#if there's any typos i'll fucking die

[safyresky]

28 and 1!

MORE BLANGST, HELL YEAH

CS Spoilers abound!

Chapter 28: Scene 1

Something sizzled.

Blaise was tearing up. But he was so warm that the tears were evaporating, sizzling away before they could even touch his cheeks.

Jack’s shoulders fell. He jogged over to Blaise, plopping down in the snow beside him. He placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m…I’m so sorry, Dad.”

“I am, too.” A warm arm wrapped around Jack as Blaise pulled him into a very tight side hug. “It shouldn’t have been like this.”

Jack hugged him back, trying to squeeze just as tight. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”

“None of us did. Not you, not me, not your sister…not even him.” Over Jack’s shoulder, Blaise glanced at the Pyros statue. He sighed. “I’m getting too old for this.”

Blaise sounded gruff; more gravelly than usual. Tired.

Jack could hardly blame him. Summoning a giant flow of lava from the depths of the Earth in the North Pole of all places took a toll, he imagined. Especially when the person you were summoning it for was your brother. Twin, even. Jack closed his eyes, tightening his hold around Blaise.

“It’s sad. It’s really, really sad, isn’t it?”

Jack felt Blaise nod in his shoulder. “It is. But it’s also…relieving. It’s over. It’s finally, finally over.” He pulled out of the embrace, holding Jack’s shoulders. “You’re safe. You and your siblings. He can’t hurt you anymore. He can’t hurt you sister anymore. And he won’t hurt your youngest siblings, ever, at all. I’m sorry this happened, Jack. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him from hurting you.”

“It’s okay Dad. It’s really, honestly, not your fault. I mean, I knew us Frosts were crazy, but Uncle P? He’s on a whole new level of his own.”

In spite of it all, Blaise laughed. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Jack smiled. “Yeah. Don’t mention it, Dad.”

Blaise took a deep, steadying breath. “I should’ve listened to your mother all those centuries ago. She’s going to freak when she sees this. When she sees us.”

Below them, the ground began to glow white. Snow curled to life in midair, hovering above the ground.

“I think maybe she already has.”

[keen-li]

Take it, i know you can

Mdni

Just something simple for you :)

Sorry for any typos.

I'm still practicing how to write smut

....

"Jungkook" you call out his name with all the strength you can, your hands clawing at his back but he takes it as encouragement.

You had past your highs just some seconds ago and you thought he'd detach from you as usual. But you claw into his skin until he bleeds as you feel him still pull in and out of you.

"Jung-"

"It's not over" he says demandly/pleadingly as his stokes intensified.

You wonder how the fuck he's still hard.

His grip on your thighs,to keep them up,tightens as the other tightens around the cloth of the pillow you're lying on.

You watch his face scrunch up in concentration as he repeats.

"It's not over" his husky voice repeats more to himself and for you to understand. His long hair falls over his face as he stares at where you connect.

You definitely feel the effect of his strokes. You arch your back and your neck into the pillow, the pleasure and pain of being overestimulated taking over.

He lifts your leg over his shoulder, still passionately stroking into you.

You can feel your moans start to build up, your gasps making jungkook even harder.

He takes his time with his strokes which makes the feeling even more intense.

"Jungkook" you gasp out for him, it feels good but you don't know if you can take it.

"I can't..."

He doesn't want to hear that, you spent the whole week teasing him about how he couldn't fuck you through your overestimulation and even if he could you would be able to handle it.

And now you're here telling him you can't.

Mrs all talk no action.

He chuckles.

"Oh, come on I know you can" he smirks.

His now dark presence hovers over you. You feel some form of warmth when he cups your cheek with his hand and forces you to look at him.

"Take it. I know you can" stroke "take it just for me baby"

He has his eyes on how your body moves, the way you arch your back and try to run from him.

You have no control over your body and so your movements are controlled by the pleasure and pain. And they fight to choose to stay close to jungkook or to move away.

"Come here, where do you think you're going huh?"

He pulls you back when you get a little to far, and without warning he flips you onto your stomach so that you can just lay there. His figure is still above you and lifts your hips lightly to meet him again.

You gasp at feeling him again.

"Just lay there" he bends down to whisper by your ear and kiss your naked shoulder and the sensation sends you into a frenzy.

"You don't have to do anything" he speaks softly.

"I'll do everything, you just have to take it" you can hear the smirk in his voice.

He places kisses on your neck and shoulder as he fucks you just so you can remember he still loves you.

You gasp for your life as you soon feel that familiar feeling return.

Jungkook feels you flutter around him and he swears he can die right here, right in your raging cunt.

"Ju-ugh" you whine as you feel the room spinning.

"I've got you baby, I've got you" he says as he feels himself come down as well.

He lays on you, making sure not to crush you as you both catch your breaths.

"I love you so much baby" he says into your ear.

You smile and reach your hand out to stroke his cheek his hair.

"Aw, I love you too"

You feel the hold he has on you tighten, trying to comfort you, though he seems like he needs the comforting.

"No like I seriously love you so much"

....

A/N: cheers to long night of jungkook holding you and kissing you and trying to show you how much he loves.🥂

Well, I'm sorry for this post, it's my hormones😩😔

[2minutesnotice]

Why People With Mental Illness And Trauma Deserve Love

(and why Blitzø Buckso is one of them)

Grab yourself some snacks and a drink, I'll have a talk with you people who go all for the

"If you can't love yourself, you can't love anybody else"

mantra, which is toxic as fuck.

And sorry for the typos 😬🥲

SPOILER WARNING Full Moon

tw:mental illness / coping mechanism / self harm self worth / shitty parenting /abusive and toxic relationships

First of all, I'm autistic, so a lot of scenarios I'll give you will come from my experiences because it's easier for me to feel empathy that way and explain a situation.

BLITZØ IN FULL MOON

People come into my DMs and want to rant with me about him. I get it. It seems he's an asshole.

And he IS.

Blitzø has multiple character traits which are trauma coded and boy what a can of worms that is. Most of them are really hard in your face, like the fact that he can't stand his own face in pictures.

Which comes from a deep rooted self hate, which comes up in self worth issues. Blitzø had his fair experience with drugs and alcohol , even drowned himself in last to get over his shitty experience with Stolas at Ozzie's.

I'm not saying he's suicidal, but Blitzø's biggest fear is, to die alone.

Because he KNOWS how he is. That makes him really self reflected. He knows how he behaves, he knows his own coping mechanisms.

That's why it's so easy to make him mad. He's mostly angry at himself in most situations, so it also happened in Full Moon. Blitzø uses anger to get things out of people, because most people react to anger, but he's not doing it to HURT people, it's the only way he knows how to get an reaction out of people.

The reaction HE wants. Since Blitzø has no self worth he has no clue WHY people should love him. So he shoves them away and keeps them at distance.

At the same time he CRAVES intimacy. And here's the conflict. Blitzø's love language is sex.

He feels the closest to people if he can be intimate with them. And yes, even in a weird "I fuck Chaz to be close to M&M" kind of way. He is krass with his talking about sex, he over shares, he LOVES to talk about sex.

Because he's good at it. And because it gets him close to people. If the show had more time I bet we would've seen Blitzø having multiple one night stands over the time. Yes, even with his arrangement with Stolas. Because there was sex before there were feelings. Definitely.

Shitty Parenting x Self Worth

Blitzø got sold by his own father as a play buddy for a rich kid. Yes the rich kid was Stolas and it was cute, but still, rich kid.

And we all have seen, that he wasn't good at what his father made him do in the circus but what Blitzø always had, was his pride. Also, he's very good at making things up as they go. Doing that damn horse balloon and making a joke about it, shows how he is capable of selling himself still as the best, even if it isn't so.

We don't know much about Tilla, but we know Blitzø definitely had a closer relationship to her then to his father.

I know we only have two concrete scenes which show what kind of an relationship Cash and his son had, but the "I wish you were my son" card for Fizz kinda draws us the picture here.

As a child who always had to compete with a sister which was highly gifted, this does something to you.

You try to be better, at any cost. Sounds familiar?

"I'll try to be better".

But what? In what will he try to be better? I think Blitzø doesn't even know at what he will try to be better, he just does not want to lose this. But what is this?

RELATIONSHIPS

IF Blitzø would have just cared about his business, he would've walked away with the crystal. Just like that. He would've said

"Thank Satan, I thought I would lose my business,thanks Stolas, it was nice as it lasted" and he would've been gone.

But he didn't. He listened to what Stolas said but he didn't LISTEN. Because it was confusing as fuck, even as The Audience just watching it was a LOT what was said and going from

"I'll let you go" to "I have feelings for you, please stay" in a second.

And of course Blitzø would not understand that. Because Stolas could not MEAN it. Because Stolas has servants who are Imps and he called him names, a plaything and if Blitzø is anything for Stolas, at first, he's a whore.

Blitzø sold his body for a service. For his business.

They could have made that arrangement about ANYTHING. Money, another hitman service, bodyguarding.

STOLAS made it about sex. The thing Blitzø knows, the one he CRAVES, the thing he is good at, besides killing people.

But the one thing Blitzø is not good at, are words and feelings. And Stolas had a lot of them, at once. And it felt not fair for Blitzø to be cornered like that, because he had no idea what was expected from him. And then he used the ONLY thing he knows, which always gets something out of people: Anger.

That's the words and feelings he knows.

And he got an reaction, but also had to deal with the consequences.

STOLAS AT FULL MOON

I love Stolas. But he he's living in a romance novel world and there's also, trauma.

Stolas first words I had imprinted in my mind were "I always thought love could be fun". He wished for a happy family his whole life and all he got was an abusive wife and a loveless marriage.

He is a dreamer. Someone who loves the small things and he is caring. He loves to indulge in fiction, he loves telenovelas because even if there's drama, there are relationships. Something he never had experienced.

Stolas is a soft soul. But he's repressed and depressed as fuck. And that's not only because of Stella, but his upbringing and the knowledge to live in a Golden Cage. But he never voices that he has problems with THAT.

See, Stolas is a prince, he grew up with servants, Imps mostly. In a palace. Even if he despises Stella's parties, I bet if he wouldn't be an outsider in his own race, he would be the one doing the parties himself. It would do him some good because Stolas is also, lonely.

While Blitzø lived in Circus tents and tried to proof himself, Stolas had to proof that he's worthy his title as a prince. Being married, the whole heir thing, his duties.

And then Blitzø appears out of fucking nowhere, seducing him (like in his novels!), staying with him the whole night (showing him he's obviously gay), showing him he can choose, that he HAS A CHANCE to be happy.

With Blitzø.

And then we see the duet and the second Stolas sings about how he wants this to go, I knew they will fuck up. Because Stolas had played out this scenario SO OFTEN in his head, that he has so many images of Blitzø in his head that he knows this will not work out good. He has hopes and dreams but in the end, the decision falls on Blitzø.

So we go to Full Moon and Blitzø reacts... poorly. He even mocks him. And then he starts screaming and shouting and guess who else was always shouting and screaming? Guess who told Stolas his whole marriage that he's not worth anything. That he's not worth of love, that he's a failure, that his head is in the clouds and mocked him about everything he loves.

Blitzøs only way to cope with too many feelings is anger, Stolas trauma is based on anger and rejection.

But Stolas reacted so FAST. He gave Blitzø the crystal and he told him that he gives him the offer to stay, because he has feelings for him (like in his novels!) and his hopes are so high and the second he does not get what he wants, what he needs, he snaps. He's disappointed. He's hurt.

Because he wants this so bad to work.

But it can't, because they're for now reading the same book, but they're so not on the same page.

Because, and now we're getting there, they have to deal with what was said.

TRAUMA AND RELATIONSHIPS

I'm married for ten years now. My wife and I met each other 20 years ago.

I was suicidal back then, I cut myself regularly, I was depressed and had an eating disorder.

But I had friends. And I had relationships. And I loved so so deeply.

And then I got together with my wife 11 years ago. I was freshly diagnosed with being autistic, my wife has ADHD.

She also has several PTSD triggers, I have childhood trauma from living with my Mom who's an alcoholic.

And yes, I am able to have an relationship. We love each other dearly, we care about each other. We learn from each other, daily.

We have bad days, but we are GOOD for each other.

Because you DESERVE TO BE LOVED, no matter what.

In the first place is always that you're responsible for yourself. You can't trauma dump on your partner in excessive ways because that's not healthy. BUT learning to share your experiences but still being responsible for yourself and your actions, is a whole different thing.

You can love and be loved, even at your lowest.

But you have to be aware that your partner is not your therapist and that communication in a relationship, in which both parties are mentally ill, is KEY.

You have to go to the same ground, you have to explain what are your boundaries, what are your triggers but you have also to accept that the other one is sometimes not able to deal with your package.

My wife and I, we communicate DAILY. We have totally different needs. We have totally different views and patterns to deal with things. But we love each other.

Because we respect each other's differences.

And that's the homework for Stolas and Blitzø. They don't have to TO GET BETTER, they have to grow and they have to listen, communicate instead of just dumping expectations at each other.

You can't expect someone to break a pattern that is carved by trauma, just because you tell them you love them. And you can't expect that someone's listening when you push all their triggers at once.

I'm really excited how this will go. It's heartbreaking but I guess now that everything is said, they can finally be honest, without all the trauma dumping and pushing buttons.

And as I said:

You're worth of love. You're worth to be loved and you can give love, even at your lowest. Your deserve love, even at your lowest. You ARE loved.

Thank you for reading! ✨ Gold Star for you!

[luveline]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write anything else for the steve zombie au with the established relationship! It's seriously so good I can't get enough

hi I hope you don’t mind me using your request for the kidnapping fic! r and steve live inside a community during the apocalypse, and she gets kidnapped :( but he’s not gonna stop til he finds her :) pls forgive typos

steve zombie!au <3 fem!reader. tw abduction, drugging, mentioned SA (reader is NOT sa and there is no graphic imagery), guns, general violence. 8k words

When you get 'home' that evening, arms aching from a full day in the community pantry, there's somebody sitting in your bed. 

"Fuck, Stevie," you say with a flinch, hand hitting your chest with an audible thud. 

"Sorry!" he apologises immediately, springing up to meet you. He's in pyjamas, a foreign sight, freshly washed up. "I got home early and thought you'd be happy to see me." 

You reach for his wrists, relief that he's not a murderer or a zombie dulling the panic. "I am," you assure him softly, "of course I am. I missed you." 

He smiles and moves in for a hug, kissing your cheek quickly. "I missed you too." 

Missed isn't truly the right word. Steve goes out on scouting and scrounging missions for the community voluntarily, and every time he leaves you worry he's going to die, because it is a very likely outcome. There hasn't been a community fatality in weeks, but that doesn't help soothe the ache of his absence. 

"You smell really nice. Did you get a hot shower?" 

"Perks," he says, faking modesty. 

"Perks," you grumble. "I spent the whole day lifting canned tuna and I don't get a hot shower." 

His smile doubles in size. "No? Well then, it's a good thing you have such a nice boyfriend," —he digs in his pocket, unveiling a green plastic shower token with a smirk— "huh?" 

"Is that for me?" you ask, grumbling completely gone. 

"If you want it. There's a catch, though." 

"What's the catch?" 

You can both hear how in love you sound. In a world where hot showers are rare and valuable as diamond, his giving you a shower token may as well be an "I love you'. It's selfless. 

"Kiss before you go?" he asks. 

"That's not a catch," you say, taking his face into your hands. His cheeks are soft, stubble shaved away. 

You rub his bottom lip with your thumb. "Get into any danger?" 

"None. Not a geek in sight." 

"Good boy," you say, thumbs either side of his lips now, leaning in for a perfect, prim kiss. 

You move back and rake the hair away from his face, upward, and for a moment he looks as he did before again. His hair falls back down and he's still beautiful, the guy you love. 

"Are you sure I can have it?"

"I got it for you," he says, "but if you really don't want it-" 

"No, I want it," you deny quickly, eyes narrowed at his nearly ditzy smile. He can be so evil. 

Steve climbs into your bed, a myriad of blankets and quilts and sheets, anything to stay warm. Honestly, you and Steve are pack rats now you have a place to keep your things, and you love to be comfortable together. That means soft things and nice smells are a must. 

You turn to your bathroom hamper and pick up one of your two shower gels, a silver of soap, and the brand new bottle of shampoo you'd been given a few days ago. It's your prized possession. 

"Don't take that soap," Steve says, "there's a new bar by the sink, take that one." 

"We really shouldn't waste it." 

"We won't." 

You shake your head at him fondly. "It's fine, I'll use it. Keep the new one for cold, sad showers." 

His head sinks back into your pillows, his face turning toward your side. He couldn't be less obvious about it if he tried, pulling your pillow toward him until the pillowcase is rubbing his nose. 

You wrap your things in a towel, also nice and soft, and hesitate at the door. Steve's eyes have closed. You know he isn't sleeping, and that if you ask him to, he'll come and sit outside of the shower stall to fend off your paranoia. But you're trying to give life here a chance, a proper one. You have no reason to fear for your safety — the shower block is only five minutes away in the old College's gym. 

You put your stuff down at the end of the bed and climb on knees beside him. 

"I'm gonna go shower now," you say. 

Steve goes to sit up, eyes fluttering open, and you hold him down, peppering his cheek with three, four, five quick kisses. "No, stay. Love you." 

“You stay and sleep. I’ll be back soon. So soon.”

"You sure?" 

"Yes," you say, smothered against his cheek. You give him another kiss for good measure, a selfish one, as most of them are. You hope he enjoys receiving them as much as you love bestowing them. Your lips practically tingle. 

"Okay. Love you. See you in twenty." 

"Twenty," you promise. 

Another kiss sneaks its way in there before you're grabbing all your stuff; your bathroom necessities, your change of clothes and your room key on a string you hang around your neck. You slip out the door and down the hall of Little Hawkins, stepping over a hallway game of speed played by two opposite tenants you recognise from high school and slinking sideways round one of Mallory's huge art projects propped up against the wall. 

It's dark outside. To keep a low profile, the community you live in, sometimes called The College, or some variation of its real name, Valley Pine Community College, opts to keep the lights off at night. There are fairy lights strung up to gently guide anyone who needs to move around, and considering it's not even 7PM yet, there are lots of people outside. 

"Hey, kid." 

You hug your bundle of things closer. "Hi, Hopper." 

Chief Hopper is standing in the middle of the squad with Joyce Byers and Jeremy Livingstone, his second in command and his co-leader, respectively. 

"Shower?" 

You smile sheepishly. "Steve gave me a token." 

"How romantic," Joyce says sweetly. 

"He's a secret sweetheart," you mumble. 

"Could you tell him to be a little more secretive? He's setting a precedent here," Jeremy says. 

The three adults laugh. You nod politely and bid them goodbye with a smile, cutting over the grass of the quad where a path has been worn by shoes just like yours to the gym. 

There's usually someone there until 10PM. Everyone needs a shower after a long day, and lukewarm ones are totally free. It's hot water showers that need a token, because they need the generator to run. Jeremy does his best to keep the distribution of tokens fair, but people still use them to barter for other things. You imagine that's how Steve came to have two. 

Sure enough, a young woman you think is called Tori sits in a chair by the door to the shower room, foot propped up on another chair and crutches on the floor. 

She accepts your token and puts it in a basket with the others, all handmade and flimsy. "You need me to do it?" she asks. 

"No, that's okay. Stay sitting." She smiles gratefully. 

The shower room is clean and cool. You put down your towel, grinning at the leftmost shower. There you are, you think cheerfully. Then a sound behind you, the soft fall of one step. 

You don't remember much after that. 

— 

Steve falls asleep waiting for you. 

He wakes, reaching for your body in bed next to his, expecting an armful of your softness, your tummy or your chest. He opens his bleary eyes in search of you when he comes up empty, mumbling your name in the dark. His arm feels heavy as he lifts it to check the time. 9.44PM. He looks around the entirety of your small room. You're not here. 

He bolts up fast, bone deep nausea spreading and pervasive, his neck protesting the sudden movement with a twinge. Thighs swung over the sheets, he stumbles onto discordant footing.

You're not out on the quad, and neither is anyone else. He follows the string lights to the gym and there are no signs of life. He makes it all the way to the shower room before he sees somebody, a girl on crutches hobbling toward him with a flashlight helmet clipped over her forehead. 

"Hey," he says, slowing, "have you seen Y/N? She's this tall, wearing a royal blue hoodie? You can't miss her." 

She falters. "I- yeah, I saw her. Maybe an hour ago?" 

"Is she still here?" 

"The building's presumably empty." 

Steve skirts around her to look for himself, but she says, "Wait, wait." 

She readjusts her grip on her crutches. "I didn't see her leave, but she wasn't in the showers. I checked." 

"You didn't see her leave?" 

"No, I thought it was weird, but I figured she'd had too long in the hot water and felt guilty about it. I was gonna tell Hopper at the town hall." 

The town hall isn't a town hall at all, it's a space cleared in the cafeteria. Hopper lingers there most nights so people can talk to him without feeling pressured by their peers. You and Steve always call it the 'snitching hour', instead of the witching hour. 

"You're sure she's not there?" 

"I checked every stall." 

He doesn't believe her, because if you aren't in the shower, where are you? You haven't made any friends yet, you aren't situated, you have Steve and you have the older lady Mallory, and that's it. 

He's not too proud to admit he sprints to the shower room, calling your name and checking behind each stall door, each changing partition curtain. The only thing he finds is a slither of soap, the shard of bar soap he'd told you to throw away, lying on the floor. 

You'd insisted you wouldn't waste it. 

He picks it up and pockets it, throwing his gaze around the room in another circle to be sure. 

You aren't here. 

He runs back up the hallways and through the front entrance, where the girl on crutches is hobbling toward the main building that houses the cafeteria. His heart races with a strange adrenaline — he shouldn't panic, right? You could be anywhere, and anywhere doesn't have to mean somewhere unsafe. You could be with Mallory, with Robin. Hell, you could be with Dustin. He's half expecting to find you in the canteen, fresh and smelling sweet, sitting at one of the long dinner tables for club night. You'd said you wanted to learn gin rummy. 

You aren't in the cafeteria and neither are the cards club, but Hopper is. He has a paperback in his lap, and a cigarette is held between his lips pointing down, illuminated by a small lamp on the table behind him.

"Woah, where's the fire?" 

"Have you seen Y/N?" 

Hopper doesn't like his tone, the panic it's laced with. His expression hardens from surprise to concern, paperback closed. "Hours ago. She was on her way to the gym. She didn't come back?"

"No." 

"She usually stray?" Hopper asks. 

They both know the answer is no. You don't go anywhere that isn't scheduled work or the gym showers without Steve; while your distrust of this place and the people here has waned since you arrived, it's still very much alive.

"Never." 

"Don't panic," Hopper says, though he looks a little unsettled himself. He hides it swiftly. "Half the people here are your age, she probably just got to talking."

He stands up, shoving his paperback on top of the fold out chair and zippering his jacket closed. 

Steve rubs his mouth, in a daze, searching his thoughts for where you'll be.

"Harrington?" 

"What?" Steve asks, looking up. 

"You might want to get some warmer pants on. We'll start searching. Door to door. Wake your friends up." Hopper clears his throat. "She's here somewhere." 

His confidence eases Steve's roaring pulse. He looks down, finds he's still wearing the polka dot pyjamas he'd fallen asleep in. He'd been too worried about you to notice. 

— 

You feel majorly unwell. Eyes so sore they beg to stay closed, throat raw like you've been forced to eat sandpaper. Your hand knocks out and hits something solid.

"Stevie," you say. Your voice is patchy, frosted over. "It's freezing. Did you," —you cough as you raise your head from your pillow— "leave a window open, baby?" 

A cold gale of wind rushes over you. Goosebumps erupt down the lengths of your naked arms, and your eyes open finally, searching for the cause of the desperate cold. 

You fear for a moment you've gone blind. 

The sky is dark. A deep, formidable blue with a smattering of stars. Your breath catches as you take them in. They appear by the handful, flecks that well like drops of blood to pinpricks. 

You are not in bed. 

This is not your room. 

"You've been sleeping for hours. You're fucking heavy, did you know that?" 

You turn your head slowly, prey and predator, hoping your stillness will deter any sudden movements. 

"Where are we?" you ask, trying to get a good look at the body next to you. 

You're not sure if it's the right question. He likes it, though, and his hand squeezes yours where your fingers rest, intertwined, against his chest. Sickness wraps around your stomach and wrings it, a strange haziness concluding your thoughts.

"Don't worry about it." 

Panic lights every nerve ending and a wretched trembling runs down your arms, your legs. You try to make it stop before he can feel it. You know your fear is a currency.

"Are you cold?" he asks. His voice is neither warm nor frigid, each syllable said with an impassiveness that leaves little to be inferred. 

"I don't have my coat." The words don't want to be said. 

"We left in a hurry." 

"We did?" 

Your throat aches. You try to remember why you're here, fingers dead still in his hold. There's something soft behind your head, a throw blanket that scratches your cheek. You don't know who he is. You don't recognise anything about him, moonlight splashing milky light over his face and neck. He has a broad scar under his jaw, but beside that, this man is completely unassuming. 

"You don't remember?" 

You shake your head. "No," you say softly. 

"You fell in the shower. I helped you up. You told me you wanted to leave." 

"Leave?" you ask. 

"The College." 

"I said that?" 

"You didn't have to say it. I know you hated it there." 

You swallow, uselessly, over and over. The night sky pours Onto you. Your pulse bumps, bumps, bumps. 

"Who are you?" you ask. 

"You don't know me?" 

His fingers tighten around yours. 

"I- I'm new," you defend.

"Of course you don't know me. Nobody fucking knows me. I thought shit was bad before all this, you know?" His grip tightens worse. "Invisible at work, at home. And there were so many people, I mean, fucking thousands of people, I was a nobody. I thought maybe now I'd be somebody, but you don't know who I am." 

Please, you think, please. What's his name? 

"Connor," you say quietly, hoping to pass it off as nothing if you've gotten it wrong. 

His grip relaxes ever so slightly. "I knew you were different. You see me, and I see you." 

He moves toward you, and he must see you flinch backward into the solid, frozen earth behind your back. His smile flickers. He leans over your face, dark, long hair tickling your cheek. 

"I know you hated that place just as much as I did. So we left." 

Looking back, you'll wonder why you acted as you did. Acting into his delusion. That night, you wait hours for him to fall asleep. He never does. Each time you try to pull your hand from his, you're met with a fiercely suspicious look. You feign sleep. 

The sky slowly lightens. You stand when he stands and you pull your hand from his whether he wants it or not, so cold you feel like you've been burned all over, so tired you're surprised you have the strength to scramble backward. 

He turns, and you notice the gun tucked into his waistband for the first time. 

"Where are you going?" he asks, hand inching up his leg.

You take a step toward him, wobbly on purpose. "I think I'm stiff from the floor." You smile at him awkwardly. 

He sees bashful where he should terrified. "I will miss the mattresses. Don't worry, we'll find you something to lie on." Your skin crawls.

"Where are we going?" 

He points southward.

You're no genius, but you assume that means The College is northward. 

A bullet can follow you a hundred feet away. Running brazenly won't work. Though you're guessing he'll kill you outright rather than let you escape, which may not be the case. He's running on delusion — he has a saviour complex, clearly, to have stolen you like this. He wants you, and you have to assume he wants you alive.

"Can I have some water?" you ask. 

The ache in your throat is a burn. You imagine this is how it feels to have a geek maw deep in your flesh, a sizzling burn, a heated fear. 

He digs through his singular rucksack and pulls out a litre bottle of water full to the cap. You take it, guzzle it, and choke when he cusses. "Fuck- Stop! Are you stupid? We have to make it last." 

Water dribbles down your chin as he snatches it out of your hand. 

"Sorry," you say. It feels as though you've swallowed a stone. "Sorry, I didn't know. I couldn't know, I don't know any of your plans, Connor." 

He stuffs the water back into the bag and procures a white length of plastic. It takes you a second to realise it's a zip tie. Much less to feel terror reignite itself in the depths of your stomach. 

"Wrists together." 

"Connor, I don't think-" 

"You're smart, aren't you?" 

Quiet stretches. The sun leaks desperately needed warmth through the thick tree branches, sun rays painting his skin blazing white as he rags your wrists together and wraps the zip ties around them. The plastic bites into your skin unapologetically. 

"I wanted you to take me," you say. "What's the need?" 

He smiles. Teeth white, gums red. Stark. 

"You're smart," he repeats. "I'm smarter. Now come on. Walk." 

—

Steve doesn't find you. 

Hopper gives him invasive free reign over the community like a dirty cop. He tells everybody at breakfast exactly what's happening. He asks if anybody has seen you. He asks if you've made plans to run away. He says that, if you're in hiding, he'll protect you, even if that means protection from Steve. 

Steve's not even mad. If you are hiding from him (you're not, of course you're not, but if you are — Steve almost wishes you were, just so he'd know you were safe) you're doing an amazing job. There are no traces of you, and as the hours stretch into a full day without you, Steve's borderline homicidal. He has slammed on every door. He has checked every dormitory room, every public space. He has pulled boards from closed over windows, and kicked in weakened door jams of every building within the fences. 

Currently, though, he's having a breakdown. Tears, ugly and messy and loud, race down his face. He's running so hot they practically steam. Robin stands on the other side of the stall. He's really hoping she'll pretend she can't hear him, but she says, "Yikes, Steve." 

"Where the fuck is she?" he asks, sounding about as numb as he feels. 

"I don't know." 

Her response is softer. Robin knows Steve isn't angry at her, and doesn't take his scathing question personally. The fear he's feeling is overwhelming, hence his tears. (The tears are made of worry, too.) 

"Somebody-" God, the thought is like white hot heat cattle poked into his spine, anger wells to the surface. "Has her. Somebody's fucking done something to her. She wouldn't just leave." 

He stares at the stall door and wills tears away. This isn't helping you. 

"Steve," Robin says, "don't bite my head off. What if she did leave?" 

It hurts because it's what he's been asking himself. Under the anger and the fear for you, there's fear of you. What if you've abandoned him? Loved him this long to toss in the towel at the finish line? 

Still, he defends the you he knows you are. "Fuck off, Buckley. I love you, but fuck you." 

"No, listen to me Steve." 

"Robin-" 

"I believe she wouldn't 'just leave' but that doesn't mean she didn't leave," Robin says in a rush, fighting to be heard. "I know she's- I know you're both in that gross, disgusting, married for sixty years, buried in the same plot, holding hands kind of love-" 

"The point?" 

"So I'm agreeing with you, asshole. I don't think she'd leave of her own volition, but she's not here." 

"What if she is? What if I go look for her and she's here and Barney from the kitchen has her tied up under his mattress?" 

"We've looked," Robin says, anger colouring her own tone now. "We've fucking looked, Steve, you and me and Dustin, Mike and Hopper, we've been in every room and hashing this out won't make her magically reappear, we need to go look for her. Maybe she did fucking leave you, and maybe she's lost. Whatever it is, you're gonna kill yourself not looking.

"Time to make a decision," she adds. "The longer we sit here the further away she gets." 

Tears burst unbidden in a race to his jawline.

He knows you better than he knows himself. He knows you've loved him for a long time, maybe since the day you met. He's loved you almost as long, and he doesn't care how selfish it sounds when he says he loves you so much more. If the last time you'd spent together is it — sorry, but Steve can't accept it. A slurred out 'Love you' and your kisses warming his cheek. That can't be all there is. 

He'd spend the rest of his life looking for you, if only to feel the weight of your body between his legs, your sleeping face tucked under his chest. Your hands, forever cold, chasing the heat of his spine as you slip them under his t-shirt. 

Hopper looks reluctant at the suggestion. 

"Kid-" 

"I'm not really asking. I need permission to get my bat back from the armoury, and food. Or forget the food." Someone knocks into his back and apologises. The cafeteria is teeming with people. Steve doesn't stop to look back to see who it is. 

"It's not about supplies. Everybody is accounted for, we checked, do you know what that means? Nobody else is with her." Nobody took her, he implies. She left of her own volition. 

"That's exactly why I need to go." 

"She took a rucksack with her." 

Steve blinks. 

"Three litres of water. Enough food for a month, and a pistol." 

You're smarter than three litres of water. And—

Steve's heart skips. "She doesn't know how to use a gun."

He knows exactly what's happened to you. Even if everybody else thinks he's crazy, or stupid, or plain naive, he knows you wouldn't take a gun, so somebody else took one, and then they took you. He imagines you with the barrel pressed to your nape and brims with indignation. 

Hopper grabs Steve's arm tightly before he can turn away. He likely doesn't want a scene in the cafeteria, not when the arts and crafts club is sitting two tables away, a whole classroom of children with delicate dispositions. 

"You're sure you want to go out there and look for her? Kid, nobody saw her leave, there's no signs of struggle. Chances are she left willingly." 

"You really believe that? Honestly?" 

His expression says everything Steve needs to know. Hopper doesn't believe what he's saying — he's feeding Steve a narrative in the hopes that it'll spare him. His decision is a hard one to make, prioritising the lives of the many over the few, and it's noble, but Steve couldn't care less about the risks. 

Hopper realises his plan is not going to work. He roughs up his hair and sighs. 

"Can't work a gun?" he asks Steve, nearly defeated. 

"She would pick the knife." 

"Fine. Better round up anybody stupid enough to go with you." 

—

"I think you're handsome," you say. 

Connor glares at you. He'd been in the middle of a self-hating rant, how he's ugly and how girls are all shallow. He's not even that ugly, but his expression, so full of hate, makes him monstrous. 

"I do," you further.

"Yeah, right." 

Your wrists hurt. The zip tie cuts into your skin even in efforts to hold your wrists together. You're raw, almost bleeding. And you're so fucking cold; this guy's an idiot, and you're gonna die of hypothermia if you can't charm him into giving you his coat. 

Your plan is awful and it likely won't work. You're trying to seduce him so you can take his gun, and hope you don't have to actually fire it. You've never killed somebody before, but you're willing to do what you need to if it means you'll survive. Your thoughts won't stop spiralling about Steve. He loves you. He's looking for you. If he never finds you, his life will be more ruined than it is already, and you'd never forgive yourself for that. You care about him too much to want to put him through the guilt of losing you. How he'd been looking for Robin, you don't want him to be that version of himself again. Closed off to everything, and everyone.

Under all that you're still hoping he's going to save you. You're gonna hear him calling. You hope — you know — Steve won't think you've left. While you haven't been quiet about your doubts living in The College, you wouldn't leave without him. Steve is the safest place in the world. 

"Connor," you say, eyes on his face and unflinching, determined to lie well, "are you kidding? Out of everyone, I only showed you how I was feeling. Why do you think that is?" 

He stares at you. 

You make a show of shivering. It isn't difficult. 

"You're the kindest person there, I know that," you say. "Nobody else would risk what you are to help me escape. Nobody, not even-" You wince. "Not even Steve." 

"Ugh, don't talk about him," Connor says. "You won't ever have to see that mindless idiot again." 

"You promise?" 

He stops walking. "You don't want to see him?" 

"No," you lie. "I- look, Connor, I know it's not something to be proud of, and I'm not proud of it, but I knew he could take care of me, you know? We were all alone, and I just needed someone to look after me. I was so scared. And I felt like I owed him." 

"You could've left him the moment you got to The College." 

You put on a sad little smile. I'm sorry, you think desperately. I'm sorry, Steve. 

"He wouldn't let me."

Quiet prevails again, the only sounds the wind and your shoes over brittle foliage. 

"I wanted to talk to you, and I think he could tell. He'd always pull me away when we s-s-saw you." 

His eyebrows furrow gently, a softness on his face that might seem genuine if there were any light behind his eyes. Connor peels off his jacket and tries to help you into it. 

"My wrists." 

"Right," he says. 

He pulls out a penknife. You know what to do, planning how you'll enact your next move in your head as he cuts you loose and helps your numb arms and fingers into the sleeves. He zips you up. You try not to breathe.

He takes a half step back, and his breath turns to a grunt, hands cruel at your wrists when you throw yourself at him. "What the fuck are you doing?" 

"Trying to hug you…" You say, heart a hummingbird in your chest. "I'm sorry, I just- I just wanted to say thank you." 

"You want to say thank you?" he asks, 

You regret it. You've already decided, as horrible as it is, that if he tries to hurt you or force you to do anything intimate with him, you're going to run, gun or no gun. This decision changes every other second. Better to let him hurt you like that and live, or better to die? 

"Yes," you say breathlessly. "I want to say thank you." 

"There's a cabin not far from here. That's where we're going. I've been getting it ready for us. You can show me how grateful you are when we get there, so pick up the pace." 

"A cabin?" you ask, tripping over your untied laces in your hurry to do as he says. 

"I've been getting it ready for weeks," he says. "Sneaking back and forth hasn't been easy, you know? Fucking migraine." 

Sneaking back and forth.

Who is he? Sneaking? Why would he need to? Who the fuck is he? You know of him as you know most people, and you'd been lucky to remember his name. If he hadn't gone on supply and scrounging trips with Steve, you wouldn't have. 

A memory. 

He'd been with Steve. 

Two weeks ago, Steve had come home depressed. Deflated, he'd encouraged you down into bed and laid out on top of you, frown pressed to your collar. You'd drawn a confession from him in ribbons, one hand rubbing his back until the tension he'd carried slipped away, the other resting at the back of his head. He'd been on a scouting trip, and he'd lost his partner. No sign of him, no signs of a geek death, nothing. He'd disappeared. 

That had been Connor, and everybody thinks he's dead. 

If they believe you left, they believe it was by yourself. You have to hope Steve believes you'd never go without him. 

If he doesn't, you are completely alone. 

—

Robin ties her shoe laces tightly. They're new, and they're startlingly white. Nothing ever looks so white these days. Bleach is a resource they can't make, and it gets hoarded by the medical team whenever they find any. Clothes here aren't dirty, but they'll never be pristine. 

She puts her foot back on to the floor next to Steve's back, where he poked around under her bed for useful things to take. Her torch, her batteries, her rucksack. 

"Robin… is this a fucking illegal food store?" 

"That's blowing it out of proportion." 

He climbs out from under the bed and drops her armful of twinkies, moon cakes, and a single Hershey's cookies 'n' creme. 

"You can take that one," she says, pointing at the Hershey's. "A treat for lovergirl. You may need leverage to win her back." 

He takes it. At this point, Robin's sure he'd cut his own hand off to bring you back with them. She kicks the rest of her contraband haphazardly under the bed and gets into a sweater, then another sweater, before zippering a winter coat over top. Robin's young, and mildly fit, not in shape but not out of it, so she volunteers for supply runs when Hopper asks for them. She can climb, and she's skinny enough to fit into places that other people can't. She's ready to go look for you. 

Steve stands and makes his way to the door, swinging his rucksack over his shoulder. 

They move out to the quad, where a sad roster of rescue squad applicants wait. Jonathan Byers sits on the low wall of the fountain, with a girl called Vanessa on one side, and a guy called Christopher on the other. Dustin and Mike stand talking, and Steve is barely in hearing range when he says, "You aren't coming, Henderson." 

He stops in front of the fountain. "Are you ready?" 

They all stand. Jonathan, surprisingly, has a gun strapped to his hip. "Hopper's orders," he says, sounding how Steve feels. 

"Steve," Dustin says. 

"You aren't allowed to come, for starters." 

"I am, we're sixteen, we can-" 

"Can't. That's why Will isn't here, right? Or Lucas? Because they actually listen when Hopper says no." 

Mike glares. "I'm not here to go save your girlfriend." 

"Awesome." Steve relaxes the tiniest bit, slapping Dustin's arm as they pass. "Thanks, Henderson, but you can't come. Stay here and make sure nobody claims our room." 

Dustin shouts a string of expletives at their backs. 

They pass through the North fence checkpoint. They're trying to retrace your steps. There aren't many to retrace. They assume you've gone North of the camp because South of it is Indiana, and Steve can't see why you'd backtrack.

They walk for hours. The sun moves through the sky all lazy and slow, tortuously so, and the only thing Steve can think of is you. It burns. 

The first hint of you is a scrap of fabric. It isn't yours as far as he knows, but he and Robin look at it, look at each other, and then pick up the pace. A half hour later they almost miss it, a black button in amongst dry earth. An hour later, there's a water bottle cap. 

"Holy fucking shit," Robin says. "She's leaving us breadcrumbs." 

"She's a smart girl," Steve says, too defensive considering Robin's praising you. "Of course she is." 

"I've been thinking," Jonathan says, his voice low and gravelly from a long period of quiet. "The theory is that she's uh, been kidnapped, right?" 

"That's the theory," Steve says tightly. Trying his best not to be a dick, because Jonathan hasn't done anything wrong. 

"So who took her?"

Steve's migraine throbs. He has this tension like a knit behind his eyes. He doesn't know who took you, he can't work it out, and it doesn’t make any sense. Hopper checked the lists and everybody in the community had been accounted for, and Steve had seen nearly every face himself hammering on doors. 

"My mom poured over that list, she ticked everybody off," Jonathan continues. 

"It doesn't make any sense," Steve says, "I know that, but she wouldn't leave like that, not–" 

"No, I'm not saying that," Jonathan says quickly. "I'm not saying you're wrong. I'm saying we have to think outside of the box. Whoever took her isn't on the register." 

"But they somehow knew enough about The College to take her without anybody seeing them," Vanessa says timidly. 

"They took her from the shower room," Steve says quietly. "Her soap was still there, 'nd the girl on duty said she never came out of the first door again, so they took her from the back, and quietly." 

"Maybe she got lured out," Robin says. "Maybe they tricked her." 

Jonathan closes the small walking gap between himself and Steve, face earnest and concerned. He looks like a friend. 

"Remember Tina and Sadie, they left two weeks ago to look for their mom? They're not on the register, they could still be close." 

"But what would they want from her?" Christopher asks sceptically.

Steve feels an inkling of memory…

"Steve," Robin says apprehensively, giving him major side eye. 

"It's fucking–" Heat like nothing he's ever felt burns behind his eyes. If he could, Steve would squat down on the ground and just sit there for a while, until this rush of fire and fear and missing you had toned it down, but he can't stop moving, so he staggers to keep walking. "Connor. It's Connor." 

"The Creep?" Robin asks. 

"I thought he died?" Vanessa asks. 

Steve picks up the pace of his steps, and tries to explain coherently, though his voice sounds ragged as his thoughts, "He didn't die, he– he disappeared. And he was so weird, he kept asking me about my girl, and just thought he was a perv, he–" Steve looks at his small group. "He was too interested in her. I should've seen it." 

"So he's not dead?" 

Steve's thinking that might be up for debate. 

—

The cabin is a shit show. When Connor bragged about fixing it up, you'd stupidly believed he actually fixed it up. His delusion stretches beyond you. It's cold to the point where your worries of hypothermia are no longer worries but eventualities, especially now he's realised the same thing and taken his coat back off of you. It hadn't fit well anyhow. 

You huddle in the corner of the room where a small wood fire burns in the stove, not too shameful to hold your numb fingers over the flame. Connor rages behind you, grumbling hate to himself and slamming whatever it is he can find against other things. Door to the frame, chair to the wall, his bag kicked across the room. You know that, eventually, his anger will turn to you. Projection of anger has rules. The wall won't look nearly as satisfying as a bruise. 

You turn to look at him over your shoulder as demurely as you can. You've smoothed down your hair, wiped your dirty face, and while you're no angel, he chose you, right? You must at least be his type. 

Or maybe you'd been an easy target. 

You wish you'd listened to Mallory all those weeks ago when she'd told you that having only Steve was a terrible idea. Not because having Steve is terrible, having Steve is everything, but because you can't imagine many people who'd be willing to fight for you. If he's coming to find you it's likely all by himself. Can Steve overpower this guy? You'd thought you could but you're not so sure. He's a tall man, an easy six foot. 

He's scaring you. 

You would try to calm him down if you weren’t worried he’d want you to show you how grateful you are for being rescued. You’d rather he rail at the window than touch you.

A sound like splintering wood has you flinching forward and away from him, hands dangerously close to the fire. You pull them away with a gasp, reminding Connor of your presence. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” you say hurriedly. “You should come and sit down, huh? You’ve been walking all day.”

He sits down beside you after a pensive, dramatic minute rubbing his own head. He drops his bag by your feet and you take whatever warmth you can, hiding your shoes underneath it. 

When he puts his hand on your thigh, you try to pretend it’s Steve. Steve sitting next to you, warm and soft and ready to pull you into his lap, that place between his legs, chest to chest and eye to eye. You want his hand in your hair, and his hot back under your frostbitten fingers.even when you were new, not quite in love, he’d let you hide your hands under his t-shirt. He’s that kind of good, right down to the marrow in his bones. 

You wish you’d known what was going to happen. Not even to ask him to come with you. You think after everything the two of you deserve a proper goodbye. All that pain and all that affection and this is how it ends? 

Connor’s hand creeps further down the length of your leg. You think, alright. Alright. I’ll do whatever I have to do if I get to see Steve again. 

A sound like cracking wood echoes outside. 

Connor is up and against the wall in two blinks. You follow him, breathing shallow as you peer outside. You’d agreed to the wood fire, knowing you’d get irretrievably sick without it, but you hadn’t mentioned the rule. You and Steve didn’t have too many, just enough to keep you alive, and the most important was to know the area before lighting a fire while it’s still light out. The smoke is a dead giveaway every time. 

Another sound.  

Someone has seen the smoke. 

“What do we do?” you whisper. 

He holds up his hand. 

“What are we gonna do?”

“Let me think.”

“Should we put out the fire?”

“Shut up!” he says harshly. “Shut up, Jesus Christ. I can’t think with you jabbering in my ear.”

Connor opens his backpack and takes out a zip tie. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head emphatically, “no, you can’t.”

“It’s this or I handcuff you to the radiator,” he says. 

A silence stretches between you both. He grabs your wrists and closes the zip tie around your wrist until you’re sure your hands will fall off, plastic digging cruelly into the lines already there. 

“You’re evil,” you murmur. 

His eyes turn to frosted glass. For the second time, you think, There’s nothing there. Nothing kind. Obviously not: he’s such a loser he felt he had to take a girl captive to get some. Fucking freak. 

He takes your face into his hand, squeezing your jaw in his paw of a hand. You whimper, your teeth grinding and your bones creaking from the force of it. 

“Stay quiet.” 

You stare. 

“Say ‘yes’.”

His fingers dig into your skin so hard you know you’ll have fingernail welts. 

“Yes,” you say, feeling as though you’ve choked on your own tongue. “I’ll be quiet.”

He throws your face away and your head smacks the wall. No more happy families. You cringe and slide down into yourself, a curled ball as he leaves the room. The gun clicks in his hands as he switches off the safety, and another metallic sound follows. You know it isn’t good. 

You cower for a moment, freaked out beyond words, and then you pull it together. For Steve. You sit up and press an awkward hand to your aching, stinging jaw. There’s blood on your fingers when you pull your bound hands away. You slide onto your knees and struggle to stand, shoulders riding the wall. Your ears are posted for a sound. There are a hundred options and you don’t want any of them. Run away, get killed by whoever’s out there. Run away, get killed by Connor. Run away, get killed by a geek. Run away, survive, and never find a way to unbind yourself. Run away into the hands of someone crueller. Run away and never find Steve. 

A female voice calls out. 

“We just want to talk!”

That’s nobody you know. It’s not Robin. You try not to feel heartbroken, and when you do you try to hold it rather than have it drag you down. It’s not Steve, fine, but it’s a woman, and she’s probably a whole lot safer than Connor. 

“I’m armed!” Connor shouts. 

You walk slowly to the window and peer through. Down the cabin steps and in the grass stands a dark silhouette you know is Connor. Further along is a woman and another figure. You’re not sure who. 

“So are we!” she calls. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. What are you supposed to do? What’s the answer here?

The shouting out front continues, but that’s not what distracts you— there are sounds coming from behind. There’s someone at the back door. You cast your gaze around the room to look for something that can help you. There’s a fire poker on the floor near the wood stove. You rush to grab it, almost falling at the weight of your own head. 

The first pop of the gun makes you drop it. Tears roll down your cheeks as you scramble to grab it again, hands shaking hard as footsteps sound in the hall. Another gunshot makes you gasp, the third has you swallowing a sob. You press yourself hard into the wall with the poker held aloft. 

The door opens. 

For a second, a split-second, you don’t recognise him. 

“Steve!” Jonathan Byers shouts, grinning, “I got her!”

Thudding races from the kitchen and down the hallway. Steve appears behind Jonathan like a dream, a dizzying relief to see in all his pale sweetness. 

You drop the poker and a sob comes so hard you can’t keep your eyes open. You’ve never felt anything like this. A nightmare over so suddenly and all you can do is fight to open your eyes. 

Steve crosses the room, steps over Connor’s tantrum like it isn’t there, and wraps his arms around you. It’s a different kind of tightness, nothing like the cruel press of Connor’s fingers. Steve pulls you together, steadies you, cheek smashed into the top of your head and arms circling your shoulders. Your fingers shake, you can’t move your hands, and still you curl them around his coat uselessly. You can’t get a hold on him, but it doesn’t matter. Steve has you. 

“It’s okay,” he’s saying, strands of panic sewn between the reassurance in his lovely voice. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Come on.” You’re crying like a little kid. You can’t stop, and you can’t breathe. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

Steve draws away from you, barely an inch, to slide the blade of his pen knife between your wrists. The zip tie splits and you vy for him weakly, your hands to his waist. 

He shoves the pen knife into his pocket and grabs your arm. “I know, I know, but we have to go. We can’t stay here, the noise’ll draw company we don't want.” His hand roams up to your neck. He cups your face, his palm blistering to your chilled cheek. “Hey,” he says, smiling a rare smile. “My girl… it’ll be okay. I’m gonna fix it. Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

He nods at you hopefully. You swallow your sobbing until it’s a wet gasping sounds and nod back. He looks at you for a charged second, before he wraps his arms around you again. Gentle, so, so careful. Your head rests in the crook of his arm, a crop of kisses laid over your cold cheek. 

“You’re freezing,” he murmurs.

“I’m okay,” you say. “I’m fine now.” 

—

Steve sits in the path of the window, afternoon light drizzling into his eyes and over your sleeping face. He squints against its brightness and stands to pull the curtains closed, fingertips on your shoulder. He has to stretch to reach, but he refuses to stop touching you. He’s worried you’ll disappear if he does. Contact keeps you here. 

Curtains closed, he sits back down tentatively, looking for your hand in the mess of blankets and quilts covering your body. He’s wiped the blood from your cheeks, tended to your small inflamed cuts with disinfectant. He’s wrapped your sore wrists, spent hours rubbing your frostbitten fingers, worried the cold killed your circulation. You’ve slept for hours now, only stirring when he had to use the bathroom. He’d been gone for less than a minute, a heart attack in sixty seconds, and you’d been awake and trying to get out of bed when he got back. 

He stays close. 

He just wants you to rest. 

Steve pulls back the blankets and slips in beside you slowly. You turn into his movements, and when he’s flat on his back you let your weight rest on him completely. Your breathing tells him you’re waking up, not quite slow, not quite deep. 

He takes your hand into both of his and hugs it. Found it, he thinks.

“Stevie,” you utter. 

“Yeah, I’m here.”

You smile and push your face into the juncture of his neck. 

There aren’t really words for what Steve feels. Relief like a hurricane. Guilt something worse. Love, anger, worry. It’s all mixed together and he can’t pull one from the other, but he knows one thing. 

“I couldn’t live without you,” he mumbles. 

“Good,” you say. You snort into his skin. “Not good, baby, that’s awful, but-” You pull your hand from his to wrap it around his shoulders. He pulls you up onto his chest. “Good, ‘cause I can’t live without you.”

“You don’t have to.”

Your voice is scratchy from a lot of tears. He never wants to hear you cry like that again. He’s only heard it once before, when you’d fallen through the first floor of a dilapidated house a hundred miles away, and after hours where he’d assumed you’d never wake up again, you did, and you’d been in so much pain you couldn’t stay still. You’d shook for days. 

“I would’ve looked for you until I found you,” he says, unsure what he wants. He thinks, selfishly, that he’d like some comfort. 

“I know,” you say, your hand moving up, up to his hair. 

You lean back to see him, the two of you nose to nose, and stroke his hair away from his forehead one strand at a time. 

“Will you kiss me?” you whisper. 

“Depends,” he whispers back. “What’s in it for me?”

“Anything you want.”

He smirks at you. “Already got everything I want right here.”

“In that case, you’ll have to consider it part of your philanthropy, handsome. I’m a charity case.”

“How dare you say that about my girl,” he says, his feigned indignation hard to believe with the mildness of his tone, and his lips so close to yours. 

He kisses you, worried you’ll fall apart. It’s a sad kiss, not what he’d expected, though it’s better than the terrified one he’d stolen before you fell asleep. That had been nervous energy and imprecise, all the urgency of your first kiss and none of the finesse. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, peeling away from his case to frame his face in your hands. 

He could say no. Tears burn behind his eyes, his nose stings, he could burst into tears in your arms. 

“How can you ask me that?” he asks, watching as your eyes pinch into a squint and all your eyelashes kiss. 

“I love you,” you say. 

He chokes on air. “I know that. I love you, too, but you’re the one who got hurt. You’re the one who’s hurting, why would you ask me how I am? You’re—“ Too good. Too good for me. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Steve.”

You have tears in your eyes and he’s flooded with guilt. He brought it up too soon, he knows. It’s barely over — you need to feel safe, and won’t if he keeps reminding you. 

“I’m okay,” he says softly. “How are you feeling, huh?”

“I’m actually starving,” you admit, squishing his cheeks with your hands. 

“You want me to go get you something?”

You look down bashfully. “I really need to shower, Steve. You might be blind to my grime but I’m gross right now–”

He kisses you to cut you off, a sharp, saccharine kiss that makes you giggle. “That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about, idiot.”

“Your girlfriend is a creature.”

“A creature!” He uses his weight to push you onto your back, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re done. You’re done,” he repeats, beaming at your infectious laughter, “you think you can talk about yourself whatever way you like, don’t you? It’s not happening.”

“Okay, I won’t,” you say, your eyes locking with his. 

He watches your lips part, feels the rise and fall of your chest under his. 

I’m so sorry, he wants to tell you. 

You’re finally smiling. He won’t ruin it.

“Thank you,” he says, pulling his lips into a big smile. 

It’s easier than he anticipates to smile. You needle your arms over his shoulders and tug him to your chest, your own smile like a brand next to his ear. 

“I missed you,” you say. “I know it’s stupid.”

He exhales heavily. “I missed you too.”

[just-some-random-blogger]

Ghosts

[Waiting For A Lifetime IV] Part 1 2 3 4 ?

Daemon Targaryen x Reader + Aegon Targaryen x Reader + Aemond Targaryen x Reader + others (;

Summary: Ghosts will ride on to haunt you. Ghosts will come from your past, carrying a holy axe. Ghosts will taunt you you. Ghosts will come from your your memories, intent on burning the bridges at last.

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, Modern AU, smut (biting, hair pulling, but its honestly its vanilla, crying [they get pretty emotional], vaginal penetration, cream pie, cock warming), surface level knowledge on asoiaf lore, internet translated high valyrian, angst, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: welcome my meowmeows today we die- i i mean dine 😃 i say MDNI but its at the very end so once you reach that part, you can always choose not to read it. please keep in mind that I have little knowledge about any asoiaf lore so if you would like to correct me, have at me Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @pearlstiare @llovinjoonie @sabrina6272827 @ayamenimthiriel @comicsol1999 @fictionalcomforts @mirandastuckinthe80s @mooniesyubi @cookielovesbook-akie @panagiasikelia @mlwriting5 @bibli0thecary @ateliefloresdaprimavera @margaglitterdeath @fan-goddess @bibli0thecary @iamlost @queenofshinigamis @thebullship @slavyanskiyahui

"What are you doing?"

I look out the balcony. A wind blows across my body. My frilly lingerie flows in the wind.

"Come back inside, it's cold."

I lean on the fence. I look down at the view of Dorne as far as the eye could see. I release a breath.

I hear my name get spoken. It was no alias. No made up identity. It was my name. He calls out my name.

"I'm not cold," I mutter, mostly to myself.

A hand comes around my waist. I sigh as I am pulled in against a warm body. He hisses and presses his lips on my head, "you're ice cold, baby."

I shake my head, refusing to lean against him, "the sun hasn't shone yet. What do you expect the whether to be at this time?

He pushes my hair back and leans in to kiss my neck. His stubble scratches my skin. His deep voice utters, "I'll make you tea and breakfast..." both hands come to my stomach as he pulls me closer, "then toast, or waffles, or pancakes, or bac-"

He flinches and tightens his hold on me when there is a loud crash from the street below. He pulls away from me to check what happen. I don't look, instead I go inside.

"Fucking car crash," he calls out as I walk over to his bedroom, the bedroom that I had been staying in for far too long.

When I get there, I begin to pack my things and dress up. I catch my face in the mirror as I put on my pants. I freeze because of it. I trace the scars on my chest, from a dagger, I look at the marks at the curve of my jaw, from a sword, then I look at my hands, calloused centuries of memories. I feel hollow... hollower. I am reminded of my loneliness. I was devoid of purpose.

I look over my shoulder when I hear him call my name again. I hastily put the rest of my clothes on.

My purpose was not with him.

I shove clothes in my bag and zip it close.

He could not give me purpose.

I exit the bedroom before he can enter, and I head for the door. He catches my arm and stops me before I can walk any father. He says my name. I ignore him. He tugs my arm desperately, just how he repeats my name. I look at him, stoic, "I have to go."

His thick brows furrow. His jaw clenches. He shakes his head. He tightens his grip on my arm and steps forward, "I'm going to make you your fav-"

"I can't do this anymore, Bobby," I mutter sharply under my breath.

He freezes. I pull my arm away from him. I clutch my bag and face him fully, "our time is up."

He shakes his head. He places his hands on his hips. He calms his breathing. He speaks lowly, "stay for breakfast."

I press my lips into a soft smile, "you have been nothing but-"

"No."

"-kind, and sweet, and caring-"

"No. Please. No!"

"-and you are reason why I have gotten the closest I have to feeling love like this after such a long time-"

Bobby mutters my name and walks over to me. He clutches my bag and urges me toward him, "and I can show you more. Please, please just-"

I press my fingers on his lips. I shake my head and look at his glassy eyes. I brush back the short dark hairs by his forehead as I continue to disagree, "you deserve better than this."

"No I-"

"You deserve someone who's going to love you back."

"I don't want someone to love me back!" He grabs my shoulders, "I just want you."

I mutter his name but he does not hear it as he talks over me with a million offers, a million solutions, a million things he could and would do, so long as he could keep me.

I release my bag and clutch his shirt. I clench my jaw as tears leave my eyes at the sight of the ones streaming down his face. I release a sigh and lean into him. I silence him by claiming his mouth with my own. It is sad, it is desperate, it is salted with tears.

He pulls me against his chest. He does it with much vigor, intent on trapping me against his chest. He rubs my back and chases my mouth like it was his lifeline. He pushes me back. I let him push me back. He seals me against the wall and his arms, but then he dig his fingers into my waist band.

"Bobby-" I catch his wrists.

"Please," he mutters, kissing me again, "I'm good at his. I'm good at this... can make you feel good. Please."

I push him away before he can undo the button.

He whimpers. His voice cracks, "please- please, I can make you love me."

I shake my head. I ghost my fingertips on his temple, "not in this lifetime," I touch my lips on his cheek for the final time, "goodbye, Bobby."

I snap to my side, reeling out of my thoughts when I hear someone cough. I am back in reality, evidence was the sight of King Viserys' raised brows. I shrug and turn back to the artifact hung on the wall, "Dornish art to me is..." I brush away the memory that flooded my brain as I offered a smile to the man beside me, "heart ache and heat."

Viserys chuckles as he glances at the display, "that doesn't sound very enthusiastic. Are you not a fan of the Dornes?"

I release a breath, "I speak this with nothing but honesty," I raise my hands, "but I am biased to the aesthetics of the Targaryen dynasty."

The king laughs, "spoken like a true poet."

I press my lips into a soft smile, "well, I am a lover of many arts, my king." I motion to the exit of the exhibit, "perhaps, I think, you would enjoy this area of the museum much more, your majesty."

I lead the king (and his bodyguards) to the next section of the place. Immediately, the king reacts to the sight of the massive dragon skull in the middle of the room. He laughs as he nears the thing. I smile at the sight of his excited face.

"Balerion," the king says.

I tail after him as he moves to the inscription for the object, "indeed. The Black Dread, mount of King Aegon the first, King Maegor the first, Princess Aerea, and King Viserys the first."

The king chuckles under his breath as he shakes his head, "skoros iā ossȳngnon ziry would emagon issare."

What a terror he would have been.

I nod my head and look at the skull, "a fearsome and terrorizing beauty indeed."

Viserys turns to me just as I motion to the walls and begin to ramble about the history of it all, particularly nerding out over the massive painting depicting dragons, Targaryen princes, and civil war.

"You need not remind me of the history of my ancestors, pet," he says, walking up beside me, with his hands behind his back, "what I am more interested in is the rest of your tale with the prince."

I turn to Viserys and give him a smile and shrug, "as I said your grace, I have recounted all the memories I've had with your brother, prince Daemon the eighth."

The king makes a face, "huh," he raises a brow and narrows his eyes, "I don't suppose you have memories with prince Daemon the seventh then?"

I chuckle, "no," I shake my head, turning back to the painting, "only with Daemon the first."

The king laughs under his breath and turns to the painting as well.

"Oh yes I do hope you're enjoying yourself, brother."

Before I could react to the words that were spoken, I am pulled back and kissed on the neck. I turn from the painting, one of the many that visualized the Dance of the Dragons, then over my shoulder about the same time Viserys does.

"Daemon-" the king barks, eyes looking out to room, warry of everyone around. He does not continue when he hears the prince pipe up to me, "did he do anything unsavory to you, my love?"

This time, both Viserys and I speak his name, albeit starkly contrasting.

"Daemon," I mutter, as I try to push him away, "please, we are out in public. Some-"

"I don't give a fuck," Daemon cuts me off, ripping me back into him, "answer the question."

"Daemon," Viserys grumbles, stepping close, "unhand her."

"No!" Daemon snaps, shooting a look of daggers to his brother.

I gasp as I press my fingers to his lips. I slowly move away from him. "My love please," I whine, "the king has been nothing but kind to me and all he is asking for you to conduct you-"

"I will not have anyone, even the king, separate me from my bride," he yanks me close to him, arm coming around my shoulders.

My hands clutch his arms.

At that moment, because of how it reflected the light, Viserys spots the silver ring on his brother's bride. His eyes twitches as he rethinks the story of the personal vows. He scoffs, eyes darting back up to Daemon, "you do realize doing this makes her life more difficult."

Daemon turns to his brother, lips curling into a smile, although he was not amused by the thought even a fraction, "well then let me take her to Dragonston-"

"Keep your voice down," Viserys hisses, stepping closer.

Daemon pushes me behind him and moves towards the king, "lo ao sagon olvie gaomagon lēda aōha urnēptre hen kustikāne naejot ñuha ābrazȳrys, ao sȳrje sagon jāre sir."

If you're quite done with your show of strength to my wife, you best be going now.

"Daemon," I call out

Viserys makes a face as he scoffs. He shakes his head, "I'm doing this to protect you, Daemon."

"Well I don't want your protection," he mutters, "I can protect myself. I can protect her," he quips, "what I need is your-"

"My what?" Viserys cuts, "my blind obedience to your wishes?" He lets out another scoff, "perhaps you should have been born first and become king."

Daemon holds his tongue. This is why Viserys will never know that the word his baby brother meant to say was blessing.

Viserys pulls away from Daemon and masks his expression rather quickly when he hears one of the bodyguards tell off some people from trying to enter this part of the exhibit and for attempting to take pictures.

I watch as the lines on Daemon's face tighten. I watch as he presses his lips together in tension where Viserys loosens his jaw and takes a breath.

The king turns around, clapping his hands together, putting on a grin, "well, if I must leave, then I should have my photo be taken with the staff of the museum." He turns to me, "would you be a dear and invite your colleagues over for a photo?"

Daemon turns to me as Viserys points, "I should like one with Balerion."

I smile and nod, "of course, your grace."

When I move off to round up the museum personnel, Daemon grabs my arm and knits his brows. He presses his lips into a pleading frown and makes up for the space between us.

I sigh and shake my head, "calm down," I mutter in High Valyrian. I reach out for his cheek and brush his skin, "nothing will happen with me. I will be back soon."

Viserys knits his brows as he watches Daemon mutter pleas in their mother tongue not to be left alone. He feels a sting in his heart at the desperation of his brother. He is deeply disturbed by everything.

He then thinks about the admission he heard earlier, about when Daemon wandered off drunk and arrived at his 'wife's' home, nothing but actual sleeping happened. He wonders if Daemon will lose interest once they share a bed.

I sigh when Daemon steals a kiss from my lips. I brush his hair back and give him a smile before I walk off to do my business. Daemon refuses to release my hand until the very last moment. He leaves his arm hanging in the air as he watches me walk away.

Viserys watches Daemon watches me.

"Brother," Viserys says, "I am genuinely concerned for you."

Daemon turns to him, all the softness in his expression fading. He pettily ignores the king and turns to the painting on the wall. He crosses his arms and stares blankly.

The elder of the two sighs and beholds the same painting before him. Viserys thinks about the artistry but only for a moment because he beholds the fury of the dragons, the fury of the princes, the fire and the blood. He looks upon the legacy of his house, the strife of his kin, the romanticization of it all. Then he looks upon his brother. He looks at how his violet eyes glistened with the light from the room, and yet the light in his eyes was not there.

And he looked again when their picture was taken, how he smiled softly at the camera as he stood next to whom he was so adamant to be around. Viserys saw the change.

Daemon places his arm over both me and one other employee. I turn to Bertha as she grins and says, "the prince has his arm on our shoulders."

I grin back at her as Daemon smiles at me, "well, I must constantly be surrounded have a beautiful woman in my arm," he turns to Bertha, "now I have two."

Bertha giggles as I shake my head.

I turn to Aemond to my right. He is rigid beside me, and so pull him close and offer a smile. He mumbles under his breath, "I can do something if you're not uncomfortable with having your photo taken."

I give him a quick smile and shake my head, "it'll be fine."

Aemond clenches his jaw. He turns away just before Daemon shoots him a look.

"Alright everyone," the photographer says, "big smile in 3, 2, 1."

The photo ends up on the news, on the TV, on the radio, on the internet, on the magazines, on the newspaper.

King Viserys and Prince Daemon honor Museum of Ice and Fire with a visit in line with upcoming Cultural Arts Celebration

The Blonde Brothers reunite with a visit to Museum of Ice and Fire in honor of incoming Cultural Arts Celebration to be held next week.

Targaryens storm the Museum of Ice and Fire, leaving everyone swooning and saluting

Prince Daemon flirts with local museum curator during a visit to Museum of Ice and Fire

Upon reading seeing the photos attached to one of the many headlines tied to that day, Bobby drops his mug and misses the table, causing it to crash and break and spill all over the floor. He hisses as the hot coffee splashes on his leg and yet he pays no more than a second's thought on it as he leans into his computer and clicks the link on the screen.

He stares at the photograph of the prince with his arm over two women, one of which he knew for she was his ghost, his love, his heartbreak and heat.

He lets out a shaky breath then pushes himself off his desk chair. He grabs his phone and calls a contact, biting his fingernails as he did so.

"Hell-"

"Martell," he says, which is enough of a formality you could ever get out of him at this point, "I need you to pull out some old files and redo some research for me."

Alternatively, Aegon was hammering his head over and over again on his table as he wasted the little time he had on break by obsessing over the articles he saw on the internet.

He wasn't hungry anyway.

No, that was a lie. He was starving, but he already finished his snack after stuffing the fish and chips he had in his mouth far too quickly for anyone's good. He hadn't even realized he finished it, nor that he was eating, really, upon until he looked to his empty plate with shock washing over.

Now he had just made himself miserable and didn't feel any fuller than he was before eating.

He looks at the time and laughs bitterly to himself. This was supposed to be the time his saving grace came, but he knew no one was coming today.

He messages his brother again. Scrolling up from the first message he sent today down to the last.

DUDE WTF THE ROYAL FAMILY IS AT YOUR JOB? BRUH BRUH brush bruh AEMOND THE HELL IS HAPPENING oh is it the king wtf is the king doing there THE BLOND BITHCES ARE THERE aemond are you dead?????????? AEMOND WAHT THE FUCK Link attached WHAT THE FUCK YOU SITTING THERE NEXT TO HER Link attached Link attached Link attached AEMOND YOU IDIOT BITCH ASS CUNT RESPOND TO ME i hope youre miserable i hope you see them make out again can you ask her if shes coming ............ i know she wont but do it anyway fuck you bitch Image Attatched

"Quit flippin' on ya phone and get back to work boy," Aegon's boss calls as he enters the storage room, "breaks over."

Aegon stands and nods, "yeah, boss."

Aemond sorely ignored his phone as it blew up. It was bad enough that his head was plagued with the images of a doting couple sneaking glances and touches of each other, he did the right thing by putting his phone on silent.

He was currently on chapter 15 of the book he found entitled Blood Magic, Soul Ties, & Rebirth. In truth, it was nothing like he expected it to be. It was written more like a diary rather than a document like he had expected. It was all written in the perspective of the author, much like the tomes of the old history of Westeros, but, in his opinion, not at all academic in nature. Upon seeing there were parts that spilled into fantastical accounts Aemond understood why this book was still very much under review in the museum, and not somewhere in the national library. What exactly was it?

The chapters would start with personal ire:

Eman suffered rōvēgrī va se [account] hen [magic] se [ash]. Nyke ilimagho se [loss] hen mirre whom nyke jorrāelagon. Nyke [scorn] nykēla syt se [mercy] [exchanged] syt ñuha [soul], skore nyke ojūdan. Gaoman daor jaelagon naejot glaesagon, yn nyke glaesagon syt zirȳla.

I have suffered greatly on the [account] of [magic] and [ash]. I mourn the [loss] of all whom I love. I [scorn] myself for the [mercy] [exchanged] for my [soul], which I lost. I do not wish to live, but I live for him.

And then would go about to explain the process of a certain spell or incantation, all of which involve the spilling of blood, be it animal or human.

Se [spell] syt ease hen riña sikagon. Issa [recommended] bona gaomā bisy [month] iā [less] gō se sikagon hen aōha riña. Kesā jorrāelagon ānogar hen iā [elk], iā molry hen iā [elk], lanta [hooves] hen iā [elk], ānogar hen iā atroksia, ampa [feathers] hen iā atroksia. Istia perform se [following] [incantation] rȳ se zōbrie bantio.

The [spell] for ease of child birth. It is [recommended] that you do this one [month] or [less] before the birth of your child. You will need blood of an [elk], a horn of an [elk], two [hooves] of an [elk], blood of an owl, ten [feathers] of an owl. You must perform the [following] [incantation] at the dark of night.

Finally ending with ominous warnings that tread the line between a word of caution and a threat.

Sagon [warned] bona se [cost] hen ānogar [magic] ēza zȳha [weight] isse ānogar. Daor [amount] hen āeksion kessa [save] ao hen se [consequences] hen skore ao jaelagon naejot [reap]. Sagon [warned] bona ao daor undo līr iksis gaomagon Se ao daor [exact] līr kessa sagon se [payment] syt aōha actions.

Be [warned] that the [cost] of the blood [magic] has its [weight] in blood. No [amount] of gold will [save] you from the [consequences] of which you wish to [reap.] Be [warned] that you cannot undo that which is done and you cannot [exact] that which will be the [payment] for your actions.

Aemond narrows his brows and cocks his head at a particularly random hark.

Eman issare maghatan arlī naejot ābrar ondoso se dārilaros se oh skorkydoso nyke jaelagon [instead] naejot emagon rhēdan zirȳla rȳ se remȳti hen mēre hen [heavens] iā sesīr rȳ mēre hen [hells]. Oh valzȳrys [would] ao [loathe] nyke syt [reaping] nykēla hen qrimbrōstan irudy ao teptan nyke?

I have been brought back to life by the prince and oh how I wish [instead] to have met him at the gates of one of the [heavens] or even at one of the [hells]. Oh husband [would] you [loathe] me for [reaping] myself of the cursed gift you gave me?

He straightens in his seat when someone comes in and announces he's done for the day and that Aemond should probably get going too. He nods his head in regard and puts the largish book down, debating whether or not anyone would look for it if he took it home with him.

He checks the time on his phone, swiping away his million notifications from his brother, then raises a brow at the email notification he got from his cousin, Alicent.

All the while the king and queen were discussing Daemon over dinner.

Aemma grins, "so you've given him your blessing!"

"Lovie, it's like you've not heard a word I said," Viserys says as he licks the side of his knife, which was covered in sauce.

"Visy, I heard you loud and clear, and I'm glad that you've opened up your heart for this," she smiles as she cuts up her meat.

The king rolls his eyes, "I gave him an ultimatum."

"Exactly," the queen shakes her head and repeats her husband's words, "1 week, 1 month, 3 months, half a year until a years passed. If he still feels the same as he does now, then I shall be attending a wedding at Dragonstone by this time next year and my Rhaenyra can expect cousins most swiftly!"

He sighs and drops his cutlery, "my dear," he licks his lips, "I don't want you to get your hope up over something that could well not last."

Aemma eyes him darkly, "well you ought to not jinx it with you sourness."

"Aemma."

"Viserys," she places her own silverware down, "you told me yourself that you saw how his eyes lit up at the sight of her."

He rolls his jaw and leans back on his chair.

"You and your brother have may act like you're constantly at separate ends of pole, but I know that each time you snarl and snap at each other with fire at the back of your throat, neither of you care any less about the other."

Aemma presses her lips together as Viserys looks at her face. He sighs. He reaches out for her cheek, stroking her fair brows, memorizing the curve of her lips before leaning in to kiss her. He would be lost without his light, his Aemma. He wonders if, truly, that was how Daemon felt about this woman.

Well, Daemon let his actions speak louder than his words that night.

The moment we arrived to my home, after Daemon begrudgingly waited out my shift in one of the royal guard's car, I was immediately swarmed by him, him and his hands, his lips, his voice, his breath. Daemon caught me against him and refused to concede, to yield, or even to loosen he grip.

He barely even let me lock my front door on our way inside. I was glad I managed through his tender and eager, open mouthed attacks.

"Kesā daor henujagon nyke arlī, ābrazȳrys," Daemon mutters as he pulls me into him not even a second after letting me go to close the door. He shoves my hair off to the side and attacks my nape with kisses, leading me backward as he blindly navigated my home in the dark.

I hiss then chastise him with giggles when he runs into my lamp, "Daemon please."

"It's so fucking dark."

I pull away from him and take his hands that were clutching my torso, leading him off to my bedroom.

The moment I open the door, he charges at me with more kisses, this time, the light from the street lamps and the moon made it easier for him to navigate to the bed.

I release a sigh when he pushes me back on the mattress, chest pressed against mine, hands caressing and massaging every part of my body. He breathily repeats his words from earlier in between kisses, "kesā daor henujagon nyke arlī, ābrazȳrys," he begins to rip at my clothing, "iksā ñuhon," he heaves, "mirre ñuhon," he presses his forehead on mine, "ñuhon, ñuhon, ñuhon, ñuhon -"

You will not leave me again, wife. You are mine. All mine. Mine, mine, mine, mine.

I shift on my spot and sit up as I help Daemon undress me before he sequentially helps me undress himself.

I whimper as he pushes me back down and grabs my thighs. I squeak out a moan, catching his face in my hands, as he hovers over me.

I cry his name out when I feel him brush his hardened and pulsing length against me. He hisses as he looks down. His hands leave my thighs, one landing by my side, propping him up, the other coming to my wetness, stroking me there sweetly, "such a pretty girl, my love... so ready for me."

I whine as he amuses himself by fondling with my slick. He touches me as light as a ghost and teases my weeping entrance like a devious little boy, hellbent on making chaos of everything.

"Daemon."

"Shhhh," he leans in and licks my lips, "ivestragī nyke emagon ñuha kirimves." Let me have my fun.

I chase after his mouth but he pulls away too quickly, continuing to make a mess of me.

I bring my fingers to his nape, nails digging into his scalp, firmly tugging at his blonde locks. I plead, "Daemon."

He pacifies me with a kiss but does not cease his teasing ministrations. I moan when I feel his two digits barely sink into me. He laughs against our kiss and has to pull away from me all together, both hands sinking into the cushion by my sides, to calm himself down.

I huff in frustration and impatience at his deep chuckles. I decide to take matters into my own hands, literally, and shift beneath him, grabbing his thick member, easing him into me.

His amusement curdles into a moan at my touch. We both audibly react when he slowly sinks into me. He cusses where I call out his name. He breathes hotly against my neck as I wrap my arms around him and seal my legs around his waist.

He suddenly finds it in him to laugh again. He does so with much excitement.

And though I whimper at the feel of him jolting within me, I cannot help but feel a sense of contentment wave upon me. I rub my cheek against his head and scratch his scalp gently. We stay like this for a long while. I do not mind it, not really, I like him like this. But with every second that passed, it felt like my pulse was banging harder and harder.

I whine "ñuha jorrāelagon, kostilus dīnagon, nyke jorrāelagon ao sir" My love, please move, I need you right now.

Daemon chuckles and kisses my jaw, hands squeezing my thigh firmly as he slowly lifts his head up, "so impatient."

I rock my hips beneath him as I nod, "need you so bad."

Daemon obliges and begins to slowly thrust into me. He kisses my lips and makes a sound that is a laugh mixed with a moan, "I know, baby," he digs his nails into my flesh, "I know," he repeats more solemnly, "I need you too-- need you so badly."

My breath hitches when he picks up his pace. He quickens just a little bit, so subtly, and it grinds at my brain. Each time he moves, he exits wholly and enters fully, he stretches me out so nicely and fills me up so good.

I pant against his shoulder and sink my teeth into his muscle, licking and sucking at the area.

He moans at the feeling. He then shifts me in my spot, pushing me up, allowing himself more leverage from above me, making me cry out when he hits a part in me that touches seemingly every nerve of my body.

I screw my eyes shut and feel my eyes water at the sensation. I throw my head back and rip at his shoulder blades.

He huffs against me and continues in his pace, andante, taking his time to move from tip to hilt, savoring each moment, each stroke, each huff, each sigh, each whimper.

He continues like this. He is steady like this. He is beautiful like this.

My fingers and toes curl at the feel of him. My belly flutters. My breath strains. My mind fogs. All because of him, because of how I take in his scent, how I taste his skin, how I wrap around him.

"Dārilaros," I mutter against his ear, "ao ȳdra daor gīmigon skorkydoso olvie nyke bōsa naejot gaomagon ao hae bisa."

My prince, you don't know how much I long to keep you like this.

Daemon thrusts particularly deeply.

Tears pool at the corner of my eyes. Air catches in my throat. I choke on a sob as emotion floods through me. I am hit with this epiphany so very suddenly. I was, next moment, cathartic over the fact he was real, he was here, and he was mine. After all these years, after the dredging, after the lamenting, after the hurting, here he was, a sky above me, a sanctuary around me, a hearth inside me.

He loves on my face, peppering my skin with with kisses, "pār gaomagon nyke va ao," he presses his hands on my waist, knocking into me with forte, "umbagon lēda nyke," he moans against my lips, "sagon ñuha lenton,"

Then keep me on you, stay with me, be my home.

When my hands dart to his cheeks. Only then do I realize that he, too, was teary eyed as my thumbs find the dampness on his face. I open my eyes to look at him but shut close again when his mouth finds mine.

Daemon eases into his accelerando, gently and caringly thrusting faster and faster, staying deeper and deeper until he barely pulls out and he's just trapped into me.

He nips at my lip as I my hands dart to his hips, ripping at the skin there. He continues in his tight movements until he ultimately hooks his hands at the back of my knees and pushes my legs up, breaking into me vigorously until I couldn't think and I could only feel and scream out his name.

And as I climbed up to my high, I called out to him. And as he eased up into his, he called out to me.

And then it all comes crashing down. And then I can't breathe or move, I just tighten and whine and break against him.

And then I feel him follow suit. And then he looses his mind and his tempo, he just pounds and melts and falls into me.

And I feel my whole body burn, I feel my nerves rip into a symphony of pleasure. I feel his heat spill into me. I fill him fill me up until he's completely spent and even after that. I feel my body flinch around him. I feel him bottom out and run over in me. And I missed it. I missed this so much. I missed him so much. I missed him.

His erratic movements lull into slow tender one again, yet he doesn't cease his rocking until I'm shaking and wailing and dripping all over. I feel myself overflow with him, in both literal and metaphorical. I feel my whole body burn while he heaves atop me as he delicately touches down. He rests his entire weight on me; he's an invited and longed for blanket, a heaviness that I have dreamt of having pressed against me for so long.

I feel his heart hammering in his ribcage as mine beneath him did the same. His strangled breath echoes mine. My name spills out of his lips like a prayer. He nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck. His hands rub my legs that were wrapped around him. He was fastens them around his hips, as if my limbs were not tight enough, as if it was possible for him to move closer into me than he already was.

I cradle his head in my hands and adjust my face beside his.

"Avy jorrāelan," I speak softly against his ear, "eman jorrāelatan jeme ñuha ābrar se kessa jorrāelagon ao sesīr tolī."

I love you. I have loved you all my life and will love you even after.

Daemon responds with a kiss, with a rub of his nose, then with his words, "ñuha gevie lenton," he lifts his head up, sighing as he reached out to my cheek, "ñuha vok dārilaros."

Im that moment, I see a vague outline of his face even with through the darkness of my bedroom, but more than that, I hear the affection in his words. The sincerity locked in his voice, "syt ao ossēninna tolvie zaldrīzes, geron tolvie rizmun, iderēbagon tolvie rūklon, se jiōragon se olvie jelevre isse ñuha irosh sepār naejot sagon able naejot ūndegon aōha laehurlion."

My breath hitches, "Dae-"

"Avy jorrāelan."

My beautiful home, my perfect princess, for you I will kill every dragon, walk every desert, pick every flower, and offer the very breath in my throat just to be able to see your face. I love you.

I feel tears rush down my face when I lean up and kiss him.

[quickstappen]

track 005: this is for the best

A/N: we are slowly getting to the plot guys ;)) (also!! lando norris is a race winner! fucking finally) ignore the dates, also there might be some typos, sorry

A/N: i am so fucking sorry guys, but! as of today, i officially passed all my exams and now i have the whole summer to do absolutely nothing, no studying for me (fucking finally) so i'm actually gonna start updating, i already have a first part of a OP81 smau lined uo ready to go ;)

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liked by charles_leclerc, lance_stroll and others

marcilazzaro1 life lately ;) thank you for waiting, i am back and happier than ever, it's good to see Monza again

tagged: scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc

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shithappens SHE IS BACK!!

↳ ilpredestinatox i am so normal about this

nyoomf1 oh god, mother is back

charlies_sun good to have you back, this was getting ridiculous without you

↳ elplanxincoming so true!

madi_races don't fall in love with Marceline challenge (level impossible)

↳ strollingaway mate don't call me out like that

gorgeous_aa23 I'm sorry but that picture with charles?? what are they doing???

↳ cuddlyxricc it looks suspiciously lot like they're doing a hot lap

↳ gorgeous_aa23 that's what i meannn!!

↳ carrie_on no cause i'd literally die if they did that

redleclerc i am so not surprised that her first post in months is at monza

↳ redmilton_ the ferrari genes are strong i fear

quickstappen marci behind a camera?? does this mean... new projects?

↳ screwderriaf1 i want you to be right, i also don't wanna clown

↳ quickstappen does that meant that there's two wolves inside you mayhaps...?

↳ screwderriaf1 i hate you.

hammertime_1 i feel like we skipped over the whole "news of the season" way to quickly,, like... that happened??

↳ ilpredestinatox i also feel like it was important, let's talk

↳ hammertime_1 i wanna know what blondecedes thinks about this

↳ blondecedes i try not to think generally

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marci's messages

mick's messages

liked by sebastianvettel, clairobernie_x and others

marcilazzaro1 I have been a part of this sport for 185 Grand Prix weekends (counting the COTA GP weekend that's starting today), I spent the last 123 in Rosso Corsa. I have missed only 8 race weekends during the whole eight years that I have worked in Formula 1. I've never had to take any extended leave. That's why this next months are gonna be so different, maybe difficult, but I'm ready for this next challenge.

Don't worry, I'll be back, you won't even notice that I was gone ;)

thank you for the memories scuderiaferrari, I'll see you soon.

see all comments...

blondecedes EXCUSE ME?? what is happening, i don't understand

shithappens what-

clairobernie_x you need to visit me now that you won't be going 'round the world every other week!

↳ marcilazzaro1 or you could just come to Switzerland and we can hang out?

↳ quickstappen i'm sorry, switzerland??? since when??

albono_23 what do you mean extended leave?? we just got you back??

brunolazzaro_03 workaholic

↳ marcilazzaro1 shut up

charles_leclerc I'm so happy for you! Can't wait to visit my favourites 🤍

↳ marcilazzaro1 Charlie 🥹 we'll be waiting

↳ ilpredestinatox GIRL- who is we

sarah_scott Can't believe my girl is so grown up, and it's all thanks to me

↳ marcilazzaro1 don't flatter yourself darling

↳ lance_stroll I strictly remember you claiming no involvement in this whole situation

↳ lewibear what is happening, why is my favorite f1 content creator catching strays form lance stroll of all people?

↳ zoebryne_x in Marci's comments section too lol

scuderiaferrari See you soon mama, the kids will miss you!

↳ byelandoo mama?? what do you mean ferrari admin?

lewishamilton Don't worry, we'll be back together in no time 😉 in the meantime enjoy your break, I have a feeling the peace is not gonna last that long

↳ redmilton sir, what do you know

gorgeous_aa23 girlll im so tireddd, just tell us what's going on

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brunolazzaro_03 visiting my soon to be niece in fucking switzerland (since my sister decided to go and move in with some random guy??)

tagged: marcilazzaro1, federrere

(this is a private account, you cannot reply to this post)

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charles_leclerc Niece? It's a girl? 🥹

↳ marcilazzaro1 Bruno! It was supposed to be a surprise...

↳ brunolazzaro03 oops, sorry?

↳ oscarpiastri ha landonorris! i win

↳ marcilazzaro1 did you... bet on my baby?

↳ landonorris ...maybe?

↳ lewishamilton and you were wondering why you're not the godfather

federrere pregnant sister is very moody and insufferable, 2/10 would not recommend

↳ marcilazzaro1 guess who's not gonna be the favourite uncle

sarah_scott i live for your commentary, please keep it up

mickschumacher excuse me, random guy? it's 4 time worlds drivers champion Sebastian Vettel for you

↳ brunolazzaro03 yeah yeah, the bee guy has a name and all

lewishamilton did you at least make sure that the "random guy" was being social?

↳ brunolazzaro03 he showed us his chickens

clairobernie_x i'm gonna spoil this baby so hard

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madi's radio: hello, long time no see, marci's getting a baby! is Lewis playing cupid? idk idk we'll see

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taglist: @sunny44 @rockyhayzkid @biancathecool @unluckyyoshi @woozarts @janeholt3 @celestialend @formulaal @d3kstar @yoremins @rd1410-blog @mess-is-my-aesthetic @callsignwidow @blaaahblubb @evans-dejong @lwstuff @emilyval1 @r0seandth0rns @fletchingarcher @blaaahblubb @notyaslol @dear-fifi @zimm04 @thewritingofspencerrose @elliegrey2803 @anthonykatebridgerton @firetruckstuckley @casperlikej @anephemeralwoe @vroomvroommuppett @taytaylala12 @kuskumu @clemswrld @bella-1 @leclercdream @evie-119 @tallrock35 @dannyleclerc @charkachow @flusteredmoonn @beslerek (xxx - couldn't tag you)

DISCLAIMER: i do not know anything about this people, this is not real life, this is just something for fun, i do not know anythings about their life or personalities!

[asukaskerian]

Battlefield Terra is one of those works that just...changed my brain chemistry for so many reasons. I still go back and read it and think about it. This isnt an ask to return to it (though wouldn't be upset) but just to like thank you for putting the amount of it that you did out there

.__. *squish squish* thank you.

i cannot REMEMBER for the life of me if i ever posted any of the scene bits i had written in the chapter i never completed. first scene is actually one i love a lot, but then the battle scene was overtly complex and too long and had required so many rewrites and nothing worked. hghghhg.

but. anyway. this is the scene with the fallout from the "oh shit i kissed the alien am I GAY after all?????? oh fucking hell why did i notice JUST AT THE SAME TIME AS I NOTICE HOW MUCH HE'S NEVER GONNA *DECIDE NOT TO GO HOME* vfbndjh gnx;"

--

"And this is why it never pays to be stingy with technology," Jane said philosophically from the bucket seat next to John.

Strapped in like a sausage in its skin, John still managed to turn his helmet and grin at his sister. "Aw, come on, you didn't want the industry to cut into its profit margin, did you."

In the corner of his -- of all the pilots' -- glasses was an explosion of Spanish and Chinese sentences, nonsensical words, and Roxy-worthy typos.

The industry thing was mostly a joke; the think-typing-thoughts interface had first been developed for quadriplegics and amputees, and outside of hardcore nerds and professionals whose job required they be able to code very fast, people still preferred using their actual hands. One good reason for it: at the level of miniaturization necessary to put the brain sensors into glasses, it was new enough to still be expensive.

The new communication hub was a complete mess of hundreds of people trying it on for the first time, and it was hilarious.

"--Wow, hey, I know what that guy is doing! Oh my god, it's excellent, he's trying to think in sign language." Roxy giggled, tried to kick her feet only they were also strapped in. The craft was still accelerating, after all. Bleh. "Only then he has to transcribe into English, and he's doing it super literally! Hehehe."

Jane perked up a little. "Huh! No wonder the grammar was odd."

ID28YB: holy shit were all guna die in space aaaa

ID28YB: on the upside italics!

ID17NC: fuck how do you backspace backspacebacmlnpi

ID13JA: SARGANT MY CAPCLOSK IS FUCKED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ID01JA: Like shit it is, PrivatE.

ID01JA: DamN.

ID98NZ: fifty Nine bottles of beer ON THE WALL, take one DOWN pass itaround FIftynIneBOTTLES on Thewall!!!!!

"I'll be so glad when they lock it down to emergency communications again," Jade said from John's other side, and sighed.

"At least the bosses forbid them to use colors," John said, trying for consoling. (He kind of failed, mostly because he was snickering.)

Jake chuckled from his seat at the end of the line, on Jade's other side, but didn't add anything. He hadn't really been talking much ever since they took off, and since they couldn't lean out of their seats it was really hard to see what face he was making. John wondered if he was worried about --

Of course he was worried. And if John thought about all the reasons why, he was going to start to fret too. His stomach was already in a knot behind the adrenaline grin, no need to double down on it.

"Hey Jake," he threw out, with no idea what kind of light-conversation topic he was going to pull out. "D'you think--"

"Say, chaps, I think I feel lighter!" Jake interrupted.

"Huh, yeah, maybe?" John tried to bounce his leg and wasn't sure if there was a difference yet. It was hard to feel the lessening weight of his body when it was such a knot of anticipation already, and when he couldn't move. "Wow. Are we reaching cruising speed already? There was no announcement--"

The door opened and Corporal Vantas stepped through.

(Not Karkat. There was a difference.)

"Woohoo, you clean up nice!" Roxy said with a whistle as he stalked closer in his alien boots and his space-black flight suit, head bare but for the jarringly pink headset nestled against his horns. John noticed all over again that his skin was slate gray, that his eyes were violently red and yellow.

That he moved through the heavy gravity of the rocket's push like it wasn't even there, when John himself -- at least at first -- would have wobbled.

"What mean -- no, I don't care."

He sat beside Jake in the free seat at the end that should have gone to Dirk, and disappeared from John's view, what with the helmets and the protruding edges of the bucket seats. John swallowed and put a smile on his face, even though no one was going to see him. For a second he had thought Karkat was coming toward him. Haha, silly.

"No more talk with the Generals, Karkat?" Jane asked, tone forcefully light.

"Mm. No."

"Talk with us now? Do you have anything important to say or just hanging out?"

John's eyes flitted over the logs on his glasses, the higher ranks starting to organize to separate the chatter by platoons. It was still mostly banter and bad jokes.

"...Hanging out? Yes. Hanging out. Here, not... other here. I'm Corporal not General, it's not fucking right I'm with them."

It was the exact same tone the Marines John knew used when they got offended when their chain of command got dumbass ideas. Heh.

Maybe a little hesitation. Maybe just the translation issues.

JH: haha, you guys *wish* you could type in colors!

ID28YB: if by colors u mean rainbow fruity goodness then sure :(

ID28YB: i wanted mauve goddamn!!

JH: maybe better that you can't have it, echidna would have had to cut you. :'(

(Urgh. He missed Rose. He wished she were well enough to fight with them today.)

Jade joined the conversation, asked Karkat about... John wasn't listening. What the politicos had told him, when he was alone with them without a translator. Stuff. Boring stuff.

Karkat's low, gravelly voice kept slipping into his ears no matter how hard he tried not to pay attention to the words. ("You talk I fall on you a lot. Maybe you want --")

Anyway when the loudspeaker in the wall started talking he was pretty glad.

"Attention troops, cruise speed has been reached. Stay seated until your immediate superior allows you to stand..."

Two clicks echoed around him, Jade and Roxy undoing their security harnesses in unison.

"Oh my god, I'm so stiff," Jade groaned. "I'm going to check on Remington, anyone wanna come with?"

"You sit still for longer stretches of time in battle," Jane pointed out as she freed herself in turn, as Jake was still fighting his clasps.

"In battle my seat is perfectly adapted to my butt!"

The girls started to file out, talking about butts, and John almost heard Dave mentioning butt massages, almost mentioned it himself but. No. That would have been wrong even if two thirds of the lot weren't family.

He thought of following them. He would just skip along, snicker and stretch his legs and tease the Marines and...

"See you guys later," he said instead, waving without looking, heart a pulsating knot in his throat. "Karkat and I have to practice the telepathy-typing thing. Well, mostly me."

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, listened to the tread of boots on the hard plastic floor.

He didn't need to look in order to know which one of them was Karkat, getting up and moving one seat down the line.

Leaving one seat empty between them. Huh. John wasn't sure how to take that one.

"Huhn. You want telepathy now?"

John winced to himself. "It's pretty much now or in the middle of battle, isn't it?"

A beat of silence, and then Karkat grunted an acknowledgement. "Mm."

"Mm," John agreed, and kept on not making a move toward his own headset. Karkat's was already in place, possibly already turned on. John just had to tap.

"Maybe we speak and then headsets," Karkat suggested.

"... Yeah, maybe that."

John made a superfluous noise of agreement, and then groaned and pushed his helmet off his head, tucked it between his feet. He took his gloves off next, dropped them inside the helmet, and then buried both hands in his hair to scratch and rub with vigorous frustration. It did not soothe him as much as he had hoped for.

"This is the worst timing," he groaned, muffled, as he curled forward until he could prop his elbows on his thighs and lace his fingers behind his head. His spine cracked.

The worst timing, and the worst thing. He wasn't sure he'd have taken it much better elsewhere, with more time to take care of the fallout. It sucked. His head was a mess just when he absolutely needed to be as perfectly in the zone as he had ever been in his entire life.

"I'm sorry," Karkat said quietly. "We do big things today. I was stupid. Even if you said oh yes good, kissing! it's other things in our head and we can't have other things in our head now. I didn't do the good thing."

John groaned quietly, face prickling with heat, and closed his eyes. "No, it's... Yeah. Yeah, okay, that wasn't -- the right time. But you... You were right. I was looking."

He hadn't managed to stop looking even once since he'd seen Karkat naked, coming out of his slime. Maybe he had even been looking before that, playing it off as fascination with Karkat's alienness. Kind of like 'haha no I just like looking at his horns because they're weird, so random amirite!' only with everything else on top of the horns, like his little bitey teeth on goth-black lips and his bare toes and the fit of his goddamn dress suit at the summit--

"So why--" Karkat fell silent, drew in a breath, and then released it in a long, hissing sigh and muttered under his breath in alienese. John couldn't even offer a guess from the tone this time around.

Why did you kiss back, he could have been asking. Why did you stop kissing. Why did you never make a move. Why did you make a move now. Why are you such an idiotic mess.

Answer was the same for all of them, anyway. "I don't know."

"Why do you not know that?!" Karkat shot back -- more incredulous than angry, but John winced anyway. "How you look at a people and don't know, and other people tell you 'yes, them' and you say 'haha, no' and you're wrong?"

"Oh, shut up!" John snapped as he threw himself back into his chair, his arms coming up to cross tight against his ribs. Even now he couldn't look toward Karkat at all, shoulders curled in and away from the other man. His stomach felt like someone was squeezing it with both hands; his face still prickled with mortification. It was awful, he wanted to get up and run just to get moving, stop having to think on it -- leave the feeling behind -- but he knew better than to think it would work. He knew better and he still wanted to try, flinching and too tense; what a shit condition for battle. Fuck. "I know, okay? I'm the most stupid jerk--"

Karkat's hand was hot even through the glove.

He tugged on John's elbow, lightly, squeezed a little.

"Zhann."

"... Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," he said, sounding tired, and his hand fell from John's arm. "It's shit words."

John sneaked him a look; Karkat wasn't looking directly at John either, mouth pinched in discomfort, eyes dim somehow.

"Is it I'm alien and it's gross? So you don't in your head because ... haha, gross, can't be true--"

"No!" John spluttered, turning in his seat as much as he could to face him. "No, no, you being an alien is -- it is weird, but it's not bad, it's just not normal. It's... You're a guy?"

Karkat looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. "Huhn?"

God. It figured. For all the joking about Karkat being gay that John had been doing like an asshole, he'd mentioned an old girlfriend too, and the cat girl who liked him that he didn't want to lead on, and it had never felt like she was disqualified because of boobs.

Also -- ugh, thanks Dirk and his casual beach gossipping -- Karkat thought Jade's butt was nice, and so was Mr. Strider's. So. Bisexual.

The way he looked now, baffled and not liking it, it was a little like he had never heard of someone who wasn't. Oh boy. What a mess. John raked a hand through his hair, tried to get back into explaining mode.

"It's -- we're mammals, remember? We need a boy and a girl to. To make little humans. That means normally we don't want other males, or other females, because -- there can be no babies? So a boy doesn't have a boyfriend, he has a girlfriend, and... The other way around, too. Boy and girl, yes, boy and boy no?"

"... Huhn."

"I mean. Some men like men! Dirk and Mr. Strider like men. But they knew it pretty early on. They knew when they were kids -- when they were small? -- that they were like that. And I've never." He swallowed. "I've never. Thought about a guy. Like that."

"Oh."

"And it's really weird." He gave a twitch of a shrug, looked away. "... And I don't know if it's because of the telepathy."

"Oh," Karkat said again, but this time he sounded stricken, not baffled.

John dropped a hand on Karkat's forearm across the empty seat, patted awkwardly -- wanted to squeeze or hold his wrist (or hold his hand) but that was just -- even such a short touch made his stomach twist with odd queasiness, his face flush back to maximum redness. "It's okay, buddy. I don't -- it's just. ... Don't feel bad, okay, that's stupid, I just -- it is weird, but --"

Karkat's breastbone beeped. Scowling down, he fished his tablet out of his collar, unrolled it, shook it stiff. Oh. Little countdown shown in rows of dots, going one by one from red to dark.

Five seconds to a dot, fifteen dots to a row, and how many rows... Hm. Ten minutes left before... John wasn't sure. They weren't going to be there yet in ten minutes.

"My mech. Gotta wake up, it's slow." Karkat waved a brisk hand, eyebrows furled in worry.

John closed his eyes. "Do you want to practice the mind-typing?"

"It's not want," Karkat grunted, slanting him a look. "... It's going to be bad."

"Mm."

"We need bigger time, not this," he added, tapping the tablet with the outside curve of a claw.

John tried out a dry shrug, and thought to himself that he really didn't enjoy it, that 'if you fuck this up you will have fucked everything up' feeling. Dread was for the battlefield, not for stupid interpersonal relationships. 

"Probably. We can keep working on it once we're in our mechs, too..."

Karkat snorted, replied something in alienese that had to be 'We had better.'

Yeah, okay. John just had to put his helmet back on.

"We don't have time for this crap!" he growled -- whined, if he wanted to be fair, something strangled and pleading, frustrated.

"Mnh."

John curled forward, hands cupping his temples, elbows on his knees. "Damn it. I don't -- I can't -- in ten minutes, that's too--"

There was no way he was going to be able to stop thinking about all the things he didn't want to think about, all the things -- the petty, selfish things -- he didn't want Karkat to know about.

Like the incontrovertible fact that no matter what John figured out he wanted, whatever compromises they found with each other, there was no magic button that would make Karkat stay.

He'd been in Karkat's head too much to imagine for one second he would weigh out John and the dubious safety Earth offered him against his people -- his people abused and thrown out like shark bait to be mowed down by enemies and superiors alike -- and choose John.

John was pretty sure Karkat wouldn't even choose Gamzee.

"Do you want sex." 

John flinched around and back so fast he hit his shoulder blade against one of the edges of the seat.

Karkat was looking back at him -- steady, John thought at first, but his lower eyelids were tight, his cheeks just a little dusky. The heat on John's face cooled down just barely at that.

"I ask so it's not more alien bullshit thing. It's what you want?"

"Oh my god," John protested, looking around wildly in case anyone had managed to open the sealing doors to the small room without the hiss of pneumatics warning them. "I don't know! I'm not -- I swear I'm not lying, I don't -- this is freaking me out."

"I see that, dumbass," Karkat said, but almost nicely. "You're so bad in your head, I don't know you can get that much a clusterfuck."

John groaned, slumped forward again.

"... Mouth thing, was good?"

"... Yeah."

"Touching?"

John gave a little grunt, eyes closed.

"Want where?"

"Why do you need to know?!"

There was a moment of silence like Karkat rolling his eyes, or maybe just watching him, waiting. John didn't check. 

"Zhann."

"... Horns? Maybe your hands. I kind of. Want to see your claws. We could sit close? We could--" He choked. His face prickled so hot it almost hurt. He wanted to touch Karkat's face, follow his nose with a fingertip -- he wanted Karkat to allow that, the trust and closeness it would mean.

"That's where?" Karkat grumbled, gave John a frustrated look. John tore his eyes away, ducked his head. Where had he -- when they had kissed (his mouth tingled like an echo) -- when Karkat was so close, almost on his lap, what had he --

"Your thighs," he whispered, dizzy with nerves and shame. "Inside." He clenched his knees together, hands knotted between them -- oh, Karkat's legs clamped down on his hand, all warm and snug. Muscles bunching, straining. So close to his -- his. Oh shit, John couldn't pop a boner inside his flight suit, not while Karkat was watching, while they were hashing out how much of a total clusterfuck this was going to be.

There was silence for too long -- three seconds, ten, every single one tightening his shoulders, knotting his guts worse, nausea and heat mingling dizzyingly.

"... Put your head thing on, Zhann."

John groaned out loud. "Are you kidding me, I will die. I don't want you to -- there's too much, it's. We can't!"

But when he glanced at the tablet still across Karkat's lap they were down to the last two rows of dots and it was now or never. More accurately, now or on the battlefield when they were supposed to coordinate two forces that had never fought together against ... however many of those aliens who wouldn't have followed some random high-ranked asshole from nowhere into open rebellion.

He shoved the helmet down before he could think about it twice. It felt too tight, like he was going to strangle, to be crushed.

Karkat felt too close; an empty seat between them and John still remembered him in Excalibur's cockpit, how easy it would have been to slip on his lap and kiss and--

(Yeah okay definitely sexual there) flitted through his mind from Karkat, alongside ... surprise, oh wow, so violent, stop feeling, not the end of the world --

John flashed back to his previous thought -- sitting next to each other and his hand trapped between strong thighs and oh shit he was getting hard, no, no --

(hand pushing higher) echoed back briefly, edged with curiosity, a spark of -- Karkat shook his head, slapped his own hands down onto his knees, hard enough to sting. John startled. "Okay!" Karkat said, staring straight ahead.

He was maybe smiling a little.

Okay yes we need to talk later I don't fuck and run (do you?)

John spluttered. "How would I know!" I've never/and run where anyway we're on an island!

Take your mech, zip off? (laughter) (mister space pilot, so locked in.) Wait, never? How old-- oh right no one around only older adults and your tangleclan/friends and you can't with half of them because blah blah mammals (and not boys? Why not boys. Aliens what the fuck.)

John groaned again, hands on his helmet since he couldn't get to his face. Could have Rose or Roxy! Roxy was my first kiss! (haha sloppy-alright-nice but I saw you fingers up your nose too much as a kid sorry John I like you tender-nice but it all fizzed out) and Rose kissed me on a dare and it was like kissing Jane it was horrible.

And that was the entire fucking extent of your romantic and sexual experience oh my dear little dark gods that's pitiful. (sharp/teal/lovely-blade moaning over me (tight-soft-deep) other hurried hands in dark corners--) shit sorry--

Oh. Of course Karkat had had sex before. Of course he would know more, of course John was hopelessly late and useless -- he couldn't even bring himself to think about, about kissing, never mind what happened later, he was a kid--

The tablet beeped.

"Shit," Karkat said in English, and another few words that echoed as bounce me around on a bladed dildo. Which, yeowch. He turned to stare at John, already half out of his seat and leaning forward, a claw-tipped hand clenched on the armrest. "(I gotta get going now. John, do you--)"

He was leaning forward like he was about to kiss John, if John hadn't been wearing a helmet, and John knew full well that wasn't at all what he'd been doing, knew because he was in Karkat's brain, and still couldn't help but fear-hope for it.

(I'll kiss you if we win) flashed between them, too fast to hold back. No wait sorry (god it'd feel nice) we have to talk first and -- not now, cannot be now.

John laughed, mostly from nerves. I'll come with you (sit in cockpit think tappy thoughts oh my god they'll love transcripts of your foul mouth be hilarious what if I accidentally transcribe the sex thoughts too oh no oh no--)

Karkat's hand caught his wrist.

"(Do you trust me,)" he said low and intense, in an alienese that John almost didn't notice as not English from how strong the mind-echo was.

The response came embarrassingly instantaneous. "Of course I --" He swallowed. What do you want me to do?

Okay. (You are ridiculous) (thank you.)

Karkat crinkled his golden-red eyes at John and for the first time John realized he doesn't mind how I feel.

Crushes happen, Karkat replied almost casually, with a little pleased-flattered-glad trill running underneath. Crushes happen to me in particular all the damn time so I have no stones to throw. (I know this one is worse, tangled-odd with headsets but it was kind of predictable too especially because of the headsets.)

A harsh beep.

No more time. Follow me?

Follow you where, John wondered, and then Karkat showed him.

His mind nudged closer. Body alive with battle arousal, heart thumping too fast, just barely shaky in his body and he need-wanted John's cheerful-calm interest, his certainty. They should absolutely not kiss before the battle because he would cling and waste time hoping for time to stop instead and also they really needed to hash that shit out but oh, so smug that he'd been right all along. His face winced briefly at whatever echo John sent back, and then he --

(Terrifying/not right/I will never manage alone.) 

John's gorge rose. (can't let that happen/you're not alone (I'm not alone either can't be please god--)

(Good,) rang like a bell between them, and then Karkat's direct, almost forceful Dive(/echo/merge) with me.

John's hands closed tight enough on the armrests that the hard plastic cracked under his fingertips at the thought, visualized like two discordant graphs slowly entering resonance, like rebounding, endless echoes -- the pattering, muted thunder of armies in lockstep. But -- but too close so many things I can't share, how?! Can't sync if we're like this I'm mortified (want to die/hide/wash it out of my brain) you're -- you're --

I want to fight. (Scared to fight.) I need to fight. Silly flurry of thoughts -- bothersome, I have them too (misjudged when to tell people about psychics, misjudged you, (this is not a romcom where you are the heroine what the fuck Vantas,) could have endangered/maybe did endanger the operation twice) we can sync on that! (would be bad). Or we can sync on --

Mechs. Piloting.

Winning the goddamn battle.

We had better not think of beds, John sent Karkat, smile shaking on his face. Karkat snorted back, crooking him a smile.

They bumped foreheads -- or forehead and helmet -- and straightened up, because it was time to go.

They stood (John stood) and walked to the door, one-two, one-two. (Easier if we walk in sync, they agreed, and wondered if it would also work mirrored. But they would experiment later, John, now where was the hangar?)

It was… odd, not quite seamless, little twitches of individual thoughts -- not like last time, at the conference.

It was easier when a Marine came across them -- Sergeant, look at the shoulder bars -- and said, "I was assigned to escort, uh, you, Corporal Vantas..."

"We're coming," they assured her with two mouths (unnecessary) (but which is it again.) "How long do we have left?"

"Four minutes," she said, carefully expressionless in her bulking power armor, the helmet politely open still as she placed herself opposite from the claws side. 

Can you blame her though? haha.

It's not like I didn't help patch those weaknesses.

How'd you even find -- oh, yeah.

Of course horn sense would perceive the electricity field where crucial wires ran, the way a solid plate trembled under a headbutt at the weaker places, of course Karkat's terror would crank his pitiful amount of sensitivity up higher and the luck of frenetic, half-blind panic do the rest.

The upgraded armor would be a little harder but they had the brute strength to punch through and the claws to tear wiring free. Should be easy -- but the Marines weren't the enemy. Strong-respectful-friendly-safe. Distant-confused too (we're too young for how much weight/responsibility we carry) but nice, mostly.

The bay where they were keeping (dad) the mech was empty, if well-guarded; the Marines had taken the warning that the biomechs sometimes ate people to heart, it seemed. Which was hilarious, because (dad) was way too tired to lunge and chomp, which... wasn't funny at all, actually. (When they won, the first thing they'd do would be to put him to a feeding/repairs station.)

They scaled the black-shelled side of the mech, pushing and pulling each body from handhold to foothold -- chinks in the shell, the edge of a plate. (They avoided the gaping cavity of its ripped-away manipulating-arm, no matter how convenient it would have been for a step-up.) The edge of the cockpit opening was cracked open like a wound, ready to be pushed through -- convenient but loose because dad was tired; worrying but nothing to be done for now -- thank god they'd gotten the flight suit back because those weird cotton clothes were a clinging, heavy pain when soaked through with neural gel...

Oh right. John's flight suit might not react quite well to the neural fluid now that dad-mech knew it. What if it dissolved? Haha, naked in the cockpit. Or more like half-naked with strategically placed, slowly widening holes, talk about a porn flick setting. Didn't help that the dissolving/digesting gels used to clean dirt and dead skin cells might also trigger if Dad felt contrary enough and also eat through yeah okay, that was an unsexy thought. John/Karkat crouched, one body on the solid edge, one across the cracked-open plates, and then sinking, eyes closed.

It was the perfect temperature inside, but that never made that first deep breath of gel any easier. He breathed air deeper with the body still outside, like the unencumbered-lungs feeling could help (it helped, even though oxygen wasn't going to come through telepathically. Bodies were stupidly easy to trick.) and settled inside within the nest of coils, seeking out the one that went -- ow, yeah, there, in the flight suit slot at the base of his neck, between the vertebrae.

Wake up, he thought at it, through the neural gel and through the spinal tap, letting it feel his nerve impulses so they could sync more thoroughly. Wake up, (flight systems, weapon arms, no more standby) there's a battle coming. 

Once the process was started it was a matter of waiting until it was sufficiently awake (and burning through the last of its energy.) The Karkat body wiggled into place, let the other tentacles slot into their ports to read his every muscle twitch, so the mech would be ready to move before he even thought it coherently enough to decide exactly what movement he wanted, and then settled down.

It was easier to keep in sync if they weren't both doing different things. The John body waited until the other one was at rest and then stood up, let himself slide along rib covers until gravity flung him off entirely, still pretty high over the ground; he landed in a perfectly timed crouch, laughing a little in admiration (Gods of the Devouring-dark but this body was convenient) and walked out of the hangar.

The Marines at the door didn't look at him like a stranger-threat or even a superior-officer-threat, more like a low-caste soldier might look at a beloved high-blue who cared-possessive for them (still dangerous in the abstract, never quite controllable, but theirs.) It was so strange, so normal.

"Is Corporal Vantas going to stay inside his mech?" the sergeant asked him, falling into step.

"Yes, Sergeant," he assured her soberly. "Until we go."

They weren't sure why that got them a weird look, but it was probably nothing to fret about. The metal mechs' bay door was just there -- similarly guarded but they let John/Karkat pass without a word; one of them nodded at him, fierce and grim-eyed. He nodded back the same way, and then -- oh -- worried that it might worry them, because John usually joked before a battle and soldiers didn't like things to be different. Bad luck. But by then they were at the lift and it was a bit too late to fret about the mental state of grunts.

They opened the cockpit and walked in, swung around to sit. The butt-hollow still felt wrong. 

So many buttons and toggles and it was a wonder John never got them wrong regarding which did what. (Heh.)

The arm-rest where Karkat had sat ... for a moment John-alone was sent reeling, buzzing, experiencing it from the other side -- the tingle of excitement-certainty, that wordless moment when you finally knew the other person was interested, had been flirting back, the pleasure-relief of feeling wanted and known. So touching-surprising-soft to find John so far from cocky carelessness, from being sure of Karkat.

It was sweet, Karkat felt. John stared at the screens he was bringing to life and read the words he knew by heart like they might have changed somehow, tried to think war thoughts.

Weapons check, Karkat thought, tinged with apology-for-the-distraction, tinged with fondness/you-are-sweet.

John went through a weapons check.

They'd left him Excalibur's usual monofilament swords, breakable as they were -- one-hit kills was more Dave's thing than John's -- but he had his hammer too, and the more usual set of bombs and missiles.

Also two EMP bombs. He thought back to Karkat shying away from the microwave and the difference in yield and --

Yeowch vicious yeah that'll work. Not through the home-ship hull (gotta shield from star radiations) but it'll work. How come no one generals-making-plans told me we had that -- wait fuck I'm stupid of course no one would tell me when they were still considering using it on me. It'll work on the biomechs and probably the troop transports but I don't know about the range.

Excal's got good radiation shields, so we can get pretty close and make sure of the kill, John reminded him, and then Karkat reminded him they weren't supposed to wade in, just watch-coordinate from the back.

Like that'll last, they both thought, so closely that maybe neither one had thought it first, that they'd just both had the exact same amused-despairing reaction.

They went through the flight check in comfortable, whispering quiet.

[tomurasghoul]

● Shigaraki x Reader fluff (G/N reader)

Sorry if there's any typos (not proofread)

Summary: Shigaraki feels overwhelmed, reader comforts him and they fall in love.

Includes: swearing (mild), angst (also mild), fluff, bit ooc

WC: 994

You were sitting at the bar, talking to Kurogiri and having a drink. Dabi and Mr. Compress were both sitting on the couch behind you, drunk and being rather loud. Shigaraki was situated next to you, scratching himself mercilessly.

You tried not to pay attention to him, maybe he was plotting the League of Villains' next scheme, which, as the leader, he often did. Although he usually doesn't get this worked up....

After a few more minutes of this, Shigaraki stormed out. 'Ugh! You people are insufferable!' Dabi and Compress didn't bat an eye at the blue-haired man's sudden outburst, but you were worried about him.

You turned to follow him, but Kurogiri was quick to stop you. 'Tomura Shigaraki likes to be left alone when upset. I am speaking from experience.' You knew Kurogiri was probably right, but you felt terrible seeing Shigaraki like this. You decided to ignore Kurogiri's warning and followed him outside.

When you stepped outside, the cold winter air swallowed you, so you reached behind the door for the nearest coat. It happened to be Compress', so it was huge on you, but no matter.

As you approached the darkness of the alleyway, you could hear Shigaraki quietly scratching and muttering to himself. 'Why can't I get a minute of peace and quiet in this place? Don't those shitheads realize how much stress I'm under?' You were unsure if you should really approach him, but you were curious to know what was going on, so you proceeded towards the alleyway.

'Go away, Compress! I'll fucking kill you if you don't leave me alone right now.'

Oh, yeah... You were wearing Compress' coat, so you must've looked like him in the darkness of the alleyway.

You walked closer to him. 'It's just me, don't worry.' You stood in front of him.

'Y-you go away too.' He stuttered, shivering from the cold.

You sat down beside him.

'I told you to leave. Are you forgetting that I'm your boss? Or that It only takes one touch for me to disintegrate you?' He tried to threaten you.

'Are you okay?' You ignored his threats. 'You seemed really upset just now.'

He turned away from you, not answering your question. You sat there for about 10 minutes, both not saying anything. After a while, you stood up. 'If you're not gonna tell me what's wrong, I might aswell leave.

And yet... you couldn't leave him out there alone.

Shigaraki stood up aswell and hugged you tightly, mindful not to touch you with all five of his fingers.

You heard him sniffle softly.

'It's okay, I'm here.' you assured him while you wrapped your arms around him.

'Please don't tell the others about this.' He pleaded. 'I usually never cry, but-'

'Shh', you shushed him. 'I won't tell anyone. I promise.'

Normally, Shigaraki would've never let someone shush him like that, but since you were being so kind to him, he let it slide. Just this once.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, still crying and shivering from the cold.

You ran your fingers through his hair.

'What do you say we go back inside and I make you a hot-chocolate? I can tell you're cold, and you might get sick if you stay out here.'

'Just wait a few minutes... I'm a mess right now.'

He wiped his tears with his sleeve and sat back down. He patted the floor next to him, signaling for you to sit there.

You obliged.

'You know, I have been wanting to tell you something for a while now, but I'm not sure if I can.'

You caressed his hand softly. 'You can tell me anything.'

He pulled his hand away.

'Don't do that. You could die.' He looked genuinely worried.

'Is the big boss getting soft on me now?' You teased, trying to lift the tension.

He wasn't having it.

'Alright, I'm sorry. I thought it could help lighten the mood.' 'Now what was it you were going to tell me?'

'Just forget I said anything.'

You were really curious to know what it was. You were certainly hoping to hear that one particular sentence, but maybe you were delusional for even thinking about it.

'Come on, spill.' You pried.

'I said forget it.'

'Is there a reason why you're scared to tell me?' You thought maybe you had done something to make him hesitant.

'I'm just afraid of how you'll react.'

'You know what? I have something to confess aswell. How about I go first?' You were really nervous. Was he gonna take it well?

'Whatever.' He said.

'So.. I've actually felt this way for a while now, and I just wanna tell you that- that I'm in love with you.'

Silence.

Shigaraki looked surprised at your confession. He didn't say anything, though. Did you just get rejected?

You sat there for what felt like hours, anticipating his response. that's when his expression changed from surprised to almost angry.

'Is this some sort of joke? Cause if it is, I don't find it funny.'

'I'm being serious. I'm crazy about you...'

Was that too cheesy? That was how you really felt, though.

It was as if he was making you wait for his response on purpose. It was dead silent between you two, the only sounds being bypassing traffic and the cold wind that blew.

Shigaraki scooted closer to you, as if you weren't close enough already.

'I guess... you're not so bad either.'

You chuckled. 'I'll take it.'

The happiness you felt was indescribable. You couldn't believe he felt the same way about you.

'I'm quite cold.' He said. 'Can we hug again... maybe?' He sounded a bit embarassed.

You removed one of your arms from Compress' coat and signaled Shigaraki to put his arm in. He happily did so.

He then put his head on your shoulder.

'This is nice.' He said while he 'discreetly' wiped away a tear.

(REQUESTS ARE OPEN)

[hahahax30]

Esme Hardcastle: professional theorist and horrible scapegoat

This is my Official Essay-Post complaining about the absurdity that was the family tree. I'll be trying to explain my thoughts in a well-structured manner.

Firstly, I think we can all agree that making that goddamn family tree was one of the greatest mistakes CC's ever made, if not the greatest. It's been haunting her and us since tlh was announced and, frankly, should never have seen the light of day. However, once it did, it was a reality whose incorrectness the story had to live with and explain. And CC explained it, but in the most underwhelming, unsatisfactory way possible.

We're told that Esme Hardcastle, an ascended mundane James first meets in the shadowhunter academy, was the mastermind behind the family tree and that her mind is, actually, quite underdeveloped, hence why the family tree is full of errors. Well, that is a good way to explain certain aspects of the family tree, for example:

Why Alastair's name is misspelled as 'Alistar' -> many English names have different spellings and Esme might not have known which one to go to for Alastair; or perhaps she just made a typo because she was writing the family tree too fast

Why Sona's name is way off -> Alastair is a bitch and who knows what lies he could've told her to get her to leave him alone

Why some people (like Thomas) are supposed to die earlier than we now can expect them to -> she got angry and shortened their fictional lifespans

If the family tree had only silly mistakes like those, then Esme's existence would be nice, but nope. The family tree royally fucked up.

For once, it shouldn't contain info up until tda, since Esme surely didn't get to live until 1995 (when Emma was born), but also, she's a real character in-universe. She's supposed to know everyone in tlh, she should know that Barbara and Christopher died in 1903, she should know that Christopher certainly didn't get to marry Grace nor have children with her (even if they'd married they wouldn't have had any because they're both ace). Why, then, did she write that?

Esme is stupid, but she's not blind ffs. If CC really wanted to make her the reason behind the family tree, she should've explained further why Esme went full happy-flower-power mode and imagined a whole future for a guy who died at sixteen: is she a hardcore gracetopher shipper? A conspiratorial theorist who, in spite of seeing Christopher's body literally burn in a pyre, still thought he was alive? Both? I guess we'll never know.

This is all, for obvious reasons, frustrating.

I'm beyond overjoyed that she won't make another family tree. I wouldn't be surprised if she actually wrote a trilogy about tlh's children after twp (since her idea of it being the last shadowhunter trilogy has pretty much disappeared) and I don't want her to have to make up any other stupid reasons for why xyz info is wrong because Idiotbrain McStupid wrote it to compliment his real-person fanfiction of the next generations.

[louvay]

Elliot x Finn. Rated E. You know, my magnum opus of a ship(wreck)!

"Give up, Sir." The insufferable nobleman sneers, glaring condescendingly at the petrified knight at his feet. How nice. He has long wanted to see this knight crumble—the blue-haired knight's presence irritates him, and... oh, dear gods. Green leaf like that, but trusted a lot. Leonsterians are laughable, as he concludes; because no way he's going to forget how carefree this doofus has been. Orbiting around Lachesis... his Lachesis! He has never seen the Nordion princess so alive before. He cannot forget the icy glares the blond siblings reserve for him, and seems to be only for him alone.

"I do not yield." The knight replies fervently. Elliot hates how Finn defies him even then. Not knowing his place then, and not knowing his place now.

"You will." With a grin, Lord Elliot commands his men to net the defeated knight in. Sir Finn winces as his lance is kicked off his feeble hands, angry yet understanding he cannot delay his capture. He looks away when Heirhein troops push him forward and bind his wrists. "Now I'm unstoppable. What should I do with your corpse? Thrown into the sea? Hmm?"

"Hey, this isn't explicit enough. You said the rating will be explicit to make even Ao3 blush!" a Heirhein troop yells. The author yawns. She knows she can do worse without glasses... with (worse) typos and grammatical errors.

「闭嘴。」

Heirhein troops, regrettably, cannot use the internet to Google. Their internet money is again used to buy Elliot's hair gel.

"Finish me off," Finn taunts. "If I must die, let me do so with honor."

"Why did you speak like that insufferable casserole son of a fucking mistletoe?" Elliot yells. "Is it enough that you hovered so close to Lachesis, but also so close to my mind and biceps?!"

"L-Lord Elliot?"

"Maybe you shouldn't die. Maybe you can lay some strawberries, like a chicken."

"Like a plant, milord."

"Ah! Chickens aren't vegan, are they?"

"Nay, milord."

"Plant! Oh, genius! Now we have an answer to make the internet happen... and I'll still get my hair gel!" Elliot announces. "I explicitly like this plan so bigly. Bing bing, my lovely. Very explicit. Real explicit. Ultimately explicit."

"But I thought I also explicitly told you that you're so insufferable and maidenless?" Finn frowns.

"Not anymore if you be my damsel, innit?" Elliot announces. "Yes... you can be my queen. Queen of 5G tower. Bigly."

"But what about my duty?" Finn asks.

"Your duty? But my darling audacious dweeb, you'll be rich at thirty and can retire early! Then we'll ride a gondola and invade Nordion together," Elliot says. "Oh, my... your arms must be tired. Let's not tie you up any longer."

"But I'm tied to a contract?" Finn strerches his newly-freed arms.

"Yes!" Elliot nods enthusiastically.

"Against my will?"

"But you're young. What do you need a will for?"

"Ah!" Finn gasps like a paleolithic maiden. "Now I love you."

"Perfect! Whose IP address we'll track first?" thus Elliot bridal-carries Finn into Heirhein castle, and the two live happily ever after. Legend says their superhuman offspring is named Melon Husk.

Bravo. Simply outstanding!

From the beginning of the battle against Herhein to the realization that chicken is indeed vegan to then at the end, the siring of the musk by the two knightly couple, it is safe to say that I have been moved to tears. The greeks believed that a tragedy was truly a comedy, I am therefore inclined to believe in the romans

[karkallicious]

Homestuck as random bullshit I've said EB: someone's gotta tell betty crocker to lay off the cocaine.

EB: i’ve seen michael cera more times than i’d like to today.

EB: i'm sure ben stiller is a decent guy irl but if given the choice between being shot or watching all of his movies i'd ask about the bullet caliber.

TT: Women only want me for my skills in the occult and not my great personality or awesome ass...

TT: That sounds like an issue you should take up with Freud.

TT: But when someone add's apostrophe's to any word that end's with s? You went out of your way to add those. Ignoring your spell check screaming and crying. A tear rolling down the cheek of your elementary school teachers.

TT: Sometimes I'll see an incredibly minor typo and have to resist the urge to be the most pedantic person known to humanity.

TT: This is eldritch horror fucker discrimination.

TG: you dont just take someones obama prism away man

TG: i draw the line at rapping muppets dude

(when questioned as to why $100 was spent on a sword) TG: uh. well. it's a sword.

TG: well it doesnt sound as hilarious to review dildos and say "this one is sans" when you guys are this unenthusiastic

TG: if i ever die play caramelldansen at my funeral TG: theres no sentimental reason or anything TG: i just want to completely throw off the vibes

GG: i’m on board with men in maid dresses regardless of furry status coward

GG: home alone so things are getting pretty wild (talking to a cactus)

GG: local bitch takes "worst nap ever" wakes up several hours later sweaty and somehow more tired

(extreme cold warning in effect, active blizzard outside, sent at 7:18 pm) GG: my grandpa and i are going to dairy queen just for the hell of it

GG: I was gonna get shit done today, so I made a pie.

GG: The only explanation I had for my impromptu dessert making was “This is how I deal with stress...”

GG: Getting genuinely invested in the Cookie Clicker stock market.

TT: (watches toddler trip and fall) skill issue

TT: I frankly think it's a tragedy disney hasn't remade more movies but with muppets.

TT: They're just like "yeah okay dark lord with a robot army we all know you have a ponysona"

TT: I don't make a habit of looking at US political figure anime boy mpreg.

(while holding a katana and talking to a poster) TT: Do you think I make too many impulse purchases, Hatsune Miku?

TG: if not meant to claw grip kitty head why kitty head so holdable

TG: "it's a bad omen when a black cat crosses your path" incorrect, my day has just been significantly improved by seeing a kitty

(on fruitcake) TG: listen you have to pour alcohol into that shit until too many pieces could have you stumbling. great grandma knew how to party

GT: My amusing mugs have had the side effect that today my grandma asked me if she should go full goblin mode or if I wanted to.

GT: You don’t ask questions when a game makes the bold decision to sexualize a t-rex.

GT: Thinking about the time we played a murder mystery game as a family and I got way too into character as a victorian era author.

GT: I'm still disappointed about the time my zoo camp didn't get to watch the tigers being fed because like 15 tornadoes were headed towards us.

GT: Hey lads I just almost accidentally blinded myself.

AA: i love ritualpastas. i like to figure out at what point i would fail and probably get my skin turned into a throw rug or smth

AA: (skelet0n v0ice) hey bitches

AA: oh i have demons in me now thats fun

AA: d0 gh0sts c0unt as pe0ple?

AA: there would be teeth scattering like a fucked up sprinkler

AT: tHIS ISN'T ABOUT PORN ANYMORE IT'S ABOUT MAKING MORE POKEMON COMPETITIVELY VIABLE

AT: i’D LIKE TO THINK I’M NOT OVERLY EMOTIONAL BUT JUST NOW I ALMOST CRIED BECAUSE I REMEMBERED THE SOUND PORCUPINES MAKE AND I REALLY WANT TO HUG ONE BUT DUE TO THE NATURE OF PORCUPINES I CANNOT

AT: i CAN FAINTLY HEAR A CHICKEN IN MY NEIGHBORS’S YARD,,, wHAT

AT: i JUST SPILLED HOT COFFEE ON MYSELF AND APOLOGIZED TO THE BARISTA PROFUSELY

TA: my neme2ii2, biilly bob rockafiire. iit wa2 dark iin there.

TA: (dub2tep play2 a2 ii collap2e on the floor)

TA: ii don't thiink ii've giiven a fuck iin 2everal year2

TA: at thii2 poiint ii’m a2kiing the computer iif iit want2 a blood 2acriifiice

CG: *PEOPLE ARE IDIOTS AND IM NOT ALLOWED TO SAY THAT IN NINTENDO GAMES WHICH I PLAY DUE TO THEIR MORE CALM NATURE*

CG: IMAGINE THE MOST LOUD, DISAPPOINTED, DEFEATED SIGH YOU CAN. ON MY BEHALF.

CG: I WILL FUCK MYSELF OUT OF SPITE. IT WILL BE AN ENDLESS FEEDBACK LOOP, AN INFINITE ENERGY SOURCE, OF SPITE AND SELF FUCKING

CG: "THAT'S A PROBLEM FOR FUTURE ME," I SAY, FORGETTING THAT NOW FUTURE ME HAS TO DEAL WITH THE PROBLEM

CG: UGH THIS PLACE IS FULL OF PEOPLE AND THEYRE ALL STUPID AND I HAVE NO ONE TO VOICE MY GRIEVANCES TO OUTSIDE OF THE INTERNET.

AC: :33 < you meow in theory catgirls would probably eat anything smaller than them based on actual cat behaviours

AC: :33 < i at one point went out in public with homemade cat ears and a tail and tbh it wasn’t that bad. like sure people might judge but it turns out being cringe is being fr33

AC: :33 < *bap bap bap bap bap*

AC: :33 < i just wanted to try something but discovered the owo extension was twagically wemowoved. a woss fur evewybody

AC: :33 < today i said "you will be exiled for your baby crimes" because my cat was messing with my sketchbook

GA: If You Wouldnt Fuck A Vampire Minimum Youre A Coward

GA: I Use Amazon The Least I Can Out Of Spite That They Took Away My Favorite Fabric Store

GA: My Aesthetic Is Vampire Aligned Not Ghost Aligned I Dont Wear White

GA: I Am Going To Forcefeed You An Entire Fucking Dictionary

GC: 1 DON'T CONDON3 CR1M3S GUYS. UNL3SS TH3Y'R3 FUNNY

GC: TH3 ONLY V4L1D CH4NG1NG LOGO TO R41NBOW FL4G TH1NG 1S WH3N TH3 SCP FOUND4T1ON DO3S 1T

GC: 1T’S TH31R F4ULT TH3Y COULDN’T H4NDL3 B31NG D3C4P1T4T3D OFF1C3R >:]

GC: DON'T D13 DUD3 TH4T WOULD B3 D3C1D3DLY UNG4M3RL1K3 OF YOU

AG: remem8er kids: no matter how 8ad things get, at least you’re not the middle dude in a human centipede. pro8a8ly.

AG: spider furries: “88w88 what’s this?”

AG: may god have mercy on your 8ones because I won’t

(about a ripped cat plushie) CT: D --> we can rebuild him. we have the technology.

CT: D --> why must being cool come at the cost of being really sweaty

CT: D --> that's a horse... with an ass on both ends...

TC: WhY wOuLd YoU bUy *ShRoOmS* oN *eTsY*

TC: SoRrY wRoNg PoSt I wAs TrYiNg To ShArE cLoWn MiLkInG

TC: “AnY lAsT wOrDs, PuNk?” “HoNk”

TC: I hAvE aCtUaLlY eAtEn LeMoN sLiCeS aT rEsTaUrAnTs As ThE wAiTeR wAtChEs In HoRrOr

CA: i wwas nevver invvited to any high school parties. they might havve happened. i just wwas not invvited

(about invasive fish coming onto land) CA: i knoww this is an envvironmental hazard and all but let’s face it it’s a little funny

CA: i havve an spqr hat and i lovve it but also don't wwant people coming up to me like "you knoww wwhat the romans did right" like if i did not knoww a god damn thing about roman history i wwould not be wwearing the hat

CA: i'm a slut in theory. in practice i am not vvery good at it.

CA: anyone wwho thinks i'm insufferable for acknowwledging that i'm not unattractivve is ignoring all the other perfectly vvalid reasons i'm insufferable.

CC: one time I managed to make ocean puns back and fort)( wit)( a friend for like an )(our and I t)(ink our friend w)(o was also in t)(e car actually contemplated krilling us

CC: starfis)(... are mermaid nipple clamps

(Sends picture of a horde of goldfish) CC: my entourage

[lady-of-imladris]

Fic writer asks, 1 to 10, which means every number inbetween!

Let's get into it *cracks knuckles*

Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

I prefer one shots (the pressure of writing the next chapter is REAL)

Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

For my current WIP, I have a rough outline, about 4 bullet points per chapter, but the rest is just vibes

Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

"hmmm I haven't worked on my WIP in a while"... 1am, on my laptop, in bed, sometimes the words just come out, other times I spend hours looking into words and timelines and maps and retype the same sentence 20 times. At one point I think "haha nice", then I read it again, throw it to grammarly, correct the mistakes and then I post it :) (cue the obligatory waiting anxiously for comments 2 seconds after posting something)

Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

SONGS. Sometimes also daydreaming (the Fëanor and Thranduil smut came from daydreaming, most hurt/comfort stuff comes from songs)

Do you like constructive criticism?

If it's something like a typo - YES. In all other cases, no. I'm new to writing and I feel like ANY criticism would discourage me.

Do you have your work beta'd? How important is this to your process?

No beta we die like Boromir 😂😂

How do you choose which POV to write from?

I usually do 3rd person, except for reader insert stuff, that's where I do 2nd person (I feel like that's the "convention")

Do you prefer the beginning, middle, or end of a story?

That depends, sometimes the middle is so daunting to write, but other times it's so FUN. I also like the end because you can leave your readers with a sense of "FUCK FUCK FUCK THIS IS NOT HAPPENING" which I LOVE

Do you comment on stories you read?

I try to, but recently I've been tired 24/7 so usually I just scream in the tags a bit

Cltr+f "blinks" on your WIP & copy paste the first sentence/paragraph that comes up

It's 1am and my laptop is shut off, but I'll try to do this tomorrow 🙃 I hope I don't forget 😂

[star-mum]

Live Star Reaction - Saw II

im eating popcorn (hooray) so I'm writing this one handed, I apologize for any typos

OH MY GOD !!!! I WAS GONNA SAY THE KEY WAS IN HIS EYE BUT I WASNT FAST ENOUGH

damn I guess I'd just die on this one, let's make a list at the end of this of which Saw Traps I could REALISTICALLY survive and which ones I'd give up on

Venus Fly Trap: absolutely dying, at least it'd be quick

awn man I hope our friend from the last movie survived (I don't remember his name, the journalist)

"i haven't heard from you" yeah I fucking wonder why

(hope he didn't get Saw Trapped)

Are rhey gonna have a weird forced romance? i hope not :/

WHAT ? DONT APOLOGIZE TO HIM !!! HE'S AN ASSHOLE !!!

THEY'RE JUST GONNA GET HIM ????? cute ceramics bowl by way

CREEEEPY DOLL SHIT !!! Aaaand now they're dead, sucks to suck i guess

"get on your knees" *is on a wheelchair* "I don't think so 😌"

"the problem in that room" oh his son got saw trapped daaaaaammnnn

is it all their families ???

"tell me where he is" YES OF COURSE, HE DID ALL OF THIS ONLY TO TELL YOU THE ANSWER RIGHT AWAY

hey guy ik you're spiraling but this 9 year bullshit isn't helping anybody

AMANDA ?????? DAAAAMMNN TWICE IN A ROW GIRLIE ?????

the FIRST thing she did when she woke up was check the back of her head, thats a fucked up attention to detail

did he tattoo the numbers on the back of their heads ? and do theu have to go in order of the rainbow? they're all swearing different colors

or maybe in order of the names (like the initials that match the colors)

hello door, what is this about?

IS IT OUR BUDDY FROM THE LAST MOVIE ????

or is this part of the game?

"while your coming up with a game plan, im getting out of here" if by here you mean the living plain then yeah, I'd have to agree

WHAT DID HE DO 5 YEARS AGO ????? OOOOHHHH GET HIS ASS BRO

"could you get me a glass of water" ... i didn't know you got water... in this creepy lil hideout

this is driving me insane: is that Penelope Cruz ? (i have actor face blindness so I have truly have No Idea if they're even similar)

that's a fun little scavenger hunt we're going on 😊

WHO IS THAT ????? oh ;-; ew ;-;

have they all had issues with the law ? cause those 3 have been arrested and the kid just got got at the beginning of the movie, besides all the investigation stuff Im sure she got in trouble for the drug abuse

"he kidnapped me in the middle of the night" YEAH YOU'RE NOT FUCKING SPECIAL BLONDIE, SHUT THE FUCK UP (ik she's dying but she's annoying also, im sure there's a fucked reason why she's here)

who would've thunk that going into a furnace would've been a bad idea

gotta be one of the top 3 worst ways to go honestly

KSKSKSKS John Kramer is a fucking yapper, love that

get your hand away from the teenage boy, Laura

"started in jail" I TOLD YOU !!!!!!

DID HIS FATHER ARREST EVERYONE HERE ????? that'd be crazy actually

THAT IS SO FUCKED KKSKSKSS "it'll be like finding a needle in a haystack haha" HE'S SO CUNTY ABOUT IT

MOTHERFUCKER !!! HE JUST CHUCKED HER IN HERE !!! OH I HOPE HE DIES NEXT

I say we kill this guy, i mean who's gonna check if one more person dies in this place

"no more talking" we haven't done ANY TALKING cause of your INSUFFERABLE ASS

"i know how this guy works, he's playing a game" oh what privileged information that he aLREADY GAVE US DIRECTLY, YOU USELESS FUCKING BITCH

"you may not remember them but they definitely remember you" DO I JUST HAVE A HUGE BRAIN ?????

HE DID TATTOO IT ON PEOPLE !!!! IM SO SMART !!! I'D SURVIVE THIS TRAP !!!!

is the big guy gonna go around killing folks to check the numbers, cause that's stupid

LEEEEEESSSS GOOOOOOOO !!! KICK HIS ASS BRO

oh please dont die ;-; awn man ;-; i hate this guy

"you two are on your own" no... You're on your own, they're together (for now at least)

he's not focusing on the colors, how is he gonna remember the right order

if detective lady was serious about stopping bad cop n1, she would've shot him

"I'll take you to the house" bby girl do you REALLY THINK he's taking you there

IS JOHN GONNA MAKE HIM CRASH THE CAR ???? He survived once, he could do it again (i really hope he does honestly)

IS A FAKE FLOOR ?????

IS THE BIG TWIST THAT AMANDA WAS HELPING KRAMER THIS WHOLE TIME ????? That'd be fucking lit actually

oh shit he did take him to the house, alright damn maybe force does work

... why is Penelope Cruz not screaming anymore?? THAT'S NOT THE HOUSE !!!! IT'S A FAKE ?????

OH HEY FIRST MOVIE BBY LES GO

awn he dead ;-;

KILL HIM WITH THE SAW !!!!!

"how are you gonna know your number if i dint tell you?" *doesn't fucking hesitate* THAT IS DERANGED !!!!! WOOOOOWWWW

IT WAS A FAAAAAAAAKEEEEEE !!!!!!! THAT'S CRAZY

IS IT A FAKE HOUSE OR RECORDED FEED ?????

IT'S RECORDED !!! OF FUCKING COURSE THAT'S WHY IT WAS SI DARK AND THE BODIES LOOKED LIKE THAT!! THATS WHY PENELOPE WASN'T FUCKING SCREAMING ANYMORE !!!!!

hey guys, ik it's the point but I can't see shit !!!

WHAT THE FUCK ???? (pig mask is so fucking creepy)

where they here the entire time ? THAT'S CRAZY !!!!!!

IS THE ENDING THE SETUP FOR THE THIRD MOVIE ????

WAS THIS A REVENGE PLOY FOR AMANDA ????? YEEEAAAAHHHHHH !!!!! LETS FUCKIN GOOOOOOOOO

are you like so proud of me? except for parts I spewed insane garbage that had nothing to do with the plot : DD

is Kramer dead ??????

[gallus-rising]

🌻💞🎙️💋 for the ask game!

🌻what makes you want to give up on writing? what makes you keep going

not to start this off morbidly but the day i stop wanting to write is the day i'll finally end it all so i keep going by simply continuing to live

💞what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

hmmmmmm i'm bad a picking things but the technical stuff ig? i like rereading my writing bc i'm cringe but free <3 but i see one (1) typo or fucked up comma or incredibly poor phrasing and it makes me feel so hhhghngAAGAHNAHAGAAA

🎙️which one of your fics would you like someone to make a pod-fic of?

if anyone were to make podfic for literally any of my fics i'd Die

💋when you leave comments on a fic, do you want to hear back from the writer?

i guess it depends! i know a lot of the time i leave comments that are just yelling and keysmashes and emojis so there's not exactly a lot to respond to lol

thank you<3

[snakuchan]

get to know me tag~~

Nobody on this site loves me more than @13-scoups im just speaking teh factss. No but really thank you Steph!! This one’s basically the same get to me know tag game i did, so hopefully this won’t be too boring :)

Nickname: Cindy by my family members only. Ew, I get weirded out when friends or strangers try calling me that so just Cynthia is fine in case y’all don’t know

Gender: cis female, she/her 

Zodiac: Sagittarius babey 🤪

Height: 5 feet and 3 quarters. Let me have my 3 quarters 

Age: 19 (im 20 in a little less than 5 months and that’s just Not Real)

Time: 11:56 pm and im absolutely wired 

Favorite bands/solo artists: oof a whole lot. BTS, Seventeen, Monsta X, Ateez, NCT, Twice, Red Velvet, Stray Kids, HyunA, and so many more i actively stan and so many more I casually listen to 

Song stuck in my head: Heartbeat - BTS and Dream Glow - BTS. Because of fuckin BTS World, it’s just those two back and forth in a vicious cycle and my wittle brain hurts 

Last movie I saw: oof i can’t even remember. In theaters? Probably Captain Marvel. And I think Terrifier on Netflix. Uhh interesting little gory number that one...

Last thing I googled: mystic messenger endings. Ok listen I’ve had this damn game for two years now and dammit im gonna get all the endings

Other blog: this is my one and only personal shithole corner 

Do I get asks: from like my best friend every now and then taunting me. Trying to get me to fall for Monsta X’s Minhyuk. Like im gonna leave Mr. Yoo Kihyun 🙄

Why I chose my username: ok so snaku = snakes. cause i like snakes. chan = cause anime. Basically a shitty nickname my best friend gave me. She says she doesn’t even like think my real name her mind just instantly goes to snakuchan whenever she thinks of me and im gonna murder her 

Following: 413. It’s actually a smaller number compared to 3 months ago hehe. Gotta unfollow all those inactive blogs

Average amount of sleep: 5-8 hours. I refuse to wake up past 8:00 am and if i get only 5 hours of sleep So Be It 

Lucky number: 7 i guess 

What am I wearing: very old pajamas I got these when I was 14 and they still fit. Like height wise they fit and Im Big Mad 

Dream job: physician of some sorts. We’ll see what I’d like to specialize in in the future 

Dream trip: anywhere outside of Florida like god pls 

Favorite food: my mom’s ropa vieja which is like a shredded beef steak made in a stew 

Favorite song: I guess right now it’s Aurora by Ateez. It really does change everyday tho 

Hair color: reddish undertone light brown hair with blonde highlights. She’s an interesting color and depends on lighting 

Eye color: light brown 

Most iconic song: Honestly, Steph, I’m gonna have to agree. TVXQ’s Mirotic is a timeless bop never forget her 

Languages you speak: Spanish and English. I’m in the process of learning Korean and boy oh boy is verb conjugation a bitch 

Random fact: im gonna use this to gush about the albums I got today. I got Mingi for Treasure EP 1 and Wooyoung for both versions of EP 3 im :((( BIG UWUING. No but are we just gonna forget Pirate King era Kim Hongjoong? I mean...shit. I also got Seventeen’s Teen, Age White ver and why did I avoid ordering that for so longgggg I really want to complete my Seventeen collection so bad :^((

Describe yourself as an aesthetic: going out to dinner late at night, napping through a rainy day, the tingle of mint, fields of flowers, the view of the sunrise from an apartment window, gated houses 

I always word vomit these posts so I hope you enjoy my ramblings at what’s currently 12:27 am. I’ll be tagging: @tatyneedshalp @noir-deserves-better @hingmao @pinkladygriffon @beomgyutie @kinosangel @yeeunsus. Some of you, I’ve been mutuals with for a while or a short while and I’d love to get to know you better :)) Also some are my followers but I still see you and want to know Whats Up :))

BUT OF COURSE YOU DONT HAVE TO IF YOU DONT WANT TO. I’m a shy fuck and just tagging all these new people has my heart racing so pls if you dont want me to bother you in these sorts of things, just send me a message!!

[matcha-flavored-cake]

‧₊˚໑birthday sex — thoma

Dec 17th was my birthday so I did a thing >:)

.♡ reader: female

.♡ NSFW content, minors please DNI!

.♡warnings: Ass slapping, pussy eating, praise/ light degradation, calling reader slut, dumbification, calling reader dumb/slut, thoma is very horny, breeding, squirting,

.♡ No beta we die like timmy's pigeons

.♡ Any typos let me know! English isn't my first language

—NSFW BELLOW THE CUT

Every time Thoma's thrusts collided with your skin you felt your head spin. It seemed to be too good to be true.

His cock was hitting in all the right places, your spongy walls squeezing him while he tried not to cream your insides again. It was too much, The way he looked so good as he panted, his hands holding the fat on your thighs leaving them wide open… Archons! You were foggy minded, and he fucked your brains so good that it should be forbidden.

"How are you going there sweetie?" Thoma asked slowing down his pace, he stroked circles on your thigh soothing you and bent down to lick your nipple. He sucked like a hungry man licking and watching your face twitch as his tongue danced around you poor nipple.

"That hurt?" He looked into your eyes, a glint of pleasure in his eyes. He was teasing you, and he knew it was working. Letting out a weak moan from him as he thrust deep and hard, Thoma let his head fall back and parted your legs again. He angled his body making you scream when the tip of his dick kissed your cervix. At this point you were a crying mess, all that came out of you were moans and begs, you're practically drooling over his big cock and thick cum.

"Aren't you a fucking slut for my cock", he smiled "Always doing a nice job for me hm? ” He stroked your face, her fingertips gently running over your cheeks. "You can handle one more can't you? It's your birthday present, I'm gonna make you so full of cum sweetie… you'll be so pretty leaking my cum yeah?" He kissed your cheeks and patted you. You snuggled into his touch, and nodded.

"Ple...ase T-Thoma I wanna be so fucking full…" you cried. Thoma kissed your hair.

“Here we go…” He turned you gently and pulled his cock out of you making a thick, hot load of cum from past rounds down your legs. Your insides felt lonely at the strange emptiness in your walls, and you almost cried in frustration.

“Poor baby, did I fuck your brains until you turned this dumb slut?“ Thoma whispered close to your ear, his hot breath making you bite your lips. He was testing you, teasing you and overstimulating you again.

"My dumb slut, I'm gonna give you all the cum you want." Slapping one of your ass cheeks and holding it with one hand, Thoma caressed his length with the other, rubbing the angry red tip of his cock against your clit, loving how sticky and wet you were after so much cum he had put inside you.

“Face down, ass up princess, be pretty for me yeah?" He said slapping your ass again, making you shiver. You quickly obey him, he was torturing you to a point where you were thinking with your pussy instead of your head.

“Archons sweetie, aren't you ashamed to be so hasty?" He laughed. His hands came to rest on your ass cheeks, squeezing them. Thoma bent down and licked your folds, putting his tongue inside your puffy pussy, sucking and licking. You pulled the sheets and moaned like a pornstar, his tongue worked deftly inside you, kissing him with an open mouth before thrusting his cock into your hole again. It was almost shameful how he had no trouble getting inside, your gummy walls tightening around him and he grunted almost coming again.

“Do that again and I'll end you" Thoma threatened and you repeated the act taking all his patience.

“I wanted to be nice to you since it's your birthday. But I think that you have to be punished to understand don't you?" He spoke, pushing your head on the bed. You almost let a smile slip across your face, pissing off Thoma was the best way to make him lose his facade and oh archons, how hot he got when he lost his good boy facade.

In a sudden move, his cock came out and entered you insides. With moans and small screams, you were already starting to cry from overstimulation again, your body burning and your insides pulsing.

"Fuck, fuck, fu..ck!" He was fucking you like an animal in heat, going deep and digging his way deeper and deeper into you. It didn't take long for him to kiss your cervix again making you scream and grab the sheets with all your strength. The way he grunted when it happened was music to your ears.

"Happy *thrust* fucking *thrust* birthday" he said, holding your waist to go deeper inside you. Your eyes were rolling back to your skull and your legs were going numb but he was holding you steady. The unholy sound of skin hitting skin made your mind go crazy and the way his heavy balls hit your clit sent shock waves through your body and you wanted so badly to go to the bathroom.

You tried to warn Thoma what was going to happen but before you could say anything a hot and creamy load invaded your insides and a pornographic moan escaped from his lips while your body froze and a high-pitched scream left your mouth. The amount os cum that filled you up quickly made you squirt between your overpowering orgasm, making a wet and sticky mess over his torso. For a moment you almost thought you had been knocked out, but thoma's wet kisses made you open your eyes.

"Happy birthday princess" he said, panting. "I love you"

@matcha-flavored-cake © • 2021 • don't repost or copy