#musing in the tags again whoops

[likeswallowstosea]

rosalie (a mini playlist)

share at least five songs that you associate with or remind you of your muse! tagged by: @gccdwitch (thank you, ily 💕💕💕) tagging: @cheapxseats, @hcpemikaelscn, @crowdedmidnight, @knifepcrty (please feel free to ignore if you don't want to though! <3 )

Positive Spin - Gretta Ray

Stretch marks on my thighs So easy to spiral Solely reading books by women Preach them like the bible I want to make a change Be known as unique, fit the brief, make the grade all in a day Got success on my mind Mid-twenties are manic Who'd have thought that it'd be trendy to suppress your panic? I want to take control To pick up the pace and hit the brakes all at once Would somebody take this pressure off?

Brand New - Ben Rector

Like when I close my eyes And don't even care if anyone sees me dancing Like I can fly And I don't even think I'm touching the ground Like a heartbeat skip Like an open page Like a one-way trip on an aeroplane It's the way that I feel when I'm with you Brand new

Natalie - McKenna Grace

She's got something about her It's easy when you're around her Big smile and dark eyes you get lost in She's the first on the dance floor Watch her laugh, the kind you would fall for She'll always be there when you're calling She'll hold your hand in the crowd (Ah-ah-ah-ah) The kind of girl you'd write a song about

Hard to Love - OSTON

I used to think that it was hard to love, hard to love Hard to love me But really, love is driving home from the bar late at night While you're crying in the backseat And even then, it feels so hard to love, hard to love Hard to love me But when you think about it, not everyonе's gonna love you But I wish somebody told me

I’m Trying (Not Friends) - Maisie Peters

Three shots, lemon drops One for being lost and alone in your early twenties One for being obsessed with someone who puts you secondary One for calling guys with guitars in a cemetery Just me? Okay If I'm being frank, I want a "sorry" but I'll settle for a handshake 'Cause I'm the baby but I'm gonna be the bigger man, babe So many blank slates I could build a whole fucking house

[onceuponamillennia]

do you ever realise you are alive and then start just violently sobbing but like in a really good /pos way

[seabirdtxt]

.Irminsul Push/Pull

You, the Creator, experience your first day with the world's weirdest roommates. [< prev] [Blog tag] [next >]

Notes: SAGAU, reader is the Creator but no cult shenanigans. mild swearing. very gentle puppet bullying, it's probably the cain instinct or smth. all relationships are currently platonic!

WC. 1.8k

----- ⚘ -----

You’re not super sure what you thought telepathic communication was going to feel like, probably assuming you would hear the voice of the other person saying their message out loud in your head.

In reality, it ends up being more like receiving a text message. In all caps. In your head.

GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE.

You sit up in your bed with a frown when the message suddenly crosses your mind. You check outside the mansion’s window, deeming it to be relatively early in the morning. Curious, you slide out from under the covers and shuffle your way downstairs.

Your curiosity quickly turns to irritation as you hear the sound of tools being thrown and voices arguing coming from the direction of Kabukimono’s room, the only currently inhabited room on the ground floor. 

You slowly push open the unlatched door and quickly duck to avoid a flying object—what is that? a pair of tongs?—that was aimed somewhere in the vicinity of your head. 

“- told you you can’t cook on the forge!” Kabukimono shouts, whiny and furiously stomping around, tossing loose tools around the room. Scaramouche is standing a little ways away from him, holding a bowl of ingredients with a bored look on his face.

“It’s a heat source, isn’t it?” The Balladeer asks, rolling his eyes. “If I can light it on fire, it can cook things.”

“No you can’t! I have to keep it way too hot to cook things,” Kabukimono scolds him, brandishing a metal poker in his direction. “And if you get food crumbs and oil in it, it might affect the quality of the metal! I won’t let you use it, and that’s final!”

“What else am I supposed to use, then?” Scaramouche growls, gesturing widely. “It’s not like this genius Creator of yours, in their boundless wisdom, made a kitchen.”

Whoops. Your eyes scan the room, surveying the damage, until your gaze lands on a terrified Cuppy hiding under a coat rack behind you, close to the door.

“Hey, buddy,” you whisper, inching closer to him. “D’you think you can turn one of the ground floor rooms into a kitchen really quick?”

The little teacup spirit nods frantically and disappears in a puff of smoke, presumably to fulfill your request as fast as possible. 

You look around the room again and spot Wanderer hovering above the other two, one leg crossed over the other in a pose hilariously similar to Ei when she’d been meditating in the Plane of Euthymia. You wave to catch his attention, and he looks over at you with a wry expression before zooming over to where you are.

“About time you got here,” he snarks, landing delicately beside you. “These idiots have been going at it for about twenty minutes now.” 

“I just asked Cuppy to make one of the rooms a kitchen,” you tell him. “I totally forgot about that, I don’t usually make a kitchen inside the Traveler’s teapot, so…”

“Yeah, you use the outdoor one, right?” 

You nod, having briefly forgotten that Wanderer had seen your layout of the Traveler’s realm before. As you’re musing on this, Wanderer darts forward and smacks the underside of Scaramouche’s bowl, causing it to escape the Balladeer’s grasp and sending ingredients flying in all directions, much to Kabukimono’s displeasure. 

“What the- why would you do that?!” Kabukimono wails, his argument interrupted. “Look at this mess! Niwa would have a heart attack if he saw this!” 

“Half of this garbage is yours,” Scaramouche points out, expression thunderous as he picks up one of the smaller prongs on the ground and uses it to take a swing at Wanderer, who takes to the air and floats out of reach with a smirk. 

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” Wanderer says with a shrug. “I was just getting so sick of hearing you guys whining like babies for no reason.” 

“Okay, and you needed to waste perfectly good ingredients, why?” Scaramouche snaps, bending to pick up his now empty bowl and waving it at Wanderer threateningly, visibly restraining himself from flying off the handle.

“Because it’s not like you were gonna actually use them,” Wanderer snaps back. “I am you, and I know for a fact that you can barely make cup noodles if someone else did the preparation for you.” 

Scaramouche quickly turns red in the face as Kabukimono laughs at him, so you step in before another argument can break out.

“Guys, come on, I think Cuppy finished making a kitchen,” you say placatingly, hands outstretched and palms up. The three puppets look at you with varying levels of skepticism. 

You lead the way out of the trashed room, picking one of the other doors at random and hoping that it’s the one Cuppy chose. Mentally keeping your fingers crossed, you turn the knob and open the door, and freeze in the doorway, prompting at least two of the puppets to peer over your shoulder at the scene inside.

Cuppy did, indeed, choose this room. It’s one of the Mondstat-themed bedrooms, and what the teacup spirit did was put a single stove in the middle of the room and replace the bookshelves with jars and cupboards. Everything else about the decor, including the bed, carpet, and wardrobe, is the exact same.

Wanderer can’t seem to help himself about this, either, and bursts out laughing. 

“You call this a kitchen?” Scaramouche asks, pointing at the lonely stove sitting beside the Mond-style bed frame. 

“I think he did a great job,” you try, covering your mouth with one hand to hide your amused grin. Thankfully, it seems Cuppy made his escape as soon as he renovated, because he’s nowhere to be seen. 

“I don’t get it,” Kabukimono says, and you can feel him pushing someone (Scaramouche) behind you to see the rest of the room, to the person’s (Scaramouche’s) protests. “What’s so funny? A good stove and a well-stocked pantry is more than okay.” 

“And,” you interject through your repressed giggles, eager to defend your little teacup spirit. “Having a bed nearby just means you can lay back and relax while you wait for your food to cook!” 

“Are you serious right now? It’s just a stove in the middle of a bedroom!” Scaramouche protests, pushing you aside and stomping into the room. He points at the stove, and then at the carpet it’s sitting on. “This cannot be safe, right? This breaks all kinds of safety regulations.” 

“We’ll just move it aside, it’s fine,” you say, hoping to diffuse the situation. 

“It’s understandable,” Kabukimono agrees. “It’s not like he’s seen a proper kitchen before, right?”

Even Wanderer stops laughing as the three of you stare owlishly at Kabukimono, who shuffles nervously under the attention.

“What?” Kabukimono asks defensively. 

“I actually hadn’t thought of that,” you mutter, hands on your hips as you survey the room with new consideration. “He is pretty small, and who knows if he ventured outside of the realm before…” 

The other two remain silent, seemingly contemplating Kabukimono’s words but not voicing their opinions on it.

IS IT BAD THAT I FEEL BAD FOR LAUGHING?

You hide your flinch well, the sudden message scaring you out of your own thoughts. You steal a glance at Wanderer out of the corner of your eye, where he’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He doesn’t look you in the eye, instead pretending to be very interested with the shelf of ingredients near him.

‘I think that's just normal’ you think, hoping he somehow receives your thoughts as well. ‘I didn’t think of it either, so we’re all kinda wrong…’

While you’re distracted, Scaramouche has already started lighting the stove, having kicked aside the offending carpet, and browses the shelves for ingredients. He knocks on a few of the jars with a frown.

“... These are all empty.” He finally evaluates. 

“Yeah, that tracks, I don’t actually own anything yet,” you nod. “Everything I’ve ever collected is probably still with the Traveler.”

“Presumably they’d be willing to part with some of their stash,” Wanderer adds sarcastically. “I don’t think they really need several thousand of each ingredient they own.” 

“I mean, you never know, right?” You chuckle nervously, thinking of all the bag space your farming must have taken up. How does the Traveler’s inventory work outside of a game-mechanic perspective? You suppose you’re going to find out soon enough. 

“If you’re going out to get stuff, I’m coming with you,” Scaramouche declares, crossing his arms as if daring you to refuse his company. “No way am I staying in here with these guys.” 

You shrug, and Wanderer doesn’t protest either. “Yeah, that’s fine with me. I’ll head out now so we have time to sort and put everything away before lunch.” 

“Bold of you to assume we’re going to get anything done before lunch,” Wanderer mutters, herding Kabukimono out of the ‘kitchen’, promising the other puppet to help him clean up the mess in his room. 

“Are you ready to head out?” You ask Scaramouche, ignoring the jibe. You hold out your hand, which the Balladeer reluctantly takes, and you will yourselves out of the teapot realm.

You materialize in one of the alcoves of the Sanctuary of Surasthana, briefly disoriented by the change in location until you see Nahida and Aranyani sitting on the central dais, seemingly having a quiet conversation. Nahida spots you first, waving cheerfully at you both.

“Your Grace! Balladeer! Apologies for relocating you, but we decided that the chamber of Irminsul should remain uninhabited for now,” she explains, hands clasped together. “After all, it’s too easy to stumble and damage one of the branches of information, and I would hate for any of you to blame yourselves if that kind of accident were to happen.” 

“That’s fair, thanks for doing that for us!” you smile at her thoughtfulness. Still holding Scaramouche’s hand, you lead the two of you down to the central part of the chamber. “Do you know where the Traveler is? We wanted to ask if they could spare some of the materials I had collected from before I came here.” 

“Yes, we saw the Traveler earlier, but they went to fetch some people that Nahida recommended,” Aranyani says, picking up Nahida under her arms and putting the small god in her lap. Nahida doesn’t react, still smiling as Aranyani begins to play with her hair.

“Recommended for what?” Scaramouche asks before you get the chance to. You elbow him subtly, a warning to watch his tone. 

“To help us figure out how and why you’ve descended to Teyvat, Your Grace!” Nahida claps her hands together. “It will be good to know in case you need to go back home, or if you wish to return here from your world!”

You nod, grateful at the prospect of having that option. “Who did you call in for this?”

Aranyani cheerfully answers this for you: “The General Mahamatra, and a scholar named Alhaitham!” 

You share a quick look with Scaramouche.

“The linguistics guy, and the cop…?” You ask, with a slight wince.

“I don’t think you’re figuring this one out anytime soon.”

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.6k

Pairing: Ifrit/Rain, mentions of Ifrit/Dewdrop/Rain

Tags: Public Masturbation, Semi-public blowjobs, possessive behavior, Cuckolding, kink denial on Dew's part but it's fine he's fine it's fine they're all fine.

Summary:

"Dewdrop." He finishes stupidly.

Rain shrugs, a strap of his camisole falling down one shoulder with the motion.

"My Dewdrop…" he muses, tracing patterns on Ifrit's thigh. "I like the sound of that."

Ifrit doesn't remember how the night began and he's certain he won't remember how it ends but that doesn't matter right now. Right now he's got a nice buzz going, a nice grassy spot under a tree to stare at the sky and his hand wrapped around his cock because hey. Why not.

If he concentrates, he can hear the others by the bonfire, still whooping and hollering as they dance and fight and fuck. He could join them but that would mean moving more than just his hand across his dick and he's not really feeling it right now. More interested in feeling himself. Maybe one of the others will stumble across, offer their own hand or mouth or even more but for now, Ifrit's intent on a little self-love.

There's no point in saying he's not vain because he absolutely is. This physical form had been good-looking to start with and when he found out he could modify it? Just by moving around or getting inked up? Siblings were practically lining up at the gate for his, heh, personal attention in the gym as a trainer. He was completely focused and professional during classes. But once that session was up? They knew where to find him.

Wasn't just the human Clergy either. Mist liked it when he wrestled with her, winner take all. Alpha needed the occasional beatdown too and Omega was perfect for when he wanted his ankles by his ears and a fat cock pushing so far into his guts he could taste it.

Just thinking about it made a pretty pearl of cum bead up from his tip. He smears it over the ruddy head with his thumb, rolls his hips as he toys with the slit and thinks about the others.

Dew was so cute to rile up. He could get spitting mad over some teasing and all Ifrit would have to do was look down and see where all the blood went. Only made the little guy madder, but all Ifrit had to do to apologize was kiss it until it was all better and the flush on Dew’s face was from pleasure and not fury.

Been a while since they hooked up, Ifrit thinks. A little bittersweetness lies in the memories, how Dew had found himself wrapped up in a new role and a new pack while Ifrit was left behind but he doesn't hold a grudge. Just wishes they could meet up again, see if he still has a temper or he’s gotten it under control. Ifrit's seen the way that multi-ghoul needles him, nothing short of a masterpiece there. He’d love to team up with him to make Dew cry sometime and his cock throbs in agreement.

Then there's that pretty water ghoul. Rain. Ifrit's been dying to get to know him all kinds of ways. See if he gets as wet as Dew used to, before his transition. He saw the two of them earlier, before the party really got going and okay, they looked good together. Dew looked downright snappy whenever someone tried to lure Rain away and that was just adorable. Like a dragon angrily guarding the first shiny trinket of its horde.

Monogamy isn't really a thing to the ghouls. Why would it be? Still, sometimes they can get possessive over each other. Dew's definitely got the worst case of it Ifrit's ever seen over Rain. He'd curled himself tight around the water ghoul, scenting him something fierce. Ifrit could pick it up from halfway across the field. And okay, it was a little cute. New love, and all that.

He blinks. Right, that's how he came to be here pumping his dick. He got so caught up in the vision of Dew and Rain and their entangled limbs, combined with the noises of a few threesomes happening, his mind laid out a beautiful picture of himself sandwiched between the two of them. Maybe he could coach Rain on how best to rile up Dew, get his little cock as red as his face. What to say to make his brow furrow even as he huffs out a too-quick orgasm.

Speaking of…

His balls already tight, Ifrit lets himself go and sighs at the way it aches when he does. He's got better stamina but he's been here a while, whatever he drank is working its dirty little magic on him and the night is still young. Wouldn't want to wear himself out too quickly.

If he listens, he can hear Mist crying in that perfect way she does when someone's licking her cunt and someone else is doing her gills. Belial, she's cute. Maybe he just has a thing for water ghouls, but who wouldn't with all their sensitivities and tendencies to get so wet. Maybe he should get up and join them, attack her gills from the other side and really get her going, get a few fingers stuffed up her cunt, make her squirt like she always does. His hand wraps around himself again and before he knows it, he's got his tongue in Rain's gills instead, frenching him from the inside while he bounces on Ifrit's lap, claws digging into his shoulders. Feeling Rain gasp for air as he creams around Ifrit's cock, Dew’s eyes dark with fury.

“You look like you're having fun.” Comes a soft voice and Ifrit chuckles, squeezing the base of his cock.

“Just thinking about you.” He says honestly, cracking his eye to peer at Rain. He looks good tonight. Always looks good but this is the first time Ifrit's seen him in something other than his uniform, a pair of light blue shorts that skim the tops of his thighs and a sleeveless shirt with thin straps and thinner fabric. Ifrit’s eyes lazily slide up and then firmly look back down, no shame. Dew’s not here to hiss and snarl, Ifrit's going to take advantage. As much as Rain will let him.

“We’ve never been properly introduced.” Rain muses, coming closer. “I know your name though. Seen you around. Seen some footage.”

“Do you like what you see?” Ifrit asks, angling himself so Rain can get an eyeful of his body, toned muscles and cock on full display. Like before. He's not shy about his own vanity. He half expects his confidence to intimidate the quiet water ghoul but Rain…Rain laughs at him. No one's ever laughed at Ifrit before.

He doesn't know if he likes it or not.

“Dew said you were cocky.” He drops to his hands and knees, tail coiling behind him. His eyes narrow as he comes up between Ifrit's thighs and smiles with a little too much fang for comfort. “He wouldn't be happy if he knew I was with you.”

“Then why are you here anyway?” Ifrit asks bluntly, trying to regain a foothold in the strange shift that he's pretty sure just happened.

“Because sometimes it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” Rain tells him with a nip to his skin that sends Ifrit reeling. No way this is happening. He can still smell Dew on Rain's clothes, smoke and anger and lust. So much lust.

"Isn't Dewdrop your, uh…" Boyfriend is the first word that comes to mind but it doesn't feel right. Too human, too exclusive. Packmate would be the best option yet it still feels too casual for whatever the hell those two have going on. He and Dew were packmates and they were never so touchy-feely as he is with Rain. He vaguely remembers Dew getting a little weird about Aether when he was first summoned but it still had nothing on how he behaved now. Rain seems to humor it and continue to do his own thing when Dew's not looking but he still doesn't want to get on the little guy's bad side and ruin any possibilities.

"Dewdrop." He finishes stupidly.

Rain shrugs, a strap of his camisole falling down one shoulder with the motion.

"My Dewdrop…" he muses, tracing patterns on Ifrit's thigh. "I like the sound of that."

His fingers tickle dangerously high and Ifrit squirms against the tree.

"Well," Rain continues thoughtfully, casually wrapping his hand around the base of Ifrit's cock, hiding the sudden flare of his tattoos as he begins to stroke him slowly. "My Dewdrop said he didn't want you touching me. So don't touch me. And we'll be alright."

Ifrit feels far from alright at this moment in time, but then Rain's bowing to dab his soft tongue to the underside and he can't find it in him to argue. The first gentle lap hits him harder than a punch, the second, somehow even worse. Rain entertains himself with Ifrit's cock like he's got all the time in the world; sliding the foreskin to and fro over the ridge, mouthing at the tip and going even lower to fit both of Ifrit's balls in his mouth. Going back up and rubbing his cheek against the head to smear the beads of pre cum all across his face.

"These are pretty," he remarks, so casual as if he was admiring a garden or a display of jewelry. Ifrit doesn't even know what he's talking about at first until Rain starts tracing the outline of his tattoos with his tongue. He got them done months ago, glyphs written and designed to further pleasure a partner. Maybe one or two thrown in so no matter how he thrusts, he always hits the best spots.

"Enchanted?" He asks, looking at Ifrit with his dark eyes, pressing a kiss to the shaft. Ifrit nods stupidly, fingers curling in the grass to keep from grabbing Rain's head and pushing him down again, make that pretty mouth drool with how Ifrit would fuck it.

"Thought so." Rain says with satisfaction. "I like the way it tingles when I touch them. Must feel good to get fucked by a cock like this."

"I've had no complaints." Ifrit gasps as Rain lays his tongue flat to slap his cock against it. He's such an active participant in his past flings that it feels off-putting to just sit here and let himself be…be toyed with. He doesn't even think Rain's blinked once since settling between his thighs and it's unnerving.

"When Dew calms down a bit," Rain starts, moving Ifrit's cock this way and that to admire all of his tattoos as they glow. "With this whole possessive thing. Maybe I'll ride it."

"Fuh-" Ifrit hisses as a large blurt of precum oozes out of his slit. Rain drinks it down then goes even further, opening his jaw for Ifrit to easily slide in without grazing any fangs. "Fucking, oh, oh that's good."

He's so pent up from touching himself earlier, thinking he wouldn't have to worry about stamina. Now he's got Rain making the sweetest, choked noises as he fucks his face on Ifrit's dick, nice and sloppy, getting his saliva all over Ifrit's balls while he gags on it. Ifrit's tearing up handfuls of grass as Rain brutalizes his own throat, moaning and trying to stifle his moans at the same time, lest Dewdrop catch them in the act and get royally pissed off.

Rain would probably just kiss him with a mouth of Ifrit's cum, his brain offers up and it's over.

He cums with a pained noise, faster than he'd like to but again he’d been working himself up decently beforehand and if he knew Rain was going to go to town on him, he would have saved his stamina. He tries to warn Rain with a stuttered exclamation as his body locks up. Rain just pulls away to tug at his cock and Ifrit starts praying Rain will put it back in his mouth and swallow but he keeps pumping his hand at first. Aims so the first spray lands thick over his eyelashes, the second glossing his full lips, smearing the head around before kissing it and pushing down to take Ifrit in, letting him finish directly down his tight throat.

“Fuck!” Ifrit shouts, hitting his head on the tree when he throws it back, trying to fuck Rain's mouth for the last few flexes of his cock. Rain keeps still, lets his jaw hang open as Ifrit pushes his cum back in as it drools out, relishing the slide of Rain’s tongue on his skin even as he slips into oversensitivity and the friction is too much. Rain lets him go with a final kiss and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he sits up tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. Ifrit's cum is dabbed off Rain’s eyelashes with his ring finger, also licked clean. There's something almost feline about him as he does it, looking so beautiful in the fractured moonlight coming down from between the branches.

"Can I," Ifrit starts. "Do you…anything?" He sounds stupid to himself and can't even imagine what he sounds like to Rain, staring down at him with a passive, unreadable expression.

"I already got mine." He says carelessly, flopping back and spreading his thighs to show off the wet fabric of his tight little shorts clinging to his cunt. Ifrit swallows thickly, eyes riveted on the way he drags his fingers softly over it. He can see the way they bump over the shape of his swollen clit and Ifrit moans right along with Rain when he rubs the tip of it.

"Swiss and Aether." He tells Ifrit, a subtle lift at the corners of his mouth. He raises a leg and uses the motion to flip himself over, lifting his tail to reveal another damp spot just underneath that's slowly drooled out enough cum to combine with the first one.

"Mountain."

Ifrit practically convulses with the longing stab of arousal the sight gives him, wheezing as Rain wiggles his shorts down to give him a better look at his well-used holes, swaying his hips and letting them gape for the briefest of moments, before shimmying his clothes back on and doing something elegant and twisted that results in him standing up, hand on his hip. Looking down at Ifrit with an amused little smile.

“Dew always forgives me if I confess everything. Helps to give him a demonstration too…So he knows what he missed out on.” It's said in such a blaisè tone for all the heavy implications in the words, Ifrit can't quite believe what he just heard. Just stares open mouthed at Rain with his soft cock wilting against his thigh and his ears ringing. Rain covers his laugh and leans close. Lets Ifrit get a nice view of his tits down his top as he takes two fingers, the two he'd touched himself with, and pets Ifrit's tongue. Before he knows what he's doing, he closes his lips around them and sucks, shivering at the faint taste of salt and sex.

“You're cute.” Rain says. “I hope I get to play with you again.”

He tries to say something but what exactly he wants to say he doesn't know. It just comes out as a stupid little uh-huh around Rain’s fingers as he withdraws them. He chases them but then Rain’s giving him a little head shake, wiping them on Ifrit's cheek and he falls back, defeated and stunned. Rain giving him that mischievous little smile the whole time.

“See you ‘round.” He says, tapping those same two fingers against his eyebrows, giving Ifrit a lazy salute. The fingers go from his temple to his mouth, where Rain spreads them and licks lasciviously in between with a wicked little wink before turning and walking off, leaving Ifrit to stare at the way his hips swing in well fucked and insouciant little half circles. How he's not limping is beyond anyone's guess.

“Damn…” he wheezes, head hitting the trunk. “Just… damn.”

What a night.

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Rough Road ||

Frank Castle x female Reader.

Tags/warnings: 'annoying acquaintances of circumstance' to lovers, fingering, oral (f rec), unprotected sex (wrap in RL!), swears 😯

Author's note: This is for the TFC December fic challenge 'Snowed In', so check the tags for more!

If you enjoy my fics please consider reblogging, it means others get to enjoy them too! Thank you so much for reading! 💕

"I think we should try and find somewhere to pull over." you say to Frank. You had been driving for hours and the snow was coming down harder now.

"Mm, I'm pretty sure there's a motel about 15 miles ahead, we can make it, get a couple of rooms and start again in the morning." He replies, concentrating on the road.

You stare up through the windscreen at the neverending horizonless thick grey-white of the sky and the flurry of heavy flakes building up on the road ahead of you. "I don't think we'll make it that far."

Sure enough after another couple miles the road became impassable, you had hardly seen any other cars ahead of you or coming the other way for most of the drive. It was gonna get dark fairly soon.

"Shit." Frank says simply, turning off the ignition after he stopped the van at the side of the road.

"Thank fuck I've got cell service" you say, "I'm gonna call for a truck."

While you were on the phone Frank checked his paper maps for the nearest habitations, but there was nothing that warranted risking trying to walk through a snowstorm at night.

"Okay, the rescue company is dealing with shitloads of people in similar situations and 'cos we've got a van and some supplies they're saying we're further down the list. Earliest they could get to us is tomorrow morning."

"Alright, well they'll probably have cleared the roads by then. Guess that ain't too bad. Just gotta hunker down for the night."

You kicked at the dash in frustration. "Urgh. I told you we should've left after the storm, now we're stuck here in your stupid van, which stinks by the way."

"Stinks?" He screwed up his face in disbelief. "What of? I keep it clean!"

"Of you!"

"Listen, as much as you're a complete pain in my ass it was too dangerous to wait in the city any longer. Now the Russians associate you with me…"

You threw your head back against the rest and sighed. "Yeah. I know. Just gotta lay low for a while." you parroted.

"This ain't exactly my idea of heaven either sweetheart."

You hated when he called you that. Even though it was just an automatic thing for him and it didn't mean anything it really annoyed you. He reached into the back bringing out a pack of cards from the seemingly random selection of shit he had squirreled away there. "Imagine you don't wanna talk about what happened, so it's this or I-Spy."

You groaned and nodded as you whiled away an hour or so playing blackjack until your hungry stomach noises got too loud to ignore.

"Alright, chicken or beef sub?" he asked, diving into the backpack.

You chose the chicken.

"Damn, this is really good. You pick them up before we left? Where from?"

"Made em." He replied, taking a bite of his own.

"Huh." You mused, digging in again.

"Surprised I can make a sandwich?" He scoffs.

You shrug. "Surprised you can make a good sandwich. Guess being ex-marine you gotta have some talents."

"You got no idea." He throws you a wink as he takes a sip of coffee from the thermos and you roll your eyes.

After another hour of whooping his ass at blackjack and a lightning quick excursion into the nearby trees and back to relieve yourself, your yawns and heavy eyelids make it clear that you're gonna have to go to sleep at some point soon.

"Does one of us, uh, need to keep watch or something?" You ask him, watching as he crawls into the back of the van and starts digging out a mat, a singular sleeping bag and blanket.

"Nah. Even if they did send someone to follow us ain't nobody getting through this, we're safe enough." He rolled out the bag and caught your awkward look.

You wrapped your arms around you, it was getting cold now the residual heat from the van had disappated. "So… just the one lot of bedding then?"

He nods. "Yeah, usually just me in here y'know, with all my stank."

You rolled your eyes again. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

He has to resist the urge to let you panic about sleeping beside him for a while longer, he's not that cruel. "It's okay, you can have it. I'll be alright up front." He sees your visible relief as you process what he's said, nodding and rummaging in your pack for the toothbrush and toiletries you'd thankfully picked up at your last gas stop, there having been no time to grab anything but the absolute ultimate essentials before you left.

The thick layer of snow that had built up around and on top of the van probably provided quite a bit of insulation, but that didn't exactly stop you from being fucking freezing. You tried to snuggle up deeper into the sleeping bag, all your clothes and a beanie on and the blanket on the top, but you were still cold. You tilted your head up to glance at Frank in the passenger seat, still awake with his jacket on and arms wrapped around himself tight, the occasional puff of his breath misting the air.

"You awake?" You ask, already knowing he was.

"Yeah. You alright?"

"Cold."

"Yeah."

The silence between you seemed to stretch on forever. You pull the blanket tighter around you.

Fuck it. "Uh, if you want, you could come back here, share the blanket? And y'know, body heat will help I guess."

"Thought you couldn't stand my stink?" He throws back at you.

"Well, the cold is kinda trumping that, but it's fine if you don't wanna… just thought it is your stuff after all, don't wanna put you out of your own van."

"Nah, s'good idea." he agrees, climbing into the back with you. You shiver at the initial chill as he lifts the edge of the blanket to lie next to you, your back to his. His jacket is cold against you but after a while you began to warm up, stopping your shivering and finding yourself drifting easily to sleep.

When you wake up it's still dark but you're warm, hot even. As you gradually gain a bit more consciousness you realise that the reason is because Frank has you in a bear hug. He must have turned around in his sleep. His arm is draped over you, big hand splayed over your stomach pulling you impossibly close to him. The only skin contact is his nose at the back of your neck, the warm exhales tickling the light hair there.

It's… pleasant, maybe even something more. He actually smells good. You smile to yourself thinking about the juxtaposition of this killing machine, this angry guard dog let off the chain being a big soft snuggly puppy of a man behind closed doors.

You shift slightly in his hold and then freeze.

Okay, maybe not so soft…

Despite the layers of clothing and a sleeping bag between you, it's unmistakable that it's his cock that's hard and pressing against your ass. You try to rationalise. It's just a normal bodily response after all, but do you dare move? What if he wakes up and it gets awkward, you've got a lot of driving still to do if this snow ever clears…

Any control is taken away from you as Frank stretches momentarily and then wraps you even tighter in his arms, his nose nuzzling into your skin and hips slowly grinding against you with a quiet contented moan. He suddenly stops, pulls away as he wakes and realises where he is, where you are, and what he's doing.

"Shit, fuck…" he turns away from you as he sits up scrubbing his hand over his face. "I'm sorry, I uh… it's uh, been a while since… y'know?"

The blanket rustles softly as you shrug.

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-" He cuts himself off as his eyes adjust to the darkness, his ears registering the sound of the sleeping bag zip being opened and his gaze finding the smallest glimmer of soft light reflected in your own.

"It's okay. S'been a while for me too," you admit. This might be the stupidest decision you've ever made when it comes to sex, or even when it comes to roadtrips, but you can't seem to override it. Not when he looks at you like that, smells like that, makes you feel like that. He saved your life but you don't think that's all it is.

You slough off your defensive dislike and begin to embrace something that at least feels real.

His face is a picture in the dim snow-reflected light within the van as you reach for him, pulling his warmth and his lips towards you. He's taken aback, but his hand cups your jaw and you find yourself surprised by the tenderness with which his mouth meets your own. You don't waste a second, catching his wrist and guiding him down to palm over your chest, quickly leading his hand under the waistband of your pants so he can feel just how much he's affected you in this short space of time. It's like you're trying not to have the time to think about it. You both carry ghosts from your past that you've never openly shared, but you know, simply from the slight hesitation in his touch even as you urge him on.

The tender kisses soon heat up. "Call me sweetheart again." You breathe against his mouth, and he groans deep as his fingers meet with the wetness at your core. Your own hands explore underneath his jacket, fingers feeling the hard muscle of his chest under his shirt. You reach down to cup his cock through his jeans and then tug at them, moaning as he hurries to unbutton your pants so he can swipe his fingers through your slick folds. His mouth is on your skin, hungry to taste more of you as you scrabble to undo his pants too, urging them and his underwear down just enough to free his gloriously erect cock. He helps you wriggle halfway out of your pants too and now you're jacking each other off like a couple of teenagers, his fingers slippery and desperate over your throbbing clit, and yours covered with sticky precum as you wrap your hand around and stroke him.

"Oh shit…" you whine, as he skillfully brings you closer to the edge, your hips moving against his hand as he watches you. You forget the cold, gasping as he slips a finger inside you, your grip tightening around his cock making him grunt in such a delicious way that you can't help the words spilling from your lips.

"Frank, fuck me, please!" You're begging, you've never begged for anything other than to stay alive, but you need this, you want to feel him inside you, there's nothing else that will satisfy the ache.

He pauses, staring at you like you've just proposed or something. It takes him a hot minute to register what you're saying, but once those words sear into his brain he moves fast, lips sucking and kissing at the skin of your neck like a brand as he yanks your pants all the way down and off, his mouth following. He pushes up your shirt when he gets to the hem, his tongue trailing right up the centerline of your body to your bra where he mouths over the curve of your breasts before pulling down a cup. You arch your back as he takes your peaked nipple between his lips before he continues downward.

You claw at his shoulders as his nose bumps at the front of your underwear, just giving your clit the barest pressure, teasing you instead of giving you what you need, but you soon change your mind as he hooks his fingers under the elastic pulling them off you so he can bury his face in your pussy. He presses your thighs apart, holding you down as your hips try to rise up to meet the mind melting sensation of his tongue on you, in you. You moan, curse, and praise him as he quickly stokes your need and desire into a sharp dense point where you can do nothing else but implode in on yourself, screaming his name as he makes you feel.

He rises from between your thighs, licking his glistening lips with a small smile. It looks good on him.

"You alright, sweetheart?"

"Getting warmer, could be better." You throw back as you catch your breath and return the smile, yanking him back over you and using your feet to help him push his pants all the way off. When you take him in your hand again his gaze flits between your eyes and your mouth, which he claims in a hot kiss as you guide him to you, reveling in the feeling of the head of his thick cock spearing inside your heat.

"God damn." is all he can say, and you can only agree as he repeats it like a mantra as the slow slide of his cock filling and stretching your cunt has your eyes almost rolling back into your head with a long and loud moan.

You wrap your legs around his waist as he rolls his hips into you, the mental and physical battle he's fighting between going slowly, gently, and pounding you fucking senseless is palpable. He's drawing out sounds that you would never even make when you're alone. It might just be because you haven't had any form of touch from anyone for a long time, but you're more certain that it's all him that's making you flustered, hitting all your spots and stripping you down to a bare wire of being with nothing but his soft dark eyes.

That growling, barking, flesh-ripping fighting dog is still there underneath, you can feel how he holds it inside himself, yanking at the chain and always ready to be released when there's a need. The fact that he's driven you out of the city is proof that he actually cares what the fuck happens to you, and that sort of blows your mind. You could have easily gone alone, you were ready to jump on a Greyhound and make your own way but he wouldn't have it. He made you his responsibility. Yeah he was a killer but he was also a protector. Your protector.

He wasn't much of a talker but with his dick buried inside you he's soon gritting out reams of praise that have you clenching around him and mewling as his hand squeezes over the firm curve of your ass.

"Feel so good girl, s'fucking tight…"

You inhale sharply as he reaches between your hot skin to find your clit and ensure that you feel what he's feeling. Your fingernails graze over his scalp and the short hair at the nape of his neck as you pull him even closer, your second orgasm building up fast as he drives into you over and over.

"Ohh, god-"

"That's it sweet thing," he murmurs against your ear as the indescribable feeling of his cock dragging inside has you both on the very edge. "C'mon angel, such a good girl f'me."

You keen at the praise, something he'd unlocked from your subconscious with the simplest key, something even you didn't know you would react to. "Fuck… you're gonna make me-"

Frank feels you start to shake around him, moving his fingers even faster over that swollen little bundle of nerves. It's too much.

"Shit. You feel too fuckin' good, I gotta-" He moves to pull out suddenly and you claw at his ass stopping him before he does, you'll be damned if you don't feel him come inside you.

You whine as he stills. "Fuck! Don't stop, don't fucking stop…"

He looks for your assurance. "You sure? You want this?" his voice is quieter now, wavering. If you say yes he doesn't know that he'll last.

You nod frantically, tilting your hips up, wrapping your arms around his neck, the movement making him groan as you feel like utter heaven around him. He never thought you could be so soft, so open, needy.

The van rocks gently on its suspension as he resumes, every powerful thrust as he's fucking you punching such beautiful sounds from your throat. He can feel every gripping twitch of your perfect cunt as you begin falling apart underneath him, so tight, hot, and wet and quietly begging him to fill you. Your nails dig into the muscle of his huge shoulders and your mouth falls open, thighs tightening their hold around his waist as your moans crest. Don't stop, you told him, and he briefly wonders how he thought he ever could when you feel like this.

"Good girl, fuck- that's my good girl…" it's whispered and desperate, he's barely holding on by a hair.

The possessiveness in his words makes your eyes scrunch up tight and your body open. His cock is hitting you hard right where you need it, the focused touch of his fingers radiating out and burning you up.

"F-frank I-"

You unravel, crying out as you clench around him again and again as torrents of pleasure rip through your entire body. Your eyes fly open, locked on his, determined to witness how he might follow you into bliss. Your hips buck up chasing his own, his harsh warm breath washing over your skin with a deep, sensual moan as he finally lets go, pulsing inside you, not stopping the slowing, stuttering motion of his thrusts until he's given you absolutely everything he's got.

Laying there still entwined, a deep satisfying rumble from Frank's chest breaks the contrasting near-silence as he carefully rolls you on top of him and strokes his fingers lightly over your cheek and along your jaw, sliding them into your hair as his lips brush yours in a soft kiss.

"Frank..." you hum, your forehead resting on his. You can't stop your small nervous giggle as you're still unsure about what this is.

"Yeah." is all he says in return, his hands gliding down over your bare back and your hips, the sleeping bag and blankets forgotten now that inside the van had become a damn sight warmer. The windows with the covering of snow on the outside almost glow through the misting from your body heat on the inside of the glass. It's like you're trapped in a snowglobe. The image soon shatters as your mind clears from the dreamy fog of what you've just done.

"Shit. I-I'm sorry, I know that you-" you start to explain all the reasons that you know this is just a one-time thing, more for yourself than him, but he stops you before you can reel off the excuses.

"Hey," he says, gently catching your chin in his hand and running his fingers lightly over your skin. "We don't need to do all that shit, y'know?"

You can't help looking anywhere but in his eyes.

"Hey, c'mon, it's okay." He repeats.

You wish he wasn't like this, wish he would be colder with you, go back to the sniping, reluctant, thrown-together partnership, or whatever it was you had before. It takes effort but when you manage to meet the warmth of his gaze it feels like something you could get used to looking at.

"Look, it is what it is, yeah? I'm gonna keep you safe, no matter what."

You nod and allow him to pull you close to his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath and the thump of his heart through his ribcage.

"It is what it is," you murmur, your eyes growing heavy as you melt into sleep.

Frank tags:

@divinearchangel @saintmurd0ck @castlesnchurches @mindidjarin @hellskitchenswhore @pedrito-friskito @sweetieswiftie @shedaresthedevil @freshabogados

@father4giveme @stress--relief @e-dubbc11 @whistle1whistle @tea-and-wine @emiemiemiii @imherefordeanandbones @phoebe-danvers @munsonownsmyass

[pookacangetit]

Mistaken Identity is (Also) a Crime [Double Trouble SAGAU]

-> 《Itto, Klee, Childe》

The conundrum of being twins, except you and your doppelgänger aren't actually twins but everyone treats you as such. This leads to some comedic misunderstandings- and an attempted murder but we don't talk about that .

《Warning: yandere content, blood and Childe lovers beware》

MASTERLIST

ITTO 《TAURUS IRACUNDUS》

The one and oni ranks first in constantly mistaking you and your doppelgänger's identities. It doesn't matter how many time people -ahem, Shinobu- corrected him and pointed out the slight differences between the two of you, if you didn't wear a name tag saying 'The Creator's Twin' the man will tackle and cuddle you until someone manages to pull him off -ahem, Shinobu pt 2-.

... actually, the man would tackle and cuddle you even if you weren't the Creator. You listened to him and genuinely enjoyed his presence, this oni's will find you and bask in your warm presence no matter what! -he backed off when Shinobu held her sandal threateningly though-.

You were walking towards your twin's mansion in Inazuma when your vision began to tilt sideways, a sudden heavy weight crashes into your side as you register Shinobu and the Arataki gang's horrified looks in front of you while you were tackled to the ground.

"CREATOR!!!"

Thank the heavens the mansion was in a secluded area, or else Itto would be immediately arrested by the Tenryou Commission for assaulting the Creator.

Wincing at the sudden tackle, you laid defeated on the ground as the one and oni excitedly blabbered on about his recent beetle fights. Itto's arms were wrapped around your waist in a tight yet gentle grip, your close proximity landed you front row seats to the oni's... impressive assets.

You would be lying if you said you weren't charmed by the oni's personality during his story quest. However, being stuck with a 6 ft man crushing down on your weight was not charming whatsoever.

"- and then, oh you're gonna like this, I pulled out the ultimate weapon, Hurricane Sakura, and won against Shouchi, HIM!! Now look at this sweet stash of dango I won-"

Shinobu, as observant as ever, quickly realised your identity and hurriedly bowed as she moved to pull Itto off you, "Itto, that is not the creator- get off and apologise quickly!"

Itto pouts, and you held back from swooning as the huge oni simply tightens his arms around you, "But Shinobuuu, if I let go they'll disappear again!"

He turned towards you, puppy eyes switched on as he gave you a roguish grin, "You enjoy my presence right? The Arataki gang and I are your aboslute favourites right, I mean obviously because you got me and Mushi and Shinobu and-"

... I am weak for this man. You let out a tired sigh, which Itto took as confirmation as he whooped and swung you around like a limp doll in his excitement.

"ITTO STOP SPINNING THEM, THEY'RE TURNING BLUE-"

KLEE 《TRIFOLIUM》

Klee, like the rest of the child acolytes, did not interact much with the Creator, her moreso due to her... hobbies. Most of her knowledge regarding the Creator comes from her mom's musings -"fufufu~ that lovely darling wouldn't mind joining me on a particular tree-ip would they?-; big brother Albedo's instructions -"Klee I know you mean no harm, but a bomb with the Creator's face on it is a no."-; and the Mondstadt citizens' prayers.

She knows about the body double situation, but she has no means of identifying who's who when she's not very familiar with the doppelgänger to begin with!

While you tend to stick to the wilderness more often than not due to the fear of interacting with your doppelgänger's acolytes and worshippers, the City of Freedom held a special place in your heart since the very beginning.

The vast landscape with it's windy highlands and blue skies, the merry themes these lands carry which you can strangely still hear as you travel across the nation- you'd certainly garnered strange looks when you started humming the Dawn Winery theme while being held hostage by the Ragvindr heir-.

But maybe it's due to old habits instead- killing Timmie's pigeons certainly became a part of your new routine as well as jumping off the statue of Barbatos.

There were days, however, where your routine could divert off its natural course with a simple, misplaced-

"BOMB!!"

You managed to grab Timmie and run just as a sphere resembling the Harpastum bounced onto the bridge out of nowhere, the bells attached to it jingling merrily despite its forebodding appearance.

BOOM!!

Timmie's wail of anguish was commonplace to you as the innocent Harpastum bomb took out the flock of pigeons, the tiny girl panickedly running towards the two of you wasn't.

"Oh no, Klee is sorry for hurting Timmie's friends!" Klee hurriedly apologised, "Jean will be mad when she finds out- oh? You're the Creator!"

Her attention snapped towards you, completely forgetting the boy who was running away to tell on you both to his mother.

"Klee didn't recognise you from afar, but now that she does Klee has a gift for you!"

Is it a bomb? You wanted to ask as you held your hand out with a curious look.

Klee dropped a tiny baron bunny into your hands, it looked adorable with its red hat and cloak.

"Mom and I made it together, it'll make everything go boom with pretty pink fireworks!" Klee chirped.

It is a bomb.

Now cautiously handling the very volatile item, you gave Klee a bright smile, "I'll hand this to the Creator once we meet. Now, let's go find Timmie and... apologise for his friends."

Klee curiously tilted her head, "But, you're the Creator?"

"No, I'm their body double." You patiently explained.

Klee's expression brightened, "Oh! The Creator's sibling, it's nice to meet you!"

... if anyone hurts Klee, I'll kill everyone in the room and then myself, you swore.

Months later, after your doppelgänger stumbled upon Klee decimating a ruin guard with her bomb, they swore the exact same thing before teaching the girl how to strengthened her explosions.

CHILDE 《MONOCEROS CAELI》

The battle-sexual harbinger was blessed to be the Creator's acolyte, something he's lorded over his co-workers whenever the opportunity comes up no matter the consequences. His pride as your acolyte even blinds him sometimes, as the abyss within him becomes a soothed beast in your presence.

He can and will do anything for you. A dead body or two won't matter, it's all for the Creator so you should be thankful.

Despite the uneasy paranoia seeded deep within you since you landed in Tevyat, things never escalated past the point of no return due to your sibling's interventions- you turn a blind eye to the switched meals; the missing staff; the paranoia swimming in your doppelgänger's eyes each visit. If the Traveler and Paimon noticed your uneasiness whenever you came, they said nothing.-

-As long as you were here, nothing else matters.-

You were fine with being threatened; you were fine with the cold stares as the acolytes degraded you into something lesser than human; you were fine with the rumours, those dripping with barbed venom, about being an imposter spared by the beloved Creator.

As long as you can live, you're fine.

But your doppelgänger can't protect you forever, and a day came when one of their more... unstable followers decided to 'test' you for the Creator's sake.

All because he mistaken you for your doppelgänger.

"What's the matter, scared?" Childe grinned tauntingly as he twirled his bloodied hydro blades.

The man prowled across the makeshift arena, towards your broken body as you wheezed in pain.

You felt the copper taste coating your tongue, the agony overwhelmed your body and dulled your panic with a numbing sensation as your killer slowly approached you.

"The Creator's a much better fighter than you, weakling." You let out a choked scream as he dug his shoe into your bleeding stomach. Everything was too painful why did this happen pleasejustgoaway-

"Why did they need to make you? You're worthless, a waste of space for their excellence." Childe murmured, dead eyes shinning with something that scared you tremendously- anger.

He raised his hydro blade, "They'll probably hate me for breaking you despite my promise. But you don't belong here."

You shut your eyes tight to prevent yourself from witnessing your own death. The blood loss was draining you of your energy, you might probably even die before Childe killed you. Maybe this is just a nightmare, and I'll wake up at home after this.

You found yourself slipping into unconciousness as a final thought entered your mind.

Maybe I should died earlier if this is the quickest way home.

✾~✾~✾

You woke up to your bed in the Creator's mansion, still numb with pain but alive. Your doppelgänger sat by your bed, their dark eyebags and tight frown was like looking into a mirror whenever your bad days got to you, "... you should take a vacation."

You felt the temperature drop at your doppelgänger's words before you croaked out, "Excuse me?"

"A vacation. Something, anything that'll keep you away from here." Your doppelgänger's dark eyes should be a copy of yours, but it was utterly unrecognisable, "I have been lax in my acolytes' discipline, if this can occur in my own home."

You nodded, wincing at the pain momentarily shocked your senses. Suddenly, your recalled your encounter with Childe as tiredness suddenly seeped into your very bones, "... he's right, I don't belong here."

The next thing you knew was the stinging sensation on your face and your doppelgänger's raised hand.

"Don't say that." They seethed, chest heaving as though they ran a marathon while arms entrapped you into a suffocating hug, "You- no, this shouldn't had happened. But never doubt your existence for one second."

"You are the Creator, not some stupid body double or whatever excuse you came up. You belong to Tevyat, and I was supposed to keep the balance." You felt your air cut short as your doppelgänger's arms caged you further, their face buried into your neck.

You never saw the insanity swimming in their expression as they utter their next words, "As your doppelgänger, I'll take care of everything so you don't have to worry and just rest."

You: ...

Doppelgänger: ...

You: stop enabling the children

Doppelgänger: *hands 5-star weapons and artifacts to Itto & Klee* no <3

[icarian-tragedy]

—on top of the dresser, i wanna undress her.

Genshin Impact Rosaria x GN!Reader.

Tags ; Explicit Sexual Content. Face-Sitting. Hair-Pulling. Light Dom/Sub. Cunnilingus. Top!Rosaria. Power Bottom!Reader. Degradation. Dirty Talk.

AN ; first fic i’m getting around to posting here and it’s the 1k essay i wrote about eating this woman out… whoops. You can find more of my fics on my AO3 under the same username! Obviously this is smut, 18+, read at your own risk. ⚠️

“Are you ready to confess?”

Her voice is like wine as she speaks, smooth and intoxicating, lulling you out of the recesses of your mind. It’s eerily similar to a predator luring out its prey, feigning innocence before it sinks its teeth into supple flesh. You suppose that’s more accurate than not, especially when it comes to Rosaria, but you both already know that she doesn’t need to catch you. No, you, her prey, come willingly. Again and again.

She’s straddling your head, entirely nude save for white gloves and the metallic claws she loves to clink together when she’s bored. Despite her title of “Sister”, Rosaria looks like sin incarnate. You can see the arousal smeared between her thighs, the folds of her cunt glistening in the low lamplight. You can’t deny that it makes you a little smug, being able to have such an effect on her, someone so usually nonchalant and detached.

Nevertheless, you aren’t here to gloat or gawk. Rosaria had spoken to you, and you knew better than to keep her waiting. You may be special to her in a way no one else is, enough to warrant these special “confessions”, but even you aren’t spared her impatience.

“Yes.” It leaves your lungs in a rush of air, your hands seeking out her narrow hips and clinging to them like a lifeline. Despite the belatedness of your response, Rosaria seems satisfied.

“Then get to it,” she muses, hovering just above your face.

You don’t need any further invitation, you urge her down and she lowers herself on you. Rosaria has never been the shy type so she has no shame in fully sitting, threatening to smother you in her cunt. Not that you mind, Archons no. You squeeze her waist to let her know you’re comfortable, and then get to work.

Your tongue glides over her soaked folds like a man starved, alternating between kitten licks at her clit and full on lapping at her like the dog Rosaria would say you are. You can’t help yourself, the taste of her is addictive. She moans somewhere above you, never that loud, but always sure to express her enjoyment. She moves her hips in little thrusts against your tongue, essentially riding it.

“Dirty little sinner,” Rosaria rasps, tangling her hand in your hair. Her metal claws scrape harshly at your scalp and make it sting, but you’re too focused on devouring her to care. “If only you did this as much as you ran your mouth.”

Your only reply is a pathetic whine that gets muffled by her pussy, your jaw aching as you open it wider and latch onto her, sucking. Rosaria’s hips jolt involuntarily and she lets out a drawn out groan, her thighs squeezing around your head as she presses herself down on your face, blindly chasing the sensation. Like this, you really can’t breathe, but why would you need to? All you need to do is pleasure her, make her feel good. It’s what you were made for, all you were good for.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Rosaria praises, now rutting against you. “Eat up like the whore you are. What would the other Sisters think? Knowing that one of their most devoted attendees is just a slut that loves to sin. No amount of hymns or prayers will ever cleanse you of that.”

You diligently lick up the slick that drips from her slit, delving your tongue inside in search of more. You could care less about her degrading words, it’s not as though she’s wrong. You aren’t devout or even particularly religious, though you’re certainly good at feigning interest. The only reason you even frequent the church is for her. To see her, to speak to her, anything.

It had started out innocently enough, just you dropping off some cecilias on behalf of a commission from Barbara, but she hadn’t been there. Instead you’d been greeted by a tall, brooding woman with pale, yellow eyes and an unwavering scowl. Rosaria had been intimidating to say the least, but something about her captivated you. There were no masks or lies with her, she was honest to the point of nearly being insensitive. She spoke her mind without shame or care, and she did what she pleased.

Ironically, it would seem that what Rosaria enjoyed doing the most was you.

She’s getting close now, you can tell. Her thighs clench and unclench around your head, her control over her muscles beginning to waver as she gives herself over to the pleasure. You can’t see her, but her head has fallen back and her eyes have closed, her lips parted as low sounds escape her. Your own arousal pulses with neglect as you hear Rosaria moan out your name.

As she begins to buck against you, you focus once more on shoving your tongue inside her sopping cunt, your nose occasionally bumping her swollen clit as she moves. Rosaria gasps out, breathless as she tightens her grip on your hair to the point of pain, but you don’t care. You eat out her pussy like it’ll be your last meal, delighted by the way you can feel it twitch against your lips, getting wetter as her orgasm approaches.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… Don’t you waste a drop,” Rosaria pants from above. Her free hand is fisting the sheets and if you aren’t mistaken, you think you can hear them tear as a result of her claws.

You lap at her until your jaw grows sore and then, finally, she cums. Watching Rosaria reach her peak will forever be a sight you’ll never tire of, you’re sure it’s the closest you’ll ever get to Celestia while alive. Her juices coat your face as she chants your name like it’s the only prayer worth reciting, and you can’t help but muse over the fact that it’s the most energy you’ve ever seen her exude for something like that.

You do your best to help Rosaria ride out her high, licking up her fluids dutifully and doing your damndest to prolong her pleasure. After what seems like forever, she lifts herself from your face, finally too sensitive to stand the stimulation. Her thighs are trembling with the effort of holding herself up, and you can see a faint flush on her face. Aside from that and the sheen of sweat on her skin, Rosaria appears unfairly composed otherwise.

“Did I do good?” You ask her, a coy smile on your lips as you peer up at her. Rosaria responds with a scoff, but you glimpse the smile she wears as she shifts off of you and leans down for a kiss instead. She’s unbothered by the taste of herself, exploring your mouth and sucking at your tongue with a reverence you’d never known her to have.

“I suppose it was satisfactory,” she hums upon pulling back, chuckling quietly.

“Only satisfactory?” You pout, but she’s quick to quell your impending brattiness. She taps a clawed finger against your cheek, and the dim lighting almost makes it seem like her eyes are glowing.

“Don’t start. We aren’t done yet,” Rosaria murmurs. Her gaze is downcast, fixated now on your forgotten arousal. You can’t help but shiver, and you know your reaction makes her smug, moving her way down until she’s kneeling between your legs.

“Let’s see what else that mouth of yours can do, Sinner.”

[solar-tl-27]

UPDATEEEE & ARTFIGHT

Hiiii everyone ummmmmm news?? Ok so i kiiinda teased the rewrite could come back but

Reignited… is canceled…

A combination of real life events and lack of inspo have just… absolutely killed my motivation for thisss

But there is an anoucement

BUTTTT IDO HAVE SOME NEWS STARTING WITH

ART FIGHT

I’ll be participating in my second year of art fight this year whoop whoop

Here’s my tag!

I’ll try my best to be active while i’m working onnn getting my drivers license!

Back yo the important things ahem ahem

The future!

I HAVE PLANSS!

My lore ideas will not go to waste as I’m dragging my baby muse into his own story and i will also try to talk more about my little oc world showcase retribution!

I will probably post a bit more variety stuff BUT IF YOU LIKE GIRLY THINGS AND MAGIC GUESS WHAT THIS IS STILL THE PLACE FOR YOU!

I hope to slowly become more active again after a pretty hectic year of my life which is why i hope yall will continue to enjoy my content even though posts will be really unstable for a while as i figure out what i want the content i put out to be!

If anyone has any questions obviously feel free to ask

Have a good day everyone!

[magnusbae]

*gremlin noises* I love your posts you’re a delight to my dash

-TRASH RACOON NOISES BACK-

You're a delight to my heart 🥰💖🌺✨

Why yes I did see your tags about THE THESIS, God knows I sHOULD DO IT. Or more like, here's a thing 😌🌻

▾▾▾

Dreamling 548w Courting? Courting.

▾▾▾

There's that look again.

Hob notices it more and more lately on his friend's face. He looks… Hob has to swallow, for the lack of any other word, his friend looks quite frankly, feral.

The reason however, not so easy to decipher. His Stranger, mysterious as ever, doesn't make it any easier. So Hob watches for it, that look, and files it down mentally until finally... he starts connecting the dots. And then? Well, fuck. Damn if he knows what to do with that.

There's a thrill in realizing that his friend, Morpheus, enjoys those small gestures of, ah, what would Hob call it in order to avoid what it actually is… friendship, that's what he'd call it, for now.

He smiles, so wide it aches at the edges, his eyes wrinkling with the fondness of it.

"May I carry your coat?" he asks, growing bolder in the things he asks and how often, the idea that Morpheus would accept and most likely enjoy it, strips away any hint of hesitancy out of him.

To Hob's pleasure (but no longer surprise), Morpheus accepts, gracious as ever as he shrugs the coat off with an inhuman elegance, it looks like liquid darkness as it slides off of his lithe form.

Hob takes the cloth from his friend, it's heavy, heavier than what it ought to be. It's rich to the touch, putting to shame any egyptian silk he had ever touched.

"…" Morpheus seems to want to say something, lips parting slightly, then shutting with a secretive smile he probably thinks Hob is unable to spot.

If only.

Oh he sees it plainly.

His stranger, his Morpheus, is pleased.

More than. He seems positively puffed up with smugness.

Without his coat, he looks… younger somehow? As if a weight was lifted from his shoulders. He stands straighter, lean strong frame clearly outlined by the soft t-shirt he wears. His skinny jeans truly leaves nothing to the imagination, now that there's no coat to shelter his legs from sight.

When Hob's eyes flick up, he's caught by Morpheus, looking straight into his eyes.

Whoops.

Hob smiles back sheepishly, moving the coat to his left arm.

"Let's have a walk?" he asks "I wish to show you the park, it's amazing in this weather" it's half question, half a declaration. Just enough decisive to get that same reaction. Again.

What an odd creature his stranger is. Pleased by something that one would assume to certaintly irk his royal highness. After all, he despises so deeply for things to be defined out loud, and yet seeming to truly love this...

Hob simply cannot find a word other than courting. As it's courting what he's been unwittingly, and later very deliberately doing.

It's courting without ever daring to say it out loud.

"Yes." Morpheus flutters his eyelashes and looks down, as if modest.

He will drive him mad.

Swallowing heavily, adam's apple shifting, Hob considers if offering an arm is something Morpheus would tolerate. Probably not yet.

"This way" Hob says instead, smiling. "It's a right nice spot" he comments when they're there, by the lake and under a tree "I read here sometimes" he muses out loud.

Morpheus seems pleased enough by the answer.

"What is it that you read, Hob Gadling?"

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 33

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📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

TW: CHARACTER DEATH. OFF-SCREEN SUICIDE.

This chapter is heavy with a bittersweet/happy ending. As for the intensity level of the death, think back to the chapter where Shane died. If you want to know more, look at the first tag of this post. Please be wary of this before you read!

Through the wire circle, down at the bottom of the hill, the tiny prisoners are being kicked out.

Curling my fingers tighter around the fence, I squint against the sun, watching as the gate is closed in their faces. They're left to stand there, without direction or purpose, in a sort of purgatory. They can either stay there and eat gravel until they starve, or they can face the outside world. If Dale can hear me, I'm sorry for thinking this, but, good riddance. There certainly ain't no phones out there no more, or even any food, and I know they'll die, but, good riddance. We'on know them. If we let them into our cell block, we'd be downright fools.

You don't put foxes in a chicken coop. It's just common sense, and we don't have much, but we have that.

As our group walk off to continue their chores, content with the death sentence, T-Dog lingers by the gate, digging into his pocket.

Surprisingly, he passes them what looks like a granola bar.

"They're gonna need more than that," Carl muses from beside me. "They need weapons. Ammo. Water."

The two prisoners are less than enthusiastic to receive the snack, but pocket it with a nod anyway. Rick went back into their cell block and packed up their half of the food for 'em, because a deal's a deal, but every crumb counts. A snack can save yer life same way a gun can. 

As they turn into the field beyond the prison, I shrug. "Rick'll prolly let them back into their cell block if they come back."

"You think they will?"

If they don't die out there first, then the answer is obvious. "S'like when ya put'cher dog outside when they's naughty!"

He giggles, "They always wanna come back in."

"Them two fellers ain't no wild dogs," I agree. "They's a pair of chihuahuas."

Before Carl and I can watch the two prisoners for any longer, the door to our cell block opens behind us.

Turning around, a smile makes its way onto my face as Herschel shakily plods down the steps, a crutch wedged underneath each of his armpits. Beth and Lori are dutifully fussing over him, ready to catch him if he falls, but he's managing just fine on his own.

"Whoo-hoo, Herschel!" Carl whoops as we walk over, earning a grin from his Momma. "You ready to race me, yet?"

"Give me another day. I'll take you on," He chuckles breathlessly as he breaches the last step, noticing Mouse. "Hey, boy."

I ask him hopefully, "Will ya race me, too?"

"Oh, no," He exclaims as he rests against the rusty railing, the white sunlight curving over his face. "Now, you're a different story."

"You're being silly," Lori smiles to him.

"I hope so."

"Don't worry, Herschel," I knock my elbow into his. "I'll go easy on ya!"

"How generous. Perhaps Carl and I will just have to verse you as a team?"

"Then it'll just be twice as embarrassing when she beats us both," Carl snickers.

Everybody down in the field can be heard shouting cheers up to us, as Herschel lifts his hand off the crutch to give them a wave.

"Come on," Lori says, eyeing his free hand until he grips the crutch again. "What do you say we go rest at that table over there?"

"Well, I'd say I've got no choice."

"You're right about that," Beth says as we guide him across the courtyard. "Carl, what do you think of his new pants? Stylish, huh?"

The boy glances down, only just noticing the change. "Hell yeah."

"Beth was telling us she tailored them herself," Lori says, sounding impressed.

"Well, I didn't do it alone," The girl smiles as we reach the picnic table, carefully sitting Herschel down. "Harley helped me."

"I just held the string," I say shyly.

"No job too small," Herschel muses to me with a smile, before gazing out at the scenery around us, sighing contentedly.

As grey and bleak as this place may be, with its dead walkers and concrete walls, it's a nice day out, which is always a consolation no matter where we are in the world. The sky hangs bright and blue like a polished dome over our heads, painted with smeared, fluffy clouds. If I really wanted to, I could pretend it's just another summer's day back on the farm, but I'on think I do. I don't need peaches and cows to be happy.

"Good to see you up and at 'em again, Greene," My Dad smirks as he comes through the gate, taking the man's shoulder.

As he squeezes and pulls away, Herschel exclaims, "It's good to be up. I couldn't stand to be in that bed a moment longer."

"I bet. You could come help me clear the fence if ya wanted," He jokes as he walks off. "My students are on break."

"We're just leaving the grunt work to the grunt," Carl calls after him.

"Sure you are," Dad says over his shoulder, before drawing his knife and downing one of the many walkers at the fence.

As he gets back to work, Mouse runs up to us with his tennis ball between his slobbery teeth, dropping it at my feet.

Picking it up, I hold it out to Herschel. "Wanna throw it for 'im?"

"Absolutely," He says, taking it.

He throws the ball across the courtyard, sending Mouse scrambling after it like it's a little animal he's gotta catch. It's nice watching Herschel play fetch with Mouse like this, spending the morning chatting with each other about useless things like the weather and seasonal crops. 

After about ten minutes, when he gives me the ball to throw, it skips like a stone into a pile of trash near the dumpsters. Whoops!

"Ohhh," Carl exclaims dramatically, watching Mouse nose through the junk. "Foul ball."

Giving him a bit of a shove on the shoulder, I laugh, "Shut up, Carl!"

"She never claimed to be a pitcher," Beth giggles. "She's more of a kicker."

"Yeah, I'm a kicker," I agree, with twinkle-toes Carl dodging me as I try landing a kick to his ankle, "Lemme show ya!"

"She's attacking me!"

"I'm a biter, too!"

"Kids will be kids," Herschel chuckles heartily to the girls, shaking his head. After a short pause, I hear him utter, "What—...?"

It takes me and Carl a moment to settle down, pushing at each other and swallowing down our giggles, before we look in the direction of the dumpsters, where everyone has pinned their attention. The laughter dies in my throat just as quickly as it had come alive. Mouse has completely abandoned his search for the ball — My first clue something's wrong —, staring unflinchingly around the corner.

He starts growling lowly, making my Dad turn around just before a rotten foot steps out into the open.

A face peeks out, melted and dripping.

A walker?

Out here?

Then there's a second, and a third, and a suddenly obvious cacophony of groans that could only come from a mob.

As another walker appears on the opposite side of the courtyard, sandwiching us in, Lori gasps.

I exclaim, "What the Hell?"

Where'd they come from?

"Get inside!" My Dad shouts at us, drawing his crossbow, shooting, killing the closest corpse. "Get inside, quick!"

"Come on," Lori grunts as she and Beth haul Herschel onto his crutches. "Come on, we have to go. We have to go!"

The rest of the group are running up the road, screaming our names and fumbling with keys and guns, ripping the gate to the courtyard open, but it's total and sudden chaos, walkers scattered everywhere. Rick rears his axe back, slamming it into a rotting forehead. The blood spurts. The body falls. We can't take this many on, not like this. Dad was right. We have to run. I unsheathe my knife as Herschel and the girls hobble across the courtyard, my eyes darting from face to face, from yellowed mouth to cloudy eyes to melted skin.

"Mouse?" I call out, feeling almost guilty for wanting to run off and save him. "Oh, my God!"

A body breaks apart from all the others. It reaches out for us, its fingers curved like scythes.

Beth squeals, terrified. "Get away from us!"

There's a disgusting SQUELCH as I drive my knife into its knee, the cold blood splattering my cheek. Twist. Pop. Its knee buckles.

Herschel and Beth scurry up the steps as I pull my knife out — I don't have to kill it. It'll only waste time — shouting coming from all directions as I watch another walker lunge for Herschel and Beth. He raises his crutch, bracing the rubber stub on its chest.

I stand up, ready to help.

As soon as I'm back on my feet, a loud alarm rings out, freezing me to the spot. Who turned those on?

"Harley!" My Dad's voice roars from across the courtyard. "Come here!"

"Let's go, girl!"

T-Dog takes my arm. I'm being dragged toward Dad, tryna spot everybody else. Rick, he's with Lori, Maggie, Carol, and Carl, shoving them all into a big, red cage, closing the door, and fending off more walkers with Glenn. Maggie shoots the lock. They huddle through the door to the prison. They're out. They're safe. Herschel and Beth, they're gone. I think — I hope — they managed to escape, too.

Where did all these walkers come from? We blocked the courtyard off, didn't we?

We reach the back of the courtyard. There's my Dad. He lowers his crossbow, a walker collapsing to the ground in front of him.

"Daddy!"

"Get over here!" He shouts, using his bow to bludgeon walker about to bite into his arm. "We gotta go! Gimme 'er!"

T-Dog shoves me forward.

Dad grabs my hand, his grip turning my skin a pure white, and we're running past walkers again, approaching a big, metal door.

He unholsters his gun and — BANG — shoots the lock off.

"Come on!"

"We can't close this behind us, man!" T worries as we run into the dark corridor, walkers following after us. "What we gonna do?"

Without answering, my Dad leads around a corner, cussing under his breath as he frantically looks around for another door.

After he takes us down what feels like a hundred more corridors, he finds one. "In 'ere! Quick!"

We slip inside. He slams the door shut, taking a step back, staring at it for a moment before it starts to shudder under the weight of the walkers pawing at it on the other side. No more running. God. We've trapped ourselves in here, but at least we're safe, at least we're alive. I wasn't so sure at first, but I can feel the blood pulsing through my muscles now, my breath leaving me in short, panicked bursts.

"Shit," My Dad pants hotly, his sweaty brow glistening even in the dark. "We okay? Baby, you okay?"

"I—I'm fine," I nod shakily, the blaring alarms suddenly cutting out. "W-What happened to everyone else?"

I think I managed to help Herschel and Beth get out safe, but we got separated before I could catch up to them. 

"I'on know," He admits, "I'on know. Seemed like we all scattered, but they'll look after each other. Least we're together."

The walker's shadows twitch and warp in black shapes against the grey of the floor, their fingers curling up underneath the bottom of the door like rotten little shrimps, tickling the metal with their chipped nails. They're wild dogs clawing at a rabbits' burrow, thirsting for blood.

When T-Dog doesn't respond, the only noise in this small, dusty room the snarls from outside, Dad asks, "T, man? You okay?"

I turn to look at him, the lack of sunlight making my eyes hurt.

T-Dog is staring at his feet like there's an interesting bug crawling on his ankle, wordless, looking up at us with wide eyes.

"Oh, my God," I breathe, watching the blood pour out.

There ain't no bug on his ankle.

There's a gaping bite.

"My sister used to babysit our neighbour's dog from time to time," T-Dog chuckles to himself, sat up against the wall opposite us. His legs are kicked out lazily in front of him, his smile plump and warm, like he's relaxing on his porch. The only thing missing is a cigarette between his fingers. I'on think he realizes that me and Dad ain't fully listening, or maybe he doesn't care. "Man, he was an ugly thing."

Already, this room smells like death, and there's nothing we can do except stew in it.

The door shudders violently in the background. 

"A lil' Scottish breed, or sum. One of them dogs with the big moustache and the angry eyes. Anyway," He sighs. It's difficult to look at him, in a way that makes me feel an aching sense of guilt for averting my eyes like this, but I just have to. I can't look at his smile anymore, or at the puddle of blood, or at the bite, or even at the walls, my gaze stuck unwaveringly on my boots. "There was this one weekend. She'd just got done takin' the lil' guy for a walk, and she was on the phone with her friend, talkin' about a party. 'Course, I was eavesdroppin'."

He wheezes a laugh to himself as my Dad continues to stare emptily at him, not entertained in the slightest.

"I thought to myself, 'Girl. Our parents are gonna kill you if they find out.' She was never the bookworm type, or anythin' like that. She was a bit of a bully, mind. Used to invite me to get ice-cream with her and her friends and make fun of me the whole time-type stuff."

Shut up, I wish I could shout in his face without angering the walkers outside, It doesn't matter now. You're bit!

When I thought I'd gotten scratched back at the quarry, I spent all night thinking of things that didn't matter, so maybe I can't blame him.

"I just got so jealous," He whispers, his smile fading, a sad look in his eyes. "I'on even know what pushed me to do it, but I went into the backyard and I opened the gate. Let the dog out. I knew I'd done the wrong thing when I saw the look on 'er face. I even went with her when she was puttin' up missin' posters all over our neighbourhood, shoutin' his name. Pepper, pepper. We ain't never found him."

"Don't you just sound like a pair'a angels," My Dad dares to joke.

He laughs. "That's what Grimes said."

That was back on the farm, when T was tryna make me feel better 'bout my fight with Carl by telling me a story 'bout his sisters stealing from him. He's always had the most ridiculous stories that make us all laugh, and he would let us, even if it was at his expense.

If I were to think about useless things, too, I'd think of him nicknaming me and Carl, little nerds, him sharing his pretzels with me while I was unwell, how he went with Rick and Dad to save me from Shane, those stupid shirts we got him and Glenn for Christmas.

"Well, ya know what they say about great minds," Dad mutters non-committedly, before there's another thud on the door.

"Daddy?"

"Hm?" He grunts, leaning toward me.

Into the shell of his ear, I shyly whisper, knowing he can't do nothin' about it, "I'on wanna be in here, no more. I wanna leave. Please."

"I know, chicken. I know," He soothes, putting his arm around my shoulders, cradling my head against his side. "M'sorry."

T-Dog asks, "What'd she say?"

"She don't like it in 'ere."

"Well, I'm sorry, too. I'm gonna die," He chuckles incredulously, his belly shuddering. "And all I can think about is that damn dog."

"How you feelin', man?"

"Like ten pounds of shit in a five-pound sack," T-Dog slurs, his head lolled onto his shoulder. "Thanks for askin'."

It's been hours since we trapped ourselves in this room. I can tell, not only because of the way my stomach has begun to roil with hunger and my mouth has gone dry like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing against each other, but because of poor T-Dog. His bald head is slathered in sweat, the droplets sliding down his face as if he's sitting under a showerhead, but I know it's the work of the germs inside his body.

Dad, Merle, and I saw this hitch-hiker get bitten back in the beginning, while we were staying with this group of people whose supplies we ended up stealing. They was the types to pick up needy travellers on the side of the road, even if they'd just been bitten.

Merle wanted to kill the guy when he found out, but it only took half a day for the bite on the man's leg to do it for him.

"I think we gotta start thinkin' about—," My Dad cuts himself off, before muttering, "What we gon' do."

"We wait here until somebody finds us," T-Dog insists, repeating the plan they had came up with hours ago. The walkers won't leave us alone with him bleeding all over the floor the way he is, and to go out there would be suicide. "It can't be much longer, now."

"I'm—," Dad sighs. "I ain't talkin' about the walkers, T. You know I ain't."

He nods his head in jerky movements.

"I-I know," He says.

"I'on think they're gonna find us before it matters." His way of saying, Before you turn. "I— I can't have you in here with Harley."

When T-Dog doesn't have anything to say in reply, Dad forces himself to continue. "So... I got a bullet or a bolt. That's where we're at."

"No." He adjusts himself against the wall, lifting his head to look him in the eye. "I don't want you to."

"I know," He placates. "I'm sor—"

"I'mma do it myself," He says matter-of-factly. "I'm a man of God. It might be a sin to take myself out, but I'll be damned if I fought this hard and got this far, only to let another man kill me. Even if he's my brother. So, I'm doin' this on my own terms. It has to be me."

Stomaching his words, my Dad slowly nods to himself, before he sends me a sympathetic look.

T-Dog bides his time for a couple more hours by telling us what must be every story he has, but it's after he throws up into the corner of the room that it becomes obvious to us that we just can't afford to wait any longer for the group to find us.

"We ain't gonna be sappy about this," T-Dog warns us as he sits back down, wiping his mouth.

"C'mon. You're one'a the sappiest bastards I know," Dad deadpans. "And I know a lotta sappy bastards."

"I guess I just always wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, if I had to."

"You don't want yer last moments to be with us?"

Coughing up a laugh, T-Dog jokes, "I didn't say that."

I almost want to ask him to wait just one more minute — That's not a long time. He could do it — and after that minute passes, I'd ask him again. I know it wouldn't save his life if the group found us right now, but I wouldn't be asking for them, or even for him. I'd be asking for myself. Selfishly, I want just one more minute with him. What if—? What if he didn't get any sicker? What if he turns out fine?

It's a question only a fool would ask, and I know all I can do now is appreciate all the thousands of minutes he had before this.

"Okay," He sighs, reaching behind him, pulling out his gun and resting it in his lap, staring down at it. "This is it."

It ain't how my Momma did it, but it's just as awful.

"We could still wait," My Dad suggests, giving him an out I know he won't take. "If they find us, they find us. If they don't—..."

"You heard me, man. Blaze of glory." He looks up at us, his sweaty fingers gently curled around the gun. For the first time since the door closed, he meets my gaze, but he just looks tired, like he could use a long, peaceful sleep. "This is gonna be hard. I'm sorry."

I watched Shane die in front of me, watched him bleed much the same way. At least this time, I'll get the chance to close my eyes.

"You're a tough girl," He gulps. "You been through more shit than most."

"Thought'chu said we wasn't gonna be sappy," I complain, just to get him to stop.

"The first time I saw you, I just knew you were gonna be a lil' terror." He continues, anyway. "Dale, too. Said he knew you'd make it."

Dale always did say the darndest things. The only reason I've made it this far is because of other people. I ain't no clueless airhead can't skin no animal or kill no walker, but my beatin' heart can be accredited to a small group of people, one that includes T-Dog. There's been countless times where I should'a died and didn't, and this is one of them times that somebody else shouldn't be dying, but is.

I ain't special. Just because I ain't died yet don't mean everybody else can't still be alive, too. My Dad says, Ain't no such thing as good or bad luck. Just strong people, but T-Dog ain't weak and there is such a thing as bad luck.

"I thought you would, too," I tell him, hoping it's some sorta comfort.

"C'mere," Dad mumbles, helping me climb into his lap and rubbing his big hand between my shoulder blades as I press my brow to his neck, squeezing my eyes shut. He takes out my hearing aids, and after that, I don't open my eyes for the next few hours.

Like this, I can pretend it didn't happen.

But I can still smell the gunpowder in the air.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word," My Dad's voice rasps quietly in my ear, "Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird."

I've never wanted to leave a room more than I want to leave this one in my entire life. If I could, I think I'd claw my way out.

"And if that mockingbird don't sing, Daddy's gonna buy you a diamond ring."

The singing helps. It don't make the smell any more bearable, but it helps.

"And if that diamond ring turns brass, Daddy's gonna buy you a looking glass."

One more minute, I tell myself just like I wanted to tell T-Dog, one more minute, and then another after that. The others have an entire prison to search for us in, with twists and turns every few feet, dust in the air and walkers lining the corridors, and I can't even guarantee they ain't already dealing with the deaths of any of our other people, but I know they'll refuse to stop until they find us.

I keep replaying the scene of the courtyard in my head, remembering everyone who I saw made it out.

"And if that looking glass gets broke," He sings, "Daddy's gonna buy you a billy goat."

Sometime later, I realize I've managed to block out the sound of the incessant groaning because there's suddenly another noise amongst it all — A grunt too pronounced to come from a walker, then a squelch and a dull thud, like a sack of flour dropping to the floor.

Lifting my head from Dad's shoulder, I look at the door as the groaning becomes lesser and lesser until it disappears.

"They're here. They're here," I say in shock, climbing off Dad's lap just as the door is opened.

"Holy shit," Glenn exclaims as Maggie wraps her arms around me, returning my brutal hug. "You're here."

"We drew them away," She says, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "Oh, I can't believe it. We searched everywhere for y'all."

It's when she pulls away that I make the mistake of following her and Glenn's gazes into the corner of the room, where T lay exactly where I last saw him, the only difference being that his brains are now plastered against the wall in the shape of a flower.

"Don't look," Dad gently scolds me, turning me back around so I'm facing the door.

She stares at the carnage, her lips slightly parted without knowing what to say, before she has to look away, too. "What happened?"

"He got bit," Dad mutters. It's impossible to recount what we just went through in any poetic way, and the rest, they can guess.

"Horrible," She croaks.

"We can come back for him later," Glenn struggles to say, urging all of us outta the room. "Let's get you two back to the cell block."

"Is everyone okay?" I ask him desperately.

As the door closes on T-Dog, Glenn gazes down at me, his face just as exhausted-looking as Dad's, but with a slight glint in his eyes.

"Everyone's okay," He manages to smile, glancing at Maggie before he adds, "Even the new baby."

I look up at my Dad, his shock mirroring mine. "Lori had her baby?"

And that right there is good luck.

Glenn steps over a body. "Come on."

Author's Note.

In exchange for T-Dog's especially intense death, Lori lives.

I went over SO many iterations for this chapter after receiving a comment suggesting I consider letting Lori and T-Dog live, and honestly, this version was the most suitable one. I decided the other versions were either just too indulgent or didn't fit with the story, but I liked them, too 😭

Thank you to ermynee, because without them/you, Lori would also be dead right now!

I hated doing that to T-Dog, but I thought it would make for an interesting non-canon scene and wanted to balance out the fact that Lori lives. You'll see also that Carol doesn't get lost, so the whole 'getting stuck and being found' situation was given to these guys instead. RIP T-Dog.

Thank you for reading. Always appreciate you! 💙

@poetoflawed

[lobstermatriarch]

Writer interview game!

Tagged by @eraserspiral, thank you for thinking of me!!

When did you start writing? oh it was young. i remember trading some truly godawful poetry with my friends at recess. buuuut i have never been particularly consistent in keeping up with it.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write? Plenty of them! Mystery and satire are two standouts that i adore but don’t really write well.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often? In terms of pulling inspiration, Tamsyn Muir takes up too much space in my brain (I made Gale read a heavily altered version of Harrow the Ninth out loud in a semi-recent chapter of Come Down whoops :/). outside of her I've probably intentionally taken the most influence from David Mitchell and Nnedi Okorafor

(definitely not been compared to any of them though. )

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space? ohohohoh this implies that i have a dedicated writing space and don’t just bust out my laptop when the mood strikes

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse? if i'm working on a long project i force it sometimes, sit there and write nonsense until something seems usable and then build off that. if i was rich i’d travel more since i always seem to get the best inspiration on trains or at airports

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you? Survival and loneliness vs connection tend to pop up pretty often. Definitely not surprising, but a little frustrating. anytime i finally think i've written something new, i'll go back, read it again, and say "shit this is about That again isn't it."

What is your reason for writing? I am plagued by demons that haunt me until i exorcise them via word vomit

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating? honestly any feedback is motivating, but i do love hearing that someone’s had a strong emotional response to what i’ve written.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers? Hopefully as an enjoyable little freak writing enjoyable little freak things (enjoyable is a relative word here i know)

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer? in general, i want to believe i’m decent at keeping a consistent perspective/point of view. specific to fanfic i like to believe that i’m pretty good at staying within the “he would, in fact, fucking say that” boundary.

How do you feel about your own writing? i am trying to hate it less

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both? it's a mix. i can be a little contrarian so sometimes i'm more influenced by what's popular via trying to avoid it. that said i'm not out to torture anyone reading either so i do try to consider certain writing choices carefully

some very very optional tags: @antimonyantigone @anosrepasi @sweetmalice26 and any other writing followers who would like to try, please do and tag me so I can seeeee

[monstrouslyobsessed]

been a minute since i've answered yall asks, sorry about that. been having health issues again. sighs.

tw / tags: monster fucking, snake anatomy, breeding mentions

Do you have any thoughts about slime-like monsters? I personally find monsters with… unstable??? body structure quite interesting cuz of their potential lol. Like, even of they're slow and trembling like jittery jelly, once they have grip on you – you gone, whoops. Struggling r useless, u will only get urself deeper and you can't even do a lot to escape. And bonus points if they're kinda dumb, so by acting silly and goofy they're practically gaslighting lmao —anonymous

i actually have a musing in the work about that one!! its...been in my draft forever...whoops....i'll work on that in just a bit then.

but yes!! theyre also super versatile too! imagine if you have one as a pet...its going to make a pet out of you, oho rip darling.

I wonder how the 6 arms snake god eat. Does he just shallow his prey whole? chew them? Tear them apart then eat them piece by piece? I wonder what is his favorite part of his prey, and his less favorite. I imagine that some times, he eat messy, so reader clean the blood around his mouth with a clean napkin. —anonymous

i actually kinda imagine him opening his mouth like a snake would since he's no longer a human (w a pic below). but in the beginning, when he's still merging with the snake god, he'd probably start tearing his, ah, meals apart, yeah. i actually don't think his transformation was actually completed by the time he started his initial rampage + he wouldn't have any arm when he first started out too.

oh geez i can see him being super clumsy and floppy trying to learn how to move his new body. poor thing.

his mouth would be like this, maybe with bigger fangs tho. that said, i cant find the original source now :( so if any of you know who this may be by, lmk so i can link the artist!!

Hey-hey! Have you read Mieruko-chan by any chance? Maybe it's only me, but i find designs for ghosts from here rlly cool and some chapters can give some pretty cool concepts/ideas.

Gl on ur day! ✨ —anonymous

i actually have been keeping up with it! poor mc, she's trying her best...I'm crushing on the yandere tentacled head lady atm lol

☆ Put this star into the inbox of your favourite blogs. It's time to spread positivity! 💖 — @berrychan03

dawwww <3 thank you!!! i'll be sure to spread them around~!

Your Jaguar Trube story is really good! I like it. Are you going to make the part 2 for it? —anonymous

im actually kinda stumped on how to continue this one mainly because of the breeding kink being the primary focus and the reader initially being gn. i feel iffy doing this to my fellow gn readers as well, as i don't wish to exclude them and i don't think im that good of a writer to pull off a gn smut.

i could just do two versions tbh because its a little different between if the reader is afab and if they're amab.

if afab, theyre actually kinda in for some bad time because there's so many males around, possibly around 30 to even 50, and there's a lot of dp to go around because they're sharing them.

if amab, there's not many females around at all, maybe around 4 young adult ones (with the rest being old ladies), though that's not to say the males wouldn't touch them because they def would though lol but i kinda imagined that being amab they wouldn't be in too high of demand and would be given breaks. plus, they don't have to worry about getting pregnant.

i'll take feedback regarding this matter though, so lmk your thoughts on how i should proceed!

anyhoo, gonna try and work on couple overdue commissions i got, but in the meanwhile, feel free to send in whatever (that is currently open lol) love ya bunches!

[the-darkdragonfly]

Stats Tag Game

Thanks for the tag, @kmomof4!

Rules: A list of my fics with the most hits, most kudos, most comments, most bookmarks, most words, and the least words.

Most Hits: The Ripple Effect, 28,696 hits, followed by its WIP sequel, A Trick of the Light with 8,214 hits.

Most Kudos: The Ripple Effect, 597 kudos. Followed up not closely at all (LOL) by Tempest with 225 kudos.

Most Comments: Again... that honour belongs to Ripple with 1,046 comments.

Most Bookmarks: Ripple again, with 204 bookmarks.

Most Words: * drum roll please * Ripple! this is actually the longest fic I've ever written never, which is kind of cool. it's also the only fic I have ever finished.... * shifty eyes * with 162,374 words.

A Trick of the Light is in second place as a WIP at 41,329 words, and I'm excepting it to come in at a final around 90k (maybe closer to 100k if my muse shows up and runs away with the script).

Least Words: Technically my missing moments shorts are the least, but I dont really count those since the point is to be short - so my shortest actual fic is Old Time's Sake (I am actually truly surprised every time I look at the word count on this, how is it so short!!??) at 2,556 words.

And since I can never seem to follow the rules, I added a few categories in the hopes of boosting a few fics which I think need more love.

Least Comments: Lover, with a whooping 4 comments. Please go read this fic for me, it's Silver Hook in a modern setting and I do love it.

Least Kudos: This one is not super surprising, it's a bit dark and I should probably add a chapter or two to make it okay at the end... this one belongs to follow you through the dark with 26 kudos.

Least Bookmarks: Oh right, I like this one too! Tales from the Cutting Room Floor. Go take a look. It's all short outtakes from my WIPs folder and it's a bit of fun.

Not sure who has done this already, but tagging all the regulars (and if you're not tagged and want to play, please do!)

@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @sailtoafarawayland @hollyethecurious @jrob64 @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @veryverynotgood @caught-in-the-filter

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Last Line Wip Tag Game/WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the lovely @holy3cake

No Pressure Tag: @aintgonnatakethis + open tag

Rules: Please share your last sentence; or, if you don’t have one, share a plot bunny or idea! (OR sketch for your artwork!)

Combining with WIP Wednesday! You can either do WIP Wednesday or Last Line.

Soooooo apparently, this was still sat in my drafts, whoops. I prefer the last lines I wrote yesterday so I'm sharing those instead. From Horizons into Battlegrounds as always (snippet from Chapter 2)

GAWAIN's POV;

Despite every instinct in him screaming at him to flee, to grab his sword and run his enemy through, he needed to know.

The man looked younger than Gawain remembered, slender, angular features that in any other circumstance he may have even called attractive. A sheen of sweat glinted across the man's skin, bruising laced his sharp jaw and up across the side of his face and temple. His pale lips were parted, shallow breaths came in rapid pants, his bloodied brow furrowed as the Monk twitched in a clear restless sleep.

Even as Gawain watched the Weeping Monk stirred again. His head jerked to the side as if he'd been struck whilst his hand clutched at his side and he groaned in his sleep, half muttering incoherent words Gawain couldn't understand. The ragged cloak had shifted as the Monk had moved, revealing a sliver of glistening wet fabric and the hand that almost seemed to claw at his side was absolutely covered in blood. Gawain guessed it was likely his own.

Part of him wondered whether to try and tend to this obvious wound, but Gawain had no idea how he would react. Any injured warrior that was startled awake whether they were face to face with their enemy or not was liable to lash out, and Gawain had more than enough experience by now to know that even in this state the Weeping Monk was still dangerous.

An image of the Monk leaping up, knife in hand to plunge it into Gawain's heart before he could move made him shudder, grabbing at his chest as it siezed with a vice-like bolt of sympathetic fear.

Gawain took a breath to calm himself, mused over the options available to him.

In the past he'd had injuried warriors held down, even tied where he didn't have the help needed to prevent a half delerious ally from accidentally hurting their caretakers, whether it was he who'd been the healer or not. Now, he could risk tying the Monk up to help him safely... but Gawain would have to act quickly if he was to subdue the man and it was no guarantee either of them would escape unscathed. The Monk had a speed and dexterity even Gawain struggled to match at full strength. His injuries could well slow him down, yet if adrenaline served to overcome them, even for a moment...

No. Especially without knowing where they stood it was better to leave him be.

It was obvious enough to Gawain that the Weeping Monk was responsible for their survival and apparrent escape, but beyond that, his motives were unclear. No matter that Gawain wanted to believe they were pure... the possibilities leaned far more sinister than they did good.

"N-no... ...Please!"

Gawain's head snapped up at the sound of the Monk gasping a tormented plea, voice hoarse, on instinct alone did Gawain back up sharply, hissing at the pain of his spine screaming in protest at the quick movement before he realised the man he'd jumped away from was in fact still asleep.

"I...I can't... no!"

And whatever misgivings Gawain had regarding the Monk's motives threatened to wither away at the sheer pain, the sheer *terror* in the man's voice.

"You're ok," Gawain felt compelled to tell him quietly, carefully leaning closer, not quite daring to touch him, "You're safe, it's alright."

The young Monk groaned again, muttering what Gawain thought was another "No..." before he seemed to fall silent. Slowly his face relaxed a little, though a harsh crease between his brow remained, and whilst his breathing was still ragged it too seemed to deepen slightly.

And now Gawain felt conflicted. Part of him wanted to wipe the Monk's brow clear of sweat, give him the aid and healing he so clearly desperately needed, comfort and soothe him in what he guessed was a pain induced nightmare.

Another, more righteous and burning part of him wanted to slap the Weeping Monk awake and finish the fight they had started back in the forest, make him suffer for the atrocities he'd commited against his fellow Fey, then drive a sword though his traitorous chest.

But if it was true that the Weeping Monk had indeed saved them, then Gawain at least owed him the benefit of hearing him out. If he survived the night that was... Gawain raised a sceptical eyebrow over the Monk, without knowing his injuries he couldn't be sure of what state he was truly in but from everything he could see... whatever wounds he'd sustained seemed severe.

There was naught he could do for now but tend the fire and wait till morning; the darkest part of night had passed but first light was still some hours off yet.

Gawain settled himself beside the crackling flames and prepared to hold vigil until morning.

[friesian]

Unusual muse associations

tagged by @kamiporterbridges. AGAIN. GNAWS ON YOU.

Seasoning: salt, vinegar, citric acid

Weather: hail

Colour: white

Sky: green skies before a tornado

Magical Power: necromancy

Plant: corpse flower

Weapon: pistol

Subject: history

Social Media: GRAVE STONE EPITAPH (no social media)

Makeup Product: black eyeliner. THICK.

Candy: sour patch kids

Fear: abandoned by god, betrayal

Ice Cube Shape: icicles

Method of Long Distance Travel: hopping through the mists

Piece of Stationery: staples

Three Emojis: 💀📗🔫

Celestial Body: moon

i'm not going to tag again so i can break the cycle. i don't have enough characters to do this about..... WHOOPS......

[tierra-paldeana]

💭

Send me a “💭“ and your Muse will experience one of my Muse’s Memories

☠🌏– Rika was peeking from behind some bushes, completely concealed while she observed a Drednaw that was resting in a shallow pond nearby.

''Heheheh...''

She kept her mischievous laughter quiet as she grabbed a peeble and threw it near the Bite Pokémon. It stirred and looked around in confusion, before settling down again.

She'd seen this creature chomp down on prey near the shore, and really felt like testing her luck. After all, there was nothing she enjoyed more than playing tag with large, wild Pokémon.

A larger peeble broke the water's surface this time. The Drednaw became irate and immediately turned around. Rika made herself known by popping out of the bush.

''What're ya' lookin' at? Wanna fight or somethin'? Hahah-!''

The creature immediately extended its long neck to chomp on her, but she was quick to dodge it.

''Whoops! Tough luck, bud! C'mon now! Move those legs!''

With an angry grunt, the turtle Pokémon began to slooowly waddle out of the water, readying its neck again. But by the time it came out, Rika was way too far away from it to reach her.

''Pffft hahaha! Too slow!''

She stopped in her tracks, taunting it and giving it the chance to reach near her. But as soon as it became close enough to ready its neck again, she just jumped and darted forward.

Rinse and repeat for a few minutes until the Pokémon simply gave up and went back to its pond grumbling and grunting in frustration.

''Nahahahah! What a sore loser!! Pffft!''

She just rolled on the grass, holding her belly and laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world...