#read at your own risk lol

[taste-thewaste]

Hiii everyone, it’s been ages since I’ve posted here but I am fully invested in Red, White and Royal Blue right now, and so I’m hoping this little ficlet reaches the right audience 😂😅

It’s a short fluff filled fic of the boys gettin silly with a Taylor Swift song, it’s so fluffy and domestic and lol. Comments will be cherished!

[bengesko]

Not to be horny on main, but like.

I haven't had a good dicking in over a decade and it's driving me nuts.

[thelonewolf48]

Hello, Blank the series community!

How are we processing the ending of season 1? Are you angry? Do you understand Khun Neung's actions? Do we want to hit her? Yes, you say? 🤣🤣🤣

I wanted to wait a bit (also got busy at work lol) to avoid any spoilers for anyone who don't watch Episode 6 and last one for a while... I don't know how I'm gonna cope with it tbh... I'm following 23.5 and other web series but tbh... never on the level of Blank... I have to admit that GAP did it first but Blank did it better... which, no shade to GAP because FreenBecky, my beloved, chemistry was so good too!

And to clarify, GAP the series also had its own set of problems, most of them regarding money and locations, but what they did, opened the door for more GLs. Some, with good and bad executions, but that's up to each person and their preferences to decide!

BUT ENOUGH OF GAP (the perfect GL, to me!) Let's talk about BLANK!

As a start... I didn't like that they began from when Aneung knocked on Neung's door... it ate like 4 more minutes with them, plus they didn't keep the same tension.

On Episode 5, the tension was felt thanks to the zoom on their faces that lasted quite a good amount of seconds and Faye's minuscule lean.

This time it was cut and then bam! KISS! (NOT THAT I'M COMPLAINING!)

I'm not gonna go on full detail because I believe we all watched the episode, there are a few technical things I want to point out but I won't because nah! There was some foreshadowing to the doom that was to come... and no, I don't say this as a person who has read the book 🤭

I will go straight to that last part...

I had to go back to read that last part in the book because I wanted to keep this as accurate as I can.

So, throughout the episode, we see Aneung's family praising how good of a Role Model Neung is for Aneung. This is the first red flag. Then we see Neung still having doubts about their age gap which I find normal in this setting, because it can happen. This is the second red flag.

The final nail to the coffin, and the one I think everyone should consider whenever questioning WHY Neung broke this as cruel as she did, is that she thought she used Aneung as a way to distract her own pain.

In the book, and the reason why I re-read it, Neung sounds more detached, more out of the moment, and at some point even more aggressive about it. In the series, Neung, although also feeling out of the moment, the scene takes a more soft and romantic approach. They show us Neung's walls falling and accepting that she does indeed love Aneung.

Also, the "brake up" is harsher. Feels like a slap.

Now, we have to consider that in the book, right after their love making Aneung goes to school, everything seems fine, heavy, but good enough. Things happen, that I won't reveal because it could be spoilers, but one of those things is that Fah calls Neung about the funeral and everything. Fah is the one telling Neung that she trusts Neung, she's a role model, and she knows she will take care of Aneung.

Here, there is something I wanted to point out. To hear Fah say it, right after what happened it's what triggers Neung to break Aneung's heart. As logical as Neung is, that is the conclusion she gets after everything.

Aneung is young, thus can fall in love again with someone around her age. This is the conclusion Neung forms in her head. Plus, she sees something else that triggers a reaction. Something we will see in season 2 😆 so, no spoilers but maybe some of you can imagine what.

Neung is very logical, very cutthroat, and as stubborn as their grandmother. We have to remember that, as the eldest, she was trained to be the next heir. So, her life was very, very different. If you see any royal family, the image they project is one of perfection. So, it's no wonder that Neung learnt how to mask her feelings. If something hurts, hurt it back a thousand times worse. Or better yet, just ignore it.

Neung, just like Sam after she became the heir, prefers avoid her feelings because she knows caring equals pain. So, why bother?

There's a whole process Neung does before she goes to Aneung, in the book.

But I have to admit that the series spin was chef kiss! I'm sure that Neung, after waking up, was blaming herself for letting things escalate so quickly.

I will defend Neung with my whole heart because the traumas she carries makes her scared. And like a feral animal, the only way she knows how to defend herself is attacking. She pushes and pushes until she proves to herself that she is right. Everyone leaves.

I could continue rambling and going and just word spit things, but I have to sleep 🤣🤣🤣

Don't share spoilers if you read the book! Unless people want them, I will keep my posts spoiler free! Either way, if anyone wants to discuss the book, you can send me a message too!

Once again, I say this Blank the series set the bar waaaaaaay too high! I can't deny it!

Anyway, guys, do you agree? Disagree? Let's have a respectful debate!

[tappioca]

(would be a waste to not post this, eh)

the category is: ashley and leon traverse the pipeline between "friends" to "friends... with benefits". ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[svtskneecaps]

my biological peer reviewer (sibling) called this theory “fun” and said i should send it, so here goes

my personal theory is the feds ((”federation”)) created the eggs because they decided the best way to enforce “you can never leave” was to give the people something they couldn’t lose, like in the post by tumblr user alexaloraetheris (no relation to the smp) where their friend who might be a deity had said,

"When you die you descend to the underworld with nothing to lose. To keep you, they give you something to lose. When you want to return, they will demand it back. That's why nobody ever leaves. The only way out is to never enter."

i’m thinkin that on egg D-Day, at the end of the countdown, the feds weren’t gonna give the eggs back. they were just gonna hide them forever, or do something else, anything else, just keep them away from their surrogate parents, because then the people would just be STUCK, because people could theoretically take their eggs and leave, but if the eggs are missing, gone without a trace, then the residents CAN’T LEAVE, because presumably the eggs are STILL THERE, SOMEWHERE, IN NEED OF HELP AND RESCUE, if only the residents could find them ON THE ISLAND. if they leave the island while the eggs are missing, they are abandoning these things that have become their children.

but then in came the brazilians. and shit went south. because see, the spenglish (spanish / english) streamers were INVITED, but the brazilians CRASHED; the feds didn’t INVITE THEM, they weren’t EXPECTING THEM, but they can’t let these guys leave either, so they PANIC, and they scramble to give the brazilians the same thing--something to lose. the new egg had a brazilian jersey, homie was TAILOR MADE for them to pack bond with. the feds didn’t have time to send out multiple eggs, it was all or nothing, so they picked something they could reasonably assume all five of them would find endearing because they don’t know shit about these guys--they had a week to observe the OG batch, but all they know about these newbies is the brazilian flag on their boat--and so they sent the little egg out to become THEIR THING, the thing they couldn’t afford to lose.

it leaves open why the eggs are cracked too, bc idk what’s going on there lol, either 1: the eggs cracked because they’re hatching and the feds picked that date bc they wanted to yoink the eggs before they got Too Powerful, or 2: the feds were the ones to crack the eggs as an excuse for why they vanished--returning the eggs untouched would open too many questions the feds don’t want them asking; this way, instead of being concerned specifically with “why were the eggs missing”, the residents presume they know the answer--the cracks.

but yea i’m just gonna add as an aside that personally i think cucurucho / osito bimbo / the white fucker is way more active again because the feds are still scrambling to keep up with the brazilians (which, again, the feds weren’t expecting), and the binary fuckwad came in to put the fear of god into the newbies--maybe so they didn’t get too focused on the morse code transmissions; iirc max was theorizing that both osito and binary were part of the federation ? and if so it does make sense that the binary entity went to fuck with cellbit immediately after cellbit was introduced to the conspiracies of the island, yknow, a warning shot. i think they want them to be focused on the eggs.

BUT THAT’S JUST A THEOr

[suchawrathfullamb]

Prompt: Will Graham’s Broken Mind.

Season 4 Will being so out of his mind that Hannibal refuses to engage romantically with him. Prompted by what Bryan Fuller said about Season 4 Hannigram (ages ago, he has since changed his mind).

Will's body seems weightless, seconds stretched to feel like hours as he soars through the air, lost in a vast emptiness. The gentle caress of the breeze and the distant sound of waves envelop him, a sensation heard but never fully felt against his body. Is he dead? Did they die? Are they still together, wherever they are now? Instant regret fills his entire body as he considers the possibility of an afterlife without Hannibal. The jolt of realization electrifies him, wrenching him from the airborne void... back into the secure embrace of Hannibal's arms. They never plummeted. They are safe. Battered, bruised, but alive, still entwined. He feels divinely enchanted, empowered, fortunate, firmly grounded in the present, in life. Gazing up at Hannibal, relief floods him like a miraculous rewind of time. Closing the distance, he seeks the kiss he had avoided moments ago, knowing in his heart that if he got a taste of that, he wouldn’t have the strength to pull them over the edge. Now it’s all gone, he doesn’t care. Any trace of hesitation fades. The altered reality grants him insight, infusing him with newfound confidence. Hannibal carefully tilts his head, waiting for Will, so unsure, so scared of being rejected, again. So Will grabs him by the neck and merges their lips together.

It’s a surreal sensation of experiencing something entirely new, yet utterly familiar, like a reconnection of what has never truly parted. They kiss for what feels like an entire life, at the same time that he knows it’s only been a few seconds. Hannibal breaks the kiss, cupping his face with both hands. “We have to leave, now.” 

Reality intrudes, the urgency of the present snapping back into focus. They do have to leave. They have to leave immediately. And that’s exactly what they do.

That night went by so fast, yet torturously slow, like it would never end and they just wanted to make it to the next day. To see the sunrising as if it meant they prevailed and all was well. All wasn’t well. At all, but the illusion was comforting.

Memory fragments linger vividly: the wind on his bruised face, the metallic scent of blood, the stickiness staining their clothes. Wine stains the floor, shattered glass, their intertwined hands clinging fiercely, so afraid that letting go meant dissipating forever, like they were both made of dust. Even when rinsing blood from his mouth at the sink, Will clings to Hannibal.

He remembers wanting to stop everything and kiss him again, kiss him forever, make up for lost time. Amidst Hannibal's frantic search for a key or something Will can't recall, he leans in, showering kisses upon Hannibal's lips, his face, his neck. Hannibal smiles softly, gently pushing Will away.

Cool night air brushes against him as they sail across the ocean. Amidst the chaos, Chiyoh appears, aiding their escape. Will recalls no specifics of Chiyoh, only them, the water, the night sky.

Though time has passed since that night, he sometimes feels suspended on that cliff's edge, held by the only arms he's ever longed for. Yet it's not been too long. They've not settled, not rested. Shadows linger, trapping and pursuing him.

Yet that doesn’t stop them. In fact, Will feels like he got high and can’t come down. In the whirlwind of events, it feels like a fevered dream—a dizzying rush entangled with slow-motion haziness. Will finds himself in a lavish dining room, enveloped in Bedelia's overpowering amber scent, almost suffocating in its intensity. It mingles uncomfortably with the metallic tang of blood, unsettling his stomach. Blood droplets dance in the air, vivid and crimson, painting a surreal scene, the chilling touch of the blade the only sensation he registers. His heart thunders in his ears, the lights blinding, an inferno simmering within. This creation is unlike any other—planned, chillingly perfect. Their design.

As the color leaves her complexion, Will drops the knife and closes the distance, pushing Hannibal against the big dinning table, getting their clothes all stained, running his bloody hands through his neck and hair. Lust, desire, and an inexplicable love overwhelm him. Brief relief floods his heart before he's gently pushed away. Eyes shut, he reaches for Hannibal, met with silence. When he opens them, he stands alone. Hannibal swiftly orchestrates their exit, preparing to leave.

“Come on, we have to go,” Hannibal calls from the door. Will stands, numb and hollow, before snapping back to reality and approaching him.

Assigned the role of driver, Will obeys. The night feels crisp and vivid, the breeze a welcome caress on his skin. He glances to his right, spotting a lone figure on a bench. His rearview mirror reflects darkness, emptiness. He slows the car, stopping it further ahead. Hannibal, puzzled, steps out after Will.

“Will?” Hannibal's voice barely registers. Will's mind fixates on the man on the bench. He stands, a safe distance away, fixated. Hannibal follows his gaze, then looks back, questioning. “Will?” he gently touches his hand, but there's no response. Will's gaze burns with intensity, a fire simmering within. He strides toward the man, eyes locked, a predator's intent in his gaze.

At closer inspection, the man is no pushover; he's robust, exuding an air of authority as he lounges, puffing on a cigar. Upon noticing Will's approach, he frowns, unimpressed. Before he knows what is actually happening, Will is seeing red, splashing drops everywhere, as he pushes the man, throwing him backwards from the bench to the ground behind him, his head hitting the concrete, and he’s on to him in no time. Mounted on the man he attacks his throat, teeth slashing, like a vicious animal. Bloodlust consumes him, barely registering the taste. Hannibal's shadow looms closer, intervening by closing the man's mouth, locking eyes with Will.

From that brutal and beautiful spectacle, Will recollects little beyond Hannibal pulling him away, throwing him into the car. Then, only the blur of streetlights and wind racing past. He hears Hannibal's voice but cannot recall his own. His mind swirls with colors and lights. Unreal yet vividly present, he feels the pulse of every sinew, every rush of blood in his veins.

He passes out on the couch that night, and when he wakes up, he’s cleaned up and tended. But doesn’t remember any of it. Yet an instant tug in his chest forces his stomach to empty its contents—blood, wine, and parts of Bedelia splattered across the carpet. Hannibal appears, stands there for a second, watching him, then comes up and begins to gently stroke his back, soothing and pulling his hair back from his sweaty forehead. The scent must be awful to his sensitive nose, but he doesn’t show if it is. Just disappears and reappears with a glass of water and gently brings it to Will’s lips. He takes a sip and immediately feels the cool relief. Perhaps he passes out again, because he suddenly wakes up on the couch again and it’s dark outside. Hannibal is sat next to him, hands on his feet, but seems to be sleeping.

Silence fills the air, yet unseen presences press upon him; invisible restraints grip his wrists. The shadows cast Jack's haunting eyes through the kitchen window. Overwhelmed by anxiety, he ventures outside their remote refuge. The safe house, cloaked in darkness, secluded and in the middle of nowhere. If they were to be found, they already would have by now. He stands by the car and can see the crimson stains in the back seat, memories of the man on the bench returning—tasting flesh, witnessing life ebb away. His senses amplify, a god-like vision dawning, instincts surging, a blend of deity and beast. Horns seem to sprout from his reflection, an illusion melding with growing pressure upon his head, though nothing is there. 

He went back inside, retrieved the keys and suddenly he was back on the streets, lights passing by, wind caressing his face. He felt so free, so calm, yet so fierce. Half god, half beast, his soul dancing gloriously through a world he owned. He knew exactly where he was going, although if someone asked him, he wouldn’t be able to tell exactly. Like he was being guided by his body. Half beast, half god. 

Passing sounds like music made of thunder and waves, fog and vivid but glossy colors danced through his eyes and then, seated on a cold white tile floor, crimson splashes around him, artistry against white walls and floors. The scent of blood fills his lungs, empowering. Fear and anxiety vanish, replaced by absolute freedom and primal might. A towering figure appears, evoking an instinctive response, like his body recognized his mate, and he gave him a smile that spoke of accomplishment. Hannibal kneeled, words unheard, but Will's instinct led him to pull Hannibal closer, a kiss met with resistance.

“What have you done?” Hannibal inquired calmly, cupping his face. Will, unable to articulate coherent sounds, merely smiles. Hannibal picked him, cradling him like a child or a little monkey, carrying him away. Memories blur; the drive home brings only the sensation of wind against his face.

Reality crashes in as his body immerses in hot water. The bathtub reddens before turning clear, the scent of blood replaced by cypress and bergamot. Gentle hands tenderly cleanse him. Tilting his head to meet Hannibal's gaze, he breathes in his essence, drawing closer for a kiss, his soaked arms reaching Hannibal’s neck. When he tries to slide his tongue in, Hannibal pushes him away. His body complains with an automatic “hmmm” noise and a frown. Hannibal just turns his head away and places a soft kiss on Will’s temple.

He ends up falling asleep on the tub and wakes up naked on the bed, body covered in silky sheet. Hannibal is sat beside him, on the edge of the bed, gentle hands stroking his hair, eyes gleaming, filled with waters that never dare to come down. He falls asleep again. Dreams of lights, and colors, and something chasing him, and him, chasing something.

He doesn’t remember eating, at least not sitting on the table and having dinner. He remembers hunting, and filling his body with the flesh of the unworthy and vile, consuming their darkness unto him, making it holy, purifying. He’s full and satiated, not interested in whatever Hannibal prepares for them. Knows Hannibal would get annoyed at this, yet, he doesn’t seem to. Just keeps looking at Will with intensity and maybe worry, but Will isn’t sure if Hannibal worries at all.

His body revels in the satisfaction of his hunts, yet a primal craving for mating pulses within him, electrifying his loins to a point of painful urgency. Despite his attempts, each advance is met with tender but resolute rejection. His mind, clouded by intoxication, begins to ground itself, allowing the reality to seep through as he voices his confusion from the kitchen island where he sits, watching Hannibal wash something in the sink.

“Why?” It’s the only question that manages to escape him. Moments ago, he sought a kiss, an invitation, but once more, it ended in a gentle push and a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Hannibal halts, shutting off the tap to regard him, his chest moving steadily with each breath. “Not like this,” he replies calmly.

“Why?” 

“I don’t desire an affair with you,” Hannibal responds softly, his eyes carrying a hint of tenderness.

“No?” Tears well up in Will's eyes unexpectedly, his vulnerability surfacing like a that of a child, easily triggered. Hannibal notices, swiftly positioning himself in front of Will. He takes Will’s hands resting on his knees, kissing his knuckles.

“No,” he smiles gently, cupping Will's face with a hand, “I want more.”

Will stares. He fails to comprehend how this explanation changes anything. In his mind, they were already mated, united and married in every significant sense.

“Why can’t we just enjoy each other?” He offers, a sentiment he instantly regrets as it fractures something in Hannibal. His eyes avert, faltering.

“You’re deranged.” Hannibal retorts, his voice and expression suddenly cold. “When you wake up from this trip you’re in, you’ll regret all of it.” he resumes slicing fresh figs, his demeanor unyielding. “I do not intend to be a part of those regrets.” 

[apalapucian]

i'm too tired to put up a proper teaser post yet but egos pt. 2 is up and it's the final part so that fic is finally complete! i will still be editing it in the coming days and i'll post a proper link here later also but for now there ya go 💜

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

Word Find Tag

I was tagged by @i-can-even-burn-salad, thanks Elli 💜

My words: blood/bleed, scream, impale and shatter

Your words: splatter, stain, swing, splinter

Tagging gently: @pleasestaywithmedarling, @burntcoffeewhump (hey how's your story going?), @little-peril-stories, @outpost51 (do you do these? feel free to ignore if you dont <3), and Open Tag

Gore Fest, Lesssgo! Cuz we all know I feel the bloodlust lol

Under the cut. For reasons. (graphic violence and torture :p)

The fact that I pulled these all from Shattered Dreams/the sequel and not from my whump series... 😂

Blood

Marcus turned, his movement catching her attention again as he presented her with his back. His arm moved, the arm holding the knife, and when he turned back around, he was holding up a tan strip, dripping with red, no, dripping with blood. Alaia stared, a roaring in her ears blocking out all sound, as Marcus strode over to her, holding out that strip like some sick kind of offering. She automatically held out her hands, and he delivered his gift into her waiting palms. It landed with a wet squelch, warm liquid sliding in between her fingers.

Scream

But the positioning meant he had a clear view of Marcus when the man flattened out her injured hand and stabbed the knife back through it, burying it in the wood. Blood pooled around her spasming fingers, the spread of dark crimson echoing the flashes of red in the loose strands of her hair as Alaia screamed, batting at him with her free hand, trying to twist out from under him.

Impale

“It, it, it feels cold!” Alaia stuttered, gasping for breath through her tears. “Please, Marcus, please! It hurts!”  Marcus laughed. “Oh no, that’s not what I meant at all.”  All at once the pressure vanished. Relief washed over her in a wave that left her shaking uncontrollably, sending sparks of pain shooting through her impaled limbs. The throbbing, along with the lingering coolness in her core, seemed minor in comparison and yet took over her senses in a way her other injuries could not.

Shatter (from fractured soul)

For a moment, Serin's muddled mind comprehended that he was glad. He blinked, and the light fractured. He blinked again, and the screaming changed to shouts and thuds and the splatter of something wet spraying across something hard. Words filtered through the sludge slowing Serin's thoughts. Fuck stop No they can't let us go Run! masks mist NOW Fucking shit dead? if we don't any means alive you dumbfuck get out! It didn't make sense. Serin blinked again, found his view had changed. Was bouncing. He moved past a figure splayed out on the floor, their eyes closed, red pooling behind their head, staining their blond hair pink. He watched a guard lazily swing his baton at a mage running past him. The crack as the silvery metal shattered the mage's knee echoed through the cavern. Another blink revealed chaos, a scene so far beyond Serin's comprehension he couldn't make sense of it. Couldn't understand why there were mages screaming and running and crying and guards shouting and chasing and hurting.

[krysmcscience]

Hey, look, it's this thing again, only with a whole new chapter!

Oh, but what's that? It's not ten thousand words like I said it would be? You are absolutely correct! It is now just shy of eight thousand, because I had to split it apart from what was on track to become fifteen thousand.

There's some worldbuilding in this new chapter, Oh Boy!

Also, trigger warning, Shio exists <:)

If you like this at all, go thank @anightydragon for making me want to write more of it~ OuO

(Psst, @crinklytinfoil, stupid squishboi alert)

[mutsumiki]

⚠️TW: SU!CID3 || CW: OMORI Bad End Spoiler⚠️

Happy Birthday, Sunny! 7/20

[stormyweaver]

Putting this under a readmore because of things.

So I was feeling pretty suicidal earlier. (I wouldn't say I'm out of the woods just yet. Not yet. I'm... drinking, which is not great but it's almost giving me a weird sense of clarity?)

Anyway I'm just like.... look. Look I wanna be a content creator. I wanna push out content. I want to write and make videos and not be ashamed or embarrassed or think I'm not as good as the next person. And I can do it. I know I can. So I'm gonna try and do it. Because I HATE working for the man and living with a literal witch so I'm gonna work to do it...

Maybe starting tomorrow tho bc tonight is. A lot. Feeling like a failure and having (almost) everyone in your life validate that takes it's toll.

[strxwberrychocolate]

This will always be my fanfic I’ve written about high&low the worst x cross

[cerriddwenluna]

writer asks: 16, 24, & 25 :p

*cracks knuckles* Alright, lets do this! <3

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of (yes, I'm switching them round cause this deserves to be above the cut ;))

It's an excerpt from my very first published fic Wild Rose, which is still the most honest and raw fiction I have ever written (Note: This is NOT talking about Kurt or Blaine, I could never kill my darlings ;))

“It is going to take time. It has only been a few weeks since our world got turned upside down. We are going to cry and scream and shout and want to break things and not get out of bed some days. And we will let ourselves take that time to grieve the loss of such a vital part of ourselves. We will feel it all, and then, in time, we will learn to deal. We will keep living. We will grieve and grow and miss you forever, but we will live.”

16) are there any characters who haunt you?

Rachel fucking Berry. That damn girl represents every single bully that ever made my life a living hell and I really, really wish I could just despise her but she is so goddamn useful that she somehow keeps sneaking her way into almost everything I write, and not even as a villain... -.-

24) have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or a story?

The answer is under the cut 'cause I get semi graphic and long winded in the second part because I don't do taboo subjects. You enter at your own risk lol

The irony (yes, I know this is not the definition of that word. Blame Alanis Morissette.) of you asking me this after we spent way too long google streetviewing the highway between Scarsdale and Bushwick yesterday, just to see what the toll gate looked like, is not lost on me. Especially not considering I then went off and followed that entire route past the plethora of graveyards into Bushwick proper and tried in vain to find any building that looked like it could hold the Loft, while you were off actually being a 'sponsible adult xD

But for a serious answer, I research everything I can (even if it is really not necessary), but the most revelatory one was butt sex. As a cis woman who has no practical experience with gay butt sex, I went off into the deep end, and to my great surprise I discovered that the whole concept of 'stretching' as portrayed in some fiction is actually quite unnecessary. Imagine you are massively constipated and you are passing a truly ginormous log. Would you stretch out your anal muscles first? No! The way these muscles are designed means that they can relax and contract as and when necessary (i.e. pooping), which means that the whole 'stretching' is really quite obsolete. A thing that can be necessary, especially when dealing with a partner with limited anal experience, is to get them comfortable and relaxed which in turn means the muscles will give way easier. Despite the pleasure points located in the rectum and anal passage, it is not actually designed for things to be shoved up there, so it is completely normal to need a period of adjustment, just like with any other muscle group that is having to perform in a way they are not used to. So what actually happens when the receiving partner gets 'stretched' is that the muscles are being given an intrusion to respond to, and they will tighten when tense, but loosen when relax. An experienced bottoming partner's muscles will give way much easier because the body has learned it to be a pleasant experience, but someone who is relatively new to anal sex (or someone who is just really tense) would need to learn to relax around the intrusion. And the way to do that is not by scissoring your fingers to force the muscles apart (nevermind the strength you'd need in your fingers for that), but by making sure your partner is relaxed and comfortable. Just sticking a finger in there and gently moving it back and forth will do just fine. Also, you don't need your whole hand up there to reach the prostate, honestly. Note: You're usually better off building up to full penetration when inexperienced, especially when your partner has a massive schlong like so many fics write either Kurt or Blaine, or both, as having. It is never supposed to hurt! Note 2: I feel this might be a bit redundant too, but LUBE IS OUR FRIEND! And more importantly: SPIT IS NOT GOOD LUBE! Just to cover my own ass here, I don't actually claim to be an expert on this. Yes, there are always exceptions, there is no one size fits all, yadda yadda yadda :P

tl;dr... Butt sex, my friends. Butt sex. Oh, and also anal/penile sex toys and gay male sex positions, for funsies.

[lhrry]

it's the way harry's house is already becoming a comfort album for me, like the album i can play and it's like a sonic blanket, a soundscape i feel at home in, the album i can play when i'm home alone and want to dance around and be myself, the album i sing along to all the time, the album i can play in the car, the album i've cried to, the album that's going to colour this entire period of my life, the album that feels so personal and full of love that harry poured into making it, the album that really does feel like home for me right now, the album that i love more and more with each listen, i-

[fungal-wasted]

Canyon - WoH chapter 9

In which some past sins start crawling on their back but they ignore them.

Summary: Two travelers climb the steep caverns of Fog Canyon. There are unsettling thoughts making their way through the surface, which the wanderer will try to make sense of.

Words: 2.2K

Start from the beginning here

(full chapter under the cut)

.

“Rough shift?”

You nod, taking a sip of warm tea, struggling to restrain the shiver running through your hands. You don't wanna go into details.

“We lost another one. A fly.” You lost a couple of bugs too.

You ask if you have to write to the family.

“No, don’t worry about it. This one has no relatives on our records.”

You nod again, eyes on the tiled floor. 

“Look, none of the standard methods are working so far. We can try keeping them stable for some time but it’s always the same end result. I heard many of the people in the research department are quitting. They don’t wanna raise an alarm, but they can't find anything of use.”

You ask about the bug’s feelings on the current state of things. You can’t remember this insect as clearly as you wish. There is some familiarity. Colleague.

“I don’t know. We really chose the best time to train to become healers. huh?” The sarcasm in those words makes you uneasy. So does the colleagues’ nonchalance. “I don’t think I’m quitting, though. Recently, I was listening to my supervisor. She was talking about an incident with a particularly violent patient. I didn’t hear most of it, but they say they made a… discovery.”

Your digits drum on your cup, faster in pace. You are hesitant to reply or voice an opinion, so you nod to let the other elaborate.

“This man, head of the magic department, has been studying the properties of bugs as they pass away. He believes the cure to this plague is in the power of Soul…”

.

.

You wake up before that sentence ends.

Being honest with yourself, you had feared what would happen when you fell asleep. You find that instinctively, you seek darkness now, as if light threatened to burn you from the inside. In that regard, sleeping should be helpful, but it makes you vulnerable to dreams. Dreams were supposed to be inspiring, blissful, sometimes confusing, but the thought of them now simply causes an instinctive rejection. Thinking about it too much felt as if a swarm of lumaflies flew towards you, threatening to poke at the deepest edges of your memories. What you just experienced wasn’t as bad, so you reassure yourself that there is nothing real to fear.

(But why did you wake up so soon? Why do you feel so nauseous?)

Dreaming doesn’t burn now, but it certainly brings back unpleasant images. Nobody was exempt from such things, you thought as you turned over yourself, pressing your side on the cold floor. Asking about your experiences during the first wave of the plague was similar to asking someone about the weather, as if the breeze in the caverns and the new body count were comparable. But you doubted everyone had seen the same things as you did. 

The truth they painted is not a good one. You feel your insides twist, making you shiver at the implications of your dream.

You could not manage to sleep again, so you sat up, pacing around in hopes that the images would assemble into a coherent story that let you fill in the blanks (that you knew the answer to but didn’t dare to actually think about), and flopped on the nearest seat once it became clear it would take more than merely rotating the same things in your mind to make any progress (admission).

Some time later, you took out the maps you had picked up recently. You were examining the possible routes in Fog Canyon’s map as your companion awoke, and after exchanging a few words and watching them leave, you pick another piece of paper, a new idea on your mind. It is time to do some self examination.

You take a quill, an incomplete map of the Crossroads and write down what you have cleared so far.

And this is where your thoughts go blank for a moment, as you reach the “present” events.

First you write your full name, which you then erase and just leave the first name in there. It feels less formal. Something about your first name still stings, but you dismiss the unease.

Then you write down your age. You are not a young bug just out of the nest, but you are not as experienced as older bugs either.     You were old enough to have a job, but you weren’t quite stable back then. 

You see a spot at the bottom right corner of the map, which seems unfinished. You wonder if the cartographer just never finished to chart down there, or if the place is inaccessible now. The map of the Crossroads seems to focus on the main corridors, where trading took place. You scribble a few homes in there. Your drawings aren’t as good, but you understand the general concept.

That’s Blueshore. The town behind the Blue Lake. 

That… was your hometown. 

(Not anymore.)

You had moved to an apartment in the City, back when your application for a scholarship was accepted.

Scholarship! That rings a bell (one that you’re willing to hear, at least). You can remember the tablet you received on your doorstep: its weight as heavy as the significance of the words in it. Clay is not a common writing material anymore, but prizes of such relevance needed a firmer constitution, for those that wished to preserve it. Your family wanted to hang it on your front door, as a sign of pride. You didn’t let them, embarrassed at the idea, but you still thanked their compliments.

Maybe you should have hung it, just for their sake.

You write that down. That is a reason for being in the City instead of Blueshore, working at home. You were a student. (A healer?) But you also worked. Students like you were doing their internships earlier to account for the demand of healers.

You write down the place you frequented during your internship. You then add a cross next to it, disgusted. You left, you remember that. You will never associate with that place again, and you hope that it's fallen to ruin like everything else. Nothing of value is left in there, and the best it can do is fade into oblivion. (But that doesn’t change the fact you knew of it, and what already happened.)

You close the map and fold it carelessly. It’s started to wrinkle. You don’t mind.

The Archives also come to mind now as you fix your eyes on the bubbles growing from the walls. The trips there bring happier memories. You studied regularly in… the City, but on occasion, bugs like you would visit the canyon’s building. You would hang out by the Queen’s Station and make your way up to the Teacher’s facility along with your fellow classmates. 

The thought cheers you up somewhat, serving as a nice distraction from the previous current, just by the time your friend returns from their walk around the station. They grab your arm and their bag as they talk about their findings.You nod along, feeling a rush of energy in anticipation.

You know exactly where to take them.

The foggy caverns west of the station are as bright as you remember them. The wind blows colder and faster in there, but it is nothing you are not used to. The trihorned bug next to you has their eyes fixed on a group of lumaflies that float around one of the metal signs. There is an improvised drawing of Geo in it, clearly covering a different symbol. After a moment, they speak:

“This looks so much like a scam, look at that paint,” they rub the tip of their nail against it, watching the paint crack beneath. 

“Was that supposed to lead somewhere?” You ask, not finding anything that remotely looked like a bank. You don’t recall there being any building of the sort.

“A dark alley, I guess. You gotta be naive to fall for it though.” They laughed, a memory resurfacing. “One of my brothers, uh, Big Guy, once brought one of these signs home. I’ve no idea how he got it. I bet he stole it though.”

“How did he manage to get away with it?” You ask, puzzled.

“Eh, I think he just found it while partying, he or a friend broke it and took it. Almost everyone was asleep at that time of the cycle so nobody caught him with it on the street. Thing is, I wake up the next day and the fucking Golden Scarab Avenue sign is hanging right next to my head.” 

“Did it startle you?”

“Nah.” They shrug. “I thought it was awesome of him. He was great, it’s why my siblings and I called him ‘Big guy’.” Their pride is palpable in their words. Then, they walk towards the broken sign. ”I kind of…. wanna take this one with me, for old time’s sake.”

You ask them if there is anything that stops them. 

“You’re right, I can just take it. Would it fit in my bag? Maybe not… but I can carry it on my arm. It makes for a shield too.”

“I don’t think anything here will try to attack you.” 

“I just wanna play it safe, pal.” They wave, dismissing the topic and taking the closest staircase. Rigid vines and bubble tree roots have overtaken the walls and some of the tiles on the floor stick out. The taller bug is careful not to trip on their way up. “Hey so, you know where we’re going, right?”

“I do, yes. We are on the right path, even if some aspects have changed.” You touch one of the once smooth stone walls, now covered in branches. “Did you know that the Canyon used to be a part of Greenpath?”

“I think I heard about that once?” They shrug, standing on a stop, waiting for you to arrive. “What do you know?”

“Oh, well, the Archives were a common visit for students and others interested in innovation. Sometimes bugs would take the stag from the storerooms to the Queen’s Station, but I personally liked walking if I had the time.”

“Did you study there? I heard they had some of the best technicians in Hallownest.” 

“I actually just took a class or two there”, you fidgeted with the handle of your nail. “I was not a technician, but I can confirm their expertise. The lumaflies native to this area are used all over the kingdom, and they provide a quick source of energy. That is why a lot of technology was made here.”

“Do they hurt to touch?” They ask, as a swarm gets closer and sparks come out of them. 

“Only if they charge like that. I think there are some ways to lure them but don’t quote me on that.” 

You reach a higher passage, clinging to the thin branches for support where the railings are lacking. The canyon was known for being the nest of the few creatures that could withstand the acidic water in its lakes. Oomas, strange, floating creatures made their home in it. They were a common sight in smaller, less crowded caves, but they had proliferated in the absence of bugs to keep them out of the way. It was no surprise that the most resilient organisms were the ones to thrive in spite of the harshness of nature. Though passive, the oomas made use of the wind and acid for their benefit. 

Even if thousands of bugs wandered into these caverns in a constant stream of travelers, its inhabitants would adapt and regrow. Thin, yet strong branches fed from soil that would kill most other plants and fungi. Those are the often called bubble trees. You think there is some lesson you can get out of their resilience, but you’re sure that many others before you have already done that in the past, likely through more creative and eloquent ways. There is nothing new you can add to the discussion. (And frankly, it feels almost insulting that you, knowing yourself and what you did, should have a say in regrowth of any k—)

“Watch out!”

The trihorn bug tackles you, as an ooma core speeds through, hitting solid rock behind you. The shock causes both of you to trip, their weight turning you over your side. The core collides on a corner, exploding into an orange mass. You hold to your weapon for support as you get up. 

You hear hissing, horror flowing through your veins as you realize the explosion has caused a chain reaction on another ooma, this time closer to you both. 

“Hide in here!” They say, holding the street sign as a shield.

But you don’t have enough time.

You stretch one of your limbs, close your eyes, and focus on yourself, knowing it’s over.

The explosion does not occur where you expect it to, you’re unharmed.

The core has exploded in the middle of the air. Far enough from anything that could potentially perpetuate the chain reaction of explosions.

You sigh in relief.

“How did you do that?!”

Do… what?

“Is that some kind of magic? That was like a fireball!”

“I don’t know.” You reply.

(But you do know, and they know you do, too.)

[renember]

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