#reading frenzy

[tedlebred]

Uuuuhhhhh this is how that scene went right.

[himulrai]

previous one went stratospheric so this came about lmao??

part 3 is now up!

[shisasan]

Anne Sexton, The complete poems "The Witch's Life"

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

got a worm nibbling my brain. can someone help me find a piece of obscure media?

webcomic/indie comic from the 2010s. basically a sci-fi short story about a young girl (with red hair?) who was being raised by scientists as part of an experiment. she receives a haircut/has her head shaved, in preparation for her annual brain scan/testing. it is revealed that while her body is human, her "brain" is artificial, made of computer implants throughout her skull and spine. at some point her biological mother (also a scientist on the same campus?) encounters her and is repulsed, viewing her as a machine who has murdered her daughter.

it was very poignant and it bruised my heart and i can NOT find it anywhere

[jesuistrestriste]

hihi i hope you’re doing well!! tis me.. mommy issues!art anon.. >:3

mommy issues!art who is just so needy. he can’t help but melt into your touch after a long day, he’s completely pliable in your hands. he just wants mommy to hold him!! it’s not his fault that being cuddled by you leads to him eagerly shoving his tongue down your throat!! he just missed you!!

then he’s breaking away to beg, “please- mommy, can i?” while he paws at the neckline of your top. his desperate, wet eyes are too much, how could you ever say no? not that you’d ever pass up a nursing handjob, anyway…

(p.s. may i claim 🍼 anon… seemed fitting lol)

mommy issues!art anon hii:3 love to see you in my inbox again; this is so yummy.. also 🍼 is yours!

cw (18+) : sub!art, mommy kink, messy nursing hj, desperation/neediness

art immediately pushes your top up and over your breasts as soon as you give him permission, his blue eyes glazing over with unfiltered arousal. his cheeks are flushed the prettiest pink you’ve ever seen, and then you notice that his bottom lip is wobbling like he’s about to cry. it wouldn’t be the first time that tears were shed down his cheeks when faced with your nurturing dominance. you feel both sets of his fingers squeeze at your chest—thumbs rubbing circles over your pebbling nipples, whimpering when you stroke your fingers through his blonde curls. he’s stuck in a trance of some kind, it seems.

“go on, i said you could.”

those simple words of encouragement are all that he needs to be snapped out of his stupor and surge forward to take one of your tits into his warm, open mouth. he slathers your bud in his sweet spit, moaning with pinched-up brows and suckling like he’s expecting something to come out. it’s hard not to stick a hand down into your panties at the feeling of him working his tongue so greedily over your flesh.. and his whimpers aren’t helping. your touch tightens in his strands and pulls a high-pitched keen from his chest. he unlatches and looks up to you, pouting, afraid you’re about to cut him off.

“are you going to be a good boy for me, art?”

he shudders, his legs tensing.

“yes, mommy. whatever you want..”

“you want help?” your fingers tease the waistband of his sweats before dipping down into them and his boxer briefs, playing with the base of his swollen length. his eyes roll back the instant you make contact with him there, and you laugh breathily in response. he’s always this easy with you. you drag your nail against the pulsing vein that you feel bulging from the underside.

“ye—yeah, help—help me, please,” he mewls, lifting his hips to press further into your palm, “be good, ‘m gonna be so good, i need it..”

your hand moves and wraps around his cock without further pleading from the blonde curled against you. he’s already filthily covered in his own juices, so it’s easy to stroke him without feeling like you’re hurting him. he gives confirmation of that in the form of a instantaneous, shattered cry and an arching back. he clutches your tit harder before burying his face back into the other one, trying to muffle his pathetic sounds as you jerk him off in time with the hollowing of his cheeks around your bud. he laps at you for another minute before his pelvis starts to stutter and roll up into your fist. it’s normal for him to try to take what he needs, even if you’re already giving it to him exactly the way he likes it. you smirk.

“you wanna do it yourself?”

he sobs around your flesh, shaking his head and letting his eyes flutter open to look up to you. “nmph—mmm-mn—“

“okay, then calm down and let me finish you off. have some faith in me,” you tease.

art’s mouth parts into a slackened ‘O’ around your sensitive skin when you twist your wrist and begin working his aching tip, the wet sounds emanating from your motions only heightening his pleasure. his toes start to curl, his legs clamp shut, his breathing picks up rapidly. he nearly squeals at the sensation of your thumb playing with his glossy slit. he hates (loves) it when you do that.

“mmm-my—mmm-my—! mmmngh!”

it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what lewd nickname he’s murmuring around the mouthful of your plush breast. you bite your lower lip, letting out a stream of breathy moans to accompany his sounds, and stroke him faster. his eyes fly open wide before squeezing shut so tight that wrinkles appear at the outer corners. reaching your free hand up, you move to lightly trace his cheek, his brow, the bridge of his nose. such a pretty little toy.

“are you close?”

he nods.

“are you gonna come?”

he suckles harder, wails louder against you.

“you can come for me, baby. give me a big load.. show me how much you’ve been wanting this..”

three more flicks of your closed hand around his throbbing appendage and he’s gone—his lips detaching from you with a sharp, trembling gasp, a string of spit connecting to your body; his head falls into your lap as he bucks into your touch and feels several viscous streams of fluid spray from him and into his clothing, as well as between your moving fingers. it sticks between your digits like glue. he wails like he’s being taken apart by you, praying that you’ll put him back together afterwards, and you closely watch his abdomen flex with each orgasmic contraction—every single one followed by a puny whine of ecstasy.

you don’t stop pumping him until he begins to wheeze and jolt. it’d be unfair to expect him to vocalize his overstimulation, given how wrecked he is. your ministrations slow and then rest in a pause at the base. he catches his breath as best he can and winces when you accidentally force an aftershock from his spent dick. tugging your touch from his soiled bottoms, you look down to your hand that has become creamy with his frothed-up release.

“such a mess, artie,” you croon, showing it to him as he pants and gazes up to you with an unfocused stare, “did that feel good?”

a single nod is all that he can manage. his lips part a few moments later, trying to muster up the energy to tell you exactly what he wants to say.

thank you. i love you. i needed that. i needed you. please hold me.

but none of it comes.

he leans in and kisses your breast, giving one more languid lick over your nipple in hopes that it’ll get his point of gratitude across. once he’s got his bearings back, he’ll give you everything he has.

now, though, he just needs a moment in your arms.

“mommy,” he whispers. he swallows thickly after and tries to blink away the wetness stinging his vision. it'd be embarrassing if he was with anyone but you.

you caress his jaw, give him a soft smile.

that’s all you really need to hear.

tags : @voidsuites @asheepinfrance @fawnnpaws @artstennisracket @andyrambles @imperishablereverie @ghostgirl-22 @lexiiscorect @cha11engers @patricksbf @newrochellechallenger2019 @pittsick @blastzachilles @oncefaist @tacobacoyeet

[insanity6666]

Molten Hearts 2

Vulkan realises his mistake, and understandably panics. Luckily, you are there to help. Realisations, explanations, and conversations abound. It's Vulkans' turn to suffer a little (but it's okay).

Warnings, if any: The only one I can think of is 'I am not used to writing more heated scenes, so if it seems a little off or stilted, that's probably the reason'.

Nothing NSFW really happens. Also this one is fairly long, so enjoy that.

Part 1, Part 1.5

Vulkan was happy.

Not only had the battle been mercifully short, there had been minimal casualties. It was uncommon for the Salamanders to be called to put down rebellions, but they had been the closest to the crisis. Luckily, a strong show of their might had destroyed the rebel soldiers fighting spirit, and they had summarily surrendered, forcing their leaders to accept all the terms the Emperor had set for their continued survival and to be accepted back into the safety of the Imperium. 

He was also still riding the high of you accepting his gift.

Granted, he had intended to give it to you in a more private setting, but his eagerness had gotten the better of him when he called for you right after finishing the circlet and seeing it sitting in the box had him impatient.

He had feared that, perhaps, you wouldn’t like the gift. While it seemed a common enough headwear among the women of your planet, he had realised too late that you may not prefer it. Maybe it wasn’t viable for your profession, after all standing in front of a forge or furnace for hours while wearing a piece of metal around your skull was likely unwise, or it could simply not be a style you liked. 

And for a terrifying moment, that had seemed the case. When he had seen you, weaving through his workshop and greeting his sons with an easy familiarity, he had been struck again with nerves. You had been wearing your work clothes, your pulse beating loud from the exertion of your work, sweat still coating your skin and making it glisten in the glow of fire and light fixtures, your eyes bright and curious and your form at ease among giants and titans.

He had turned to neaten his tools, keeping his hands busy while he reigned in his emotions, as reminded himself that he couldn’t just scoop you up and hold you close to him to feel your heartbeat under his hands. He tried to remember the words he had practiced in his head, but the cheeky grin you sent him after your customary greeting had him forgetting himself, falling into easy conversation and banter before he even realised he had been drawn in by your presence once more. 

When he had presented the gift, the words were not as grand or… poetic as he would have liked. They barely contained a fragment of what he felt for you, of what you inspired in him, but he didn’t want to overwhelm you so those -in his opinion- underwhelming words would have to suffice for the time being.

But your reaction had caused a new kind of fear to set in. It had barely been a reaction at all. You had stared, uncomprehending, as confusion, realisation, and something he couldn’t decipher crossed what he could see of your features before they smoothed into something like the mask he had seen you use in those card games you liked to play, but different and somehow worse. Because he truly could not gauge your feelings at that moment.

He thought he had done something wrong, but upon your clarification -rushed and slightly panicked though it was- he had relaxed and, admittedly, lit up as joy warmed his soul that he had successfully created something you liked. He did feel a little guilty at making you a little uncomfortable, but he was far more smug at the fact that he had given you such a grand gift by your peoples standards.

Vulkan hid that thought, refusing to let it show, and instead took in the wonder of your expression as you properly took in the token. With great force of will, instead of reaching for you, he had gently taken the circlet from its container and placed it where it belonged. The quiet, long breath you had taken sang in his ears and ignited his blood, and he had to return his hands to his sides before he slipped and did something inappropriate, such as cup your face or find other ways to draw that sound from you again. 

“It’s perfect.” And oh, he had wanted to taste that smile. The closest he had allowed himself was to echo the word, enthralled by how you looked. Gentle smile, wondrous eyes, his token shining and marking you as his-

He had tensed the muscles in his hands as he cut that thought off at the head, the itch to reach out proving to be a trial of self-control. Thankfully, you had broken the tension before it could build to something even he couldn’t bear, and your declaration of needing to give him something in turn had made something in him soften.

So sweet and considerate, always. So much so, you were willing to scold and borderline challenge him in an attempt to show your care for him, and even to get him to take care of himself. While the concern wasn’t necessary, he won’t deny -at least to himself- that he drank it up like that of a man who had been lost in the desert and found a spring of cool, clean water.

He had mourned the sight of you leaving, and had weathered the disappointment of not being able to join you for that offer of sharing a drink together. However, your response had been far sweeter than any vintage.

Setting down his pen, Vulkan turned in his seat to open one of the draws of his desk and pulled out his personal dataslate to read over the message again.

Then I have something to look forward to! Be safe, Vulkan.

That sweet, unnecessary concern. Still, you worry for him, regardless of his strength and abilities. Regardless of the fact that he is a Primarch with a legion of Astartes, thousands of superhumans with capabilities, able to wield weapons and wear armour that could both reap and withstand the kind of destruction that could destroy worlds.

Yet, you still worried. Still cared. Still thought to tell him to be safe. Is it because you wanted him to return to you? Because you didn’t want to see him hurt? Does the thought of him in danger make you sick and furious, like it does him for you? Do you care for him as he does for you?

‘I hope so.’ Vulkan thought, eyes tracing the letters slowly before setting the device onto the desk, out of the way but still within view. Within reach. 

He was fairly certain you had feelings for him. You were certainly attracted to him, as he had been lucky enough to pick up on your arousal on occasion; the expanded pupils and flushed cheeks of when you looked up at him after he said or did something, or the sweet scent that lingered in the air like a faint perfume, or the one time he was close enough to taste it on his tongue as he breathed in deep and your heart rate had kicked up several notches and if he had just leaned down a little more he could have-

‘Stop it.’ He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. While there was certainly a mutual physical attraction, Vulkan wanted the romantic attraction to be mutual as well. He had no concern of if they would be a match, as you and him had become good friends long before his feelings had begun to change, and even when they had disagreements they were able to sit down and talk it out, their ‘fights’ rarely lasted more than a few days- and even that was mostly because they had to attend to their duties and needed some time to let cooler heads prevail, or to seek advice and council on occasion.

When he had realised his feelings for you had turned from platonic to romantic, he knew he had to be careful. If you didn’t return his feelings, while it would hurt, he would respect it and hope he could still keep your friendship if nothing else. No, his greatest concern was whether or not you would feel comfortable accepting or rejecting his feelings. He was painfully aware of the power-imbalance, just in rank alone. Everything else was… well, it certainly didn’t help.

‘And neither does sitting here, worrying about it’ Vulkan thought as he rolled his shoulders and focused again on the paperwork that needed to be done. Reports to be read, questions to be answered, plans to be made. In the quiet of his office, he focused on the most important documents, but even as he read and wrote and signed and took in whatever information he needed, a small part of his mind continued to gnaw at the thought of you.

After you had left his workshop, his sons had congratulated him, which had been a relief in and of itself. The fact that his legion approved of his choice and supported him in this, was a gift he cherished. However, he hadn’t let himself celebrate too much, and even as his focus turned to war he had already begun to plan what to make next.

He already had several ideas, already drawn up a few sketches, but your reaction had been informative. Less gems, more engravings and filigree, inlaid metal and perhaps precious stones to add colour and enhance the overall design. Or a more practical gift would be warranted now, he had noticed some of your work gloves were beginning to show wear and tear. He could also make you a small set of armour, light but sturdy, to better protect you when you joined him and his sons out on the field to witness their actions and record their deeds. He knew Ek’ran, one of his sons who had become particularly close with a remembrancer named Mitzi, was already working on a set for her. It was a good idea, and one he may use.

But more than gifts, Vulkan had a plan. He wanted to woo you, to show his devotion to you, prove his capabilities beyond warcraft and that he was the best match for you. He knew that your people valued skilled labour, your peoples guilds and trades expanded beyond your home planet and even beyond the system. He distinctly remembers, earlier in his acquaintanceship with you, a mother scolding her daughter for wanting to court a man who had no craft, or had not chosen a craft yet if he inferred the details correctly. In that regard, at least, he knew he was more than capable.

The circlet was but the first, and it wouldn’t be the only type of offering he made to you. He had been looking over recipes to try and recreate, he had long since begun taking notice you and your preferences; he paid attention to the types of fabrics and colours you preferred, and in what tones and hues, the kinds of scents you liked, the food and flavours you enjoyed -though he saw, with a small bit of pride, that you seemed to enjoy Nocturnean cuisine- and what temperatures you were comfortable in. Dozens of other little notes and details he noticed about you.

The way you could convey an entire sentence with just a single expression, the way you would try to hide your laughter when you thought it might not be appropriate, the way your grinned more than you smiled but both were worn freely and easily on your lips, the way you expressed yourself, the intense focus in the eyes as you worked your craft, how gentle you were with the young, the old and the injured, how much you cared about others and how much more you cared for those close to you, how fierce you could be when the situation called for it.

He set aside a stack of newly signed documents, and pulled a set of reports that needed to be reviewed. Idly, Vulkan decided he should probably make you a new set of gloves. The armour would take time and he needed to settle on a design before anything else.

It was as he came to this decision that his personal device dinged. Immediately, he reached over to grab it so he could read the message. He couldn't help the smile when he saw you had sent him a message.

Hope I’m not interrupting anything important. Do you have some free time?

Likely it was about that offer of a drink. He sent a quick reply and set it aside to focus back on work, now eager to get as much done as he could before you arrived.

I do. I am currently in my office.

Another ding.

Good. I’ll be there a bit.

He felt a little ridiculous, being so excited for your arrival. Even as he worked through the paperwork with efficient focus, he kept his ears trained for any sound that would announce your arrival.

That didn’t stop him from perking up when he heard your footsteps and the polite little knocks on his door. 

“Come in.” He called as he set his work aside, eager to give you his full attention. He turned to you when the door slid open and you stepped inside, it closed behind you with a quiet hiss a moment later. He had a flash moment of disappointment you weren’t wearing the circlet, but it was quickly forgotten when he noticed… you. 

While you smiled as you greeted him, the smile didn’t reach your eyes, and they barely settled on him before shifting elsewhere. Your body was tense, and you were tangling your fingers together in a nervous habit. Everything about you screamed ‘anxious’.

He felt his joy burn away into worry.

“Are you alright? Did something happen?” He asked calmly. He had to be calm, but his worries nagged at him. Were you injured? The medical report said you had only minor injuries, so much so your visit to the medicae had only lasted a few short minutes. It couldn’t be that, you weren’t foolish enough to try and hide a serious injury. Was someone bothering you? That would explain the body language. If you were being harassed Vulkan would ensure the offending party would never be on the same ship as you, let alone the same room, it didn’t matter who it was. 

A terrible thought washed over him like a Fenrisian avalanche: Did you not like his gift?

‘Was it too much, after all?’ He thought, the beginnings of that new and different fear starting to boil up into the beginnings of panic. ‘Did it make you uncomfortable? Did you feel obligated to accept it? Did I make you uncomfortable?’ The idea squeezed at his hearts like an icy fist.

“No, no. I’m alright.” You said immediately, walking over to stand a polite distance from his desk. Irrationally, he hated his desk at that moment. It was now a wall between the two of you, like you needed a physical barrier, like you needed distance from him. Protection from him.

“Are you, really?” He asked, trying not to let his emotions show. Yet, as always, you saw something. No matter how well he hid his thoughts or how thoroughly he built his walls, you were able to see through it all. You saw him.

Just as he was able to see you.

You cringed at his words, your eyes falling again to the floor as you struggled with whatever was in that wonderful mind of yours. He was just beginning to become truly concerned when you took a deep breath and looked at him, determined but clearly still nervous. You opened your mouth, then closed his, a frustrated noise leaving you as you rubbed the back of your neck. Another habit that spoke volumes of how much you were struggling with this.

“Whatever it is that is causing you such distress, you can tell me. I swear, I will do what I can to ease this burden.” He spoke the words easily, but with a conviction that seemed to ease you, at least a little.

“It’s not a burden.” You say almost immediately, almost offended, but give him a waned smile regardless. Then your eyes wander again.

A beat passes.

“Okay.” You sigh to yourself. “Okay.” You straighten and look at him once more. Your brilliant eyes convey a myriad of emotions. He hates how fear is so prominent in them while you look at him in this moment.

“The gift you gave me… the circlet.” You began.

‘I knew it.’ He despaired.

“If it is not to your liking, I can make something else.” The words escaped him before he even realised they had formed, he began to rise out of his seat, but you raised your hands.

“No! No! That’s not it! Not exactly. Please, let me explain.” You look almost pained, but the beginnings of a blush dusting over your cheeks suggested something else. Vulkan, obligingly, sat back down as he tried to understand what was the problem and how he could undo whatever damage he may have caused.

He was starting to suspect he was missing something very important.

“My apologies.” He said, his mind a whirlwind of theories and anxieties.

You gave a nod, then continued. 

“The circlet is… well, it’s not really a gift given freely. Among friends.” You say the words slowly, as though trying to set them in place to build upon them later. “It’s a very… intimate gift.” You try again, sigh and rub at your eyes. You mutter something that sounds suspiciously like ‘rip it off like a bandage’ which it not something you should do-

“A circlet is given with the intent of marriage, Vulkan.” You state, looking straight at him.

He stares at you as his mind stalls, every flicker and spark of thought dying out as it’s smothered by your words.

“Marriage.” He echoes, unable to conjure any other word. Or thought.

“Yes. You… by my culture, you proposed.” You explain, shifting as your voice wavers. 

The shock wears off as realisation sets in. 

‘No. No, no, no, no!’ Vulkan stood so fast his char toppled over, he had a moment of regret when you flinched at the sudden noise and movement. He couldn’t linger on that for more than a moment, however.

Everything was ruined.

‘I can fix this. I can fix this. I can fix this.’ He chanted as he rushed around his desk and dropped to his knees at your side. His plans, his hopes, his hearts, all destroyed because he was a fool who didn’t think to check, to do even a modicum of research, to ask anyone. His eagerness had blinded him and made him reckless, and now look at what he had done.

You must have felt terrified. Being proposed to by a Primarch. How could you have refused? How could you have done anything other than allow him to force you into an engagement you possibly didn’t want? You didn’t say anything, but how could you? Did you assume he knew? You didn’t say ‘yes’ but you didn’t refuse his gift. Of course you didn’t refuse his gift. You couldn’t refuse him. Even if you suspected he had no knowledge of your people's customs. Did you accept knowing he didn’t mean it? That his intention did not match what the circlet symbolises? How did that make you feel? Did it do more than just make you uncomfortable? Did he hurt you?

“I didn’t know.” He forces the words out past the pain in his chest and the lump in his throat, as he gently takes your hands in his and turns you towards him. “I swear I didn’t know, but that is no excuse. I am so sorry for putting you in an uncomfortable situation like that.”

Did he ruin everything? Did he burn away any chances at asking for your hand? Had he managed to lose your friendship? Surely, they could recover from this. Things would be a little awkward, but with some time and caution they could go back to how things were. This was just a snag in your relationship, he hadn’t wrecked everything, surely? It might make actually proposing a little difficult, but he could plan around that later. He just needed to fix this now.

“I know.” He hates how small you sound, how quiet your voice is. He wants to pull you closer, erase all the pain and doubt in your eyes. He hates how he is the one that caused it. “I know you weren’t aware. You wouldn’t have given me the circlet otherwise.”

Oh, he would. He would have. Not so soon, but he would have given it to you properly. He would have proposed properly. He doesn’t like the way you worded it, though. He doesn’t like the crack of heartbreak he caught in your voice. The implication of it makes hope billow in his chest, filling his heart as his breath fills his lungs. He also realises the perilousness of this conversation. If he isn’t careful, you may think he doesn’t care for you, doesn’t love you, and that you may stymie any feelings you have for him. It is early, perhaps too soon entirely, but he will not risk losing you like that. 

“Not like that.” He admits, quieter than he intended, but he lets himself be vulnerable. Your eyes snap up to stare into his own, and while doubt still lingers at the edges, he can see the understanding shining there. He also sees the embers of hope beginning to spark into a small, burning flame.

“Vulkan?” He doesn’t know what you ask, but he nods, willing to give you anything, everything. He has already placed his hearts in your hands, everything else is yours.

Your eyes search his, his face, and finally settle on your joined hands. He watches as you take a deep breath…

And place your heart in his hands.

“If I had the choice, I would choose you. Accidentally or otherwise.” The smile you send up at him is so shy, the hope of your eyes engulfed in the genuine love he sees shining there. A thrill runs through him at your words, and he has to take a fortifying breath to control himself. To stop himself from simply picking you up and indulging in every impulse he has smothered since he met you.

“Truly?” He could not force the smile from his face if the Emperor commanded it. He opens his knees and tugs you closer, and you follow with such a natural ease, standing between his thighs, he has to smother another impulse entirely at the sight.

“Truly.” He catches as your eyes dip, settling on his lips. 

Vulkan leaned down as one of his hands moved to your chin, gently guiding so he could finally taste your smile. He was delighted in how you not only allowed it, but moved to meet him. 

Your smile was as sweet and soft as you were.

While the kiss itself was chaste, barely a soft brush of lips against each other, it lit a fire in him. He pulled back a little with the intent to steady himself, because he would not have his first time with you on the floor of his office, but was caught off guard when you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and followed to close that scant distance and capture his lips with your own.

You were firmer than he had been, your mouth pressing against his with clear intent, your hand releasing the fabric to reach up and around to settle on the back of his neck, intent on keeping him there. Right where you wanted him. He can’t deny the little gasp of surprise at your boldness, especially when you took advantage like any good warrior, your lips parted and he felt something wet and firm slip past his.

The quiet moan you let out broke him out of his surprise. Shifting for a better angle, he pressed his tongue against yours, sliding and twisting as he figured out what he needed to do to bring out that sweet sound again. His hand cupped both the side of your neck and head, his fingers curling around to give him more control as he pushed forward, invading your mouth. Heat was rapidly flowing through his blood and making his head hazy, the wet sounds the two of you were making only made that heat begin to sink low in his gut.

You surprised him again when, not only did you not try to push back, but pulled him forward as your free hand slid up his arm to grip at his shoulder. Then, distracted as he tried to find the best spot to place his own free hand on your body- you sucked on his tongue.

The sound that was pulled from him was as shocking as the bolt of pleasure that went straight to his groin. He bowed forward, his hips twitching as he pulled you against him, the squeak of surprise was muffled by the moan he let out at the feel of your body pressed to his. The smell of your arousal had him shuddering, even as he lapped at your mouth, even as you continued to suck and lick and drive him mad with what your clever tongue was doing. The haze in his mind seemed to fill him entirely, he was dizzy yet focused all at once. He burned for you, and he would gladly let this fire consume him. 

His hands began to wander, exploring and unable to settle in one place. Your body was soft and strong and even with the barrier of clothes, was able to elicit delicious reactions from you. More, he wanted more. No, he needed it. More of your sounds, your smell, the way you pushed against him and held him and you. He needed more of you.

Too soon, you pushed at his shoulders as you began to pull away. He allowed it, but didn’t let you go far. He opened his eyes -when did he close them?- to see you panting, face flushed and eyes blown so wide only a thin sliver of colour remained. He became painfully aware of how confining his trousers were in that moment, he could only hope his tunic shirt helped hide his desperation.

‘Control.’ Vulkan told himself, determined to master himself and let you recover. His eyes tracked a bubble of saliva on your chin, and his tongue followed a moment later. The taste of your skin made a rumbling noise rise from his chest, and continued along your jaw, alternating between licks and kisses as he made his way from your jawline to your neck. The surprised little ‘ah!’ that escaped you when he gently sucked on the side of your neck, right where your pulse was hammering against his lips, only added fuel to the fire.

“Vulkan.” You breathed his name, and his grip on you tightened. “We… we still need to talk.” You moaned, still holding onto him like your life depended on it. You were right, he knew you were right. He just couldn’t let you go. He nuzzled into your shoulder. The effect you had on him…

“Vulkan.” There was humour in your voice now. He took a deep breath, filling all three of his lungs with you, and with more strength than he wants to admit, pulled away to sit back on his heels. He still kept his hands wrapped around your waist and hips, keeping you standing between his knees, and you rested your hands against his forearms, perfectly at ease where you were. Comfortable, like it was natural for you to be there. 

He had to take another fortifying breath, to keep from pulling you in and stealing another long kiss. He reminded himself he would not take you on the floor of his office.

“Right. Yes. The circlet.” He was present enough to be embarrassed by how he seems to have lost his eloquence. “How do we… resolve that? I do not wish to put you in a compromising position.” 

“Well, that’s disappointing.” He stared in shock as your cheeks flushed with renewed colour, clearly realising what you just said. He couldn’t help the chuckle as you hid your face with your hands. “That wasn’t meant to come out. I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He said, smiling down at you as a milder warmth hummed under his skin. “I like hearing that you want me. Though maybe not in front of others. Those words, and the sweet sounds you made, are for me.” Unbidden, his voice dropped an octave. The thought of someone else, anyone, hearing you, knowing what you sound like when in the throes of pleasure, sounds he draws from you, makes something dark in mind snarl and writhe with simmering fury.

He is soothed by the way your expression slackens slightly, and the shiver that runs through you that he feels through his hands. He breathes in the scent of your arousal, tasting it on his tongue and the synapses in his mind begin firing, another rumble in his chest at the thought of going straight to the source-

“Distracted.” You say suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. “We keep getting distracted. You are very distracting.” 

Vulkan can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from his throat, “I’m afraid you are just as guilty as I am, my treasure.” He delights in the bashful smile that graces your features at the endearment. It hadn’t been intentional, it had fallen from his lips naturally. Because it was the truth. You were his dearest treasure.

“Yes. Well. Yes. The situation with the circlet.” That sobered him, slightly, and he focused his attention on the matter at hand. Most of it. His eyes still trailed over you, a little. “Nobody saw me wearing the circlet, at least no one from my home planet. Mitzi knows, though.” At your sigh, Vulkan suspects it wasn’t exactly by your choice, and made a mental note to ask about it later, “I explained what happened. She may have threatened bodily harm upon you for toying with my heart’, though” The smile you sent him was rueful and affectionate.

“I would have let her.” He speaks the words easily. He really would have, knowing he had caused you such distress.

“Vulkan!” You sound more concerned than scandalised, but he sends you a reassuring smile nonetheless.

“Mitzi is a loyal friend, and while she is spirited she is no fool. The fact she is willing to do so, even if only in theory, is admirable. I would also deserve it.”

You make an unhappy noise, but don’t otherwise disagree. 

“Okay. Yes. True. Now, she won’t say anything, of course. So there shouldn’t be any rumours of a sudden engagement or anything like that… at least for now.” You add, shifting in his hands which was… distracting.

“That’s good, it will give us some breathing room and time to figure out how we wish to proceed.” He said the words, but his mind was not on any topic of ‘how to proceed’. Except on how to proceed to his private quarters, which suddenly seemed far too distant from his office. “In regards to our ‘engagement’-”

“Marriage.”

He blinked down at you.

“What?”

You made an expression somewhere between embarrassed and pleased, even as you suddenly seemed unable to hold his gaze. 

“Due to the… ah, quality of the circlet, it could also be considered a marriage diadem. So, you kind of skipped ‘courting’ and ‘engaged’ and went straight to ‘wife.’” You admit, gesturing a little as you went to help convey exactly how much tradition and propriety he had jumped past.

“We’re… married?”

“Essentially, by the traditions of my people. While most wouldn’t consider it a legitimate marriage, it’s more in name than anything else. It’s still pretty significant, and you did physically put the circlet on me, in front of witnesses, and I did accept in front of those witnesses.” You rambled a little, only to trail off as you stared up at him. He can’t imagine what he must look like, or the expression he’s wearing.

“My wife.” 

He shouldn’t be so pleased by this. It was entirely accidental. This whole situation is a mess. He should have done it properly, but he finds he can’t complain much as it means you are now tied to him, however loosely. All he needs to do is make sure you want this and then he can court your properly, and as long as you're comfortable with it you are keeping the diadem and staying as his traditionally-accepted wife.

He caught the heated look you sent him, before a mischievous gleam shone in your eyes. 

“I am your wife, but you are not my husband.” You announce slyly, then tack on a quick “technically” as if that’s supposed to soften the blow.

“What? Why? You are my wife, of course I am your husband.” How could he not be? What did he miss? Did he not say the right words?

Before he could begin to spiral, he felt your fingers lightly trail over one of his arms as you stepped out of his hold but closer to him. Focusing on his wrist for a few moments, then trailing up to his bicep, the touch feather light but all his awareness had zeroed in on your touch.

“You aren’t wearing anything.” You say simply, voice idle but he could clearly tell you were enjoying this. “Men wear cuffs around the biceps or wrists to symbolise their commitment. A thinner one for engagement, and the thicker one for marriage. It is largely personal preference where on the arm they choose, or if they have just the one or one of each arm, but one's profession may also play a part in it. Usually the circlet and cuffs are made in tandem, often commissioned by a close friend or family member if they're a craftsman, but there are smiths who specialise in marriage bands. Of course, doing it yourself is also acceptable, though usually a design is agreed upon before the actual engagement, usually during the later half of the courting period.” You lean forward to nip at the skin of his bicep, looking up with a look that was a little chastising, but the softness of your gaze gave it no real bite.

“Ah.” Is all he can say for a long moment, feeling the sting nonetheless. “Is the design not to your liking?”

Your resulting laugh is a balm to his soul, and as you rest your head upon his arm, looking up at him with such affection, trusting him to hold your barely-there weight as you lean against him, he feels endlessly blessed by all that you are, all that you do and all you have given him in this moment.

“I love it. Not only is it a perfect blend of our cultures, it’s a perfect blend of us. I’m only upset that I can’t openly wear it right now.” You sigh, nuzzling into him a little and he has to control the urge not to crush you against him, instead just wrapping an arm around you in a loose hug.

“And how can we make it so you can?” He asked, his mind already conjuring potential designs for his own marriage bands, they would have to flat if he wants to wear them under his armour. He could change sections of his armour to add a ring design around the biceps, it would be aesthetic so it would be easy enough to do.

“Marrying me properly would probably be best.” You tease, “You’ll need to announce your intent to court me to my family. Of course you also need to go through Mitzi, as she’s a sister in all but blood.” 

“Of course.” He agrees easily, knowing Mitzi would likely be the biggest hurdle in getting their relationship accepted by your family. He’ll need to do some research, this time, and maybe your friend can give him advice.

“And you?”

“Hm?”

“What are Nocturnean courting traditions?” You asked, looking up at him curiously.

Vulkan had a moment of panic as the image of you hunting a drake for him flashed through his mind. Granted that’s something the more martially skilled would do, but he has no doubts you would try if someone so much as mentioned it to you. You could be very determined.

“We’ll talk about that later, for now I want to learn more about your ways. It seems only fair.” He tries to divert the conversation, trying to figure out what Nocturnean courting traditions you can take part in that won’t risk your health and safety. And also how to make sure you never find out about the more dangerous ones. He loves his planet and his people, but he did not expect the fact he comes from a death world to complicate his love life quite in this way.

Busy as he was, thinking of ways to keep you safe while allowing you to take part in his people's culture, he missed the knowing look that crossed over your features before you allowed the subject to be changed.

It’s fine. You’ll just have to ask his sons more about what you had read later. For now, as the two of you talked, you both just basked in the moment, with being with each other. 

The future is unknown, but they are certain.

***

@incrediblethirst, @kit-williams, @beckyninja, @bleedingichorhearts, @jaghatai-khock, @pluvio-tea, @moodymisty, @thethronezone, @iluminatka16, @runin64

[royalarchivist]

Tubbo: The life system– In DND, when a character hits 0 health, they have to do something called a "saving throw," it's a death saving throw. If they roll under 10, they fail that death saving throw, and if you fail 3 death saving throws, your character is dead.

Tubbo: How I'm treating saving throws in the Realm SMP is basically, if you die, it's equal to you failing a death saving throw. [...] If you lose all 3 of your lives, you will be banned off the server for 24 hours, and when you come back, your stats will be reset to 0, you are a new character*, you are dead.

Tubbo: Players on the server are able to attach this to lore, if let's say they're doing a lore character, that character's dead, they can come back with a new one for things like roleplay and lore.** And storytelling! [...] I'm mainly leaving [lore] completely open-ended for the players of the server to tell the stories they want to make. I just want to make the ultimate sandbox for them, and plan events and activities that they can use to develop their own original characters, is kind of my plan.

Tubbo discussed Realm's life system earlier today during stream before Realm SMP opened!

* Not in the literal sense.

** Tubbo isn't saying players HAVE to make new characters when they die 3 times in one day. Tubbo reiterates that he wants Realms to be a sandbox for players to tell the stories they want to make.

[frenzyarts]

While the transphobes are getting mad at June Egbert I’m over here clapping my hands and cheering because Team Lesbian just got a new member

[prumanoenjoyer]

(HIGHLY RECOMMEND OPENING THE IMAGE TO SEE THE DETAILS BETTER, PREVIEW IS BLURRY) Back on the Frankenstein PruMano brainrot (it never left actually)

Hope you're as hyped about the somewhat religious imagery in this as I am, I just wanted it to make the viewer think of resurrection as it is presented in the Bible and consider how Gilbert might regard Lovino as something more than human which actually brings his existence closer to Christ than to anything living. Not a thing mentioned in the story itself but it's there in the subtext. Anyway go read "Til Death Do Us Part" by prumano (that's me) on AO3

Initial sketch and the reference used!

I've drawn them 4 times now please help

[hachis-strawberry]

introducing my new personality!

[dravencroft]

I got to make a new VtM character because my friend finally decided to try out Storytelling a one-shot session! Her name is Charlie and she's a very angry Anarch Gangrel on the run from the Camarilla, who brutally executed her Baroness Sire / lover / employer.

[shisasan]

Anne Sexton, The complete poems "Frenzy"

[ybkitten]

At every point while drawing this that I could have looked at a reference, I ended up not doing that.

I've been feeling really inspired by @taylor-titmouse lately and in a fit of unicorn frenzy I had to draw Laurestine.

[washiinmachiine]

drew this in like 2 hrs after i saw primordian briar for the first time before swarm got put on the pbe and forgot to post it here whoops.. riot i need her Now......

[yaoi-hate-machine]

is anyone skilled in the art of finding specific academic articles for free

[thenotoriousscuttlecliff]

Yes, the X-Men would never make friends or ally with someone who had been trying to kill them for years.

Pretty much since Rogue joined, the X-Men have always given their villains a chance to make peace. They've even had bleedin' Sabretooth on the team three or four times.