she gives him a challenging look, smirking when he draws closer. 

Emboldened by the lingering intimacy from their conversation and her own burgeoning tangle of feelings and lust, Tav grasps his chin with both hands and plants her lips against the seam of his firmly, releasing the air and smoke from her lungs into his mouth when he sucks in a surprised gasp. She lingers there, eyes shut and consumed with the warmth of his lips against hers before reluctantly pulling away. 

His eyes are shut tight and she feels a twinge of guilt for the way he holds himself so still and tense. “Was that alright?” She asks quietly, wondering which would destroy her first, the rejection or the disappointment. 

But the druid surprises her. “Yes,” he utters, eyes opening at last. “I am only disappointed my current form is not well suited for returning the gesture.” 

Tav has a sudden vision of being suffocated by those lips. A warm wet tongue the size of her face gliding over her body and she shivers with want. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and his eyes flick to her mouth to watch it closely. “I wouldn’t say that.” 

A muscle in Halsin’s jaw twitches as he clenches his teeth together, the pupils of his eyes swelling and she breathes out slowly, suddenly acutely aware of their proximity. 

“You’re not shy about what you want,” he breathes with a smile. “I like that.” 

Tav’s expression turns wry. “You say that now,” she mutters. 

Before Halsin can think of how to respond to a loaded statement like that she leaps off the boulder she’d been sitting on and approaches him. She doesn’t hide the way she stares at his body. The way her eyes trail along his massive legs while she steps between them. The way they linger on his hands, the expanse of his chest, and trail scorchingly up his neck to his face. 

“The pipe is nice but I know of even better ways to relax.” 

Halsin’s chuckle rumbles in the night air. “An intriguing if unwise notion.” 

Tav’s expression turns coy, her smile sly. “Is it so unwise to embrace the unexpected opportunities we’re afforded? I’m just ‘seizing the moment’.” The look he cuts her at parroting words he once spoke to her sizzles along her skin. 

“I had hoped to take the time to broach the subject of my affections for you before we–”

“Oh, we’re past broached, Halsin.” 

“I could crush you.”

“You won’t,” she says dismissively and then, “I’d very much like to touch you. If you’ll allow me.” 

His stomach clenches with equal parts anticipation and uneasiness. He nods. 

She trails a hand along his thigh. It’s so small but burns through the leather of his trousers and he shifts, releasing a sigh. It takes her less time than he’s expecting to reach the apex of his thighs and when she runs her palms down the straining seam of his pants where his cock lies trapped and swollen he breathes in sharply. 

She checks his expression and must see the reservation in them because she stops, removing her hands. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“I don’t think y–”

“Yes or no, druid. I won’t be offended.” She cants her head to the side in thought. “Disappointed maybe.” 

The muscle in his jaw jumps again and when he swallows the bob of his throat sends a thrill up her spine. She’s definitely playing with fire but she’s never been particularly good at denying herself when she has her mind set on something. And burying her face in the slit of cock is very much on the forefront of her brain. 

“No,” he says finally. 

Tav grins. “We can stop anytime you wish.” Tugging on the laces of his breeches she pulls the leather away and she comes face to eye with the largest dick she could have ever imagined. To call him proportionate would be doing him a disservice, he was clearly very well endowed, colossus elixir notwithstanding.  

Using her hands to ease him from his breeches completely she feels her cunt give a needy throb at the weight of it. Holding it with both hands the girth is wider than the fattest part of her thigh and she runs her hands from the base to the tip experimentally. His foreskin is impossibly soft and loose enough she adds more pressure to her grip and salivates as it glides down easily revealing the flushed head of his glans. 

He shifts, his breathing turning heavy when she lowers her face and licks at the slit. She probes and suckles, moving across the smooth skin eagerly while she caresses and strokes the shaft. When precum beads at the tip she licks it away and hums appreciatively at the salty taste. His musk is overwhelming, intoxicating. 

Sucking his loose foreskin into her mouth, twisting her tongue against it, running her hands over every exposed inch of him she smiles against his erection when he groans, gasping and needy. It resonates in the air and she flexes her thighs together to ease the wet need that beats between her legs. 

He allows her to indulge herself for only so long before, trembling with immense effort, he asks her to stop. Immediately removing herself she backs up a step but gives him a searching look.“Are you certain?” 

Running a hand down his face Halsin works at controlling his erratic breathing. “I am. My control is…not what it should be. In my current state, I cannot promise to be able to contain myself. I will not risk your safety, no matter how your touch ignites me.” 

Wiping a slick streak of precum from her chin and licking it from her finger she almost misses the way his eyes flash gold while he tracks the movement. “Another time then,” she says with an easy smile. “Whenever you’re ready.” She turns, as if to leave, but Halsin can smell her arousal. The scent of it makes his mouth water. 

“Wait. Do not suppose I am an inconsiderate lover. I would taste you tonight, beneath the light of the waning moon.” 

Tav cannot help the gasp this pulls from her, nor the throb of desire that starts at her cunt and spreads like branching roots through her body, lighting every nerve on fire. “I would like that.” Her voice thrums with want. “Very much.” 

“Then come here to me,” he beckons. 

She steps closer and nearly swoons as the palm of his hand scoops her up. He is gentle as he brings her close and with his other hand he gently thumbs open the clasp of her robe. Underneath she is bare and the cool night air prickles at her skin, pebbling the dusky mauve of her nipples into stiff peaks. 

“Perfect,” he murmurs and the intensity of his gaze sends the blood rushing to the surface of her skin in a hot wave. 

He holds her to his face, running his nose from the thatch of dark hair between her legs to her chest. When he slots his mouth over her bosom, the warm wet mass of his tongue flicking and curling against each breast she moans, letting her head fall back. She holds his face and presses further against his exploring touch with wanton abandon. 

When his tongue retreats she whines, her legs falling open desperately. He smiles through the blazing hunger and takes his time mouthing her soft flesh with careful attentiveness. Halsin’s tongue swipes down one leg to her feet and she feels her mind go brittle at the edges when he sucks the entire foot into his mouth. Engulfing her foot he continues to sup and the suction of it has her writhing and eager in his hand. Treating her other leg to the same treatment is too much and her hand dives between her legs to sooth the apex of her desire. 

Halsin’s eyes, black as the night sky behind him flash gold and for a second his teeth look sharper, his expression wild. He plucks her hands away and this time when she widens her legs her cunt is met with probing wet warmth of his tongue and she cries out, shrill and breathy. 

Possessing an infinite amount of patience he laps at the damp lips between her legs at a slow, rhythmic pace driving her feral. The heels of her feet find purchase on his forearm and at the next swipe of his tongue she thrusts her hips to meet it, groaning when it presses against her clit with an insane amount of pressure. 

Her breathing comes in gasps and pants, her eyes half lidded with need. “Please,” she babbles, nearly sobbing. “Please, H-Halsin, m-more, please!” 

Holding her against his mouth firmly he swirls his tongue between the lips of pussy and she keens, roughly palming her own breasts and arching her back. It’s too much, it’s not enough. Her orgasm flickers in and out of her reach. With the rough flat of his tongue he licks and gently suckles and her body shakes. 

“Gods!”

Pressing the tip of his tongue to her cunt he rolls the muscle there in a continuous undulation that has her gripping at her own hair, her back bowed. 

The taste of her arousal, the scent of her musk, the salt of her body pulls an appreciative groan from his throat. The vibration shivers across her clit and she reaches her climax with a lust drunk wail that cracks through the night air. 

Removing his mouth from her body she lies limp, flushed dark and muscles trembling.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, voice rasping. “That was,” she struggles to return her breathing to something approaching normal. “That was incredible.” The look she gives him is awed, sated. “You are incredible.” 

Halsin grins. She thought he might set her down but instead he brings her to his chest and she leans into the heat of his body gratefully. Exhaustion tugs at her but she’d rather bask in the bliss, snuggled into him. She nuzzles at his neck, reaching up a hand to run the flat of her palm against the edge of his tattoo that curls around his throat.     

“Sleep,” he murmurs, the sound of his voice as lulling as the steady beat of his heart against her ear.

“I don’t want to miss this,” she complains, turning her face into his bare skin and pressing a kiss there. 

He chuckles, warm and rich. “We have plenty of time. Rest.” 

So she does.

That's All Folks!