#maybe i should just make a new blog. but im really attached to this one

[dotchannie]

- 𝚟𝚒𝚋𝚎 :: c.bc x reader (MDNI)

synopsis: channie finds his lovers little toy whilst trying to entertain himself in a rare moment he’s left himself home alone.

a/n: repost ik ik whatever, im stilling moving blogs technically but one day it'll be something new <3 part two will probably drop in the next week or so ! fem reader in that part but this one is more solo chan than anything else !

wc: 1,256.

Warnings: housewife chan he is a domestic queen and he’s lonely:(, mentions of living repetitive days, solo male masturbation with toys oop, vibrator over clothes, mentions of a hand job(not described), he busts quick sorry chan<3, cumming in his pants, petnames(baby twice i think), whiny booooy ! next part will be filthier <3

Chan feels very uneasy in his own home at the moment- so used to being the one jetting around the world that he can't quite settle at it being your turn instead.

It's only a fleeting trip to visit relatives, but it’s enough to have him picking his phone up every couple of seconds- blinking notifications having hope settling in his chest that maybe, just maybe, you require his attention.

Alas, your love is needed elsewhere, your partner left to his own devices- bandmates caught up in their own commitments back home too, their leader struggling in what should be a relaxing time. A period of down low. Chan prefers to be busy, to have a task weighing heaving on his shoulders and engaging his mind.

Hence his current situation, rooms gutted one by one as he works his wonders with whatever cleaning supplies he can get his hands on- the kitchen his first target. Spices long forgotten in the depths of storage pulled to the light, discarding as necessary as he uses his new found hobby to hone in on his organisation skills.

He even dabbles in some cooking, various ingredients already creeping up to their best before thanks to only feeding one mouth- if nothing else he has a couple hearty meals prepped in your absence.

The next chore see’s him tackling the living room. All he really needs to is straighten up some blankets and pillows, hoover a little, maybe a candle or something to make it feel homey while you're still away- more of his time spent in the four walls making up the bedroom.

Days begin merging into one as far as Chan’s concerned, each one starting with cleaning and ending with, well, cleaning.

By the time the next day rolls round he's more than half way through scrubbing the entire house- the plans today were to face your shared bathroom, but when he bypasses through the bedroom and is greeted by the chaos he's currently living in, he feels guilty that you're usually the one keeping on top of it.

Clothes tossed all over the room, shoes kicked off and forgotten about in favour of launching himself straight into plush sheets instead- and he can already hear your nagging at how his dirty clothes are on the floor near the laundry basket, not in it- something he now realises is completely justified.

Room cleaning is never straight forward though, and now he’s sat himself infront of the lower drawers attached to the wardrobe, legs criss-crossed as he folds, cramming in even more clothes he's managed to pull out of every crevice in the room.

Reaching forward to scoot some of your belongings around, he makes contact with a metallic object.

It’s cold when he takes it between the pads of his fingertips, believing it to be something else he would need to find a rightful home for on his mad cleaning spree- spending a couple moments rolling it back and forth before spinning it far enough to see a small power symbol near the base of the foreign object, gasping at his own discovery.

He's holding his breath as he presses the power button once. Nothing. He holds it in for a couple seconds this time. Nothing again. He let's out a sigh- no idea if it’s relief or defeat.

But curiousity has already gotten the better of him, inquisitive hands rummaging in the same drawer once more to see if you have a charger for this thing. And low behold you do.

Chan wastes no time plugging it in, busying himself with more tidying- bed stripped and remade with fresh sheets, all the while repeadeatly looking back towards the bedside table.

He manages to forget about it long enough to go take a shower, skin grimey from the accumulation of sweat and dirt but he's back to square one when he lays down to rest for the night. Scrutinising your little friend as it lays by his side- staring at it like it's going to do something spectacular before his very eyes.

Eventually, bravery takes over- thoughts of you quick to flood his mind when it’s in his palm once more. Do you use it when he's away? Do you use it when he's home and busy in the janky makeshift studio in the spare room? He always has headphones on he'd probably never hear you anyway.

He doesn't even realised he's pressing the button, mind running through a million scenarios, a soft "oh" slipping his lips as it begins to frantically buzz between his thumb and index finger.

Chan’s pleasantly surprised by the power it packs and he can only imagine how good it feels for you when you put it to use- excitement building as he considers his next action, a shake of his head stopping the train before it gets on the tracks fully and returning it to it's charger before rolling over to be welcomed by a restless night.

He goes about the next day much like he did the previous, starting to feel like he was stuck in a groundhog kind of situation.

Welcomed by the duvet, he makes himself comfortable on your side of the bed- eyes locked on to his new found enemy that has his brain turning to mush in his head.

But when he picks it up this time he has much different intentions.

Instinct alone guiding him to place it directly on his tip, hips violently rising of the bed with a heavy "oh fuck" when the bullet springs to life.

He's completely underestimated the capabilities of such a compact toy- chest immediately feeling like it's caving in from stimulation.

The brief contact ensuring him that one, this is going to be the quickest release since his first and two, it's going to become addicting- not daring place it on his bare skin.

Slowly running it up and down his length, his eyelids pull shut against his will, never having felt anything like it, doubting he ever will- back arching so far off the bed he's almost resting on his crown.

Ragged puffs of air escape his nose, nostrils flared wide- chest heaving as he begs to keep up with his own self inflicted torture.

Chan's completely taken by surprise by his own orgasm- quick and powerful when it hits him, announcing to an empty room that he's going to come.

"oh god, oh fuck- im cumming, ahhhhh im gonna bust baby, just like that", pent up energy being realesed in the form of repeatedly slapping at the blankets as he does.

With his head feeling like it’s full of cotton wool he can't help but groan at the tacky feeling of his boxers clinging to him, mouth dry and uncomfortable from hanging open so long.

In his state of bliss, Chan barely makes out the sound of his phone ringing- scrambling to pick it up when he eyes focus enough to register your name, news you're finally on your way back to him.

"Chan! I'm in the taxi now I'll be home soon!", your voice comes through the speaker in a sing song tone but he's struggling to make sense of what you're saying.

"Chan? Can your hear me? Hellooo?".

He let's out something akin to a whine, completely beyond his control and using what little breath he can catch to huff out a dazed response,

"baby, you gotta hurry I need help"

You ask the driver to pick up the pace and rush you home, quick.

🏷️: @rose-tinted-kalopsia

𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 !

[pommunist]

i honestly think that the qsmp is experiencing a quiet and slow death. like qsmp related stuff barely comes across my dash anymore (and i follow hundreds of mcyt blogs, back when things actually happened my entire dash would just be qsmp fanwork and liveblogging).

like sure the server is still open (not that i think it should be) but i barely see anyone talking about it anymore. the most i see is announcements for some new event thats supposed to revive the server and then i maybe see 3 or 4 posts about it the day of?

theres also way less new fanart being posted, the majority of the fanart i see is either a) shipping art that isnt set in any specific time (or is set during the peak ship era), b) art about one of the old events/plotlines, or c) pure egg art also with no specific time setting. there is relatively no fanart that is solely about the new events.

they keep trying to wave events in front of the jaded fans like "hey!!! new event! you want more events yeah? you guys used to love events :(" as if we dont see it as the distraction from their workplace abuse that it is

tbh i hate to see it happen but it’s what you get when you mix mistreatment of your workers with terrible pr management like….

first you have everyone who stopped supporting it when they learnt of the admin’s working conditions. already by this point, and because it’s been two months and no signs of betterment a big chunk of the fandom has dropped qsmp.

then you also lose people who were really attached to the eggs, especially if their favorite hasn’t came back or won’t come back at all.

and then you also lose people who were in for story and lore because they just learned that everything they had theorised about for months was for nothing because while the writers were trying their best the higher ups had no idea where the plot was going + ccs couldn’t be involved in the big storyline

and even if all of that wasn’t enough to make you leave, you might just drop it because your cc doesn’t log on anymore, or because the fandom is dying/dead (especially if you speak a language that massively left the project)

😀👍 just saw the tweet announcing the tzc murder mystery event and im so bitter i’ve waited like 9 months for it to happen but to see it happen in these conditions…. maybe the real murders that took place was the self sabotaging of qsmp and all these massacred workers rights

tldr qstudios completely fumbled the bag and that’s on them 100% L+ratio or whatever but it still sucks to see the state of qsmp rn

[omi-nor]

Rules and brief about!

Welcome! This is a rp blog for ygo characters. Probably going to just stick with mostly Yami Bakura right now. But I might add others later.

Here are some general things you should know:

- I am very new to rp still. And still not super familiar with Tumblr. Still a lot of things I don't know or have never done before, so please keep this in mind

- It almost feels like my first time ever encountering ygo.

I've just picked up the manga for the 1st time about three days ago too.

- I am an adult and would prefer characters and muns to be 18+. No nsfw stuff with minors

- I really do try to read and remember everyone's rules, but sometimes I forget my own rules, so please forgive me if I forget something

- On that note, I am pretty forgetful, in general. I try to jot down notes to help with this, but there is a chance I may forget an ic interaction

- Try to give me about a week before giving me a reminder, though.

- I am VEEERY slow a lot of the time. Like, many days, maybe a week, slow. Sometimes more than a week. Not always, but just giving you a heads up.

- I try not to spam notifs or dash, but, it might happen, occasionally. I will always reblog from the source, unless the mun has made it explicitly clear that they actually prefer it be from them or don't care either way or, for some reason, I can't get to the source.

- I am kind of the exact opposite of most people, it seems. I actually would LOVE it if you went on a like spree. And I actually prefer it if you reblogged memes from me (as long as we have spoken at least once). And dash spam almost never bothers me. You can also come into my ims, that doesn't really bother me either.

- I'm not the best at # tagging stuff. I haven't really got a system going yet

- I follow #omi-nor and #ominor, but I don't look at tags very often

- Please don't be afraid to @ me for dash games, lmao. I usually love those. May not always do them, but yeah.

- I am a very heavy cell phone user, but, so far, I don't think I've run into trouble because of this. Trimming is the only big thing I have doubts about still right now.

- Rules could change. I tried my best to give some solid info here, but it could change. I'll probably make a post if there is a change?

(I really hope I'm not forgetting something because I am writing this from memory.)

- I am pretty anxious about stuff. I'm trying not to be, but it's hard.

Like, sometimes I look at a meme and there's a part of me that wants to do it, but there's also a little pang of anxiety a lot of the time. Lol, I dunno, man..

- I may not answer every ask or do everything thing. And I'm trying to get better at sometimes saying no to things. But I don't want people to get discouraged about interacting, either, lol.

I also try not to pressure other people and a lot of stuff coming from me doesn't have a whole lot of expectation attached to it. (Like, if I @ you in a dash game, for example)

- One important thing about communication: I always feel like I'm in a tug of war of trying not to talk too much to people because I'm worried I'm bothering them just a bit and then realizing I may not be talking enough, so I'm basically a stranger to them.

- "Plot something out" kinda scares me a bit, cause all the rp I've ever done - I think - was just off the cuff. Maybe it's not as scary as it sounds and maybe I've technically already plotted without knowing it. But yeah.

- I might need to take 2 or 3 weeks off from time to time. Just giving you a heads up. I'll try to say something.

- Going by Rainy for mun name. It just kinda stuck, lol.

- It's very easy for me to feel a bit overwhelmed. A part of me hates to do this, but I may need to temporarily shut down my ask box and not accept @s or #s for a bit if I feel like I have too much to do. I may need to make a very short ooc post just to let people know?

- I'm going to say, yes, all my memes have no expiration date, though.

- On a similar note, I think it's very possible I will go through your posts and send in stuff from a very long while back, in some cases. I usually assume there is no expiration date for other people's memes, but I usually try to ask first. But if there is, please feel free to ignore.

- I may or may not use icons

- If I see a reply to a thread and I am super tired, I won't read it until I've slept long enough for me to feel better (which could be a long time). I feel like being tired while reading really distorts things, so I like to only read it after I've gotten some sleep.

Honestly, the same is usually true for even ooc conversation. I just don't do well when I'm sleep deprived and sometimes I will just pass out for, like, 12 hours. (I LOVE it when this happens, though. I feel great afterwards.)

***ABOUT YAMI BAKURA***

My Yami Bakura is, right now, based off of anime English dub canon, for the most part. But now that I have the manga, it might slowly start to change a bit. Not sure.

I kinda wanted to try Ryo, but I haven't found Ryo in the English dub to be very inspiring, so far. A lot of his screen time was him just kinda flatly explaining the duels. Poor Ryo. You see glimpses of an actual character, at times, but it's rough, man.

I was debating keeping Ryo or not, but just to avoid confusion, I'm gonna wait to see what the manga has to offer.

Can I lastly just say? I really like the ygo rpc so far.

[slowdripsunrise]

ooookkkkkk so its been like. months since i last updated this blog so here we go im just gonna write my feelings out about the books i've read i will try to get through all of them but maybe won't i'll stop writing when i get bored soz. spoilers for many various books under the cut!

ok. first book i read since i last updated my reads on here was i will greet the sun again by khashayar j khabushani! this was such a beautiful piece of work and i really recommend it for anyone who needs a good cry, but still wants a happy/not extremely tragic ending. the writing was beautiful and i think one of my favorite scenes/settings was the beach... the way it was described. as well as the way iran was described, it was so lovely even though there were many bad memories attached to it. that and the K's relationship with Johnny were my fave parts. it was so sweet reading about them and even tho i read this a while ago so i don't remember much, this story has stuck with me throughout... not so much as the exact scenes, but the feelings and emotions i was feeling while reading it. definitely recommend!!!

next i read the life changing magic of tidying up by marie kondo! this was a great little book about organization and lifestyle and i recommend to anyone who maybe wants to get a different perspective on organization! i read and finished this before bed one night, woke up, and started reorganizing and cleaning up my space lmao. no it didnt stay that way, but the effort was there. i don't think that this book is necessarily life changing, however it does offer new ideas about tidying up, and gives some good tips on how to go about it. one of the things i thought pretty relevant to me were the steps in which u should organize, or choosing one thing to organize and only doing that one thing. like doing all of the clothes in the house at once, or toys, etc. instead of a room at a time. for me, i get distracted very easily if i'm doing 4 different things at once, so this is something i wanna try out more! the way the book is set up too makes it easily rereadable, just for a refresher, which i like lol

next i read braiding sweetgrass by robin wall kimmerer!!! 5/5 stars one of my top books i read this year 100%. easily. this book was wonderful and engaging and informative and i absolutely loved it. the way the author weaves facts and information along with the story and narrative is so lovely and makes me want to pick up her other book, gathering moss (i think) immediately. this shit was addicting! the stories from her life and the stories from her culture and history were so captivating and immersive oh my god. i think some of my favorite stories of hers where the ones with her students. the camping trip in the marsh (i think it was a marsh. some sort of wetlands....) was lovely; as well as the stories with her daughters. AND THE ENDIGN OHGHHHH MY GOD i had shivers literally all over me. like almost cried not out of sadness but awe of her writing. there were times i almost cried of sadness tho. 5/5 i need to read more from this author.

next - ok. OH KAY. oh also ive decided i'm just going to group all of the books in a series together, especially when i read them all pretty close in time to each other, because a lot of times they all blend together in my head. all this to say - i read the all for the game series by nora sakavic. i went into it knowing it was about gay people that play made up sports and maybe a little bit of mafia esque action was going on. i came out of it extremely entertained and needing to read the next one in the series LMAO this shit was so awesome and epic. 5/5 stars. i've aged out of YA so i usually steer clear of it (especially some of the newer ones. it feels like so much of YA has lost all amounts of trust in their readers and focuses more on publishers and algorithms and such but. whatever) however this is a tumblr classic and you know what i wanted to read something fun and entertaining so thats exactly what i did. i've seen a lot of people ok not a lot a couple people point out that the writing isn't good or isn't super high level or whatever. who give a shit. idk i feel like people are trying to justify liking or reading something that most would consider "bad" or "immature" or. idk the exact word im looking for, ig like a guilty pleasure?? theyre trying to justify it by saying things like "oh yeah, i know the writing is bad But the characters-" or "oh yeah its written like fanfic but-" like yall its fine. it's chill. calm down. personally i didn't think the writing was bad. i thought it was average. also there's nothing wrong with writing a fanfic-esque story, the problem is you people can't suspend ur damn disbelief for more than 2 minutes and have fun. sorry that was a huge rant that wasn't even about the book back to the books I HAD FUN. she did what she needed to to. will i read the sunshine court? yeah probably if i remember. would i recommend this to everyone? no. only people with taste. this was a blast definitely look up trigger warnings tho like. there was more mafia involvement than i originally thought there would be lol. characters slayed. relationships between them were fun to read about. go foxes.

ok this is long so i am going to end it here we are not even close to done but i will try to remember to continue going through everything and then maybe i'll try and compile some of my stats from storygraph for like an end of year thing even tho it's more than halfway through january lol.

[sundaemuddysucks]

tdwt courterra is soo fucked up. ive been thinking abt it all day. picture this

ok courtney and sierra have like. No fucking reason to interact in tdwt despite being teammates bc i think out of all of them, sierra freaks out courtney the most bc courtney is like. Super judgmental right. and sierra has more interesting people (in her mind) to blog about. and i think sierra wasnt a very big courtney fan (she wasn’t ever really super obsessive abt her + she didnt seem to care that much abt duncney). but that all changes after the whole gwuncan shitstorm. Remember how sierra was the only one who actually sympathized with courtney and voted with her for gwen. yeah. heather did try to comfort courtney but imagine courtney realizes Hey i probably. should not rely on heather for comfort. so instead courtney decides to (very hesitantly) start hanging out with sierra since she’s her only teammate that isn’t a gwen sympathizer or a bitch (in her mind). at first she just kinda spends a lot of time bitching to sierra abt “gwen is such a bitch ohh my god i hate her so much” which actually kinda gives them common ground (sierra is also an aggressive gwen disliker and thinks boyfriend stealing is wrong etc etc) and courtney feels really validated which is special to her bc to me she is the type to be invalidated a lot when she expresses dislikes/concerns (since she is autistic. i mean look at her. and at least in my experience being autistic ppl never take you seriously when you complain about shit) so actually having someone enthusiastically agree with her and not judge her for the. odd things she says (like cmon she sang an entire song abt wanting to maim gwen) is a big deal. courtney is in a pretty emotionally vulnerable state at that time since yk she just got betrayed by her only real friend and cheated on. she starts crushing and shes like Man what the hell this sucks. and she hates herself a lot for being attracted to sierra of all people bc 1) internalized homophobia 2) sierra is. Sierra and 3) courtney realllllly doesn’t want to let herself get attached to anyone (especially a girl) bc of the fact that gwen just straight up stole her boyfriend. so while courtney has all that going on, sierra is having Thoughts of her own. the pedastal shes kinda been putting cody on starts to crumble bc she’s like What the hell. how in god’s name is he supporting GWEN right now!! and it’s kind of dawning on her slowly that she might not have a chance w/ cody if hes still so adamantly crushing on gwen. so sierra is feeling Troubled. and she vents to her new friend courtney about it. courtney listens bc she does really appreciate that sierra made her feel heard so even though sierra sounds. crazy. she still feels obligated to return the favor. sierra is like man idk if cody loves me after all 😭😭 and she rants on and on abt how ohhh cody is still crazy over gwen and he doesnt really pay attention to her and hes been trying to vote her off etc etc. which makes courtney kinda empathize with sierra (which is a strange thing to her granted the fact that she previously wrote sierra off as being Fucking Crazy) since in a way courtney is kinda in the same situation with her whole feelings abt sierra. sierra is still obsessing over cody. you see the parallel. anyways courtney does kinda feel bad for sierra so she comforts her and shes like yeah gwen really does suck (she’s probably also like “we should shove her off the plane” or something) but maybe its just time for you to let go of cody. and in courtneys mind she also telling herself “i need to get over whatever the hell im feeling for sierra this is Weird and Bad” or whatever. anyways sierra agrees and shes like ok 🤗 we are friends now. courtneys like sure whatever.

then sierra (with courtney’s encouragement) starts to let go of her obsession w cody which is great BUT she starts fixating on courtney in the process. her tendency to idolize people starts to come back up when courtney is helping her get over cody and everything. sierra is thinking Wow courtney is sooo nice and sweet omg,, and i relate to her sooo much like we feel the same way abt gwen and everything,,, (and also the autism symptoms but i dont think sierra would consciously pick up on that. she just notices the little things like them both having sensory issues [which isnt canon but in my head it is. ok.]) so now sierra has a weird obsessive borderline crush on courtney. kinda like how she was with cody but less extreme since sierra actually recognizes courtney as a person to a degree since shes had a chance to actually interact with courtney face to face and get to know her personally instead of by stalking her. rather than being really invasive towarss courtney she just Really wants to be around her and she’ll agree w/ anything courtney says/does even if it doesn’t align with her own thoughts. anyways back to courtney. courtney is still realllly fixating on how badly she wants gwen voted off (imagine all this goes down before picnic @ hanging dork. that or gwen is still here after that episode for whatever reason. idk. Gwen is here okay. the episode timeline doesnt matter) and sierra is kinda encouraging this by validating all her weird violent thoughts abt gwen. courtney gets her idea to start throwing challenges and sierra helps her w/ it (sierra probably doesn’t agree w throwing challenges but she also. fucking hates gwen AND shes inclined to agree with courtney sooo). they bond more over trying to get gwen eliminated (throwing challenges + trying to get heather to vote w them) and courtney starts to think of sierra more and more fondly. she sorta enjoys the attention she gets from sierra (even though it is Not Good) bc yk. people tend to not really like her. and again she is Extremely Vulnerable rn. and she starts feeling okay with putting her trust in sierra even though when she did that with gwen the trust got broken, bc sierra helping courtney get gwen eliminated and really clearly disliking gwen for what she did kinda shows courtney that sierra and gwen are Very Different and sierra wouldn’t betray her. so courtney’s weird crush feelings start picking up more but since she trusts sierra shes less violently opposed to it. still not a fan but she doesnt hate the idea. right. so sierra is like officially detached from cody and fixated on courtney atp. for whatever reason she thinks its a good idea to tell courtney she has feelings for her which freaks courtney tf out bc a) shes kinda oblivious and didnt realize sierra liked her in that way b) courtney is still Conflicted about her relationship w sierra and c) she just got out of a several month long relationship. Uh oh. but given that courtney isnt completely against letting herself like sierra, shes pretty close w her now, and shes really enjoying the attention she gets from sierra, in addition to the fact that she thinks getting in a relationship would make duncan jealous which she wants to do, toxic yuri wins and courterra is real ❤️

from there idfk how itd play out just know that they would break up quickly (it lasts like half a year at the absolute maximum..[this might seem like a long time but im a lesbian. 6 months is nothing to me when it comes to relationships]) violently and sorrowfully.

in conclusion: courterra. can anyone hear me.

[funkymbtifiction]

hi i wrote in an ask yesterday but perhaps it didn’t send through which is tragic so here i am typing it all out again!!

maybe it should be bugging me this much but for the longest time no one type seems to really explain it all for me.. but the closest would be infp, enfj or infj and i would like to know what you think:)

the only reason i’m considering infp is because of how much i was an infp when i was younger (explosive emotions, an unholy attachment to cartoons and my lack of follow through in almost everything i wanted to do). To me, i feel like i absolutely do not possess any sense of Fi now or Si for that matter. Ne im less sure of because i still have that dreamer outlook and perspective, never really feeling in the moment of things.

However, i do wonder if this is Si taking inspiration from experience: i have this space/landscape that occupies my mind and it’s visual representation is much like something i’ve seen from cartoons i’ve seen before. but the space/landscape itself can take on different forms really and it’s more about the ‘floating yet grounded’ atmosphere of ‘quiet wholeness’ that i retain and attribute to this landscape. this space/landscape in my mind just feels like a part of me that has been there for as long as i can remember. i don’t know how it came to form.

i’m much more sure of FeTi hence infj/enfj because my focus is on people and my intrigue over uncovering their ‘true selves’. between extroversion and introversion i’m leaning more towards introversion because of how easily i feel the need to retreat from people.

but infj makes me go hm. i recently have come to suspect a friend of mine be an infj and her discomfort with sensory indulgence seems to be a lot more than mine. she’s also less adaptable when things don’t go according to plan whereas i’m one to shift my angle on things and move on with the perspective that satisfies me to “make the most of it” because i don’t like to waste time and energy being upset i just want to make a move on. which brings me to how this friend of mine is one to think a lot before coming to a decision whereas i’m one to just have the decision come to me as a gut reaction because i don’t think of problems that arise, i focus on making it happen —> me being stubborn and not considering other consequences unless i don’t follow through because 1. i overestimate my skills or ability to or 2. don’t feel the urge to anymore

my sensory awareness and competency is apparently quite terrible i’ve been told by those who know me the most which i just never seem to think would be so bad!

as much as i don’t feel the need to engage in sensory activities on my own (unless i’m sharing the experience with others like travelling with family), i have come to find myself fantasizing party culture, the music, the wildness, the letting loose, the people and how much i want to go indulge in that. the only thing stopping me is that i don’t exactly have Party Friends and i’m not in the Party People Circle because i just don’t know how to make a move and jump on the chance to make friends with them —> this may be social anxiousness and fear of rejection but i do have a hard time trying to approach new people because im just so uneasy and unsure of myself that i don’t want to be around people even if the opportunity comes to me i just freeze and can’t react because my mind goes blank

it’s much easier for me to just observe people and just feel like i know what kind of person they are and to empathise with them.

INFJ seems right. (I answered this already, but now I can't find it on the blog, so it might be in your inbox.) Your inner landscape is Ni (and possibly 9 core), and I see Fe and weak Se. I don't really see a judging dominant for you, either.

You shouldn't rule out a typing for yourself based on comparing yourself to a friend -- first, you may be mistyping them and second, they might be a different Enneagram type (she sounds like a head type who has to think carefully, whereas you might be a gut type). :)

[20sideddiogenes]

come and go

today is a day of reflection. Yesterday was confrontation, today is for reflection. it is a passive day, a day of thought. a day to rethink, a day to ponder. Days like these, i stay at home, sitting for hours staring at something insignificant, letting the gears shift around in my head as I run over all the things that have happened to me as of late and reshift my world view. Probably going to do a shit ton of blogging!

So, lets start with the lovely fact that I am now single again. Whee, tried dating after a couple months, jumped into something way too fast with a virtual stranger who i cant even touch, and it ended quick as well! I knew, deep down, that this was the likely course of action. She asked me out without even really knowing me, and I, the lonely dumbass sad sap that I am, said yes. I dont blame her, I really shouldve known better? What was I thinking haha, it really shows that im new to this shit, and not a natural. Its probably my desperation, my deep desire for intimacy and deeper connection , that drove me to say yes. An impulse. it was stupid, but it taught me some lessons.

I got out of my comfort zone, i met someone who is very different from me. Thats good. I calmed down just a little, not exactly happy but atleast im not as much of a stuck up piece of shit. Look, im talking down to myself, I know, but i get a pass because im depressed and honestly should know better. Doing things quickly and without thinking things through is the surefire path for a quick grave in my life. That has only gotten me trouble in the past, and it really shows that I have to just be more meticulous. More analytic, more cautious. its a fucking brutal world. I cant just, go and do shit because I think i can. I have to really consider the reprecussions and contexts of my actions.

Because honestly? i dont wanna be the kind of person who goes on and off with different people weekly. I want something deep, intimate, personal; something fulfilling for me. I want to give someone a scrap of my soul for a while. I want to find someone who actually likes me for me, not because they are just as desperate as I am or bored and want to fuck around. When i dont take things seriously, i tend to hurt myself. I want to take dating seriously because i want serious things out of dating. I dont really find happyness out of whimsy, i find it out of stability. Thats something that takes planning.

She's a nice person, its not like she was using me or anything. I just dont think i was the person she wanted, and either she thought i was someone else or i could act like someone else to fill her desire, to an extent. If anything, at the end she told me she already had someone else on her horizons, so she wasnt really taking this as seriously as I was. which is stupid, you want a partner who can match your temperments on the subject of dating and your relationship, or atleast for the two of you to find a common ground on what you want your relationship to be.

I guess it wasnt really working out for either of us, but I naively assumed that comfort takes time, and that settling into the relationship would make it more worthwhile. That wasnt how it was for my last relationship, i shouldve known better. If things are working, there shouldnt really be a doubt. You will know that they are working, they will feel like they are working. If something feels wrong, thats because something is wrong, and you have to figure out what it is if you want it to work out, or hell maybe the answer is that it wont work out and then you have to come to terms with that before you are stranded on a sinking ship.

People come and go. they drift in and out of my life, and no one really seems permanent. Im still grasping this concept of fleetingness, of the temporary. I get waaayyy too attached to people for my own good, and honestly its good that this thing, which was doomed to fail from the start, ended sooner than later. Shit still stings, but its not a pain i wont be able to bare. Im mostly annoyed with myself, if anything. Lonelyness joins me again... is what I would say if i hadnt felt this lonely for the last half week anyways. It wasnt really working out between us, we didnt build that bond, sparks wernt really there. Oh well.

So what now?

I guess im gonna have to stay adrift. I have to wait till next year to reignite my social life with irls anyways, but ill live with that. Ill do the most healing that I can in therapy, and lean on the relationships i still have. Ill survive, this isnt groundbreaking. Its more just like, embarrassing if anything, that I cant keep a relationship. I already have this strong sense of self-doubt and insecurity, and this kinda just feeds that fire for a while. It will all settle down and be forgotten eventually. I'm not gonna die on this hill (literally).

time to keep thinking

[rrxnjun]

that is a wild combination but i love that for ur friend!! u are actually the greatest person out there tbh listening to lovejoy and being a casual jack manifold enjoyer just shows how top tier of a person u are🫢

SHE SAYS THAT SHE JUST SKIPS THE BORING/FILLER PARTS BUT IM STILL⁉️⁉️she only finishes them cuz she wants to know how it ends but yeah stopping just makes the most sense in my opinion as well

well i looked up two translations but if it's not a lot of work for u i would appreciate ur translation cuz both of them were a bit just idk how to explain it a bit weird iguess idk?? oh my i just need something to ease the pain of essay writing💔 i hope u find some artist!!!! if u use tiktok u might find some there (i got to know all of the hungarian artists i listen to on tiktok from just random aesthetic hungarian tiktokers tbh)

OH MY LORDDDD I HOPE U WILL ENJOY UR TIME HERE IF U END UP COMING!!!! and i would loveeee to be ur tour guide!!! so i hope u will not end up coming here when i have my exams and when i will be away for like a week i think!! (although if this actually happens i probably should stop being an anon soon😶)

6essays sound like a nightmare oh my!!! i hope u will do well on ur exams too!! good luck with them!!!🥳🥳rooting for u as well!!💕💓💘

LMAO I LAUGHED A BIT AT THE END BUT I WILL NEVER STOP THE HEACHAN AND BAR AGENDA

(and i also want to mention that i followed ur main not long ago and i think we are actually the same person or sumn cuz i completely agree with ur take on zach herrons voice😶)

AND LASTLY I CANT WAIT TO READ UR NEW FIC SO EXPECT ANOTHER ASK OF JUST ME SOBBING AND YELLING ABOUT HOW MUCH I LOVE UR WRITING (liebestraum anon💕)

what can i say i have taste🤭🤭but we already knew that. so do u thats why we match mwah.

I DISAGREE W THAT SO MUCH OHGOD id just google the ending so i dont waste my time if im thAT curious ???

i think im gonna try looking for some indie slovak artists on spotify ?? sometimes it pulls through w hidden gems 😩😩 also i am gonna attach the translated lyrics under the cut!! hihi

DJDJD idk if it will happen for sure bc we always make so many plans with my friend for the summer break and never actually end up doing anything because shes w her boyfriend all the time so thats a lil :/// i WOULD come alone but even tho im 20 i still dont think my parents would let me AHAHA but if my friend manages to find time for me in her summer schedule im gonna beg her on my knees to come 😌 and dw abt being on anon!! we can figure that out later AHAHA i want u to be comfortable ‼💓

6 essays is indeed a nightmare but im done w one of them so thats a plus. i started working on another one for my history of psychology class and found a lot of references so i honestly think its gonna be easy to finish. like three of them are group work so im gonna have to push my partner to start working on them w me soon 😋

ALSO DONT JUST TELL ME U FOLLOWED MY MAIN LILE THIS AAAAA that blog is so unfiltered and annoyingly active im so sorry 😭😭 but i am glad u agree bc zachs voice is just. i dont think ive ever been attracted to a voice more (him and also brad simpson from the vamps because i am a typical boyband-obsessed teenage girl)

HOPE U LIKED THE FIC!! (i saw your ask im gonna reply in a bit)

anyways the translation!!

tried to translate it in a way that makes the most sense 😭😭😭 again i dont really know what he was trying to say with "tak ako ty, tak potom aj ja" maybe im just stupid

[silversweetpea]

I'm so glad you're back! Because it means you're (hopefully) doing better. I hope your little break helped if anything was bugging you! (Not that there has to be a reason, but you did say you were emotional when you first got back?)

Before I start, I'm curious, did you ever get my second to last ask?? I know you got the congratulations for 100 followers because you answered it already (though I didn't see my little '#🦕' on it), but I sent you another ask earlier that day that I still haven't seen on your blog. No rush if it's just sitting in your inbox, I'm just checking in!

Write whatever you want! Write something new or edit a draft. I'm excited about the prospect of six new fics, though. 👀

And the soulmate AU that's getting made? With six confirmed parts? I will actually die.

A new (potential) Marc fic too?? It sounds like it'd be angsty, hopefully with a happy ending? If it's not a happy ending, I'm holding you personally responsible for my tears.

If you want actual advice on what to do, maybe edit one draft before working on a new fic, that way you won't feel as pressured by your brain about the drafts sitting there while you work on something new? I don't know, it depends on how your brain works with unfinished tasks.

What I'm saying is basically I'm team brain worms, but also do whatever makes you happiest- remember, your only responsibility here is to yourself and you're here to write because (I assume) you love it.

Hey!!!! I'm doing a little bit better thank you for asking!! I won't get into too many details but I lost a family member recently and its been a bit of a process to get myself back together so I've been on and off line in waves I hope you're doing well though!!

No I don't have any messages from you but this one in my inbox right now i'm sorry :((((( Although I'm speeding off right now to go fix that tag I can't believe I missed that!

Ah but the problem is that I want to write all of them. I have no impulse control and my brain goes 'hey this would be neat' and I immediately attach to it and can't let go ya know? I swear its like the fanfic part of my brain as a life of its own these days.

I'm definitely still considering the angst because the song just has the right vibes but I want to make sure that I have the right plot for it before I sit down with it instead of just a music video in my head. Don't worry though, if i ever write angst it will have a happy ending because Im a big baby who needs happy endings to their stories /hj

I think that's probably the best option I just need to convince myself to sit down and work on one instead of playing whack a mole and bouncing between each project one sentence at a time ajkdlfjsdlka (although it should be said that i love you for supporting my brain worms)

You're absolutely right though in that I love what I write. Don't get me wrong I love when other people enjoy what I write but it's really all about self indulgence at the end of the day - its why there's so much comfort and so little conflict.

[suneatersupportsquad]

red handed; colby brock

request:  im not sure if you do requests or even any imagines for colby brock anymore but i was wondering if you cold make a exception, so basically the plot is that the reader met colby through kat and since then they hit it off, now their in a secretive relationship the only person who knows is kat but she only knows the reader has a crush on colby. one day everyones hanging out in the same room room and colby is sexting the reader, sams curious to whos hes texting and they find out their dating.

dedication: @whydontweanons​

genre: fluff, subtle smut?

pairing: colby brock x gn!reader

characters: colby brock, sam golbach, katrina stuart, corey scherer, jake webber, kevin langue, brennen taylor, devyn lundy, tara yummy

word count: 1.8k

warnings: alcohol, what would probably be underage drinking, NSFW (barely), sexting (duh), mentions of COVID-19, quarantine

a/n: of course i’ll still write for sam and colby!! it’s just that, since i’m not as active of a follower of them as i used to be, my goal is to write for fandoms that i’m more invested in at the moment. but, honestly, i don’t think i could ever really stop writing for them. i love those boys so much. also this plot made me laugh so hard when i saw it in the best way possible. getting this request honestly made my day, so thank you for that!! anyways, i’m a little rusty, but here we go.

important links: masterlist

find more fics at my new blog @trapboysbunny

You and Colby had known each other for a long time - pretty much since he’d moved to LA with Sam - and you had been involved romantically just as long. You had met him and Sam through Kat on a boring Saturday night when all their friends flaked on coming to a little kickback they were hosting. Trying to be a good friend and cheer the boys up, Katrina had invited you to hopefully kickstart some emotional momentum. Your eyes met Colby’s for the first time and you clicked. Something in your gut had told you that the two of you would end up being close, and it was right. You had hit it off immediately, not taking very long to start laughing at one another’s corny jokes and telling stories over Smirnoff Ice while some random late night show played in the background. From that night on, it was history.

Since then, you two had been practically attached at the hip. If you weren’t sitting on the same room or facetiming, you were definitely texting one another. It became a running joke in your friend group that you two had evolved into a pair of siamese twins, or that being without you gave Colby separation anxiety. The two of you found it even more amusing when you actually began dating, not long after that fateful first night. It amazed the both of you that you were able to hide your relationship so well. No one had a clue. The two of you laughed about it quite often, actually, over late night phone calls and tipsy afternoons spent only with each other. No one knew, and nobody needed to know.

Colby, due to the internet and his fanbase being the way it is, preferred to keep his personal (and especially romantic) relationships more on the private side. His intent wasn’t necessarily to hide his feelings and relationship with you from his friends, but that particular topic of conversation never really came up in your friend group. Everyone had just kind of figured that everyone single would simply date someone when they were ready and tell everybody about it when they felt the time was appropriate. It wasn’t that Colby didn’t want to tell them, he just didn’t see the point in going out of his way to tell all of his friends hey after God knows how long I finally have a partner. He just didn’t want to make a big deal out of your relationship. Knowing his friends, they would definitely make it into some type of big thing, not to mention that Jake would dub the occasion as “cause for celebration” (which was really just an excuse to drink more). So Colby preferred to keep things on the quieter side for you two; neither of you wanted to make your relationship into an object for speculation.

Kat was the only person out of all of your friends to have any knowledge of your feelings for Colby. And thank God for her; if you didn’t have her to gush about Colby to, you probably would have either exploded or died. Or both. And she was there for every single second of it. She loved hearing about your movie nights, your urban exploring adventures, the sweet yet mundane things he would do to make you happy, literally anything. She ate that shit up like a man starved, and you did the same for her and Sam (regardless of the fact that their relationship was public already). You hadn’t told her explicitly about the nature of your relationship with Colby, really just gushed about your ever-growing love for the boy. Unbeknownst to you, she firmly believed that you only had feelings for Colby, clueless to the fact that the two of you had actually been dating for quite a while now. With her “go get ‘em, tiger” comments, along with similar remarks, you assumed that she had some sort of idea about your relationship with Cole, hence why you had never explicitly told her about your secret boyfriend. Kat, being the good friend that she was, never spilled your “secret” feelings to anyone else. Not even her boyfriend.

Eventually, quarantine started up amidst the international COVID-19 pandemic and you had begun practically living with the trap boys. A day without you in the house was enough to prompt concern for the boys, minus Colby who always knew the real reason why you weren’t coming over. This soon became the new normal, you taking a “day off” every few weeks to get tested just in case. At this point, it was almost comical that no one had figured out you two were dating yet.

One particular weekend afternoon, everyone in your friend group was hanging out at the house. You and Colby were sitting on opposite sides of the room, you next to Kat and Colby seated beside Sam. It was particularly warm today seeing as this Saturday landed smack in the middle of the infamous August heat wave, so you had thrown on a tank top and some shorts, nothing to flashy. Colby had dressed similarly, wearing only a muscle tee and a pair of trunks.

You were sat beside Kat, the both of you trying to listen to the story Devyn was telling. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore the way your boyfriend was staring at you from across the room. You looked away from Dev for just a second to shoot him a glare when you realize exactly why he’s looking at you. The speed at which the blood rushes to your face is dizzying, and you drop your head to stare at your lap. Motherfucker- You sigh as you pull your phone out of your pocket. “Quit it with the blowjob eyes asshole,” you type before pressing the blue send button.

You feel his gaze break as his phone vibrates. Trying to ignore him, you refuse to meet his gaze again, putting all of your effort into focusing on Devyn’s story. Seconds later your phone vibrates in your pocket. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the screen reads, and you shake your head.

“Uh huh sure ok.” You pressed send again.

Another few seconds passed and your phone vibrated again. “That shirt looks really good on you.” 

You blushed as you read the message, flustered by the comment. Brows knitting together in confusion, you looked up to find him staring back at you with a dopey grin. You hunched over your phone and sent a message back. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, of course,” Colby replied, a gray typing bubble sitting under the message. “But you know how it would look cuter?”

You cocked your head to the side and typed out your response. “How?”

“On my bedroom floor.” You almost snorted at that, clamping a hand over your mouth to prevent any noise from escaping. Typical. Thankfully no one had been paying enough attention to you to notice that you were distracted.

Colby, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. “Give me this, dude,” Sam said, snatching the phone out of Colby’s hand and effectively bringing the conversation on their side of the room to a halt. “You haven’t been listening for like the past 20 minutes, dude. Now let’s see what’s got you so distracted.”

“You don’t need to look at that, Sam, it’s not that important-” The tall brunette sounded slightly panicky as he reached and grappled with Sam for his phone. Sam played around for a little bit before finally reading the screen, eyes widening in amusement.

Upon finishing his reading, Sam lowered the phone and Colby relaxed, already knowing that he was caught. “So who’s ‘angelcakes,’ huh Colbert?” Sam prodded teasingly.

Colby blushed ever so slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re just a friend-”

“Which friend, huh?” Sam continued his teasing, growing louder and louder with every response until all eyes were on the two boys.

Colby shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but looking more stressed than ever in actuality. “Just a friend.”

“What do you say we call this friend, huh boys?” Sam suggested.

Kevin nodded, agreeing. “I think we definitely should.” Brennen also nodded when Sam looked to him for approval, essentially finalizing the decision.

“Okay then, let’s do this thing!” Sam yelled, earning cheers from all the other curious folks in the room. The blonde boy pressed call and Colby simply held his face in his hands.

You jumped when your phone rang, honestly having forgotten that oh shit, I’m angelcakes. Everyone turned to look at you curiously, Colby even peeking through his fingers. You didn’t even pick up the device, already knowing whose name would be lighting up the screen. “You gonna pick that up or something?” Corey asked awkwardly.

You shook your head, leaving your phone face down in its spot beside your thigh. “No, it’s probably not important anyways.”

A beat of heavy silence passed before Tara spoke. “Gee, they sure aren’t giving up. Maybe you should answer it.”

“Nah, I’m sure it’s just-”

“Yeah, you should answer the phone, Y/N,” Jake agreed, the pieces seeming to click in his head.

You sighed, burning bright red to the tips of your ears. “Okay okay, fine.” You stood and clicked the answer button. “Hello?”

And there it was, your voice echoing from Colby’s phone. The room erupted in cheers of disbelief, the boys pouncing on Colby and the girls slapping you in playful excitement. “I knew there was something going on between you two!! There’s no way there couldn’t have been -- I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Kat squealed, smushing you in a hug.

The rest of the girls echoed the sentiment, a chorus of ‘same’s and ‘I can’t believe you’s. It took a while for everyone to calm down but, once everyone settled, you and Cole managed to get some alone time. The two of you escaped out back, the less than mediocre breeze cooling the sweat that slicked your skin. You held each other, almost as though you were about to start slow dancing. “Damn, caught red handed, huh?”

You laughed breathily, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “It was only a matter of time, ya know?”

“I know,” he agreed, cheek pressing against your hair. “I’m glad we don’t have to be weird around them anymore.”

“Me too,” you hummed.

Colby pulled away a little bit, just enough for him to look you in the eyes, your arms still around his neck. “Hey.”

You giggled, confused. “Hey.”

“I love you.”

You smiled your confirmation, eyes twinkling under the cheap backyard lights. “I love you.”

.x

[sukunasfourtheye]

Part 3 as promised 💦

TW: it’s boutta get rough and dirtyyyy

“So where do the cheerleaders usually exits from” Levi’s voice came out sounding bored as fuck, not indicating that he currently had all of his blood rushing to his cock, but Hange knew by the question alone what he had in mind. “It’s hard to say, maybe I know but I possibly could be wrong and that’d be soooo unfortunate wouldn’t it be?” Tch. Levi couldn’t stand Hange’s games but he wasn’t about to let them ruin this for him “Hange.” His voice came out cold and dead, letting them know that he was my in the mood to be toyed with. “You know, I think I just totally remember that they exit through the center and right under the bleachers because thats where the players parking is.” The words tumbled out from their mouth at a rushed pace, attempting to avoid any repercussions from their past response. “Ah see, you’re so good when you want to be.” Levi crooned as he yanked their ponytail so hard their head lay on his shoulder. He glanced over as he felt eyes boring down on him. The corners of his mouth twitched as he tried to avoid smirking at the dumb look on your face. Your eyes wide as you watched how aggressive he was with ‘his partner.’ You noticed he caught you staring and the red on your cheeks about drove him mad with hunger for you.

As the game concluded with a victory, fans erupted in cheers. You and the other cheerleaders raised your Pom Poms in the air, shaking them as you ran through the gate and into the center of the bleachers to run through into the parking lot. You followed in the same line as before, which placed you behind the whole team, making it easy for them not to notice as one hand grabbed you and pulled you so close to the body it was attached to that you could feel their breath as another hand clasped over your mouth. “It’s not polite to stare.” That voice was making pools in your panties as you knew that there was only one man you’d been staring at that night. You cheeks flushed crimson as his grip around your mouth and he pushed you into the brick wall that lay underneath the massive bleachers. Everyone from the game was filtering out the front so in the shadowy corner where you were, no one had noticed what was going. With one hand pinned above your head, you had subconsciously placed your other hand lightly on his chest to feign keeping him at a slight distance from you. His hot breath fanned your face, a hint of mint and something almost herbal hits your nose as he let out a deep chuckle looking at your hand “tch, I sure hope you know that this won’t stop me, but you can use your words if you really don’t. Although, the way you were looking at me wasn’t very polite so you at least should tell me what thoughts were running through you head while you stared at me.” The tips of your ears felt hot and you were certain your cheeks had discovered a new shade of red as you turn away from his intense stare, pressing your legs together as your thoughts from readier flashed across your mind. “Are you going to tell me?” You shook your head no vigorously as you kept your head turned away from him, eyes shut tightly to avoid seeing your own embarrassment. Levi grabbed your chin tightly with his thumb and index finger firmly moving your jaw to face him, your eyes opening wide with shock as he did so. “Are you going to stop me?” Your breath caught in your throat and your eyes widened at his words, but the wetness in your legs told you there was no way in hell you’d stop this man no matter what he wanted to do to you. You shook your head no slowly this time as his grip was still tight around your jaw and you didn’t want him to let go just yet, his eyes burning with lust as you indicated that he could have his way with you.

🍃- part 4?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

I’M SORRY I - I- I - I- *brain short circuits*

Commentary under the cut bc it’s so long because I’m absolutely OBSESSED PLEASE PART 4 I’m BEGGING

HOLY FUCKING SHIT 🍃 anon WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS BLESSING?????? You are a fucking GEM this is absolutely DELICIOUS…I am ACTUALLY turned on right now. YOU TURNED ME ON THATS HOW GOOD THIS IS..YOU HAVE SUCH A FUCKING TALENT FOR WRITING?!?!

Oh my god oh my god oh my god so many things I have to say about how amazing this is:

1) They/them pronouns do hange >>>

2) YOU WROTE LEVI SO WELL HERE YOU WRITE HIM BETTER THAN I EVER COULD UGH…..the way he’s SO FUCKING nonchalant and low key threatening meanwhile he’s about to lose his shit is sooooo sexy and SO IN CHARACTER. I hear him saying every piece of dialogue in my head bc it’s just so believable he would say those things. The way he was like “where do the cheerleaders get out” so disinterested by he actually really was rabid behind it all.

3) “it’s not polite to stare” I SCREAMEDDDDDDDD

4) “Are you going to tell me?” / “Are you going to stop me?” BRUH. When I tell you. In all seriousness. My legs got WEAK OH MY GOD. My 🐱 literally jumped this is SO SEXY and threatening and I can imagine him so clearly pinning me down and being like “are you going to stop me?” Like WOW what a sexy fucking thing to say to someone IM SCREAMIG

5) this is such a sexy fucking set up for smut like you cut this part off RIGHT when it was about to get juicy you got me foaming at the MOUTH

6) I love you

7) I wanna follow your blog if you have a smut account but I get if you wanna stay anon but omg I love you

[ppersonna]

pick your filter - pjm | m

mix the colors in the palette, pick your filter. which me do you want? the one to change your world, i'm your filter - filter, bts

↳ summary- You love turning Jimin on, and you’re desperate to make him punish you for it.  Jimin loves punishing you while you listen to his music.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+

↳ word count- 5.1k

↳ pairing- jimin x reader

↳ genre- smut, this is literally just smut, there’s 1% plot and it’s pornographic too, there’s some fluff at the end but i repeat it is still smut. there is no god in this chili’s tonight

↳ warnings- buckle up pals.  established relationship, explicit descriptions of sex, penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), BDSM themes, spanking, belt usage, dirty talk, derogatory names, pain kink, daddy kink, face-fucking lol, unprotected sex, slight impregnation kink but like not really they just wanna have a baby together and talk about it lol, jimin is filthy and i cannot portray him as anything but filthy but then he has like cute babie syndrome at the end.

↳ a/n- hi i feel maybe 1% shame in how fast i wrote this but whatever.  thank you to @carly-bean-blog for sending the prompt in!  i loved it and went from a planned drabble to 5k words lolol.  one day i’ll be less verbose 🥴🥴 plus enjoy and feel free to send in more requests or just a message to say hi bc as you can see i love talking. also RIP to the wine glass i broke while writing this fic because i hit my table to hard.  wine glass 2020-2020

Turning Park Jimin on was a delicious challenge for you.

When you first began dating, all it took was a ‘come over’ text, and he’d be there in 5 minutes flat regardless of the fact that he lived 15 minutes away.

Now, a few years and a marriage under your belt, it took a bit more.

That’s not to say he wasn’t the same insatiable man you met at university; even after all these years Jimin could easily go 3 or more rounds a night.

But really getting him riled up, getting him hard and wanting and desperate for you was another thing.  Sometimes, you just wanted him to come home and take you right against the kitchen counter, so turned on he couldn’t even make it to the bedroom.

You’re determined to win that challenge today.  

To be truthful, the day was terrible for you, and you were seeking release in the form of your husband dicking you down until you were speaking another language. You were desperate to let loose, push aside the emotional and tender sex that seemed to be more commonplace in the bedroom recently (and you enjoyed equally) but today you needed to be treated like an absolute harlot.

The idea rolled through your mind while you were busying yourself with housework, laundry and dishes.  Options of how to get your husband to take you on the floor, rip your clothes off, make you beg for more, simmered in your mind and made the low flame in your stomach burn.  Lingerie could do the trick, Jimin definitely liked to see you swathed in delicate lace or creamy satin.  You had a nice deep red set that was dying to be used and discarded on the floor.

It came to you as you set your speaker to play some music as you flicked around the house.  Jimin’s sweet voice filled the rooms, causing you to pause as shivers raked your spine.

His music.  There was always something Jimin loved about having his music on in the background of your sex that made him work harder on you, fuck you deeper.  Maybe it was narcissism at its finest, but who were you to complain if it benefitted both of you.

You discarded all thoughts of cleaning the rest of the house as you stalked towards your bedroom closet, gathering the red bustier and panty set, with matching garter belt and stocking clips.  You purchased it rather spur of the moment, a huge sale at your favorite boutique, and you wanted to save it for something special.

It appeared the special moment was now.

You took care to curl your hair, a gentle wave with not too much product.  Jimin loved to tug his fingers through your locks, and grip them in a ponytail as you sucked his cock.  Any product would unfortunately get in the way.  Makeup was minimal, a dash highlight on your cheeks and inner tear ducts, light pink lip stain on your lips.  Jimin had been the test subject of many a lipstick, as you determined to find the most blowjob-proof one.  Needless to say, none of the lipsticks were 100% solid, but it was the best time Jimin ever had as a test subject. You preferred to stick with the stains, easier cleanup for the both of you.

You complete the visual as you swap your grubby cleaning day clothes for blood red lace lingerie, smirking at yourself in the mirror.  The cups of the bra molded against you, encasing your tits perfectly.  Jimin would surely lose his mind.  The panties were simple lace, and you had the inkling that they would not remain intact tonight.   Jimin’s propensity for literally ripping your knickers right off you was legendary.  But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?  You wanted your husband to be absolutely feral for you.

Step two of your plan was now underway as you slipped onto your bed, perfectly made now, and snapped sultry photos.  You ensured your cleavage and smooth legs were in the shot, a finger on the mouth.  You took a few more, exposing more and more of your body.

me 2:56 pm- hi babe what you up to?

mini 2:56 pm- baby!!!! Not much, just waiting for hobi to get back from lunch so we can practice this new choreo.  

Mini 2:57 pm- what about you? besides being the world’s cutest wife :)

Me: 2:57 pm- oh not too much. I did our laundry and cleaned up the house a little.  Now im just relaxing and missing my babe :(

Mini 2:57 pm- baby :( i’m sorry.  I should be home in a few hours okay! I’ll order in pasta from your favorite place to make up for it

Me 2:58 pm- well, i was sort of hoping you could make up for it but… i don’t want pasta

Mini 2:58 pm- you don’t? What do you want? Pizza?

Me 2:58 pm- [picture attached]

Me 2:58 pm- no, I want you to fuck me until I can’t see straight.

Mini 2:59 pm- oh fuck 

Mini 2:59 pm- baby you’re playing a dangerous game, teasing me like this.

You nearly had him, he was sniffing at the bait and soon he’d bite and you’d reel him in.  You sent the next picture, showcasing your tits with one cup pulled down, nipple on display.

me 3:00 pm- you mean this kind of game?

mini 3:00 pm- christ

mini 3:00 pm- fuck babe, you’re gonna make me pop a boner at dance practice.  You know I can’t come home for a few hours.

me 3:00 pm- hobi still gone?  Go to the bathroom and i’ll send you a video.

mini 3:01 pm- holy fuck asdskadj okay

Time for the pièce de résistance.  Ensuring the speakers blasted ‘Serendipity’, your husband’s full length solo, you clicked the record button and filmed your hand sliding down to your clothed core, rubbing over the mound with a rough hand.  You breathed heavily, sighed, mewled a bit.  

“Daddy,” you gasp. “Come home.”

You end it with a hand sneaking under the band and insertion of one finger.  Leave him not just wanting more, but rabid for it.  The video file is sent before you've even pulled your fingers from their spot resting on your clit.

Minutes passed, you were sure he was watching.  The man lived for your exhibitionism.  

mini 3:06 pm- you better have your hands behind your back and be on your knees when i get home, little one. In the middle of the bedroom floor. 

mini 3:06 pm- i want you to listen to the music and think about me fucking you.  Think about how i destroy your little cunt so good.

mini 3:07 pm- but don’t you dare touch yourself.  Your pussy is only mine to play with, you got that?

me 3:07 pm- yes daddy 

mini 3:07 pm- good.  I’ll be home soon.

Congratulations, you smirk to yourself in the mirror's reflection across from you.  You’ve won the grand prize.  Please make sure you collect your prize from the man with the raging boner.

You idly realize that Jimin hasn’t told you when he’ll be home.  You know that on any normal day he’d be home at 5:30.  But was he leaving early?  Could you chance it?  As much as you wanted to disobey and face his delicious punishment, he also could just as easily punish you by not letting you cum at all. And the chances of that type of discipline tonight was high; Jimin would surely make you pay for teasing him at work by exacting torturous ache the same to you.

You’re spinning the pros and cons of preparing yourself now or later, when you are given your hasty answer by the sound of keys jingling in the front door.  Your heart rate spikes dangerously, feeling like the muscle would force the blood out of your veins with the pressure.  

You squirm off the bed and descend to the floor on your knees, resting back on your heels, and holding your hands behind your back.  You lower your head to the floor, knowing Jimin loves it when you avoid eye contact until he tells you when and where to look.  

His footsteps are heavy, slow and torturous because you know that he knows that you’ll be on the very edge of your sanity.  The warmth in your belly is torched with tinder and starter and is flaring high.  Jimin’s simple presence, just like this, is enough to get you to an incredible high.  Nothing brings you to your knees faster than when he turns from your sweet, adorable and gentle husband into the sadistic and powerful dominating owner of your body and soul.

It takes 5 deep breaths from your belly before you hear Jimin enter the bedroom.  He’s not saying a single word, but you can hear his soft footsteps on the hardwood floor.  Your knees are aching at the pressure of the hard floor, but you ignore it. You’d ignore cauterizing wounds for the man hovering above you if he asked. 

You’re trembling, you notice.  Your thighs are quivering ever so slightly and the grasp on your hands behind you is weakening.  You grip harder, determined to maintain perfect correct form.

Jimin is frustratingly silent.  He walks around you, and you feel his eyes rove your body intently, as if looking for fault or reason to punish you.  He seems pleased when he finishes his rounds, standing right in front of you. 

“Look at me,” he states with authority, but his tone is gentle. 

You finally tilt your head up to gaze at your lover and nearly gasp at the sight.  Jimin is, on an average day, the most ethereally beautiful man you’ve ever seen.  Today, he looks as if he descended from heaven mere minutes previous.  His pink hair is pushed back, eyes darkened with desire, and wearing the tightest shirt you’ve ever seen, making his toned dancer’s body ripple under the cotton.  Tight sweats that leave nothing to the imagination about what he’s packing between his thighs sit low on his hips and you spot just a hint of his lower abdomen, the v line of his adonis belt, and you’re sure you’re drooling.

“Look at me,” he corrects, a smirk on his face.  Your eyes snap to his own again, and he winks at you. 

“Have you been a good girl for daddy?” He asks, and it feels like a loaded question.  

You play it coy.  “Yes, daddy.”

He stands still in front of you, hand stroking his face as he watches you.  His eyebrow arches.

“Are you sure? You have done nothing to upset Daddy? Nothing at all?” His voice becomes teasing, and the smirk on his features is sinister.

You bite your lip. “I sent Daddy a video of me, touching myself to his music.”

“That’s right, angel,” he murmurs and circles you again.  You feel like his prey before he comes in for the kill. “You made daddy leave practice early.  Don’t you think that’s not being a good girl?”

“No, I did wrong.”

“I’m glad you agree,” he murmurs.  “I’m gonna make you regret getting Daddy hard and horny at work.”

He places his hands on your shoulders and you shiver.  His hands are smooth, warm.  You love the way you feel the cold steel of his wedding ring pressed to your skin, a tangible expression of his love and loyalty.

“Stand up,” he directs.  You’re quick, thankful to be off stinging knees.  He lets his hands glide down your back to meet at your clasped hands, pulling them apart and turning you to face him.

He threads his fingers through your hair and pulls you close, sealing your lips to his.  His lips are soft and taste of chapstick, a hint of sweat, and something just so simply Jimin that is addictive.  He’s gentle and tender in the kiss, the kind of kiss a husband gives his wife.  It speaks miles beyond the simple action, and you chase it, revel in it, knowing it’s the last time he’ll be gentle tonight.  

He breaks from the kiss, touches your nose gently and winks.  It makes your heart flutter in your chest.

The control seeps back into his face; it's physically present in the tight gaze of his eyes and the coolness of his impassive features.  It’s a stark opposite of who just kissed you, and you’re breathless at the sudden change.  

“Gonna spank you with my belt, baby,” he murmurs.  A hand slaps hard against your ass, surprising you and making you squeak out loud.  “Lean over my desk like a good little slut.”

You obey immediately, jerking your body towards his grand oak desk. It’s gorgeous dark wood that matches the decor of your room perfectly and makes for a delicious spot for your sexual proclivities without being obvious.  As much as Jimin wanted a sex swing, you would not cave to that.

You bend to fold your body over the desk, gripping the edge and pushing your hips back to allow for more access to your husband.  The speaker system by your bed plays music, and you recognize the opening chords as one from his latest album with his six best friends. A smile slips to your face as the volume turns up, quiet enough you can talk, but loud enough it’s noticeable. His smooth, melodic voice is ringing through your bedroom and through your entire body. 

He stalks in behind you and rubs at your soft globes.

“Mmm, you look so pretty in this,” he compliments.  “You know I love seeing you in red.”

You turn your head to gaze at him, smiling.  “That’s why I bought it, Daddy.”

“Good little bitch,” he sighs.  

As expected, he rips the underwear from your body with one clean pull.  You’re always surprised by the action. He never gives warning.  Your eyes follow as the useless fabric soars towards the ground. 

“Much better.”

He moves away from you, walking towards the closet.  You train your eyes forward, keeping locked on the wall ahead of you, rather than staring.  Jimin tells you when and where to look and you follow that.

The gentle clinking noise of a belt buckle causes your pussy to quake.  You’ve been slowly moistening since you sent the first text, but you were now starting to drip as if you were overflowing.  By the end of the night, you’ll be drowning in it.

He’s behind you again as quick as he left and he rubs the leather belt against your bare behind. 

“What’s your word?” He asks, soothing at the skin with the device that will soon maar it.  Jimin is ever careful, checking on your mental and emotional safety as well as your physical, and ensured a safe word was in place each time.

“Red,” you assert.  He hums his approval and kisses your ass once, one quick little peck, before he lifts back up to standing.

“Count for me, little whore.”

The crack of the belt spanking your cheek electrifies you.  You feel as if every muscle in your body clenches as the sting vibrates through your buttocks and down to your core.  

“O-one!” You’re shouting, distracted by the pain in your ass to care about your pitch.

Crack. The next slap lands on the other cheek now, and you hiss at the pain.  It bites at your skin, and it soaks your pussy. 

“Two!”

He delivers the next straight in the center, hitting both cheeks and letting the sizzle melt its way to a pleasure that’s reverberating through your core.

“Three! Fuck!” you gasp. 

SMACK.  It’s the hardest yet and tears well up in your eyes at the initial whollop, before your hips are writhing and desperate for friction.

“Four!” You’re wailing and you know it makes your husband go even wilder.

“Stay still or I won’t let you cum for a month,” he grits.  Your hips stay put, knowing he’s a man of his word and not wanting to face his wrath.

He continues his barrage, and you’re counting out 15 strikes before he stops.  You’re sobbing, the pain and pleasure surging so forcefully through your veins that your cunt clenches around nothing and you’re dripping onto the wood of the desk.

His warm hands are soothing at the reddened flesh of your ass, the sensation stinging at first, but oozes away to a relaxing warmth against the punished skin.

“Good girl, baby,” he commends you, hands rubbing all over your flesh. “Took your punishment like such a good girl.”

You sniffle in reply and he pulls you up, making you stand on wobbly legs.  He twists you around and pecks your lips again, a reminder that Jimin, your husband, is still there and loves you more than he loves life itself.  It soothes you more than any salve could and it steels your resolve to continue.  It’s easy to submit and thrill at the loss of control when you trusted the master with your entire being.  

“Color?” He asks, checking in with you.

“Green,” you smile. 

He’s pleased with your answer.  He pulls away from you and pushes you towards the bed.

“Lay down on your back.  Head off the side.  I’m going to fuck your throat, and you will take it all.”

You’re giddy as you saunter to the bed and notice that Jimin is proud of the blooming red of your ass.  It’ll be a literal pain in the ass to sit tomorrow, but it’s worth all the doting and affection you’ll receive in return for being such a good girl for him.  The music has changed, another sensual track featuring your talented husband.  It sends shivers down you, straight to your core.

You maneuver your body to lie on the bed, grateful for the soft blanket on your burning ass, and tip your head off the bed.  Your mouth opens complacently and Jimin shoves his sweats down to reveal his hardened length.

You’re licking your lips like his dick is the finest meal money can buy, and he chuckles.  His left hand strokes it, shivering at the cold press of his wedding ring mixing with the heat of his hand. 

“You want my cock?” He asks.

You nod, captivated with the motion he strokes the shaft.  You almost forget to speak, but his harsh gaze is like a whip.

“Yes! Yes, I want your cock Daddy!”

“Tell me what you want to do to me,” he hums.

Well, this would be too easy.

“I want to suck you dry, let you fuck my throat so I can’t breathe.  I’ll let you cum down my throat and make my face so messy from cum and spit that it gets in my eyes and messes up my pretty makeup, daddy.”

His strokes have become faster, and he sucks in hard for air. “Such a filthy fucking mouth.”

You open said mouth again, letting your tongue hang out like a welcome sign to your throat.

He growls, it’s guttural, and it feels as if it’s positioned on your clit, vibrating the nub.  Your bliss is cut short as he drives his thick dick into your mouth and directly to the back of your throat, leaving you no time to prepare.  You whine slightly around it, and he tsks.

“Don’t you fucking dare whine.  Take it all,” he sounds ruthless and your pussy quakes.

He sets a punishing pace, the tip of his dick ramming through your throat.  It doesn’t take long for it to become messy, saliva trickling from your mouth, falling towards your eyes due to the angle of your supine head.  Jimin sounds angelic, the moans that leave the dancer’s body should be recorded and played for an audience, you think.  You’d suffer through hours of this for the reward of his sweet voice crying out your name.

“Fuck, my little cock slut loves it when I fuck her throat, hmm,” he asks, breathy and harsh.  You nod as much as you can.

“Yeah, that’s right.  You love daddy’s cock, don’t you? You love it when I fucking choke the shit out of you with my fat cock, huh?”

The voice of an angel with the words of the devil himself.  The duality is intoxicating and you are head over heels for both Jimin’s inside of him, every aspect of the man you pledged your life to.

“Mmm, you suck me so good,” he’s groping at your tits through the fabric of your bra.  You’re surprised that it’s still on, but you trust he’s aware and always has a plan.  

“Are you crying, baby?” He asks mockingly.  Tears and saliva mix and your face is completely ruined by it.  You nod again and blink.  “Good, fucking choke on it.” he goes even faster and you’re moaning.  It hurts and the gag reflex is there, but the pain gets you off, and you know the second it became too much, your husband would stop in an instant.  

“Little sluts get their face fucked when they disobey daddy,” he chides, emphasising each word with a thrust.  

It’s as if you’re desperate for his orgasm, wanting nothing more than to swallow every ounce of what he spills into you, clean him up and ask for more.  He won’t have that tonight, it seems, as he’s pulling out of you as quickly as he entered.

“I want to cum in this tight little cunt,” he bites.  You slither up from your position and wipe at your eyes, resting against the pillow after he orders you to remove the bustier.  He asks that you leave the belt and stockings on, however. 

“Spread those pretty thighs for me, baby,” he’s discarded his shirt and is sitting ahead of you, watching you.  His gaze turns you on and opens you up like a flower.

Your thighs are spread far and you lean back further onto the pillows to put the star of the show on display.  You’re coated with your slick; it’s slathered up and down your thighs and dripping onto the duvet below you.  He breathes out in appreciation.

“I think my favorite thing about you is how fucking wet you get for me.”  He’s still not moving and you want to beg him to touch you, please do something, but refrain.  “You feel like a fucking dream when I’m inside you.”

“B-baby,” you break character and freeze, but he ignores it and allows you to continue as you sigh with relief. “I need you.”

“Do you now?” he banters, and you nod with wide, needy eyes.

“Touch yourself for me, then.  Show me how badly you want daddy’s cock in you.”

A hand flies to your cunt in record time and you’re desperately eager to spread the lips of your folds apart and rub at your slick and swollen clit.  A breathy, heady moan escapes you at the friction you’ve been aching for since you sent the sexy photo hours ago. 

“Fuck!” you shout, circling the bud.  Jimin’s eyes are glued to your hands, and he watches with awe. 

“Finger yourself,” he demands and you’re obeying before he’s even finished speaking, two fingers slipping down to enter your channel.  You arch off the bed and grip a breast in your other hand, flicking at the nipple for extra sensation.  

He coos at you as you fuck yourself with wild abandon, gasping his name as you slip deeper with each thrust.  

“Add another.”  His voice maintains its even quality, maintained and cool.  But if you opened your eyes, you’d see that he’s salivating at the sight, desperately restraining himself.  His cock is weeping pre-cum and he could explode in an instant watching this too long.

Your ring finger slips in with the other two and you’re keening at the stretch.  The pain is gone in a flash, just a pinch that simmers to a desperate pleasure.  

“You look so fucking good, baby,” he breaks his composure, momentarily.  He’s so in love with you, every single fucking bit, that he can’t help it.  “God, you’re beautiful.”

His words have you blushing, as if they’re the most lewd part of the evening and not the fact you’re fingering yourself in front of your husband while he watches and orders you around.

“Rub your clit with your other hand, love.”

The pressure of your added hand on your clit and the fingers thrusting into you has you soaring to your high and your throat chokes on the air.  “O-oohhh fuckkk!” You whine.

“You close, baby?  You gonna cum on those cute little fingers and get them messy for daddy?” He asks, voice violently serene.

“Y-yes! Please, I want to cum,” you beg.  You know the rules, he tells you where and when your body receives its pleasure.

“You wanna cum?” He asks again, and you feel a spike of irritation.  He’s already asked you that, haven’t you already answered?

“So badly, daddy! Please! C-close.” Words are escaping your mental capacity now.  You’re there, nearly there, just one little tiny string holding you back from the edge of euphoria.

“Too bad.”  

Your fingers are pulled from your cunt quickly and you’re crying.  Tears are forming in your eyes as you feel an ache deep to your womb.  You had been so close, so deliciously close.  Jimin knows this, thrills at watching you edge further and further through the night.  You won’t admit it at the moment, it’s pure torture then, but the buildup to the finale is indescribable.

“You don’t get to fucking cum until I tell you to cum.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, yes! Yes, Daddy,” you babble, nearly incoherent from arousal and denial. 

He makes you writhe there, pussy so slick its soaking the blankets and you’ll have to change them later but the only thing you think about is your cunt, your weeping cunt that’s screaming to release. 

You feel your breath slowing and know that Jimin wants you to come back down to earth before he’ll bring you up again.

“Good fucking girl,” he kisses your belly, licking at the navel.  He whispers quiet words of adoration as he trails down your abdomen and end at the top of your mound.  Your legs are shaking, no, they’re nearly convulsing from need.

He spreads your folds, and it’s pornographic the way he spits on your pussy, as if it needs any more wetness.  It’s not about the wetness, though, and you know it.  It’s about the message, the ownership.  

“My favorite little fuck toy,” he murmurs, lightly tracing everywhere but the bud throbbing with need for friction.  “I can’t wait to cum inside this little pussy tonight.  Gonna flood your whole fucking cunt, babe.”

Jimin knows the way to your heart, and the way to your orgasms is through his words.  Gentle whispered ‘i love you’s’ in the day and disgusting filth at night.  It’s just another reason in a list of a million why you work so well together. 

“Should we get you nice and pregnant tonight?  You want to make a baby?”  

You nearly sob at his words.  He can fuck you harder with his words than his cock.

“Please!” You’re yelling, tears streaming down your face. “P-please! I want your baby.”

He leans down and smiles for a moment before speaking. “Well, my little wife will always get what she wants when she asks so nicely.”  His lips attach to your clit, suctioning it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.  It’s swollen and slick, and it feels like fucking heaven.  His plushy lips are working for it, taking you so desperately close to the edge.  

You’re gasping a symposium of his name and praising the ground he walks on.  You’re sure if you died now you’d die a very fucking happy woman.  The world around you is gone, and it’s just Jimin’s sinful mouth suckling at your cunt.

You’re close again, and Jimin knows it.  You’re begging, pleading with him, but it’s useless as he roughly pulls away.

The music continues on in the background.  It’s lighter, and Jimin croons in the speaker as he grunts in your ear.

He muffles your anguished cry with a messy kiss that tastes of you, and he’s thrusting into you.  The slickness guides him in easily and he’s whining against you at the feel of your walls accept him and hugging him tightly as if they’ve missed his cock swelling within them.

“JIMIN!” You’re seeing fireworks as your husband fucks into you, holding you close to him.  It’s as rough and kinky as it is intimate and sweet.  He holds you, cherishes you, while he’s pistoning his thick member into your loud, drenched cunt.  

“I love you,” he whispers, slipping a thumb into your mouth that you suck at eagerly, as skilled with his fingers as you are with his cock.  “I love you so fucking much.”

His eyes align with yours, yours full of tears of absolute unrivaled pleasure, and his with full and never-ending devotion. 

You’re both so close, and you pull him against you to kiss his lips.  You want to connect completely to him as you cum, as he spills into your womb and creates something, someone there. 

Your cunt flutters intensely, quaking in anticipation as it builds and builds and builds.  Jimin breaks the kiss to breathe and warn you, “I’m going to cum soon, baby, please cum with me.”  He’s gentle and sweet, the Jimin who cries at love stories and wears flower crowns now present inside you.  You nod quickly, gasping as the coil winds tighter and tighter.  

Your kissing is messy, passionate, and your hands grasp him everywhere.  You’re tugging at his toned arms and solid back, seeking refuge as the tidal wave grows impossibly high, higher, so so high,

And crashes into you at 100 miles per hour.  Your cunt is contracting and pulsing around him so intensely you nearly black out, crying loudly into his mouth.  He’s groaning with you, the feeling of your already impossibly tight walls clenching down on him demands the orgasm out of him.  He’s cupping your whole face in his hands as he spills into you and your walls suck him in further, so far he could disappear completely.  

It feels as if you orgasm for hours, but it's merely minutes later that you’re trying to catch your breath and slip back into reality.  You’re clinging to each other like last lifelines and the gaze between you is so intense it clenches at your racing heart.  

The silence between you two is long and speaks an entire conversation before your lips even open.  He’s singing so sweetly through the speaker, it sounds like he’s singing directly to you.  “I love you,” you’re whispering to him.

He rubs at your cheeks in his palms, wiping away stray tears of bliss that have slipped down your face.

“I love you.”

You settle into him, unwilling to move a single inch away from your husband, and marvel at the beauty that is your life, your future.  

Jimin holds you close, kisses you gently and sings softly along to the music as you fall asleep, and he adores the fact that he holds his entire world, his future, in his arms.

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 24

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N:  the problem with Ernesto’s murderous plans is that they tend to only have a 50% success rate.  Art is by @lunaescribe​ and @swanpit​​

***

“... And you killed how many Villistas?” 

“Ah, I lost count. At least thirty.”

“Five, more like!”

“Shut up! Maybe some were just wounded, but I killed no less than twenty of Villa’s bastards, at any rate.”

“Sí, sí, and then you wounded Pancho Villa himself. One would think that with such a warrior among us, getting through the Zapatistas on our way here would have been a child’s play. I didn’t see you hit a single one. Did you forget how to shoot in the meantime?”

“Ah, shut up. They fought better, is all. Everyone knows Zapata and his followers are twice the mad dogs as everybody else, and I did hit one!”

“Your own shoe doesn’t count, pendejo.”

“Shut your mouth!”

“You’re so full of--”

As an argument broke out, Héctor watched Gustavo sigh and fall back a few paces with his horse. His attempts at buttering up the soldiers to get any sort of useful information had amounted to nothing, when they hadn’t straight-up started an argument like that one. The only question he was able to get a real answer to was why Commander Hernández hadn't allowed them to spend the evening and night in Santa Cecilia before setting off. 

“Ay, he won’t hear of it,” a soldier had replied. “He heard of a battalion that was decimated like that - they stayed in a village overnight, but turns out it was chock-full of traitors and they called their friends in during the night, and the men were slaughtered before they could grab a gun. So he’s paranoid about that.”

The expression that crossed Gustavo’s face for a moment, that of a man who just sucked on a lemon, had been enough to tell Héctor that was very much something he had hoped to pull off in Santa Cecilia. Unaware of that, the man - “call me Chucho”, he had said - had added: “It’s a myth if you ask me, more likely all of them just got sick of this shit and deserted.”

“Can’t blame them,” someone had muttered only a couple of paces behind Héctor, only to be immediately shushed by no less than ten of his comrades. 

“Shut up, idiota!”

“You want the commander to nail you to a telegraph pole or what!”

“He’s off ahead scouting anyway,” the man had muttered, and promptly fallen in a sullen silence. Morale was low, Héctor had quickly realized; he had been aware of the fact the war was not going all that well for the Federal Army, but this was the first time he saw its effects on the troops. All things considered, he got the distinct feeling most of those men didn’t want to be there a hell of a lot more than Ernesto had. 

Only that Ernesto had seized his moment to escape, and they were still stuck.

“-- shoot that cigarette off your mouth from a hundred paces, and if you don't believe--”

“Amazing, think you can hit the men attached to the cigarettes every once in a while, too?”

“If what you're asking is a bullet through your brain--!”

“Brain might be a big word there…”

“Shut your mouth, Nachito!”

As the argument continued, Héctor did his best to tune it out and reached into his saddle bag for the water. They had been warned the water rations were scarce and he had been trying not to drink too much, but they had been riding under the sun for hours, he’d been sweating half his body weight, and there seemed to be no moisture left in his mouth. At least the sun was starting to get lower at the horizon, evening not too far away.

Héctor wondered how they’d spend the night. Would they make camp? Just sit around fires, rifle in hand, and try to shut their eyes for a few hours before they kept marching on? Surely someone would stand guard, were the revolutionaries really going to catch up as Gustavo seemed to think they would? Would there be a battle? How many would come? Or would they decided a few men off Santa Cecilia was not a big enough loss to bother--

“Water?”

“Huh?” 

Héctor looked up to see a man riding next to him, holding out a flask of water. He seemed about his age, maybe a little younger, an attempt at a mustache on his upper lip and an uniform almost as ill-fitting as his own. He tried to smile, grimaced at the heat, and awkwardly avoided his gaze at the same time. 

“You, uh. If you want water.”

“Ah. I’m getting mine, don’t worry. I don’t want to take your ration.”

“... Right,” the young man muttered, and kept riding by his side. Héctor took a couple of sips from his flask, just enough to make his mouth feel a little less like an entire desert had moved in, and glanced back towards the man. He seemed to hesitate, but as Héctor rather expected he finally spoke again. “So you are, uh, a novice?”

“I… I was, I suppose. I suspect leaving the parish to join the Federal Army means that’s going to lapse,” he said, trying to smile like the idea was funny. The man didn’t seem amused, and Héctor cleared his throat. “... My name’s Héctor, by the way.”

A nod. “Alejandro,” the man replied. “Look, me and the others - several of the others, we… I mean, back there, when the commander shot the gringo-- I mean, the priest, I would have never,” he finally blurted out, holding onto the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

Ah.

Héctor had barely looked at Father John’s body on the cobblestones, focused as he was on the fact that man had Miguel, but the mental image had still been lingering in the back of his mind ever since they left. The pool of blood, the way it got into every crack, the sticky warmth of it through his robes when his knees hit the ground. 

Some men had taken him away to get him help, he knew, and the Federales had allowed it, but Héctor had no idea if any help would even be possible. He was probably dead, for trying to reason with someone utterly unreasonable, for trying to save Miguel. 

He found his martyrdom, at last.

Something in Héctor’s chest ached; the gringo was not a simple man to get along with, easy to despise and quick to judge, but he had tried to do the right thing and he did not deserve a bullet for it. Perhaps taking note of his pained expression, the young man fidgeted. 

“Maybe God will save him,” he murmured, and swallowed. “I… we wanted to ask… do you think God will curse us for this? For shooting down one of His servants?”

Why ask me, Héctor almost replied, but then again it was the sort of question one would ask to a priest and he was the closest thing to one those men had at hand. Part of him wanted to believe God would indeed curse them, all of them, Huerta’s damn Federales - but as he looked around himself now, those men who’d seemed to terrifying looked so tired, dirty from days of travel, many of them young and probably wearing their uniforms no more willingly than he did. 

How many had been taken the way they were in the first place?

“There is no mercy in war,” he remembered Ernesto saying when he was found out and they confronted him. “They die or you do. On and on, day after day, until you forget you’re looking at humans because it gets easier if you get that detail out of your mind.”

“... The Church says that as long as there is regret, all can be forgiven,” he found himself saying instead. Alejandro nodded, but he looked far from reassured and just fell silent as they rode on towards the top of a hill they were never going to get past.

***

“Those bastards were supposed to come through San Luz!”

Arms still aching and palms burning from the friction with the rope, Sofía made it down the belltower and to the churchyard just on time to hear the frustrated shout. Right before the church were maybe twenty men and women on horses, all of them armed, being filled in on what had happened by a few very confused bystanders who likely had no idea what was going on but were relieved that these new visitors were not Federales at least.

As Sofía approached with quick steps, the man turned his horse to face her. “Gustavo--” he began, and trailed off. He blinked. “... You’re not Gustavo.”

Sharp as a knife, this one. Nice to see we’re in good hands.

“Gustavo went with them. He told me to call for you,” she added, pointing up to the belltower, where the bell still swung slowly. “He said I should tell you to follow the trail.”

The man seemed taken aback, then he nodded. “Very well. What direction did they--”

“They took the road west, through the hills.” 

Imelda’s voice rang out suddenly, causing several heads to turn. She was riding an aging horse that had belonged to her family for years, but that was not what made Sofía raise an eyebrow.

The robes were gone, replaced by a gown and a blouse, a belt at her waist with ammunition and the pistol they had taken from Ernesto’s room. Her head was uncovered, her jaw set; the man stared at her a few moments before he tilted his head in recognition. 

“... Sister. I was hoping to meet you again in better circumstances than this.”

“José. You probably already gathered as much, but the Federales that took our men outnumber you, at least three to one. I assume you could use an extra pair of hands.”

“We could,” one of the women spoke up. She spurred her own horse closer to Imelda, a rifle slung over her shoulder. Her hair was braided back, showing a still healing cut on the side of her head. “How much practice did you get with that pistol?”

Imelda met her gaze. “Not much. I’ll have to hope what practice I could get will be enough.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then I die. Not the first or last.”

The woman smiled. “Very well. We’ll need someone to tell us what men not to shoot, after all, in case Gustavo can’t,” she added, and turned to look back at the man she’d called José. At this point, Sofía suspected she may have been mistaken in her assumption he was the leader there. “They can’t have gone very far, with the supplies and carts they took. We can catch up with them. Gabriel, you and I go ahead to dispatch anyone guarding the back of the column. If we don’t take them by surprise we’re fucked.”

“Well, you heard her, everyone. Let’s get going!”

As they kicked the flanks of their horses to get moving, Imelda looked back, and her gaze met Sofía’s. “... Sister,” she said, “I should mention this marks the end of my novitiate.”

Something gripping her throat - don’t die out there, she wanted to say - Sofía managed a smile. Trying to talk Imelda out of her plan, she knew, would be absolutely fruitless. “About time,” she said instead. “Go take back your stupid fiancé.”

The smile Imelda gave was sharp, telling her clearly that she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not that Sofía had doubted that even for a moment. 

“You can be certain I will,” she said, and kicked the flanks of her horse, riding off.

“Ay, a novio,” one of the men muttered as he rode past. “And my heart breaks already.”

We had enough heartbreak as is for the day, Sofía thought, but said nothing. Instead she turned away from the galloping horses and let her gaze wander across the parish grounds. A few men were running off to grab what horses and hunting rifles they had and join the rescue party, but no trace of Ernesto. He’d returned, she knew, but no one had seen him since. 

Where in the world is that idiota hiding now?

***

Following the trail left behind by the column of Federales - the imprint of hooves, the wheels of carts, the cigarette butts they left in their wake - was easier than finding gonorrhea in a brothel.

Well, at least Ernesto supposed it was; he wouldn’t really know, as he had never in his life had gonorrhea or needed to resort to a brothel for pleasurable company in the first place. His good looks and charm had served him well enough with men and women alike, as Juan could testify.

Except that Juan was dead, shot like a dog in the middle of the plaza, what little color he had on his face draining away along with the blood; Ernesto had not seen it happen, but he could imagine it all too well each time he closed his eyes against the merciless July sun. 

Juan could never testify anything anymore, nor roll his eyes or start a lecture whenever Ernesto said something outrageous. He was far enough from Santa Cecilia that he could barely hear the bell anymore, but its toll was still ringing in his head, in every thudding beat of his heart. 

Dead. Dead. Dead.

I want them dead.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and down his cheeks, or so he told himself. Ernesto kicked the donkey’s flanks to make the stupid animal go faster, the reins of the other clutched tight in his hand, and wiped his forehead, teeth clenched hard. He clung to his fury, allowed himself to bare his teeth in something resembling a smile as his gaze fell on the caskets of wine. Holy wine, plus a special ingredient courtesy of the parish’s old rat problem.

He would see them dead. He would see them writhe and suffer, and he’d let them know it was by his hand; Juan would probably disapprove, that stupid stuck-up gringo, but he was no longer there to talk him out of it. He was no longer there to disapprove of him, and someone had to pay for it. How gracious of God’s church to provide the means to make it happen. Perhaps it was his will, after all, and who was he not to help along divine will?

Todo modo para buscar la voluntad divina, Juan had said.

Todo modo. Todo modo. Todo modo. 

Ernesto let the words echo in his head until they drowned out all noise from the bell, or perhaps it had stopped ringing, or he simply got too far for its sound to reach him anymore. He pressed on through the dusty path and up yet another hill until finally, finally, he saw it just below: a long column of men who were not long for that world. A few men at the back were looking up towards him, surely there to guard against rear attacks. But they saw no rebels there: only a priest, far more charming than the one they’d shot dead in Santa Cecilia.

Ernesto stared for a few moments, and finally let out a long breath, relaxing his frame. He wiped sweat off his face, opened his eyes, and smiled. A real smile, not a grimace; the easy, charming expression that got him in the good graces of men and women alike oh so quickly. 

Who would refuse a blessing in those difficult times? Who’d turn away a friendly face? Who wouldn’t accept some holy wine to wash down the dust and dirt? With some luck, it would be the last thing they’d do before they got to confess their sins to San Pedro himself. 

Good luck explaining away the murder of a man of the Church, Ernesto thought, and got the donkeys moving down the hill as quickly as he could. No turning back now, not anymore.

The thought did cross his mind for the briefest moment - what if they see through me, what if they recognize me - but it hardly even registered. At that point he was one deserter among thousands and he’d left his battalion as it headed north, with no plans to go back down towards Oaxaca. Chances any of those men came from his battalion were vanishingly thin, he thought, and to be fair he was almost entirely correct in that assumption. Just almost. 

Ernesto de la Cruz kept clambering down the hill on top of his donkey, with the smile of a friendly priest eager to deliver a very special blessing to the heroes of Mexico.

***

He wasn’t there, either. The slippery bastard wasn’t anywhere.

Santiago kicked his horse’s sides again, hands clenching on the reins. He had gone off ahead, ostensibly to scout for any sort of possible ambush, but truth be told it was only an excuse to be alone with his storming thoughts for a time. 

He already knew there would be no ambush: the idiots were still waiting for them in San Luz, or had given up waiting and were drinking themselves into a stupor, which was just as likely. A few more miles, and then they could circle back to take them by surprise in the middle of the night.He’d toyed with the idea before, but it was not the current plan: he and his men were expected in Yucatan within days, which left them short on time. 

But it was… tempting, nonetheless.

We could get some scum out of the way. And maybe de la Cruz is hiding there, or passed by. Someone might know something. Someone might talk.

Santiago closed his eyes and lifted his head, letting the sun beat down on his face. It had been a scorching hot day when he had found Alberto’s body, too, shot in the back of the head and left to feed carrion birds by the monster who’d greeted them that morning with a smile before they went off on patrol together. 

It should have been Santiago out on patrol with Ernesto de la Cruz  that day. It was his turn; it should have been him to fall face down in the sand with his brains blown out. But he’d pulled a muscle in his back the previous evening, riding felt like having hot rods pushed into his spine, and Beto had offered to take my place. 

Said I owed him a drink. What wouldn’t I give to pay back that debt.  

Monster, the gringo had called him. What sort of beast, he had said, but the idiota knew nothing of monsters and beasts that must be put down for everybody’s safety. He, at least, didn’t feign friendliness. He didn’t hide behind a smile. He warned before he shot, stated his terms and delivered on his promises.

If it made him a beast himself, very well; perhaps he was. Perhaps trying to take the child had been a step too far - but he’d sooner be a lion than a snake hiding in the sand. 

I cannot turn back anymore. No way to go but forward. 

But first, San Luz. If he’s there, I’ll smoke him out.

Santiago Hernández stopped his horse on a rocky outcrop and reached into the saddle bag to pull out his map, so he could work out the best route back for a quick attack. He opened it and studied it under the merciless sun, waiting for his men to catch up

It took him a while to realize it was taking them much too long.

***

“Oye! Come here!”

“There’s a priest!”

“We’re getting blessed, muchachos!”

“And we’re getting wine!”

“... Huh?”

As word travelled fast up the column, causing men to halt their horses and turn, Héctor glanced around in confusion. He looked over at Gustavo, but he seemed about as lost as he was at the notion of a random priest walking into marching Federales to offer blessings and wine. Where did he even--

“He says he’s the parish priest of the hole we just left,” someone added, and Héctor’s blood ran cold, something clenching in his stomach.

No, no, no, no. What is he doing here? They were looking for him. They’ll kill him.

“Padre Ernesto?” Francisco, a young cobbler who’d been taken with him that day, blurted out. Sidling up to Héctor, Gustavo elbowed him in the ribs. 

“What’s going on?” he growled under his breath. “Why is he here, and why did you get almost as pale as the gringo just now?”

“I…” Héctor swallowed, unable to force words out. Gustavo didn’t know, and this really was not the time to explain him everything. He needed to get to Ernesto immediately, warn him to get away while he still could, so he ignored Gustavo’s questions and spurred his horse to go back, towards the end of the column. The men there were already starting to gather, dismounting their horses… and passing around caskets of wine. 

Héctor braced himself for the moment someone would cry out in recognition and every man present would turn against Ernesto, but there was no such cry; the men were none the wiser as they talked and laughed, took the wine and kept gathering, all semblance of order gone. 

Above all, Héctor heard a familiar voice.

“... And once I realized I had entirely missed your arrival, well, I had to catch up with you,” Ernesto was saying, all charm and smiles as he helped unload the caskets of wine. “I couldn’t let my parishioners leave to serve this country without giving them my blessing, you understand. And you, of course, it is the least I could do - careful there, it’s heavy…”

It was like an impromptu party, but it was soon clear not everyone was simply in the mood to celebrate. Héctor did his best to approach, but he got knocked back by several men gathering around Ernesto. 

“Padre!”

“Can we have your blessing, Padre?”

“I have not had confession in months--”

“Haven’t heard from my family since March, I don’t know if they are well, pray for them--”

“What happened to that other priest-- the gringo, we did not--”

“Our commander lost his temper, a man of God, I would have never--”

“We would never--”

Ernesto turned to the men, and his smile wavered for only a moment. But then it was back, full of understanding. “... Padre Juan was a man of principle who did not always know when to hold his tongue, but he is with God now,” he said, and Héctor’s stomach sank. So he hadn’t made it. He was dead, and Ernesto showed no sign whatsoever of being affected. 

“His soul is safe, and I know he would want me to take care of yours,” Ernesto was going on, and he lifted his hand to impart a blessing, speaking loudly to be heard by all. He spoke in near-perfect Latin John Johnson would have been proud of, giving everyone present absolution before crossing himself. Many of the men mirrored the gesture, relief plain on their faces. Alejandro was among them, looking close to tears.

The blessing done, absolution given, Ernesto smiled and spread out his arms. “Now, let us all drink the blood of Christ and--”

“Padre!” Héctor finally cried out, pushing his way to the front, and Ernesto’s gaze turned on him. His smile grew even wider. 

“My child!” he cried out, and pulled him into an embrace. “Ah, what a relief, having reached you on time to absolve your sins and give you the Lord’s blessing!”

Face smashed against Ernesto’s shoulder, Héctor barely managed to whisper. “What are you doing--” he began, only for Ernesto to turn his head and almost snarl into his ear, his voice so full of seething fury it made Héctor’s heart skip a beat in his chest. 

“Saving your scrawny ass so I can kick it myself. Don’t drink the wine, none of you. Tell the others.”

“Wha-- Ernesto, wait, they’re--”

“Not a drop,” Ernesto hissed, and pushed him off before anyone realized they had spoken to one another, patting his shoulder with a laugh. “Go to the others, tell them they have my blessing and that the parish will look after their families,” he added, and before he could add another word Héctor was almost ejected from the small crowd, reeling. 

What does it mean? What has he done to the wine?

He looked around to see Alejandro taking one of the opened caskets, saw the wine flowing and men drinking. Héctor wanted to stop him, tell him not to - he was not a bad person, he could tell; many of them were not bad people - but he knew he couldn’t do so without alerting them all, and in the end he had to back away. 

Guilt twisted in his gut, but he knew he had to ignore it and move quickly. The wine was being passed around so fast, and he had to warn Gustavo and the others not to drink it before it got to them. Regardless how tempting it was not to tell Gustavo, of course.

No one has recognized him. Maybe it will be all right. Maybe whatever plan he has is going to work. Maybe it will make them pass out, no one needs to die, Héctor thought, and with one last glance towards Ernesto - he was positively holding court now, men around him laughing at something he said or crossing themselves and asking for a prayer - he ran back to where he left the others from Santa Cecilia, trying to reach them before the wine could.

Whatever Ernesto had done with it, he knew none of them wanted to find out the hard way.

***

What got Santiago to lift his gaze from the map and realize his men really should have caught up by now was a very distant sound, one he did not recognize at first. He put away the map with a frown, focusing, and for a moment he thought what he heard were distant screams. It made his blood run cold and his hands clench on the reins. 

Had his men been attacked? Could it be? Was there an ambush - had he walked right past the enemy without realizing as much? Heart hammering in his throat, Santiago spurred his horse to trot back, straining to listen… and finally he realized what he was hearing were not screams. 

Well, they kind of were, but those were no cries of distress; there was a rhythm to it, all voices rising up together and then falling, then rising again, like… singing? Was that bunch of idiots singing at the top of their lungs?

Have they all gone mad?

Stunned and furious at the same time, Santiago kicked his horse’s flanks to spur it into a gallop back the way he had come. He knew those men’s discipline was almost non-existent, but that was ridiculous. He would see them punished for it, he’d make them march through the night, he--!

Insortaron a Cortez Por toditito el estado: "Vivo o muerto que se aprehenda Porque a varios ha matado!"

Soon he was close enough to hear the words and, after turning a bend, he could see that the sorry excuses of soldiers he’d been leading were off their horses and standing around or sitting in the dirt, drinking and singing like they were off duty in a damn cantina. 

He opened his mouth to shout at them, demand to know what was going on in their empty heads, but another voice rose up loud and clear and Santiago’s own voice died in his throat. 

Decía Gregorio Cortez Con su pistola en la mano: "No siento haberlo matado Al que siento es a mi hermano..."

He knew that voice; he heard it before in the barracks, at campfires, whenever a comrade picked up a guitar. He never missed a chance to sing, turning each break in a performance. 

Alberto had found it endearing; he’d found it annoying. Now it made him feel as though the sweat on his skin had turned into frost.

Still atop his horse Santiago turned slowly, very slowly, towards the source of that voice. He had not expected the priestly robes, and he’d had a beard when he’d last seen him, but he would recognize that despicable face anywhere; he’d dreamed of it almost every night, grinning down at him as he kneeled over Beto’s body.

And now he was there. 

How or why he had come to be there, let alone in a cassock and singing along with his men as they guzzled down wine, Santiago had no idea nor he cared to know. All that he knew, all that mattered, was that he was there within his grasp, and that he would never escape again. 

Santiago Hernández bared his teeth, and reached for the pistol at his hip.

***

BANG.

The gunshot was distant, reverberating through the hills, impossible to mistake for anything else. It made Imelda’s blood run cold, but she didn’t slow down; her horse was in full gallop, right at the heels of José’s own - which, come to think of it, looked an awful lot like Ernesto’s own missing horse - and she spurred it to go a bit faster, just enough to sidle with him. 

“Was that one of yours? Did you prepare an ambush?” she yelled to be heard through the rushing wind and beating hooves, knowing full well what the answer was but still hoping against hope to get at least some explanation for the gunshot. 

José shook his head, his expression grim. “No such thing. There may be insubordination among them.”

“Does it happen often?”

“All the time. But we’ll only know when we catch up,” he added, and spurred his horse again. Imelda could only follow, and hope for the best.

If he gets himself killed, she thought, I’ll have to kill him again.

***

The gunshot was deafeningly loud, and close enough to make Héctor cry out - him, and several other men - and the singing to stop abruptly. There were confused cries, men jumping on their feet and dropping their cups of wine to reach for their own guns, turning around wildly to find out who’d shot.

They didn’t have to look far.

“Ernesto de la Cruz.”

Still on top of his horse, pistol raised in the air, Commander Hernández stared at Ernesto with enough hatred to make Héctor tremble. He was vaguely aware of Gustavo and another couple of men from Santa Cecilia talking to him under their breath, asking what the hell was going on, but Héctor was unable to speak, dread gripping his throat. 

He found him. It’s over.

He wanted to cry out for Ernesto to run, to do something, but there was nothing for him to do and he could only stand there, staring in horror. Ernesto had stilled, realization beginning to dawn on him that he’d been recognized, and that he was trapped. 

The soldiers around him were not quite as quick to grasp the situation. “What--”

“Commander, we, uh, can explain--”

“Shut up, all of you, and seize that traitor!”

“... Sir, that is Padre--”

“That’s no more a priest than I am, idiots! It’s the deserter we’ve been looking for!”  the man screamed, and leaped off his horse, pistol still in his hand. “ SEIZE HIM, I SAID!”

“Qué?” Gustavo blurted out somewhere on Héctor’s right, and it seemed that sentiment was prevalent among the Federales as well, most of whom kept staring at their commander as though he’d suddenly started speaking Portuguese. 

Then Ernesto tried to run, and all hell broke loose.

Héctor had gone hare hunting once, out of sheer curiosity, watching from the sidelines and not really doing much. The pack of dogs, all of them friendly mutts, had seemed comically clumsy, wagging their tails and snuffling about, seemingly more interested in playing than hunting… until a hare had burst out of its hiding spot to run away, and suddenly the entire pack had pounced. The chase had been brief, the screams unbearably loud, the outcome bloody, and Héctor had felt queasy as the owner of the dogs lifted the prey, grinning from ear to ear while his dogs went back to goofing off.

“This,” he had said, “is why you never try running before even the dumbest dog pack.”

Now Héctor watched Ernesto make the same mistake, and again the dogs pounced as one. The hare had no chance of escape that day, and neither did he now. 

“STOP HIM!”

“Got him, I got him!”

“Get your hands of me, hijos de--”

“Agh! He bit me!”

“Get him over here!”

If any of the soldiers had doubted Commander Hernández’s words and still believed him a priest, Ernesto thrashing and screaming insults to their entire lineage - through the flea-ridden Spaniards who’d forced their way between their great-great-great-great grandmothers’ thighs and all the way down to the Garden of Eden - probably took care of it. 

As Héctor stared, petrified and not knowing what to do, he was dragged in front of the commander and forced on his knees, arms behind his back. Hernández put the pistol back in its holster, walked up to Ernesto, and grabbed a fistful of his hair to force his head back. 

He gave a cold, too-wide smile that still did not reach his eyes and said something Héctor could not hear. Ernesto’s scowl turned to shock for a moment, and then his features twisted in fury. He screamed and tried to rise up to throw himself at Hernández, almost made it, but too many men were holding him down and he was pushed back in the dirt. Orders were barked and they began dragging Ernesto away from the rest of the still confused soldiers, off the path and towards a small grove of trees and shrubs. One of the men carried a long rope. 

They'll see me hang, Ernesto had told them after being unmasked, and God, he'd been right. “No, wait!” Héctor cried out and tried to run, but something gripped his arm, pulled him back. 

“Stay here, idiota,” Gustavo hissed, his grasp on Héctor’s wrist tight enough to cut off the blood flow. He glared. “Won’t let you become a martyr on my watch, you’re insufferable enough as is. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t do it. Did you know about him?”

“I can’t let them kill--”

“Did you know!” Gustavo barked, and Héctor fell silent, his expression probably speaking volumes. Gustavo groaned, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. “A Federale right under my nose and I never knew. Por Dios, José is never going to let me hear the end of it...”

“Gustavo, let me go, we have to help him--”

“Help is coming, idiota. Stay here.”

“But--”

“Help is coming,” Gustavo repeated in the forceful way of a man trying to will something into reality. “At least that damn liar delayed their march. Any moment now--” he trailed off when a sudden noise reached their ears amidst the confusion and exclamations, harsh and unmistakable - retching. Soon followed by another such sound, and another. And another. 

One by one, the men around them began looking very, very sick.

***

“Let me go! Let me go, you bastards--!”

Ernesto’s insults got him precisely nowhere, and his attempt at fighting off the men dragging him away was about as useless. Too many of them, too strong, his wrists already tied behind his back before they shoved him on his knees in the dirt before the cabrón who had somehow recognized his face.

When said cabrón stepped forward and grabbed his hair to yank his head back, Ernesto clenched his teeth to hold back a cry and glared up at him. Who was he? Dimly he knew he must know him, he looked vaguely familiar - something about the mustache, the unusually thin bridge of his nose - but he still could not put a name to the face the way that bastard had somehow put a name to his.

Unaware of his thoughts, the man sneered. “Ernesto de la Cruz - so the rat comes out in the open at last. What’s the reason for this masquerade? Did you think these robes would save you? They will not. I shot down a true priest today. Or was the gringo an impostor, too?”

Our commander lost his temper, one of them had said. 

That beast pulled out his pistol and… and… ay, I told you, he knows no God. To shoot a man of god like an animal!

YOU TOOK HIM AWAY!

With a wordless scream, Ernesto strained against the men holding him down, against his bounds, wanting nothing more than putting his hands around the man’s neck and choke the life out of him. He almost managed to stand, but the weight of several men was too much and he was thrown back down in the dirt.

“You, take him and follow me. Rojas, get enough rope to hang this bastard. Quick.”

“Yes sir.”

No no no no no!

Ernesto struggled, but to no avail. Bound and overpowered, he was easily dragged away from the path by the small group of men - towards shrubs and trees, where they could hang him by the neck and leave him to feed carrion birds. They would not give him a clean death, he knew. No fall, no broken neck. They’d string him up and… and… 

“Let me go!”

“Oh, as you wish.”

The men threw him down on the ground, and with his hands tied there was nothing sparing his face a painful impact. Ernesto ground his teeth to stifle a cry, only for that cry to be forced out of him when a kick in his side threw him onto his back. A knee pressed on his chest and the man leaned down, all his weight on Ernesto’s sternum.

When is the damn poison going to work?

Maybe the parish got scammed and that wasn’t poison at all. Wouldn’t that be a laugh, a fake priest dead thanks to fake poison. 

As he struggled to breathe, Ernesto blinked a few times to clear his vision and looked up. Seen up close there was something startling in the sheer hatred in the man’s gaze, and it caused Ernesto to still a moment. The soldier, John’s murderer, sneered once again. 

“Tell me, traitor,” he all but snarled. “Do you even know who I am?”

Don’t make him mad, part of Ernesto’s brain said, but the rest clung to the hope the poison would start working soon. Make him waste time.

“Should I?” he spat. A fist connected with his face as soon as the words were out, causing his vision to swim. Blood ran down his face from a split lip, went down his throat. Somewhere above him he saw the rope being thrown up over a branch, one end already tied in a noose. 

And then, before his eyes, the blade of a knife caught the sunlight.

***

He didn’t even recognize him.

Of all the ways Ernesto de la Cruz had wronged him, that somehow was the final straw, the worst possible slap to the face. He’d murdered his best friend since childhood and ran off, leaving him to obsess over revenge for months on end - unable to sleep without seeing his face or Beto’s body in the sand, or both - and now he dared say he didn’t even know who he was.

Ah, but he’d know. Before he died, when he allowed him to die, he would know. 

“I know who you are well enough,” Santiago snarled, and pulled out his hunting knife. “A coward, a traitor, and a murderer. You’re a Judas, and you’ll die as Judas did - and everyone will know why!”

De la Cruz tried to squirm beneath him, still dazed by the blow but all too aware of the blade of his knife. Santiago sneered, held the knife to his throat, and watched him grow still. There was terror in his eyes, unmistakable, and he savored it like a sip from a bottle of fine wine. 

“Ay, you’ll wish I made it this easy for you.” The blade slipped beneath his collar and ripped down through the cassock, baring his chest. 

De la Cruz tried to squirm again, this time with more urgency, eyes wide. “Stop!” he rasped.

Santiago smiled. “Why? Have you recalled my name?”

“I have done nothing to you. I--”

“Liar. I should take an eye for that,” he snapped, and brought the tip of the knife’s blade to rest right beneath a widened eye, drawing the tiniest drop of blood from his skin. “Think again, you Judas. Think of the day you deserted. Someone was with you.”

“What…” Ernesto de la Cruz paused and finally, finally, Santiago saw his expression change - from terror and confusion to realization. Of course, that must have jogged his memory: the two of them had barely shared a few words, but he must remember Alberto. And wherever Alberto went, Santiago followed.

Until, of course, de la Cruz had sent Beto someplace where Santiago could not follow.

You took him away.

Something ached in his chest, and all of a sudden Santiago felt ridiculously close to tears. But he had him now. He would see him die, Alberto would be avenged, and he would finally feel better. He had to feel better. He could not contemplate feeling the way he did forever.

“Thiago,” de la Cruz choked out, and he scoffed. Of course, even now, the self-absorbed bastard couldn’t be bothered to remember anyone’s name. 

“Santiago,” he snapped, and leaned in so close their faces almost touched, pressing the blade a little harder on Ernesto’s skin and causing another pinprick of blood to well up. “But it matters not. You know whose name I want you to remember, sí? That of the man you killed.”

De la Cruz swallowed. “Alberto,” he managed. “I-- I didn’t want to kill him. I swear. I only wanted to get away, I couldn’t stand it anymore, I... he would have stopped me, he--”

“And so you shot him like a dog!” Santiago screamed, causing that disgusting coward to wince. He pulled back, knees still pressed against his sternum, keeping him pinned down. The grip on the handle of his knife was so tight it ached. And he even had the galls, this bastard, to lecture him for shooting a gringo! 

“You left him dead to feed scavengers, and you really thought I would let it stand! You really thought I wouldn’t hunt you down like the beast you are! Tell me, did you kiss him the way Judas kissed Christ when he betrayed him?”

A shudder beneath him that may have been a sob. “P-por favor--”

“Oh, you’re begging now?” Santiago gave a loud, ugly laugh, and pressed the blade against Ernesto de la Cruz’s chest. “Very well, traitor. Go on and beg,” he said, and began to cut.

He did beg, but only for a few moments. For a good while, all he could do was scream.

***

[Back]

[Next]

[andromedasstarship]

faceless, nameless - the prologue

gif credit - @kylos 

pairing - kylo ren x reader 

warnings - canon-typical star wars violence, depictions of death/violence, fighting (verbal + physical), loosely implied physical intimacy (really up for interpretation here), angst, tension, implied mild love triangle, kylo ren betrays you 

summary - For four years, Kylo Ren considered you to be many things: his right hand, his confidant, an irreplaceable strategist, a friend and most importantly his equal. It all ended when he left you with a blaster shot to the stomach on a near deserted planet. On the brink of death, a rather dashing Resistance Pilot stumbled upon you, saving your life.  

Donning a mask to hide your identity, you’ve grown to become the most fearsome Resistance fighter they have; bewildering the First Order as to how you always seem to ruin their plans and avoid capture. Kylo Ren is a different man from when he left you two years ago, so how will he react when he accidentally finds you alive and well in Poe’s memories?

masterlist // series masterlist // read it on ao3 here 

next chapter 

-----

the prologue - the sun 

On Starkiller Base, there were plenty of rumors as to why Kylo Ren kept you around. Some said it was because of your extensive training in hundreds of different languages, both spoken and signed. Others were sure it was due to your diplomatic upbringing that came with countless connections and near endless wealth. Or, maybe it was due to your more than adequate ability in battle that served him the most. Even some people thought you were a kept woman, who only existed as a way for Kylo Ren to blow off steam behind closed doors. Your favorite rumor was that you were actually a high-ranking Resistance spy who was tasked with infiltrating the First Order at the highest level and that Kylo Ren had become weak because of you. Had it not made you laugh so much the first time you heard it, Kylo would’ve crushed the windpipe of the lowly officer who created the elaborate lie. 

Of course, there were some truths in all the rumors, but none of them exciting. You were in fact trained in hundreds of languages and that training was a product of your diplomatic upbringing. You were exceptionally trained in various forms of combat, but that was something that came after you met Kylo; he had always been afraid of you not being able to properly defend yourself. You were most certainly not a kept woman, not that you and Kylo weren’t intimate, but certainly not in the type of dynamic people thought. You absolutely were not a Resistance spy, but even though neither of you said it aloud, Kylo Ren was definitely weak for you. 

How it actually happened is quite boring. The two of you met when Kylo had just turned 24, still more Ben Solo than Kylo Ren. You were recently 23 at the time, head of a diplomatic welcoming committee that met with Kylo as part of his first official diplomatic endeavor as ‘Kylo Ren’ the soon to be Commander of the entire First Order. He quickly became enamored with you and the way you commanded a team full of older men who clearly didn’t approve of your position- whether it was due to your age or gender he didn’t know- but still treated you with respect; in short, you radiated a confidence and power he desired. For you, it was quite the opposite, Kylo Ren still wasn’t sure of himself and at times still acted like the awkward lanky Jedi boy who had never spoken to a girl outside of school purposes. He was a fresh and welcomed change from all the annoyingly rich and cocky men you met with on a daily basis. 

Him and his team stayed on your home planet for nearly three months. Countless delegates from various planets flocked there for balls, meetings, conferences, and more. Your connections ran deep and you directly aided in the First Order’s successes during those three months. For the first few weeks, you and Kylo skirted around the obvious pull between the two of you. He wasn’t exactly sure how to ‘woo’ a girl, nor was he even sure if he was allowed to. His lack of action caused you to regularly doubt if he also felt the spark, or if it was completely one sided on your end. Weeks of longing gazes and accidental brushes of fingertips finally came to an end when the two of you were sitting on your private balcony, overlooking the well kept grounds, discussing the conference that had just ended. It was a roaring success for your planet as well as the First Order, both of you securing mining resources at an exceptional locked rate for a minimum of fifty basic years. You made the first move, he was irresistible under the moonlight, closing the space between you on your bench and pressing your lips directly on his. In his hesitation you thought you had completely misread the past month, but it was only a moment later that his hands found purchase in your hair, pulling you closer. The two of you were nearly inseparable for the rest of his trip. 

It was difficult, when he finally had to return to his new master and some massive ship that would be lightyears away from you. Unspoken promises were made the night before he left, declarations of love and devotion made behind closed doors. He was still far from truly becoming Kylo Ren, had copious amounts of training to finish before he would see himself be fitting for someone like you. If he was nothing else, Kylo was desperate for loyalty and when you watched his ship leave you had no doubts he would come back. 

And he did, nearly an entire standard year later. You almost didn’t recognize him when he stepped off his personal ship. All broad shoulders and shrouded in layers of black, with that intimidating mask covering his face. He was proving to be quite the warrior, the tales of him and the Knights he commanded reaching the farest edges of the galaxy. When the welcoming festivities had ended and he removed his mask in the privacy of your room, you found a mature face that had lost the softness you once knew. It was no matter to you, flinging yourself into his arms and vowing to never let go. 

This time, when he left, you went with him of course. Kylo had been shocked when Snoke approved it, but Snoke, ever the manipulator, knew the growing attachment between the two of you would inevitably prove to be valuable in controlling Kylo Ren. 

Moving into a giant spaceship wasn’t easy for you. The dark, cold and everlasting expanse of space was a sharp contrast to your warm ocean planet. You missed the sun on your face and your people, but when you vowed to never let him go, you meant it. As time went on, you grew accustomed to the ship and then eventually Starkiller- which was an entirely different battle, that piece of ice had you complaining for months-, and soon enough you couldn’t imagine a life not in space. 

Most of your days were monotonous, not that you minded. From the first day you stepped foot onto base, Kylo began training you himself. He never wanted you to feel as hopeless and afraid as he did when he woke up to his uncle ready to kill him in his sleep. So he trained you, and he trained you hard. You could wield a lightsaber well enough, as he argued that should anything ever happen to him- a thought you hated entertaining-, his saber would be the best weapon you had available. You were smaller than him, so close combat was a challenge but you learned to use your size and agility as an advantage. What you specialized in, was the staff. It allowed you to give a larger opponent at a safe range until it was possible to take them down. Kylo had a special one created just for you, with double edged electrical ends that you could easily turn on or off. It was rare that he actually let you on a battlefield with him, but when he did you were unstoppable. Not that you minded, you quite enjoyed working behind the scenes, forming battle plans and leading diplomatic endeavors for the First Order. 

Other than Snoke, no one out ranked you, not even Ren; a fact he had been extremely particular about after a visiting diplomat made the excuse of outright ignoring and belittling your presence in a meeting. You were equals in everything, even going as far as taking on the ‘Ren’ moniker. 

Among First Order subordinates, you were fairly well liked, and not just because it was unspoken that anyone who thought badly of you would probably die at Ren’s hand. The people actually liked you. Ren was cold, you were warm. When he was sharp, you were soft. It worked well, his ability to command troops and fuel the fires of war was complimented perfectly by your ability to talk nearly anyone to your side. 

You never wavered in your support for him, ever loyal by his side no matter what he did or who he killed or how many villages he burned to the ground. You stood next to him, never behind, when new planets presented themselves as potential allies. You watched from above when he burned villages, that dared aid the Resistance, to the ground. You cleaned and healed every single wound he received from Snoke’s brutal training. You held him together when the pull to the light made him feel weak and undeserving. 

Anyone could see that you were the sun that Kylo Ren revolved around.  

So, when he came back to Starkiller on that fateful day, covered in blood- your blood-, announcing that you were dead- and he was the one who killed you-, and that your name was never to be uttered on his base or by any First Order subordinate ever again, no one knew what to do. 

-----

 a/n - hi!!! im so excited for this story, ive never written star wars before and my lore knowledge isnt the best ill admit, so please excuse any minor bits of pieces i may get wrong! comments/likes/reblogs always appreciated. if you wanna be added to the taglist, just ask and ill make one! :D 

no permission is given to copy or republish my writing on any other platform or account. if you see this story outside of my blog or my ao3 it is stolen work. i do not own nor claim to own star wars or any of the character involved in it. 

[etherrealoblivion]

A Broken System (part two)

PART ONE

gif by @toyboxboy​

A/N: A THOUSAND FOLLOWERS!!! here’s a treat! part two!!!

tags: smut, part two.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Words: 5,930

MASTERLIST

~

“Professor Reid!” Morgan shouted, holding up his drink, clinking it against Spencer’s. 

Morgan had dragged him out the night before his first class, insisting that they needed to celebrate. Spencer didn’t really see what there was to celebrate. He’d been offered a job as a Professor at Georgetown after a particularly eloquent lecture on Criminology. At first, though, he hadn’t been too keen on the idea. He was good at his job as a profiler, why change that? It was something Hotch had said that changed his mind.

“You’re a great profiler, Reid. You’ve learned so much. Maybe it’s time to teach the next genius.”

And then it had clicked. Something about sharing his experience with bright young faces that sat where he once did, just felt right.

So he accepted the offer the week before first term, the school scrambling to get the paperwork in order and Spencer scrambling to prepare a lesson plan.

It hadn’t occurred to him that teaching would be more time-consuming than profiling.

“Whoo! Professor!” Garcia cheered, downing her fourth shot of the night. “Teach me somethin’. Now!” she slurred, spilling a bit of her drink on Prentiss.

Spencer laughed, politely excusing himself to use the bathroom.

Technically he did go to the bathroom. He splashed some water in his face, then stepped outside to call a cab. He’d go back in, say his ride was on its way, and leave. Simple. 

Before he could pull out his phone, he noticed a woman bent over in the alley, breathing heavily. Reaching out a hand, he placed it on her shoulder, trying to be comforting.

Quickly, he was spun around and slammed up against the brick wall of the alley.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Dammit. Spencer knew better than to grab some girl in a back alley behind a club.

But then he turned around.

Woah.

There was a fierce look in her eye, sizing him up. She had on a tight black skirt that perfectly accentuated her curves along with a flowy top that left more to the imagination. What really completed the ensemble was the large sash across her front that said: Birthday Bitch. She was beautiful.

No.

Spencer didn’t let himself think that. Sure, he could appreciate a woman’s beauty. But too much of a good thing…. He had to keep up his barrier. 

But then she started to talk. And he didn’t stand a chance.

The way she went on about handshakes and the dangers of going clubbing was extremely adorable. Spencer found himself unable to hold back from bantering with her. Unlike almost every single woman he’d ever encountered, she was easy for him to talk to. The occasional stutter slipped out but she just smiled when it did.

Then she kissed him. 

If he hadn’t been attracted before, he was now. Her lips tasted like bourbon and cherries. The feel of her against him was intoxicating. So he walked her home, trying his best to keep his expectations low. If she truly just wanted him to walk her home safely, that’s what he’d do, make sure she was safe and sound, and leave without complaint. If she happened to want more than that, who was he to say no?

It wasn’t like he’d never had sex. Actually, the two most serious relationships he’d had had barely consisted of touching. But he’d had other . . . experiences. The problem was, he’d only had sex with women he’d known for a day or two. Mostly in college. Sometimes online. Never at a club. 

Spencer had rules. He didn’t let himself get attached. If he started to feel a spark, he cut off contact. It was the only way to make sure no one was hurt.

But this girl…. She made him throw every rule out the window.

A deep, dark part of him wished he hadn’t asked how old she was turning. God, how wrong was that.

He should have arrested her. She had been in a club, drunk, and went home with a stranger. But she’d also kissed him. And he was pretty sure she felt his erection in the alley. How the hell was he supposed to explain that?

“Hey Morgan, I brought this girl in for having a fake ID. I figured it out just before I was going to go into her apartment and fuck her up the wall. Don’t worry she’s only fourteen years younger than me and slightly inebriated.”

That would go over great.

Okay, so he couldn’t arrest her. But he most certainly couldn’t - to be crude - fuck her up the wall as he’d planned. He’d just say that this was a terrible mistake and let her off with a warning.

It was a solid plan.

Then she called him sir.

Spencer was ashamed at the speed he gave in. Before he knew it, his mouth was on her clit and his fingers buried in her pussy. The sound of her begging him to fuck her was a sound he’d never forget.

And then he was inside her. His bones turned to jelly and his tongue melted down his throat. This had to be what heaven felt like. Pure, unadulterated, paradise.

Who was this girl?

The orgasm was absolutely earth-shattering. He hadn’t been with anyone in so long, he was surprised he lasted as long as he had. He was so pleased he’d been able to make her come. Good to know that sex skills weren’t something that could be unlearned.

When she’d asked him to stay, every bone in Spencer’s body screamed yes. He knew it was a bad idea. One of his biggest rules was don’t stay the night. He wanted to so badly, but he couldn’t. He could not. There was no way.

“I’d like that too.”

Shit.

~

His alarm went off at six-thirty. Y/N was coiled so tightly up against him that getting up seemed futile.

Apparently she was a heavy sleeper. He was able to gently withdraw his arm and check his phone.

Twenty-nine messages.

My man! It’s that Professor vibe you give off now. You got game.

Spence, Morgan told me you picked up a girl? Are you back in the game? Use protection! -JJ

Spencie!! OMG!! Do you like her? What color are her eyes? Does she like Doctor Who? When’s her birthday? What type of-

He pressed clear all, deleting the messages and getting dressed. He had his first class at seven-thirty and he really needed to shower and change. But he didn’t wanna leave Y/N.

Pulling out a notecard from his wallet, he scribbled her a quick note, kissed her on the forehead, and slipped out the door, locking it before it closed.

He was halfway home before he understood the weight behind what he’d done. He’d had sex with a twenty-year-old that he’d met outside a club. And he’d planned to meet with her again. 

What the fuck was he doing?

~

He made it to his office just in time, surprised to see that it had already been set up for him.

The desk was a dark chestnut, bits and baubles placed around it to make him feel at home. There was some paperwork in the center that he’d deal with later. Right now, he had a class to teach.

He opened the door to the lecture hall and walked in, briefly daunted by the sea of faces staring at him.

Come on Spencer, it’s just like a guest lecture.

“Hello, class.”

“Hello.”

Spencer found himself smiling at the way all of the students had chimed in. This wouldn’t be too weird.

“Please take out your laptops and create a new word document. Once you’ve done that, open your email, please.”

As the students scrambled to follow instructions, he perused their faces, making note of expressions, seat choice, and enthusiasm level.

Then his confidence flew out the window.

Seated next to a redhead in the fourth row was the unmistakable shocked expression of -

Y/N?

~

~

notes: so i am no longer doing taglists im really really sorry it’s just way too much of a hassle. BUT i pretty much only post fanfic and don’t really reblog stuff or get a lot of asks soooo if you wanna check for new content, it’ll be on my blog! sorry again <3

[missed-connections-of-fear]

oh yeah i should probably to tell you this

"a fledgling god" is what the thing on kierans blog is after. they just call it Him. He came through the breach and "kieran" just followed

this is one of the answers they gave me

"I have not harmed anyone yet. I don't WANT to harm anyone, but I don't want to AVOID harm, either. Make of that what you will.

I want Him. I want to find Him. I have already told you WHAT He is, and you have all the information available at your disposal to find out WHO He is. He came through the breach your Archivist made, and I followed after. It's because of Him that I was able to find this world in the first place.

After I find Him, I will have the ability to decide what happens next. What that means... I need help with. It's up to you. I am a creature of a particular nature with particular needs. If I cannot find that in this world, I will move on to the next through whatever available breach I find.

Coming to me means that you will have a say in what happens next. I will give you a fair decision. He will not. He has no idea what He can do. That's not why I want to find Him, to be clear.

To give some perspective: He hollowed what I can only assume used to be your Kieran out like a jack-o-lantern, and I imagine He didn't even know He was doing it until after it was done."

this is what they told me about What Remains

"No, I don't know what they are. They are attached to this place in some way, and they can... influence some things. Here, that is. Not their house. I doubt they have long. I wouldn't call them particularly important."

i asked if WR is what happened when He came through

"I imagine so, yes. I don't know how, though. Doesn't really affect anything to know."

what is going to happen to them, to their minds, while they are helping you?

"Nothing outside of what was already in their own nature. The only ones who will come to me are those that want to. MY nature is simply to call out."

so yeah

im gonna try to keep you up to date

Thanks for translating for us. I've lost track of how many separate "people" there are running around, but it sounds like two main threats. There's the first one who came through- Him, who is something similar to the Entities who wants to feed on this world (possibly the mirror man?) Then there's the one who runs Kieran's blog who is speaking here, and who is looking for Him, and maybe wants to change the world into something else. They took over the original Kieran's body, which also seems to be speaking separately to us as What Remains. It sounds like that part is dying out or else the line between them is getting blurrier.

This thing that runs the blog kinda reminds me of the Distortion. She (it?) was a guest speaker in one of the classes in my domain and a lot of what she said about her identity seems similar to this. I wonder if this new being will take another face soon?

I guess it also draws in other people? I'm going to have to look into that, especially with the counter on their blog going up.

- Max