#rhythm purgatory

[55-degrees-fahrenheit]

[i-am-very-heck]

hey gamers how do we feel about the sneaky spirits' house being purgatory, and it's a rotating loop of trying to get out but that damned bow is the limbo keeper or something

if a spirit makes it past they're free to do as they wish in the afterlife (in the physical plane or heaven world)

[chrismcshell]

i love these gay animals

[shallowseeker]

Ah, yes. The Cas-watches-TV scene 20 minutes-ish into A Little Slice of Kevin.

A TV, seated beside a coffee pot.

Onscreen, a satellite high above space, looking down.

Onscreen, an advertisement for a warm microwave, two birds inside, roasty-toasty. ("Kitchen accessories, free with purchase!")

Onscreen, again, a satellite high above space, looking down.

Dean enters with beer, tosses the keys into the kitchenette, then enters the kitchen. Cas says, "I missed television."

He just wants to lounge in the hearth, enjoying the warmth of the kitchen and escape/watch TV, without duty/expectations. Then, cut to Cas with a giant remote, in front of a docked boat painting above a traveler's duffle bag.

Duty calls, and Cas clicks off the TV.

BUT KITCHENS and SAFE HARBORS, MAN.

But mostly, kitchens. Always with the kitchens.

[puppys-rhythm-heaven]

hyperfixations are funny cuz sometimes i remember that most people probably can't like. name every rhythm heaven game in order. i can just casually do it. actually most rhythm heaven fans probably could do that we're all kind of unhinged about funni moosic gayme-

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - 18+ mdni - sappy smut

“Wow.”

Simon sets both bags on the floor, forgetting them in favor of sealing himself around you, arms around your waist. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I’ve never been here before. Didn’t realize it was so pretty.” The ocean is turquoise, a sparkling blue green reflecting the sun’s midday peak. His lips graze your cheek, and you giggle. “I still can’t believe we’re on holiday.”

“You deserve it.” You turn in his arms, nose to his neck.

“You think Orion is okay?” He rubs your back, trying to soothe your worries. You’d been a little apprehensive when he originally mentioned going on a quick getaway, nervous about leaving the baby, but Gaz and Cami insisted they were up to the task, and he finally coaxed you out the door.

It was much needed. You were bone weary, and with the team set to leave again in another week or two, he was desperate to get some quality, alone time.

Logistically, it took a lot. You’d need to pump this entire time to keep your supply up, not to mention you’re still adjusting to your new medication for POTS. Simon had to do extensive work to ensure the security of this town, evaluating each rental and placing endless phone calls, painstakingly combing through each one until he found something perfect.

“Orion is fine. Gaz and Cami have it all under control, you know that. We’ll FaceTime with him tonight, okay?” You nod, still burrowed against him. When you finally pull away, it’s with a coy smile.

“Can we go to the beach?”

Simon leads your past Porthcurno beach with a promise of something better, a secluded craggy cove he knows will have almost no one on it. You gasp when it comes into view, more brilliantly blue water meeting white sand, framed with dark cliffs. As he suspected, only a few other people dot the beach. It requires some effort, a steep descent on uneven ground, but he holds you steady, keeping your hand on his shoulder as he leads. If you slip, you’ll only fall right into him, cushioned at his back instead of the sharp rocks.

“Oh my god…” you trail off, dropping your backpack in the sand. “Simon this is… it's perfect.” He laughs. It’s so easy with you. To laugh. To smile. He’s never felt lighter, staring at you in the sun, honeyed heat in your eyes as you peek up at him through lush lashes. You slide your shorts down, cheeky purple bikini bottoms barely covering your ass, and then shuck your t shirt, revealing the matching top. It's skimpy, to say the least, velvet skin and curves on full display, full breasts and hips, soft belly all accentuated by the lilac hue of your bathing suit. Your cheeks swallow the stretchy fabric, and he thinks about hooking his fingers between them and digging it out. His cock hardens, nearly solid and aching for you. He's already in heaven, could believe he's died and reached some sort of twisted afterlife where he doesn't end up in purgatory, and he searches for the side of your bathing suit, tugging on the strap.

"C'mere mama." You read the husk in his voice, the heavy weight of his lids, and shake your head.

"I wanna swim," you're coy with your smile, fingers tucking into the waistband of his trunks, "take me swimming daddy."

The water is warm. He's almost resentful to it, wishing it was a little cooler, enough that you would cling to him more, searching for heat.

Still, he's not complaining. Watching you wade into the water and float with the rhythm of the sea, it's enrapturing. Intoxicating. Better than bourbon. You frolic in it, beaming, carefree and weightless, heaviness of motherhood left behind for a moment, a moment where you're just you... and he's just some poor sod who's never deserved you in the first place. You've piled your hair on top of your head, wet tendrils sticking to your neck, framing your face, shrieking and giggling each time your lifted from your feet with the crest of a wave.

Finally, you come to him. Wrap your legs around his waist and heave your arms onto his shoulder, smiling in the sun. Your skin is brine soaked and glistening, wet and slick in his hold, and as the ocean rolls the two of you together in its sway, he goes with it, using the motion to press himself against you. Everything about you is his undoing, every breath you draw filling him with life, the widening of your eyes as you feel the heft of his cock pulsing between your legs, the nervous glance you give the shore at the few people bathing in the sun. His fingers trace your belly and dip into the side of your suit, swirling down your slit and then pressing your clit. You gasp into his mouth, but the water washes away your natural desire, and he pulls away.

"Si..."

"There's a nook over there," he sucks a mark into your neck, licking at the taste of your skin, the droplets splashed across your shoulder, "it's sandy, and sheltered."

"Oh." Your eyes widen. "B-but there are people... on the beach."

"They won't see. Or hear. The ocean will drown it all out." You gnaw on your lip until he places his thumb there instead. "Y'trust me?"

"Yeah."

He lays you on your back in the sand. The rock arches up like a cathedral, hallowed ground, and he takes his time pulling your bathing suit away, tugging the bottoms down to your knees, tits falling free once he unstrings your top. They're too tempting, round and full, your head tipping back when his mouth closes over your nipple, warmth spilling across his tongue.

"Feel this?" He unfolds your hand and presses it against where he's hard in his trunks. "Feel how bad I want to be inside you, honey?"

"Fuck, y-yeah."

"You're gonna take it all for me mama. Jus' like last time." You nod frantically, and he takes a quick moment to strip, palming your thighs and then spreading them open.

You seize when he burns his face in your pussy, tongue circling around your clit, one finger, then two, working themselves inside, stretching, scissoring, trying to get you ready. You thrash and moan, shuddering when the orgasm rushes through your blood, legs closing around his head until he pulls away, still holding you wide.

His entry is gentle and slow. Fingers laced together above your, a holy crown like you deserve, kissing away the crinkles of discomfort around your eyes and even the tears trailing down your cheeks.

"Jesus." You moan, and he glances down, breaking out in a full body shiver when he sees he's barely halfway there. He remembers how it was the first time, in your bed, in the moonlight, the way you strangled him, shoved him into his orgasm far before he was ready, and though your body has changed from having his baby, you've never been more beautiful, and never felt so good. "Big, Si," your brow creases, and you whimper, "you're too big-"

"Y'can take it. You were made for me." He presses against your belly as he sinks to the hilt and you mewl like the kitten you are, sweet in his arms, fingers clawed into his shoulders. His nose drags down your cheek, thrusting slowly, easy pressure stretching you out on his cock. "How's that feel?"

"F-fuck, it's... good, so good." Your lashes feather closed, and he shakes his head.

"Keep your eyes open, mama. Keep them on me." He has to see every refraction of light, every kaleidoscope of emotion and pleasure in your gaze, the overload between the two of you as he fucks you deep and fills you with come.

He wants to give you another baby so badly it burns, mark you, fill you, watch you grow heavy with his child, be there for it all this time-

But that’s not for tonight. Tonight is not about the claim. It’s about love. Showing, telling, promising. Branding vows into your skin, burying himself so deep your body never fits another, giving you his last name, keeping and loving you forever. More than a claim, even more than a promise. Something he’ll never walk away from. Someone he’d burn the world for, walk to hell and back, pulling you behind him, eyes fixed on the horizon.

His life, his past, drops like a stone to the bottom of the sea through his mind, every trial, every loss, all now serving a greater purpose, teaching a grander lesson, though no less painful. Love. Something that used to be so distant he hardly knew its name, and now it’s everywhere. The torture, the loss of his identity, his existence, even his name, all of it once lost, only to be found by you.

He’d rip his heart out and lay it at your feet if he could.

It’s slow. He’s never been particularly patient outside of work, but for you, he tries to make it last forever. Tastes each syllable of your moans and cries, paints your body with his sweat and spit. You yield for him, bloom for him, learn him the way he learns you, and as the two of you chase the end together, his face hovers just above yours, gentle fingers as a necklace under your neck.

“I love you.” He murmurs it, and your eyes shine. “I love you mama. You’re mine. Til death.”

At the precipice, the moment before the two of you shatter, your forehead meets his, you share his breath, his words, his life. It’s now yours too, intertwined like the dna stitched with yours, and when you come, the only words on your lips are a vow of your own.

“I love you too.”

[kroosluvr]

temptation

i lowkey have too many notes to write down properly KDFHKDS but ill write them down for Future Cele so i can read it later and be like omggg past cele ur so fun and interesting

in general, the more "color" the scenes have, the closer it is to "real life" as opposed to the muted/hushed winter blues of maruki's reality

i.e. the dark frames w akira smiling and the very last panel are when reality sinks in: first for akira, then for goro

by the way this is long winter au but sumire is still brainwashed. this also works for canonverse but i just had long winter au in mind:o

youve heard of laundry and taxes now get ready for coffee and pastries

in every panel, akira is smiling! :) and goro is very much not smiling.

intentionally his face is hidden in the last 2 pages so its unclear whether it's the "ideal reality" already (akira/goro's daydreams/wants/desires), or if goro is still fighting akira on making sure he picks the right choice

the smoke from the first page kinda leads into the 3rd page omfg COMPLETELY UNINTENTIONAL BUT REALLY COOL LMAOOO

that's nameless and belladonna in jazz jin!!! i love them. I LOVETHEM. i miss them so bad is it obvious

the cafe is loosely based off of caffe strada @ uc berkeley LMAO. my parents used to take me there a lot as a little kid so that's the first cafe i think of when i imagine one. its like right on the streetside, basically on the sidewalk, so its very bustling and people are always walking by... probably a little disconcerting to see everyones summery bright smiles despite the bitter cold and snow

in long winter AU, the Ideal Reality starts before 1/1 so yeah they get to see the new years fireworks together (or something)

also intentional that they wear the same winter outfits in the whole comic although it Probably does not take place at the same time. in maruki's snowglobe, time seems frozen in place... but akira and goro are both acutely aware that the sands are running thru QUICK

goro's frustrated expression on page 3 is one also of disdain: "don't speak FOR me you fucking imbecile" type of expression.

goro, who's never lived a normal life and therefore doesn't know much abt "normalcy" nor really actively seeks it. this 3rd semester is basically purgatory for him and he doesn't care to try and go through the motions the way akira does. akira what do YOU know about the type of "normalcy" i deserve? how do YOU know if i "deserve" that?

im thinking that this is a naive akira who is mostly set on taking the deal because he feels hopeless... seeing all his friends with good happy lives while goro and himself are alive and miserable and shouldering the weight of the world during the horror of long winter......

oh but if he takes the deal they could all be good and alive and happy!!!.... and goro knows this. i feel like in any other universe (i.e. akira is 100% certain on not taking the deal and goro knows this) then goro would be happy and carefree to do these little indulgences for himself and akira's sake, to just enjoy the snowglobe world while it exists.

but this goro is discontent. he sees how akira is enjoying the snowglobe and knows maruki is depending on this. goro has to be the one to remind akira that none of this is his to keep........ in this fucked up world, routine is dangerous. becoming comfortable is dangerous. they cannot keep any of this.

on that note, goro says "i hate you" in a halfhearted sort of way (it's not true and akira knows that.) but he's trying to think of a way that he can dissuade akira from picking the wrong choice.....

and i think the thing is, goro thinks all of this, but he still falls into the rhythm of routine with akira anyway. in a way, goro feels hopeless too.

all of this is maruki's doing........ paralyzed by the inability to choose... whatever you do, you lose. goro needs to hold akira at arm's length so the stupid sentimental fool doesn't get too attached and falls into the wrong universe. akira needs to make a concentrated effort to detach himself from goro even though he wants the simplest thing in the world: just one more unremarkable day with him. it's lose-lose..........,

also i liked drawing the tentacles in the last pic the freaking blue lines on them were SO satisfying to draw

edit: also the last page: the blood flooding the panel….. the idea of the ideal world being built off of the blood and sweat and tears and bodies of the people who could have been. of those lost in the actualization, of those destroyed, of those stitched together and brought back to life. all just for a little false happiness. goro sees it but akira doesn’t, and it’s a grim sight.

[everydaylouie]

Rhythm Purgatory

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Rises the Moon

♡ featuring: dan heng IL x f!reader

♡ summary: you help dan heng work through his heat cycle wc: 3.1k+

♡ cw/tw: canon-divergent, breeding, praise, kinda sad but wholesome, monster-fucking, heat cycle, blowjob, cunnilingus, mentions of blood, biting

notes: super canon divergent ik vidyadhara can't have kids but ahhh dan heng breed brainrot :P ruahh I need that lc

Cracked from a shimmering pearl into the cold deception of a ship no longer home, that damned his ill-fated legacy. A lonely forgone dragon wanders a lifetime in purgatory, searching for hands to follow, for he was reborn into the dead silence of solitude. He stretched his inhuman heart as far as it could reach, enough for anyone to hold. But it twisted and tangled in thorns, cradled by serpents' eyes that prayed for his ruin. In brief moments of rest, his visions were suffocated with catastrophic destruction unbeknownst to the reincarnate. When he was eventually released, no one turned for him; a trail of fire he would have to walk alone, bleeding for repentance until his sin was permanently consumed by the collapsing universe.  

A race cursed to live forever rarely knew joy or love to its full extent, as all things mortal would return to the ground beneath them. It wasn’t worth the attachment, nor the deserved doom of a man denied salvation. 

Your arrival at the space station upturned his perception. He wasn’t sure why he yearned to be near you, why his senses craved your smell and sight. He had to distance himself from you as much as possible, but the melody of your pure voice stored a rhythm in his core that could not be removed. He lamented the blooming affection in his discernment. Often lying awake at night, struggling to satiate the urges. 

To you, he was Dan Heng. The solemn, headstrong friend that seldom spoke in your presence. Your favorite pastime was playful banter; he rarely smiled, but it pulled at your heartstrings when the corners of his lips slightly lifted. When he picked at his food, you went out of your way to find out what he preferred and arranged your meals around his. You spent almost all of your time on the parlor car. That isn’t to say you weren’t interested in adventuring, you frequently noted the prettiest gems March showed you during their trips. You asked Dan about the stuff he enjoyed, but it’d usually amount to “I was too focused on staying alive to take in the scenery.” You recall entering your room after their return and noticed an iron scrap flower sitting on your windowsill. Dan nonchalantly admitted to the act, mentioning how he overheard your liking for metallic constructs. You originally thought this was simply an extension of your friendship, but the burning ache in your body spoke otherwise. The little things he did, such as bringing small gifts or ingredients for you to experiment with made you seek that numbed heart, imprisoned in ice. 

Himeko joked about your sour mood whenever Dan Heng was gone. You read while she stared at you, amused by the pout on your face. “Hmm, your boy toy is missing. Feeling down?” Your head shot up, ears hot from the assumption.  

“W-what? No, of course not. We’re friends, Himeko.” you panicked. She softly giggled. 

“Don’t worry. They’re coming back soon.” You peeked up from the pages. 

“...When?” you mumbled. “A few days. Now you can stop being so sad.” 

You were ecstatic when they arrived, ready to hear about their grueling journey, and more so happy to see Dan Heng. As March relived her storytelling, you observed him. He seemed to be in a trance. His expression was the same as always, but he felt disconnected from you, like he discerned a grim future. He didn’t come to dinner and went to sleep. When you asked March if something happened, she shifted uncomfortably but finally spoke.  

“Dan Heng...he changed on the Xianzhou Luofu.” She’d conveniently left out most of the story. 

“What do you mean ‘changed’?” you questioned, finding it hard to mask your worries. “He had horns and... It was all really new. I kinda wanna forget about it, too.” You didn’t pressure her for more information, and she went to her room shortly after.  You tossed in your sleep, wondering what he must’ve gone through, and what you could do to help him. 

You awoke in an inky blue void, the stars cascading a brilliant aura across the night. There were no other planets visible; only the vast moon, a divinely warm glow, alluring and protective in your gaze. Heavenly bodies carried infinitely above, shaping the moon in its godlike image. You stood in a comparatively small pool of iridescent liquid that waterfalled off each side. It marbled from refracted shimmers, cool to the touch. Somehow life emerged in the barren quiet, white lotus’ decorating most of the area. They never spilled down the stream, as if they'd been waiting. In said pool, was a man with elvish ears and gleaming horns, kneeling turned away from you. His pale arms were shackled behind him, and his delicate hair cascaded down his naked back. If you listened closely, you could hear the faint sobs he tried to stifle. You wanted to comfort him, to calm his nerves. You took a step, and he stopped. He didn’t acknowledge you. You took another step, your hand wishing to touch him. Before you could, you phased out of your dream.  

For the next two weeks, he didn’t leave his room. Not when you were around. At the same time, this reoccurring dream was plaguing your thoughts. It ended the same way each time. March aimed to console you, but you felt she knew more than she led on. Fatigued from your restless mind, you decide to talk to Himeko instead. She stirs her drink while Welt reads the paper. 

“Good morning, (Y/N).” said Welt. 

“Good...morning.” you yawned, rubbing your worsening eyebags. 

“You don’t seem okay. Is everything alright?” Himeko asks, motioning for you to sit beside her. 

“Something is wrong with Dan Heng and March isn’t telling me everything. I was hoping you would.” Welt clears his throat, sets the paper on the table and walks away. Himeko puts her hand on your knee. 

“He’s feeling unwell right now. It’s best we don’t disturb him.” 

“I’ve been having this weird dream, of a guy with horns. He’s crying. And I can’t save him. What does this mean? Why is everyone keeping this from me?” Alarm flashes in her expression, but she composes herself. She sucks in a deep breath. “Do you know what a Vidyadhara is?”  

“No.” 

“Vidyadhara descended from dragons, and they’re very powerful. Dan Heng is a special case of Vidyadhara, so we must treat him as such.” 

“So why can’t I see him?”  

“It’s important that we avoid him while he’s in the process of...getting through this.” 

“But someone has to check on him, right? I could be the one to do it-” 

“(Y/N). Dan Heng requested specifically, that I don’t allow you to see him.” You felt your heart pierce. You believed you were friends with him, so why was he forcing you away? “Oh. Okay.” you said meekly. You went back to your room to contemplate. 

 You were a ghost throughout the day, serving food in silence. When the crew went to bed you prepared a hearty soup to soothe whatever illness he had. He’d probably reject it, but the selfish side wanted to know why he was upset with you. Even if he didn’t have an answer, perhaps his voice would be adequate. Arriving at his door, you knock twice gently. 

“I have some soup for you. Himeko said you were feeling ill. I won’t disrupt you, just want to make sure you’re eating.” He said nothing. “If you’re not hungry, let me know and I can store it for tomorrow. You can’t get better on an empty stomach.” You hear rustling inside, but he still said nothing. 

“Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry if I did.” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, but I need you to go away.” His voice is feeble, and it scares you. 

“Can I please leave this on your desk? I’ll go away right after, I promise.” You 're practically begging, but you need to see him and know he’s okay. Dan Heng’s weakening mindset rationalizes his risky judgement, and he allows you to come in. He should be able to defend you from himself with the strength he has left; there’s no other choice. “Okay.” 

When you open the door, you’re horrified at the state. Books and precious documents were strewn across the floor or shredded, along with most of the blankets. He’s hunched over on the futon clenching his abdomen, strands of hair sticking to his shiny forehead and puffy lips. He was in a form you've never seen, dressed in elegance in contrast to his shaking figure. The clothes were disheveled, however, the window on his top ripped down the middle, exposing the muscular torso underneath with his pants pulled just under his v-line. He's flushed and sweating, a look in his eyes that both terrifies and excites you. What was most shocking were the pointy ears and horns protruding from his head. The same ones from your dream. He tracks you as you walk to his desk. He’s undoubtedly weak, and yet you feel hunted. You set the soup down. 

“Shouldn’t you ask Bailu about this?” 

“I did already. There’s nothing she can do. I have to wait.” You get on your knees next to him, and he recoils from your proximity. 

“Wait for what?” 

“I'm hot all over, all the time. Nothing I do works, even when I feel good it’s not enough.” he rasps. His eyes are shut in an attempt to null the intense sensation blazing in his veins. You ultimately realize what he means and regret your cluelessness. Still, you don’t leave, deconstructing his resolve. Suddenly, Dan Heng feels the tender press of your palm to his forehead; the touch of someone he could recognize in different timelines and different bodies. The scent of morning dew at early sunrise, the light in its darkness, bitter and sweet and persistent. He punished the thought of ravaging you, but the incessant thump of his member was staggering. He grabs your wrist tight, a guilty look in his eyes. 

“I can’t control myself. Go. Now” he shouts. His anger doesn’t scare you, and your other hand caresses his cheek. 

“Does it hurt? I can help you.” Dan Heng’s frozen as your fingers travel down his Adam's apple, then his chest, to the hem of his bottoms. He’s on his back taking deep labored breaths, the print growing from your airy brushes. 

“I don’t want you to be in pain anymore.” 

You spring his cock free, and it bounces into your hand. It’s thick and almost twelve inches, a rosy-brown gradient to the mushroom tip. His veins dance around the rounded spikes lining up his shaft on both sides. A frustrated sigh leaves him, beads of pre come dripping down his balls. You lubricate your hands with his slick and start to slowly pump him. His head is spinning, the intoxicating ecstasy makes him rut his hips and bite his blushed lips. You fondle his balls with one hand while massaging the tip with the other. Whimpers echo pleasantly in your ears, and he can’t stop watching you, drinking up your shy glances. It twitches in your hold; you can feel how close he is. He’s falling apart because of you and your dampened underwear accepts it. You push your thumb in his mouth and part it to reveal excessive drool and sharp canines.  

“Do you like it?” you tease. He makes noise resembling an “uh huh” through teary eyes. 

“You wanna come?” He quivers from the question. He can only manage a moan. You move to his base, and you slaver at the daunting size before running your tongue along the urethra and taking him in your mouth. He throws his head back but tries to restrain himself from bucking into you. You can barely get it halfway as his cockhead kisses the back of your throat. You hollow your cheeks and start bobbing your head, he trembles from unconstrained pleasure.  

“Please, I’ll do anything please let me come” he whines, tears spilling down his cheeks. You move your hands with the suction along his gradually noisy whimpers, the occasional gag from sloppy grinding. 

“Ah, ‘m gonna come-” he chokes, his chest hitched rapidly, spurting ropes that flood your throat. He rides the wave against you until you pull up. When you meet with him again, his demeanor changes. He instantly snatches you into his arms and smothers his nose in your stomach. He tears your clothes off impatiently, just to taste your bare skin. “Dan-” 

“You smell so good. Aeons, why do you smell so good.” He gazes at you darkly, littering wet kisses across your stomach and chest. His slender hands grope and explore anything they can reach. It was like he had a burst of energy; he nearly lifts you off his lap. You notice his horns get progressively longer, a dim radiance outlining them. His nails grew too, they dragged light scratches over your breasts to your hips. He pulls you to him, lips barely hovering before they collide into a deep, passionate exchange. Unspoken words allow teeth and tongue to mix, and you moan into each other. The pheromones hugging his consciousness are addictive, he needs more of it. He promptly flips you on your back, his eyes look down on you with a starving glint. 

“I’m hungry now.” 

“Oh sure, I can warm up the-” 

“No. Let me eat you.” His statement was more of a demand than a request, as he mangles your panties down your legs. He forces your thighs back and appreciates the glistening sticky folds. “Stunning” he purrs. He licks a flat strip to your clit and laps up your juices, then envelops his mouth in your heat. His firm squeeze prevents you from escaping the determined pink muscle, swirling and twisting around you. He switches between French kisses to your vulva and merciless sucking on the erect bud. He’d rather drown in you than catch his breath, your essence covers his jaw and chin. You card your fingers through his scalp and accidentally sweep his horns; he shudders. You rub the pad of your thumb on it, earning a strangled whimper. His tongue sinks into your passage and begins to move at a brutal pace. You tease the sensitivity in his horns, flicking and circling them. The vibrations from his moans rock against your walls and your hips stutter. “Ah- I’m close” you plead. He stimulates your clit, and you pulse around him before your back arches, and you unwind. His mouth is stitched to you as you try to wriggle out of his grasp. He continues to devour your climax. He hoists your lower half off the ground, savoring your honeyed desire, laughing from your overstimulated cries. You’re spasming and feel your heart racing in your ears. He stops at the approaching precipice and lays you down. Balmy kisses dot your knees. 

“Please Dan Heng, more” you beg. 

“(Y/N), I don’t want to hurt you.” He's throbbing, and he straightens your legs to roll his hips between your thighs. The plush fat cuddles his cock and he pants. You grab his hand. 

“It’s okay, I’m yours. I know you don’t mean to hurt me.” 

“But-” 

“I love you” you blurt out. “Please, I want to have this with you. I can handle it, I promise.” Your vulnerability surprises you, and he stops. 

“You...love me?” he questions. For a split second, you see sadness and despair. No one stood to consider an exile incapable of love, but you did. No one bothered to defrost the drifting hollow, but you did. The undying weeps. 

“I love you. I would destroy every star and planet in your name. Carve your worth into the cosmos so that even Fuli could worship your memory. I am yours in its entirety, and I’ll only live for you.” You wipe the tears as they come down and kiss his troubles away. 

“I want you inside me” you whisper. He stands and scoops you up, his hands on your ass and your arms around his neck. He aligns his tip with your sex and lowers you into the plunge. The stretching blaze of your walls accommodating his girth is excruciating.  

“Is this okay?” 

“Yes.” You give him a reassuring smile. He’s stuffing you full, the spikes knead your inner walls the deeper he goes. He bottoms out and stays there for a while. 

“Tell me when to move” he soothes. 

“Go ahead.” He starts an unrelenting tempo, and you grip him like a vice, your arousal drenching his balls. The thundering sound of desperate huffs and squelching, smacking flesh is almost embarrassing; you both don’t care, indulging each other. You could’ve sworn you saw something similar to a dragon's tail swaying behind him, or maybe your mind played tricks on you. Strings of saliva connect his fangs, eyes cloudy with carnal impulse and cock twitching from the friction. He can see the bulge snapping in and out of your stomach and groans.  

“Deeper.” He pulls out and lays you on the futon before positioning you in a mating press. In one swoop he jackhammers your cunt, balls swinging and ragged breath on your ear. His hair blankets you and you soak in his sweating physique, his needy appearance. 

“Gonna breed this pretty pussy” he moans. Eyeing the unoccupied space on your neck, he salivates. You guide his lips to your neck, encouraging him, and he takes the bait. He ruptures the skin with sharp teeth; harsh puncture wounds remain. He licks the blood away, adamant on claiming you. The spikes massage your g-spot, and your eyes loll back, pleasure and pain blurring. Dan Heng loses his composure, frenetic thrusting as he chases his release. 

“I’m gonna come!” 

“That’s it, come with me, my love” he groans. You see black as tremors overtake you and a stream of squirt coats you both. Your wails flow into the halls. Your contracting vulva sends him over the edge, and he finally comes undone, painting your insides to the hilt. You milk every last drop of his gushing seed, and he jerks a few times until limp. The creamy, swelling base pushes your folds to capacity. It's barbed wire in your gut. He strokes and kisses your face. 

“I'm sorry, it’ll go down soon.” With your legs wrapped around him and his head snug against your cheek, you weren’t sure if you wanted it to go down. 

His curse may not be lifted through your embrace. But in your arms, his shackles don't feel as heavy. 

[thedevilspearl]

awkward moments during sex — younger bros

a/n: a continuation of funny and awkward moments that happen during sex with the brothers, but this time with the younger brothers (older brothers here).

tags: 2.5k words. female reader x satan (edging, orgasm control), asmodeus (no warnings), beelzebub (manhandling, breeding kink, mating press, minor injury) + belphegor (mild somnophillia). minors do not interact!

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍

your fingers slip nimbly through his blonde hair, gliding through the strands as if they’re made of the finest of silks. satan leaves an entourage of nips and bruises along your neckline, each of them planted with more desperation than the last.

his hips roll against yours; not fast enough, and not slow enough. and yet, he seems to find the perfect combination of pace and rhythm which drives you crazy.

it keeps you in limbo, with hope on one side and despair on the other. a purgatory of sorts.

he loves to torment you like this; his teething grin tells you that. and with his head buried in the nook of your shoulder, he peeps up only to appreciate the overwrought look on your face. your brows furrow in such a way that he doesn’t know if you’re about to cry, or if you’re about to cum.

you suppose that’s why he loves it so much — satan has always been fond of a good mystery, always wanting to discover what comes next in earnest. he’s enthusiastic to say the least.

his rutting hips grow a little more fervent, earning a most dulcet moan from your lips. he captures it in his own, swallowing it whole and locking it away deep in the ravenous hollows of his body. you fill him up in ways he never expected, and he can’t get enough of you.

“satan,” you whimper, evoking a sadistic smirk on his face. “please…”

“please what, my dear?”

the endearment in his voice alone is enough to make your guts feel like they’re being rearranged — though, his cock is doing a perfectly fine job of that already.

“i wanna cum!”

every one of your senses tosses you back and forth over a very thin line. one second, you’re free to fall into a sea of bliss, ready to be washed away by the intensity of the orgasms he brings upon your body. and the next, you’re tied up in the confines of satan’s control. he decides when you finish, not the other way around.

the nerves in your body are working overtime, analysing each second and anticipating whether or not he will give you what you so desperately desire. your brain is moments away from turning numb from the overload of feelings, both physical and emotional.

so much that the creaks of satan’s old, wooden bed go unregistered.

he thrusts harder, faster with the promise that he’ll soon be done with you, and you can finally succumb to the ecstasy you’ve been reaching for.

“satan!” you squeal, locking your trembling legs around his hips. “i’m close!”

“me too, baby,” he grunts with each rut and grabs your cheeks, making sure of the eye contact between you. “we’re almost there.”

he makes a point of driving his cock to the hilt of your pussy, and his strength passes straight through your body into the foundations of his bed. all it takes is one more thrust to break apart the timbers of the worn out wood.

the mattress beneath you softens your land as the bed collapses, but the impact from satan’s body falling on top off you knocks the air out of your lungs. his limbs dig into you and you groan.

“shit,” he mutters, and his hands fly to your face, inspecting your pained expression. “are you okay?”

“not really,” satan rises with you, arms delicately holding your frame until you’re sat upright on the wreck of what was once his bed. “are you?”

“yes,” he chuckles, leaning his head against you before planting a kiss on your cheek. “because the sex was literally bed–breaking. and no, because lucifer is going to have a lot to say about this.”

𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒

asmo has tonnes of attention and he loves to give it away freely, just as much as he loves to receive it. you’re special, though. he makes a point of that every time your insecurities begin niggle away at you.

whenever he feels you drawing away, he’ll pull you closer than ever before, never letting you out of his sight. with all the fame and love, most people tend to forget how lonely a person can become. and that’s why he chose you.

you took that loneliness from deep inside and destroyed it in the palm of your hand. you filled all the void parts of his body and soul with your existence alone; no one thinks about the demons a demon can have, and all it took was one smile from you to scare them all away.

you helped him in more ways than one, so he never wants you to feel alone or inferior — you’ll always be his number one despite his fans and fame and ego.

he must say, though, he is quite proud of how far you’ve come. asmo had immediately picked up on those small traits of yours, the ones that signal you spiralling into the pool of your greatest fears. the nervous fidgeting whenever he spoke to other demons at school, the daylight dazing out when you find yourself lost in thoughts, and the sudden silence when he’s livestreaming to his fans, like right now.

asmo was fully prepared to pepper you with praises and kisses as soon as he finished — he’s more than willing to give you attention. but the fact is, you stole it already, along with his breath.

he freezes for a second before licking his lips and glancing back and forth between your teasing and his screen. he mumbles and stutters whilst trying to hide his growing erection from his fans. meanwhile, you sway your hips seductively behind the camera, slipping the silk gown from your shoulders to reveal your naked body.

“today was really fun, my darlings,” he waves and blows a kiss to the screen immediately. “i’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

he taps his screen rapidly before jumping on you, grabbing your ass and lifting you. your lips intertwine in seconds and he drops you onto the mattress with out breaking contact.

“someone’s feeling bold,” he teases between kisses. “i like it.”

“mmh, i figured i should be more forward with my needs,” you say with a daring smile. “i think it seems to be working, don’t you?”

“oh, it’s working,” asmo expertly removes his clothing, and occupies himself in the meantime by kissing up and down your body, burning patterns into your skin until he meets your lips again.

“asmo… hurry.” you whine and he heeds your words, aligning himself with your soaked entrance.

“i love you, my darling,” he feeds you one last kiss before pushing in, and the two of you groan in unison. “i love you so much.”

“i love you too, asmo.”

you gasp loudly as his cock stretches your walls, and your clench around his length as if he was made perfectly for you to take. you’re seconds away from screaming his name when—

knock, knock, knock.

you freeze and the knocking is followed by lucifer’s commanding voice.

“asmodeus, you might want to end your livestream before continuing with your… activities.”

“what?!”

scrambling, you gather the blanket against your chest, tucking your legs underneath to hide your nude body. this can’t be happening…

“oh, my,” asmo tuts. “it looks like i pressed the wrong button.”

he makes his way back to his ddd set up on his desk, dragging a blanket to cover himself from the hips down. you expect him to turn it off immediately, but instead he starts reading the flying comments that you’re too embarrassed to even think about.

“hhm, everyone seems to be enjoying it,” he looks to you with a seductively intriguing glint in his eyes. “what do you say, honey? why don’t we give them a show?”

𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐙𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐁

“oh my goodness, beel!”

juices flow from your pussy and his mouth finally parts with it after bringing you to your umpteenth orgasm. your mind is foggy from the highs and beel rises, hands roaming your body and placing you exactly how he sees fit.

the back of your knees rest against his arms and his hands sneak under your body, locking you in place. he has you folded in half, literally. his feet are planted flat in the mattress and his immense weight pushes you down further.

you haven’t fucked in this position before, but you have a feeling beel is going to destroy your needy cunt. you take a liking to this inner beast controlling him right now; he must be so hungry…

his lips are coated with your essence, the one that works like a spell, entrancing him in such a state that he can only think about how much he needs you.

this is going to be good.

the tip of his enormous cock prods at your entrance and eagerly pushes in. hissing from his girth stretching you out, you wonder if it’s possible that you’ll ever get used to beel splitting you open on his cock.

“ngh,” you groan gutturally, unable to form a decipherable sentence. “s–so big!”

“i’m gonna fill you up, baby,” he growls and pushes in deeper. “gonna fill you with my cum.”

he slams into you, and an unbridled yelp escapes you before he raises his hips, only to slam them back down again. each of his thrusts rattle the entire bedframe and you’re afraid the brother next door might storm in with noise complaints.

a cacophony of sinful sounds fill the room — beel’s animalistic growls, your wanton moans, the obscenely lewd noises coming from your bodies, and of course, the shaking of everything around you.

he’s fucking you so hard it might cause an earthquake.

the mattress bounces along with both of your bodies, fucking like animals in heat. his cock drags in and out of your pussy and you’re losing count of all the orgasms he’s forcing you to endure. you’re extremely sensitive from him eating you out for hours and you don’t know how long it will take for beel to feel some sort of satiation.

being both starved and gluttonous is a dangerous combination, and this version of beel is a prime example of that. he pushes your thighs down further, allowing himself to explore deeper and you feel another orgasm creeping on you.

and it’s only a matter of time before beel finishes too, and he’s going to fill you to the brim with his cum before using it to fuck you some more, pushing his seed deep inside you. you can’t wait for the day he finally breeds you.

“fuck, beel!” you screech, not caring how ridiculously desperate you sound. “come on, stuff me full with your cum! want you to knock me up!”

“gonna fill you up,” he grunts with every thrust. “i’ll fill you with my—”

“aah, i’m so tired… wait, what’s going on here?”

before you can look in the direction of the door, beel literally flips you over and flings your body to the side, unknowingly using his full strength which causes you to collide into the wall.

“what the fuck?!” you yelps, tears brimming your eyes from the impact.

did he just throw you across the room?

but you have no time to yell at him because belphegor is standing in the doorway with his eyes locked onto your naked body. your hands fly to hide your private parts, but you are stark naked and daring not to move.

meanwhile, beel sits nonchalantly on his bed, covering his crotch with the sheets. “nothing. nothing is going on.”

belphie doesn’t seem convinced, which doesn’t come as a surprise and he slowly backs out, closing the door behind him.

not a second after he leaves, you throw the dirtiest, most disgusted look of betrayal at beel. “every man for himself, huh?”

“i’m so sorry, mc,” he glooms. “i panicked.”

“panicked? you threw me across the room!”

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑

“belphie,” you whisper, shaking the shoulders of his sleeping form. “belphie, wake up.”

a grumble sounds from his limp frame, and you roll your eyes, shaking him harder.

“belphie, please wake up,” and with a sigh, you add, “i’m horny.”

again, nothing.

chewing on your lips in thought, your hands mindlessly graze over your body — your breasts, squeezing them with a gasp; your hips, grabbing them exactly where belphie loves; and your thighs, digging into your flesh with desperation.

you don’t realise your pitiful actions, nor the broken moan that escapes you until belphie rolls onto his other side, his back now facing you.

a pout forms on your lips and you grab him again, shaking him with all your might. but your frustration passes right through his sleeping form.

“belphegor, wake up right now! i need you!”

“keep it down…”

giving up, you flop onto the mattress beside him, unable to remove your eyes from his peaceful face. as unsatisfactory as his response is, your body still needs to be put at ease. and you can’t do that without some form of relief.

before you know it, your fingers slip below the line of your underwear and a shaky breath escapes you. you make work of yourself, thrusting your fingers in and out while imagining belphie’s cock driving hard into your pussy.

what you would give for him to open his eyes and plant his fingertips into the softness of your hips, holding you in place beneath his sweating body as he slams into you, his cock making its mark all along your walls.

“fuck…” you whimper, with a hint of his name among your quiet moans as you cum.

belphie has yet to move an inch, completely ignorant to you and your orgasm. so much for quality time. with your eyelids drooping, you allow yourself to sink into the sheets and pillows, carefully snuggling into belphie’s body as to not wake him.

an hour passes, or maybe two, possibly more and belphegor finally stirs. he yawns with little energy and rolls onto his back, but his arm stays wrapped around you, tucking you into his chest. all it takes is one look for that swirling sensation in his stomach to come alive.

he looks down at his crotch and sees that the problem goes further than so–called butterflies; his hardened cock stretches the material of his pants. morning wood has never been so persistent since you came along.

every remnant of sleep is gone in an instant and he’s on top of you, lips pressed against your neck and hands sneaking up your shirt, squeezing your hips on their way to your tits.

“hah…” small gasps and moans escape him as his hips jut against you. “what are you doing to me?”

he hates that innocent look on your face, so oblivious to the effect you have on him and to what he is doing to you. but that innocence is also what turns him on. god, he could just devour you whole like the sick demon he is and you wouldn’t know a thing because you’re far to busy dreaming something sweet.

it’s almost like he can smell it, the dream. or, a more logical explanation would be the sweetness between your legs. your glistening slit has him drooling when he pulls your panties away and he soon makes work of freeing his aching cock from his own clothes.

“mc,” he whispers against you with a kiss. “wake up, i’m horny.”

your eyes open slightly, and as soon as you register his hot, naked body above you, you roll over to the side with a huff.

“not now, belphie. i’m tired.”

well, he supposes this is what he deserves. it’s a taste of his own medicine, after all.

[55-degrees-fahrenheit]

i thought these were bad so i left them out

[chongoblog]

I decided to make a playlist of all of my best mashups on Youtube from the last 5 or so years. So if you wanna know what I consider to be my top 50 mashup tracks I've made since my initial release of Rhythm Purgatory (including the mega medleys), I think this about covers them!

Enjoy!

[lynzishell]

The Past 💛 Atlas

I wake up a couple of hours later, the sunrise barely peeking through the curtains in my window. Ash is no longer spooning me, and I’m afraid he might have snuck out, that I’ll roll over and he’ll be gone, and I’ll be alone, and the room will suddenly feel cold and dark the way it always does. I close my eyes and prepare myself for the usual disappointment as I turn over. But when I open my eyes, he’s here, on his back, sleeping soundly, and I’m filled with gratitude once again.

I watch him for a moment, smiling to myself. I don’t want to disturb him, but I want to be closer, to feel his skin against mine. So, I reach over and rest my hand on his, running my thumb over his long fingers with their perpetually chipped black polish.

When he begins to stir and roll onto his side, I slip my arm around him to pull him close and he lets out a sleepy, yet peaceful, “hmm” sound as he kisses my shoulder and nuzzles into me.

That feeling I longed for so many times when waking from my nightmare. It was this. His arm draped across my stomach, his leg across my leg, his head resting in that spot between my shoulder and my chest. The spot that was meant only for him. I tilt my head slightly toward his, resisting the urge to kiss his forehead again. His hair is clean and soft and smells faintly of my shampoo. But beneath the subtle notes of coconut, I can smell him. That smell that feels like home. I close my eyes and breathe him in, feeling as though I’ve been reunited with a part of myself that’d been lost. I lay quietly, too tired to fight it or overthink it. Instead, I focus on the feeling of his body against mine, getting gradually heavier. His breathing becomes deep and even, and I let the rhythm of it lull me back to unconsciousness.

I sleep deeper than I think I ever have, and it’s hard to climb my way out of at first. I feel Ash sit up next to me, take a drink of water and reach over to get his phone from his pants pocket.

“Good morning,” I say when he leans back on the bed.

“Good afternoon,” he replies, scrolling through the notifications on his phone.

“What time is it?”

“A quarter after one.”

“Oh shit.”

He doesn’t respond, and I wonder to myself if I’m imagining the tension in the air between us.

“Thank you for staying,” I say.

“Yeah, of course, I’m glad you asked you me to.” His tone is light, but he doesn’t take his eyes off his phone, doesn’t look at me, and my stomach drops as my senses heighten. I want to ask him if we’re okay, to get some kind of reassurance, but the words won’t come out, so I lie there silently suffering in my own personal purgatory.

Finally, he sets his phone down and looks over at me, “I have to get going.”

Before I can respond, he jumps out of my bed and starts gathering his clothes from the floor. “Sorry, I don’t mean to rush out, but apparently, I have to go out to the Bay to help my sister. And, of course, she didn’t bother to tell me this until the last minute…”

I barely register his venting as he pulls on his pants and searches for a missing sock. There’s a desperation rising in me, and all I want is to grab him and pull him back into bed, beg him not to leave. I know I can’t do that, and I won’t, but there is a part of me deep inside that is screaming at him not to leave me.

It must be written all over my face too because as soon as he looks up at me, he stops. His shoulders slump and his eyebrows pull together in a worried expression. “Atlas, what is it?”

I shake my head, looking down as I try to shove my feelings aside.

When I look up, the worry on his face reaches his eyes as he chews at his lip, “Do you regret it?”

“No! No, of course not.” The words fly out of my mouth. I hate that he even considered it.

“Good,” he says, relieved, “good, me neither. We probably shouldn’t make a habit out of it, but it was really great.”

He resumes putting on his shirt and I feel the wave of desperation rising again, gripping my throat. I look away from him, trying to collect myself. I stare at the blanket on my bed, analyzing the pattern of the blue, white, and gray stripes, inspecting the stitching for flaws, anything to keep my mind busy until the feeling passes. Much like I used to do as a child sitting silently in my room staring at the wallpaper for hours.

The bed shifts slightly, disrupting my visual analysis and forcing me to look up. Ash is sliding onto the bed in front of me, “I’m sorry I have to leave so abruptly; I don’t want to.” I think he’s still trying to guess what’s wrong with me, not that I could tell him even if I wanted to. We’re clearly fine, I overreacted, so why don’t I feel better? When I don’t respond, he says, “Okay, well, you can call me or text me later if you want to talk. I’ll make time.”

I nod in acknowledgement. I don’t know why he’s so kind to me. I almost wish he wasn’t. It only makes everything harder.

“Can I, um, is it okay if I kiss you goodbye?”

“Yeah,” I tell him, as if I’d ever say no.

When he kisses me, he does so slowly and with intention, ensuring it will linger there long after he’s gone. He puts so much of himself into the way he kisses. I bet I could tell what he’s thinking or feeling just by the way he moves his lips against mine. Right now, he’s saying goodbye. Not just because he’s leaving, but because this might be the last time that we’re this close. It might be the last kiss we ever have.

This thought brings on such a heavy wave of sadness that I have to stop. I pull back only slightly to rest my forehead against his and take a deep breath, shoving the thought back.

“Hey,” he holds my face in his hand, turning it slightly so I have to look him in the eyes, his perfect soft gray eyes, “I really did have a great time with you last night. And not just the sex, I mean, that was great too, amazing actually, but…” he pauses and looks down for a moment, letting his hand fall from my face. When he looks back, his eyes are shining slightly, “but you make me feel cared for in a way no one else ever has, and that means something to me. Last night meant something to me. And I feel like it meant something to you too. So, why are we doing this? Why are we pretending we’re just friends when, clearly, we both want more? Why don’t we give it a shot?”

“Ash, I—” I barely say anything before he looks down, shaking his head slightly side to side, already knowing what I’m going to say. He’s nearly off the bed by the time I finish, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Why?”

There’s nothing I can say that will satisfy him, that won’t lead to more questions, questions I’m not prepared to answer. And it feels stupid to say, “you don’t want to date a guy like me, you deserve better, blah blah blah”. It sounds like a bad fucking movie, even if it’s true. So, I say the only thing I can think of, the only thing that sounds semi-logical, the same thing I told him before, “I don’t date people I work with.”

He scoffs, “Right. So, you just hook up with them at nightclubs?”

“No, I usually don’t do that either.” He looks away from me, and I suddenly realize how that sounds. I’ve basically told him he’s worth breaking my own rules to fuck, but not to date, and I feel like the biggest piece of shit. “Ash, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine.” He cuts me off and stands, gathering the rest of his stuff. “You know what, I’m sorry. This is why I brought it up last night, so I wouldn’t do this, and I’m fucking doing it anyway, and that’s not fair. I get that. But listen, if a friend is what you need me to be right now, then I’ll be your friend, but then you can’t look at me like I’m breaking your heart when you’re the one who put the boundaries up in the first place. It’s too confusing. I don’t know what the fuck you want from me sometimes. Just…” he stops and sighs, “tell me what you want, Atlas, really.”

I hate this. I hate having to lie to him. “I want us to be friends.”

“Okay,” he replies, his lips pressed into a hard line, “Well, I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow then.” There’s a bite of sarcasm in his tone that reveals his frustration and hurt at my continued rejection.

I hate myself for the pain that I cause him. I hate myself for being so broken.

As if I’m determined on some level to make things worse, I can’t even bring myself to respond. So, he just nods and walks out of the room. I hear the door close behind him as he leaves my apartment. And then he’s just… gone.

I’m left alone in my room, his words echoing in the empty space he left behind.

The pain rises up, quick and efficient, clenching my gut and filling my chest, tearing me apart from the inside until I fold in on myself. I want to scream, to rip my hair out, to punch holes in the walls until my fists are bleeding and bruised. But I don’t. Instead, I force myself to sit in silent agony because I know it’s exactly what I deserve.

Prev // Next

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Steve Rogers: In Queerness, Time, & Loneliness

I think about being queer and how that intersects with my perception and experience of time a lot. I think about how we, as queer people, live the same length of time when untouched by cruel violence of ignorance (re: hate crimes) or brutal disease compounded into something worse at the fault of human stigma (re: the AIDs crisis), but how it can feel different even though it is the same objectively. With the same length of time, queer people don't typically--in my experience--follow the assumed cishet trajectory of Western life with these particular scripted milestones. Get an education. Get a steady job. Fall in love. Settle down. Be married. Buy a house. Have children. Grow old. Retire. And die surrounded by your spouse, children, and grandchildren. It isn't always that exact order but, usually, those milestones are hit in one order or another, rather, they're expected to be hit.

How isolating must it be then for Steve Rogers? The isolation of pure time in so many ways. Steve who thought that maybe he wanted a spouse and family, and that typical cishet life, only to meet tragedy head-on without time to grieve unconsolidated dreams.

He blinks and finds all of his friends have done those things. They're on the way to completing the list--those friends he was supposed to age alongside and have peaks and valleys with are dying now. They have complete families. There are generations with children and grandchildren.

And I think it strikes Steve as a feeling of incompleteness in himself, even if he's not sure if that's what he wants in this new era. A strange longing for something he can't(?) have, something he doesn't even want(?).

Steve just doesn't have the same sense of time anymore, post-ice. It's as if his internal clock has been altered and warped by the serum right alongside his very bone and flesh. He is in purgatory. The markers of his life, the one he was assumed to want, to have unfulfilled and waiting for him after the war, haven't come. He's missing so many milestones that should've come and gone already. Are they gone? Are they still ahead of him? How old is he really? Does he deserve the typical life, if he finds the want for one in himself, buried underneath this crushing loneliness that presses on his lungs and makes it hard to breathe air? Air that's the same. His lungs are the same. He is no different, but it seems that everyone else has changed and the rhythm of their breathing leaves Steve out of sync.

If Steve ignores the typical life, deeming it already too far gone, what can he shape his own life into? What is the life of someone who isn't heterosexual in the time he's been woken to? A life of secret would've awaited him in the 40s if he hadn't been chasing a pre-prescribed life with a family and children and social acceptance. Now, he needn't hide. What does being unhidden look like when he has no connections, though? He feels invisible in plain sight.

His life feels unscripted and he needn't know what comes next. And in an attempt to catch up and cure some of his deep loneliness so he's on the same page as all the people around him, Steve consumes pop culture, right?

I assume that includes some updates in social acceptance with regards to the LGBTQIA+ community. And when he finds those stories, he must encounter the trope, again and again, of queer people claiming that their life only began when they came out. Steve doesn't know what that means to himself. Is that why time feels the way it does? Not existent and yet so utterly constricting? How has he lived such a life that people tell him about all the great, incredible things he's done, but his life--his real life--has yet to begin? Where is he in his life? Is he supposed to be making mistakes and finding out about what it means to actually stand on his own two feet as an emerging adult in his mid-twenties? Is he supposed to be sucking oxygen through a tube from a tank with rattling breaths as he dies, aging out of life? Where is he? What time is it? Is he alive? Is he dead? Who can he talk to? Who would understand? Would anyone understand?

When won't he be so lonely and unmapped? Straddling two worlds. Time: between the 1940s to the 2010s. Identity: his sexuality as well as his life goals. Both time and identity seem equally tearing and isolating.

Who does he become, a man out of time?

gif credit @/theavengers

[moonbeamsandmayhem]

pairing: steddie x fem!reader

warnings: cnc, predator/prey dynamic, blood mention (i think that’s it, please lmk if not.)

Your lungs were burning. Sucking in cold air hard enough that your chest felt it may burst at the seams. Your legs were equally aflame as they carried you through the wooded area of Lover’s Lake fast as they dared. You could feel their eyes on you; predators slowly biding their time. And it sent a thrill through you. You didn’t dare stop, even when you could hear their cat calls, their taunts, carried on the chilly wind.

You knew they’d catch you soon. They wanted you to have your bit of fun, to play out your fantasy as the helpless little rabbit.

You run for another five minutes, finally having to stop, you lean back against a particularly gnarled tree trunk, sucking in air into your oxygen starved lungs. Your body is covered in a sheen of cold sweat, clothes clinging to you as you try to reign control of the rapid thumping in your chest.

A snap of twigs to your left catches your attention, head whipping round. You’re greeted by the Cheshire Cat grin of Eddie, all teeth and so very smug. His hands are behind his back as he leisurely closes the distance between you. “Gotcha.”

“Not yet.” You snip, turning on your heel to begin the pursuit again but you’re met with something solid, something warm. And you bounce half a step back only to be met by Steve Harrington’s questioning brow. With the trained quickness of a learned athlete, he grabs a hold of your upper arm, bringing you to his chest.

“You were saying?”

You put a fight. A damn good fight. Both Steve and Eddie are impressed at how you’re able to land some solid hits, even drawing blood. Scraped fingernails claw against Eddie’s cheek, crimson blooming, dripping down to his lips. He holds your gaze as he licks them clean, securing handcuffs to your wrists.

“I know we said we’d bring her back to the van, but…”

“Here?” Steve looks around. But you all are quite alone, save for the things that go bump in the night.

“Here,” Eddie affirms. “You wanna be treated like an animal, sweetheart? Then we’ll fuck you like one.” His and Steve’s hands tear your clothes, groping appreciatively, the sound of ripping fabric permeating the air. They make quick work of it, leaving you in tatters. The swell of your breasts heave and you try to cross your legs to hide yourself from their hungry gaze.

Steve clicks his tongue, looking at you from beneath his lashes. “Gone all shy now, huh?”

They show you no mercy. Eddie ruts into you from the back, hand wrapped around your throat as he slams into you over and over, slick coating your thighs. You choke on your moans; his pierced cock finding that spot inside of you that turns you into nothing but a mindless hole.

Through your blurred vision you see Steve, tight acid-wash jeans pushed down as he fists his cock. His lips are parted, a rosy hue to his cheeks. Eddie bends you, until you’re face to face with Harrington’s third eye. You’re nearly salivating as a few pearls of pre-cum seep from his slit.

“Suck.” Steve’s hand finds your hair, grabbing a fist full of it. Fingers twining through it tightly. He shoves his way into the warmth that is your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. You moan around the thick flesh.

“Fuck, Stevie, I can feel you through her throat.” Eddie groans, his pace stuttering to a near crawl. His ring hand squeezes and you find yourself choking once more, causing all three of you to moan out into the night. Drool begins to dribble and pool and drip from your mouth, tracking down your chest. And soon enough, Steve is fucking into your mouth, a crude, wet, ‘guck, guck, guck’ coming from you.

Eddie smacks your ass once, than twice. You tighten around his dick. “You little pain slut. Like it when we mark you up, babe?” You mewl in response. Your body is enraptured, caught in the purgatory of pain and pleasure. The two men find a rhythm; in and out, in and out. “Fuck, I’m gonna come!” The metal head declares, and he does. Hard. His spend shooting into you, hot and thick. You scream around Steve’s cock as Eddie’s orgasm triggers your own. He grips you roughly, hands on hips, fingers digging into you hard enough to bruise.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Eddie had his hands on you and Steve with his in your hair, you would have collapsed. Your legs feeling like absolute jelly.

Steve rips you off his cock as Eddie takes a step back to admire his work, watching a mixture of his and your release trickles down your thighs. But you only have a moment to centre yourself before Steve is lifting you into his arms, hoisting you against the nearest tree trunk. You squeal, still so sensitive, but he doesn’t care. He almost folds you in half; the tops of your thighs squishing into your breasts. He lines himself up with your sopping entrance and plunges into you with a squelch.

Your eyes roll back as you scream to the high heavens for relief, but no one is listening.

You don’t even recognize the man in front of you as he picks up a punishing pace. He bites at your neck, the swells of your breasts, claiming you in the most animalistic fashion imaginable. His eyes are black, taken over by the feral need to come.

And all you can do is take it.

He comes in you with a guttural growl. So deep and so hot, you’re trying to push him away but he holds you fast, dumping his body weight against you. “Shh, baby, shh. I know it hurts. Take it all.”

Silence. All expect the panting breaths between the three of you. Steve holds you close for a moment longer, peppering much softer kisses all over your face and neck as he extracts him self, trying to distract you from the discomfort.

Eddie was by your side in an instant having already righted himself. He undid the cuffs, stuffing them haphazardly into a back pocket. He circles an arm around your waist as he awkwardly shimmies off his leather jacket to put over your shoulders. He presses a kiss to your forehead, muttering what a good girl you are for them.

The next thing you know, Steve has you in his arms in a bridal carry. Too dazed to speak, let alone walk, you snuggle against his chest, grateful for the warmth he and Eddie’s jacket provide. Cocooned by their scent, you find the heaviness of slumber rearing its ugly head.

And as the sun begins to creep its way into the night sky, making way for dawn, you vaguely wonder at the back of your head, how you got so lucky. Your two protectors keeping a watchful eye as sleep takes you into its depths.

[definesanity]

SAGAU, in which you observe the eyes of the Tenth/Fourth(?), Seventh and Third Fatui Harbingers.

Arlecchino's eyes are a gateway into the void.

Pure black, with only two red x-shaped pupils showing life. Even then, they barley move, and her expression is almost always tired.

Arlecchino herself was a curious individual. The same could be said for yourself, you suppose.

"I've been told by many that my eyes are... unusual." she said. Her eyes broke contact with yours, the small crimson crosses looking around before back to you.

"I think they look... well, like yours." you replied. There are many words for them, but you settled on just one.

"Hm. I see."

They say if you gaze into the void, the void gazes back. Then, does that mean you and the void can learn more about the other?

---------------

Sandrone's eyes were a complexity of illusions and fine craftsmanship.

On the surface, they were a damp blue colour, and very subdued in colour. Upon closer inspection, you can see more of it, and of how it works.

The eye itself was a piece of glass, made to move around and increase the size of the pupil via the mechanisms inside of the eye. Looking past that, you can see even the back of her head, and the inside of her mind; a complex maze of cogs and machinery that you haven't the slightest as where to begin with them.

"They're impressive," you say. "From a distance, I'd have said that they were just your eyes."

"That was the goal," Sandrone rolled her eyes, the mechanisms moving to mimic an actual roll of the eyes hauntingly well. "The only disgrace I have with them is that I can never get the right shade of blue."

"Oh, your eyes are blue?"

"One is; the iris of my other eye has expanded large enough to encapsulate almost the entire sclera."

"Oh." you didn't really have much to say to that. Still, oddly reminds of you of what's-their-name from that one mod from that one popular rhythm game.

Clockwork can make many a things. Can clockwork, then, make a being so close to human, it believes even itself to be one?

----------------------

Columbina's eyes are a single way entrance to purgatory.

She never opened them to anyone. A twitch, maybe, but never anything beyond that. Although, with you or the Knave and Marionette, she took off her viel, and opened them.

A boundless void laid behind her eyes, and you could seeing swirls passing through it, along with a low sound of wind blowing through.

Her eye itself was a deep purple, and the iris, or more accurately, irises, looked at you, the middle ones at you and the surrounding ones on different parts of you.

"They're quite frightening, aren't they?" the soft, musical voice of the Damselette spoke up. "Many fall to madness easily; you're the third person I've met to not do so."

"I'm glad to here I won't be dying anytime soon, then," you replied. After a second, you thought of something. "I'm guessing Arlecchino and Sandrone are the other two?"

"Hm, yes; Arle and Sandy are different than most; Sandy being a mechanical being, and Arle simply being built different. Hehe, it was funny seeing the two turn to each other, and Arle saying, "Hear me out," and Sandy saying, "I'm listening." They're something alright, aren't they?"

"And that they are."

How can something so horrific, be also so beautiful? Perhaps it's merely 'Beauty in the Grotesque'?