#right imma get back to writing the log

[finely-tuned-line]

RP:

Log 219

FTL: FTLR-3 has started moving around. I can confirm that it behaves similarly to a lizard, though nothing especially like a cyan lizard specifically. It's been moving about the chamber, but it hasn't yet made any attempts to break out. It knows that it won't work.

FTL: This type of learning is not something that lizards usually do. They keep going and going, even if it's to their own peril. Though they have learned of typical signs of threat - but that's through cycles of experience and reinforcement. They have also been recorded as able to be tamed, which once again, is heavily reliant on external reinforcement. Learning within a single cycle that attempting to escape is futile without any sort of external source providing reinforcement showcases a level of learning capacity above that of any other sort of Rot - and above that of any other lizard.

FTL: As curious as I am about FTLR-3, I am completely aware of the fact that this makes it highly dangerous - moreso than most other Rots. I would continue to research it, ignoring the danger, but I don't believe that that's possible right now. Unfortunately. I may not value my own life, but interacting with it is not a good idea. Mostly due to the fact that LIFEGIVER's shipment has arrived. FTLR-3 will be eradicated soon. I... I will not interfere.

FTL: I'm highly disappointed in myself that I didn't manage to get more research done, but I do not think there was much research that could be done. My interest in the project has long since faded, and while rationale dictates that that does not matter and I should have continued my study, that would have been fruitless. There were no interesting behaviours from it, and there wasn't much I could have done.

FTL: As for the corrosive substance I was attempting to develop, well. I've succeeded. It would not be effective against Rot though. Or well, against anything at all. The liquid is corrosive, but barely so. I've come to the conclusion that I'm not cut out for chemistry. Thankfully so, as it is dreadfully boring. And now I do not have to continue in my attempts, due to LIFEGIVER's cure being here, as previously mentioned.

FTL: The organisms carrying the chemical have made their way into my structure, which was slightly unpleasant. The feeling of creature crawling around on me is not one I enjoy. I just wish that the creatures get to FTLR-3 as soon as possible, and let me grieve the loss of high potential for research.

FTL: I never did figure out what FTLR-3 truly was. A Rot, of course, but the fact that it doesn't fit into any of the three sub-groups bothers me heavily. I'll leave it as an outlier for now, but a new group shall be created if another Rot similar to FTLR-3 is ever created. Which is highly unlikely.

FTL: That does lead me to remember a train of thought I had earlier on in the cycle. Will FTLR-3 escape the confines of the Great Cycle as other Rots do? I believe that some iota of intelligence is needed in order to be part of the Great Cycle, alongside being mostly organic. That first requirement is what bars all Rots (and while us Iterators definitely do fit the first requirement, the second one is the reason why we are excluded. We may be organic in part, but we still are majority mechanical.), would it do the same for FTLR-3?

FTL: ...Let's hope it does. But the more I think about it, the more I doubt it. While I am unsure about the level of intelligence necessary, I do know that lizards possess it. As established before, FTLR-3 goes beyond that. Well. If this worst-case scenario does happen, then I will know. I'll be on the lookout, just in case it wakes up where it was first created, though I think it's more likely that it would do so in the containment chamber where it's been for the past several cycles.

FTL: What will- ....should I do if that does happen though? I cannot keep relying on LIFEGIVER to continue eradicating it over and over, completely pointlessly. And while I do relish the opportunity to potentially research it more, and with time to do so. It... I cannot release FTLR-3 as I do with my other experiments I no longer need. That would permanently wreck my regions. Nor can I allow it to continue inhabiting that room. As I've stated before, it will find a way out.

FTL: I do not know what to do. If it gets trapped in the Great Cycle, does that mean that it has Karma? If so, is it possible for it to ascend via Void sea? Either way, I have no options. I have no way to ascend it or remove it from the Great Cycle somehow. It'd just have to remain in the containment chamber, growing more and more dangerous by the cycle. I do not want that.

FTL: I do believe that I have no proper way out of this situation if FTLR-3 does happen to be trapped in the Great Cycle alongside most lifeforms. If that is the case - which I am now almost fully convinced it is - then I am most likely doomed to die via Rot. A very volatile one that can and will spread out easily.

FTL: I... I am not going to record the other things I was going to talk about in this log. Apologies to future me (...if you even exist) but I have no time.

FTL: I need to think.

[mattybsgroupie]

dress | chris sturniolo

contents: fwb; fingering (f receiving); (slightly) exhibitionism; soft dom!chris

- ♡ -

notes: writing chris was hard at first but i had so much fun! i still have another request for him on the drafts - the weeknd anon i did NOT forget you - but i figured id write this one first to get used to it lmaoo it’s so weird let me get my matt back! which btw gonna post a really long one on their birthday and then imma lock in on the pegging request (sturniolo police don’t kill me) it’s super super short but i hope you enjoy it ♡ tysm for over 1k followers, much much love ♡ it’s NOT proofread — i apologize for any mistakes but hopefully they won’t harm the story.

requested by: my dear funny gorgeous smart friend whom i very much love @thepubeburgler

- ♡ -

i couldn't stop laughing. nick had stumbled upon his feet and fallen flat onto the sofa, not making any effort to get up. amidst all the laughter, my hair got caught up in my hoop earrings, yanking my strands forward. “shit”, i muttered, trying to loosen it with my fingers as i recovered from the hilarious sight in front of me.

after a while trying, i realized i wasn't going to be successful in detangling my hair. i headed for the bathroom, turning myself to the reflection in the mirror and bringing my body near the sink so i could see better.

still listening to the chatter outside, i noticed footsteps approaching. they sounded unconcerned, like someone was dragging their feet until they suddenly stopped behind the door.

i heard three sharp knocks and answered “come in”, bumping into chris leaning on the doorframe. he checked me out from head to toe, not saying a word. instead, he simply entered the restroom and chuckled, watching me struggle with my own earring.

“let me help” he said, pulling up the sleeves of his t-shirt and stepping closer, tucking part of my hair behind my ear and cupping my face with both hands. chris quickly sealed our lips on a playful kiss and started to work in undoing my tangled logs, soon popping my hoop back in. he allowed me turn and check in the mirror if he'd done it the proper way, and i nodded as i admired the sight of us both standing there, in that tiny bathroom. i was wearing a long sleeve, knit sweater dress, stripes accentuating my curves and outlining my hips. chris looked handsome as he always does. he had a yellow bandana tying his long hair back and a necklace enhancing his collarbones. i couldn't help but let out a sigh, receiving a giggle from him in response.

both of us noticed how the atmosphere quickly changed, becoming more tense as chris came closer to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his head on my right shoulder, blue eyes piercing me through the mirror.

“you look so good” he whispered in my ear, dragging his hand on my dress while biting on whatever his lips could reach. he saw my nipples hardening, poking through the thick fabric and with a naughty grin, he squeezed my thighs, running his hand upwards until my sweater was above my hips, exposing my panties to him. 

chris' fingers brushed over my underwear, teasing my waistband. i held my breath as his digits went down, sneaking inside my black panties. watching chris touching me in front of the mirror was almost pornographic, my mouth hanging open while he kept on groping my skin. i slightly opened my legs, spreading my body weight better and giving him more access so he could drag his fingers through my already folds. chris' lips reached my neck and i threw my head back, letting him mark me as much as he wanted.

he wouldn't take his eyes off me. i could feel he had noticed how my breath got heavier, my chest rising as he decided to increase his pace, quickly rubbing my clit. “eyes on the mirror, ma” he muffled in my ear. ”take a look at yourself, how pretty you are”

“chris-” i moaned, struggling to continue looking.

“do something for me yeah?” he asked and i nodded vigorously - i'd do anything if that meant he'd continue touching me.

chris took his finger out of my underwear, making me groan in frustration. he held back a laugh, wrapping his arms around my waist and taking a few steps backwards, carrying me with him. his back was now resting against the wall and he brought one of his hands to the back of my thighs, giving two light taps, asking me to lift it up.

i had now one foot on the floor and the other hanging as he held my thigh up, soon motioning me so i could step on the countertop while he kept me balanced by holding me in his arms and supporting me with his legs. “let go, babe. i'm holding you” he said, noticing my stiff body, unable to relax in that position.

chris's digits ran across my bare skin and soon reached the spot where they had been before, making me gasp. “shh” he shushed me, “just wanna make you feel good, mamas. nobody's getting here babe, relax f'me”.

i took a deep breath and nodded, acknowledging that chris would never do anything i didn't enjoy. he pulled my panties aside, exposing open pussy to both of us in front of the mirror. chris teased my entrance, two digits pressing on my thigh hole as he pretented to thrust all at once, but only massaging the area before going back to my clit, his circular motions causing me to whimper.

one of my hands went behind chris, trying to get a grip of his hair, but my desperation made me end up tugging on his bandana. he groaned in a playful tone as the fabric came down his eyes, messing up his curls and blocking his vision. i finished pulling the bandana off, putting it between my teeth before returning my hand to chris's hair, pulling and begging him to keep going.

his palm left my waist went up to my breasts, groping my tit before he gently returned to my tight hole, slowly pushing his middle finger inside.

“look how well you're taking me, ma” he spoke, turning my attention to how his finger had completely vanished in me, filling me up entirely. as couldn't even moan because of the fabric in my mouth, let alone speak, i jointed my hips forward, indicating to chris that he could start moving. “so eager aren't you?” i nodded in agreement. i needed him to fuck me.

chris began to speed up his movements, the wet sounds of my pussy taking over the small bathroom we were squeezed into. in one of his thrusts, chris added another finger, stretching my walls in a sudden move. i rolled my eyes and opened my mouth, the yellow cloth i was holding with my teeth falling on the floor beneath me. with my lips now uncovered, my whimpers got louder as chris kept on fucking me. he curled his fingers inside of me, hitting my sensitive spot and making my legs tremble. noticing i wouldn't last long, chris tightened his grip on my thigh even more, leaving a mark that would definitely be purple the next day. 

chris shoved his fingers in relentlessly when his thumb met my clit, letting my hips buck forward unconsciously, the friction increasing my pleasure. the knot in my stomach was turning harder to ignore, chris's heavy breathing on my neck made me even hornier while his free hand played with my covered nipples. 

“chris- shit!” i whined “chris let... let me cum, fuck!”

“no one's stopping you mamas” he whispered, moving my hair to the side as my moans became louder and louder. “go ahead. don't be fucking loud, everyone is outside. you want them to know i can get you off this quick?”

i was thrown off the edge when chris pulled me closer and i felt his hardened cock being lazily dragged on my ass. i could feel his boner poking me through the cloth when my orgasm washed over me, my chest panting heavily as chris kept his grip on me, holding my body while i came back from my high.

he allowed me to rest, taking my thigh on his hand and gently letting my foot meet the floor again. chris turned me over, letting me snuggle in his chest as i watched him t bake both fingers to his mouth, licking the mess i'd made. “you're so fucking delicious” he said, pulling out of the hug and bending over to pick up his bandana. he quickly tied his long, brown locks into the yellow fabric and unlocked the door after giving me a kiss on the forehead.

“chris! where are you going?”

“outside...?” he said as if it was obvious when he saw my furrowed eyebrows “i'll tell them i was helping you fix your dress or something” he joked and i rolled my eyes, catching a sigh of my figure on the mirror. i looked ruined.

“you're staying over tonight, right?” chris asked and i nodded as i fixed my hair once again, pulling my dress down and covering the purple marks he had left on my legs. “great, you can pay me back later” he clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth and winked at me, leaving the bathroom and closing the door outside.

- ♡ -

taglist (drop a 🌸!): @thepubeburgler @submattenthusiast @pearlzier @mattsfavbitchhh @her-favorite @bugeyedgrl @mattslittlecumsslut @sturncakez @riowritesitall @joemamaaa42069 @mattsturnswife @sturnsmia @sturnthepot @mattscoquette @sturniolofandomthings @conspiracy-ash @ilovemattsturn @lizzymacdonald06 @sofieeeeex

[chantersboard]

Lovely To Be Rained On With You

Summary: 3K. Reader and Joel rush to find shelter from the storm

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, post-outbreak, oral f!receiving, unprotected PIV, creampie

A/N: okay I have spent so much time on here reading other Joel fics and enjoying myself so I kinda wanted to give back. but first of all I need to get three things off my chest. one, it's been a long time since I've written anything. two, this is my first writing The Last of Us. three, and probably most important as I beg for kindness, it's my first time writing smut. this has been sitting in my docs for too long so Imma just press post and walk away. enjoy! AO3

The weather was changing rapidly. Not long ago it had only been partly cloudy, but now, for as far as the eye could see, the sky was one massive, threatening cloud. The leaves danced on their branches as the gusting wind flowed through them; their rustling a constant melody accompanied by the quickening beat of two pairs of boots.

Tightening the grip on your rifle, you look up at the darkening sky. The weapon could protect you from a lot, but not from this. It had been four days since you left camp and it was still another day’s walk until you returned. 

There was no outrunning this storm.

A few feet ahead of you Joel Miller marches onward, his broad frame and long legs setting a rapid pace you struggle to keep up with. The pack on your back is overfilled and heavy with recently looted goods. It causes your steps to be slow, more cautious and measured. 

You take a deep breath, “Joel…?” you begin. You’re both thinking it. Someone has to say it out loud. “It’s gonna pour in any minute.”

His graying curls dance along with the leaves in the wind. He steps over a fallen tree then turns and offers his hand to help you over. You graciously accept it, sliding your fingers over his calloused hand. The weight of the bag digs into your shoulders as you step over. Had it not been for the heavy sack you would have been closer to camp by now, but those supplies are the sole reason the two of you journeyed so far away.

“I know,” he says as you join him on the other side of the log. 

“We’re too far from camp—”

“I know,” he repeats, his brows furrowing. He scouts the distance, bright eyes scanning left and right, through the trees and beyond. A bead of sweat slowly falls down his face, the unseasonable hot May weather demanding to be acknowledged.

“There was a cabin…” he trails off, lost in thought. You look ahead, only seeing trees. “D’you remember? Was it before or after all those alliums we saw?”

You think back and try to remember this area from a few days ago but a lot had happened since: Joel injured his shoulder wrestling with a jammed door; you found and promptly devoured a can of ravioli; there were two separate attacks with solitary infected; finding the motherlode of supplies in what looked like a doomsday prepper’s basement; oh, and then there was last night. 

Still riding the high of finding all those medical supplies and ammunition (and a bottle of bourbon), the two of you spent last evening in high spirits. You shared stories and laughed and drank. Joel hummed a tune that had you swaying your hips and smiling towards the obsidian sky. For a moment things felt so easy and normal. 

At some point that night, with only a sliver of the moon in the sky, you stumbled in the darkness and fell into Joel’s arms. You had looked up at him, your hand rested on his strong chest as you breathed in the scent of him. Your body tingled where his hands pressed into your waist. The stars twinkled above him as he smiled crookedly and whispered, “y’okay, sweetheart?” and you nearly confessed. Nearly told him how you truly felt about him. Nearly revealed you knew he watched you when he thought you couldn’t see. 

Nearly kissed his gorgeous face. 

But then he dropped his hands, the magic of the moment gone, and you swallowed your feelings. You fell asleep last night wishing things were different. Wishing Joel was yours. 

A single raindrop plopping on your forehead brings you back to the present. “We saw the cabin first,” you recall. “And then the flowers.”

Joel nods, walking forward even faster than he had before. He too must have felt a raindrop. 

The two of you continue onwards, the sky teasing you with singular drops of rain as you migrant the woodsy terrain. It doesn’t take long until you see them in the distance. 

Alliums. The purple flowers, towering high on skinny stalks, sway in the wind. The bulbous plant, petals like bursting fireworks, are scattered across the field. The sight of them brings you relief. It shouldn’t be much longer until you find the cabin. 

Just as you walk past the last bunch of flowers the sky begins to open up. The rain comes softly at first. Small drops that slide off your skin and moisten your clothing. Foolishly, you believe if it continues like this you’ll be fine. But as lightning shoots across the sky and thunder shakes your body, the drops grow heavier, their frequency increasing. 

The rain continues to fall harder as you trek on. The sound of water blanketing the land drowns out everything else. Joel turns and looks behind at you, his normally bouncy hair weighted down and plastered to his face. Another clap of thunder rings as the rain soaks through you. It seeps all the layers of your clothing, through your jeans, through your socks, pooling in your boots. 

Walking is becoming more difficult as your boots sink into the mud, your clothes are soaked through and heavy and your cumbersome backpack doesn’t help. You’re about to yell ahead, tell Joel it doesn’t even matter anymore, that you’re too tired, but then you see the cabin. 

It’s a tiny little thing. The sheltered patio leads into one cozy room. To your right is a kitchenette, directly in front of you is a small living space, and further back, against the wall rests a bed. There’s a closed off area there as well, presumably a bathroom. 

Joel crosses the cabin, his hand resting on the pistol holstered to his hip, and peers into the smaller room. His posture relaxes and he gives a quick nod. The cabin is safe. 

You rest your rifle against the wall by the door and unceremoniously drop your bag. Relief spreads through your bones. You arch your back and stretch your arms upwards, pulling the muscles along your spine. You glance across the room and there it is again—Joel is watching you. His eyes travel your body and linger where your soaked top clings to your chest.

He’s lost in the sight of you. You raise your arms higher, his gaze warming your cheeks and your core, and you push your chest further out to taunt him. The wet fabric is unforgiving and you're sure he can see your hardened nipples even from across the room. 

You decide to break the silence. “You think it will last long?”

Joel snaps to attention, his eyes finding yours as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Huh? What was that?”

“The storm,” you pause to lick your lips. “Do you think it’ll last long?”

Joel sets his backpack down at the head of the bed. “Not too sure,” he looks past you out the window at the turbulent weather, “regardless, we should stay here for the night.” He opens his bag and begins to rummage through it. 

You nod as you walk over to the foot of bed. With your back facing him you sit on the edge. “In that case I’m gonna get out of these clothes.”

You wrap your fingers under the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head. You toss the clothing and it lands with a loud slap on the wooden floor. After kicking off your boots and socks you lift your hips off the bed enough to push your jeans to your thighs. You struggle to get the tight and stiff wet denim off your legs. 

You lean back on your forearms and look behind at Joel. He’s suddenly very interested in his bag. You watch as he digs around, the muscles in his arms pressing against his tee. His face is glistening wet and it highlights the slope of his nose and the curve of his jaw. He’s just as handsome as always. 

“Hey, Joel?” You bite your lip and wait for his attention. 

His hands still as he looks down at you. “Yes, sweetheart?”

The endearment makes your heart swell. You swing your dangling legs. “Can you help me out of these? They’re giving me trouble.”

He looks at the jeans halfway down your thighs. You’ve changed in front of Joel before but after last night, after spending so much time alone with him, things have gotten intimate.  You feel exposed half undressed in your mismatched undergarments, but it’s also exciting and your breath quickens under Joel’s glare. 

“Yeah, I can help,” he nearly whispers. He drops his bag on the floor, the stuff within no longer important, and rounds the bed. You lift your legs when he gets close and await his touch. 

He holds your ankles first. Gathering the material there, he attempts to pull, but the jeans barely move. So his hands climb up, over your calves, then behind your knees, and when they reach your thighs he pauses. He hooks onto the edge of the material, his thick fingers touching your bare skin, and pulls.

The jeans start to give way. As he tugs your body jostles, your breasts bouncing lightly in your worn bra, each jerk becoming more arousing. Once he’s peeled your pants off he discards them onto the floor along with your shirt. 

“There ya go,” he says as he comes between your legs and leans in. “Will you be needin’ anything else?”

He looks at you, his eyes intense and questioning. He’s so close you can feel his body heat, even with his cool wet shirt brushing against your bare torso. A flash of lightning briefly brightens the room. You swallow hard and wait for the resounding thunder. You won’t repeat last night. You won’t let this moment pass. 

“Kiss me,” you whisper. 

And suddenly Joel’s lips are pressed against yours. He kisses you hungrily, mashing himself against you, finally feeding the longing you’ve both felt for some time. You part your mouth and allow his tongue entry as you melt into him. You explore each other, your hands running along his chest as you’re rendered breathless under his kissing. Your fingers tangle in his shirt. You pull at the fabric wanting to feel his skin against yours. 

Joel breaks from the heated kiss and straightens his body. His eyes are dark and filled with lust as he yanks his shirt off. You watch him as you scoot back on the bed and fully lay down. He kicks off his boots and undoes his belt and jeans. His body is strong from years of manual labor. There’s a line of hair on his soft belly that trails under his boxers.  

“What else do you need, sweetheart?”

You can’t tell if the roaring in your ears is the sound of the rain or of your quickly beating heart. Joel waits for your answer as he unclips the gun holster from his belt and rests it on the floor. His hardening cock springs free when he drops his pants and boxers. 

He strokes himself slowly and you watch as his cock gets harder in his grasp. You rub your thighs together, desperately seeking relief for the growing ache between your legs. You unclasp your bra and cup your breasts. Joel softly grunts when you pinch your nipples between your fingers. 

The sight of him bare and beautiful leaves you breathless. He looks so handsome with his hair slicked back and glossy from the rain. The sight of his cock, hard and ready for you, sets you on fire. He licks his lips and all you can think about is those lips on you. On your mouth, on your tits, on your cunt. You have never wanted someone so badly. 

“You, Joel,” you finally say. “I need you.”

He smiles at your answer and makes his way onto the bed. He takes his time crawling up to you, planting kisses along the way. He pauses when he meets the apex of your legs. 

His fingers curl around the band of your panties and he pulls them down and off. You open your legs, inviting him in, so desperate for his touch. 

He looks up with hungry eyes. “I want to taste you,” he says as his fingers part your pussy lips, opening you even further for him. 

Joel opens his mouth and presses his tongue against your cunt. He licks up, takes his time savoring you until he passes over your sensitive bundle of nerves. The sensation has you moaning and lifting your hips to meet his mouth. 

“Oh, Joel,” you whine as he continues sucking and licking you, alternating between the flat of his tongue and the point of his tip. One of his large fingers finds the entrance to your hole and pushes inside. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me already,” he mumbles into your folds. “One of my fingers isn’t enough, is it?”

Your hands run through his hair as he inserts another finger inside you, your walls clenching around him. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, curling them into the spot within you that has you moaning his name. 

Your pleasure grows as Joel finds his rhythm, his mouth and hand working together to bring you closer and closer to orgasm. 

“Please, Joel,” you’re begging, pleading with him. “Don’t stop! I’m so close, please don’t stop!”

So he doesn’t. His moans join your screams of pleasure until the pressure in your core finally snaps. Your back arches and your legs shake as your orgasm rips through you. Joel’s fingers continue to work through your high, prolonging your pleasure until your legs relax and your grip loosens from his hair. 

“Fuck,” you exhale as Joel crawls up, his strong body caging around you. He leans into you, the touch of his skin on yours and the weight of him soothing your body. He nestles his face into the crook of your neck as one of his hands squeezes your breast, his fingers playfully twisting your nipple. 

He’s planting kisses on you again, on your neck, along your jaw, then on your lips. You moan when you taste your own release on his tongue as he slips it between your lips. You spread your legs further underneath him, a fire burning in your core that only he can put out. His cock rests thick and hard between you. 

“I still need you,” you whisper, lifting your hips to grind yourself against the length of him. You need all of him, every pound and every inch. You need his touch, his lips, his moans. You need him around you. You need him in you. 

He grunts as you rub against him, your wet hole eager to be filled. 

“I need you too,” he whispers back as he reaches in between your bodies. He grabs himself and aligns the thick head of his cock at your entrance. 

You whimper as he slowly pushes himself inside you. Inch by inch your walls stretch to accommodate his shaft. Seeds of pleasure start to grow when he’s fully inserted into you. 

Joel stills inside you and looks into your eyes. His face is twisted in bliss. “Goddamn, your pussy is squeezing me so tight,” he rasps. He sharply exhales when you flex your cunt around him. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. He begins to pump his hips then, making soft shallow thrusts until he’s gotten used to the feeling of you. He moans into your mouth as he picks up the pace, nearly pulling himself out of you entirely before plummeting back into your depths. 

His dick is intoxicating. Waves of pleasure wash over you each time he rams himself deep in you. He fills you completely, your wet hole stretching around the length of him. 

Joel begins stroking faster, his hips snapping into you at a blinding pace. Your fingers dig into his back when he rocks into the spot that makes you arch your back and moan his name. 

He smiles, satisfied with the pleasure his cock gives you. “Right there?” He asks as he continues to mercilessly drill into you, pounding your sweet spot over and over again. 

“Yea—oh my god, Joel—yes!”

He’s already pushing you towards your next orgasm and he can sense it. He repositions your bodies, folding you nearly in half as he brings your knees up. 

You scream out as the altered position lets him stroke deeper inside you. His cock hits your cervix, pain and pleasure meshing together, forcing you closer to the edge. 

“You like that, sweetheart?” Joel asks as your moans increase in volume. “Look at your pretty pussy juices making a mess… so fucking wet.”

You look down where the two of you are connected. You watch as he disappears inside you and then reappears again, shiny with your slick. The image makes your head spin. 

“I… oh fuck! I’m gonna… I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna cum on my cock for me? Huh?” His strokes are becoming more erratic, his own orgasm approaching. “Gonna let me feel that pussy grip my dick while you cum?”

Joel’s filthy words combined with his dick destroying your cunt sends you over. You yell out as your orgasm knocks over you. Your pussy pulsates around Joel, pushing him over the edge. You milk his cock as he cums, his dick twitching inside you as his warm seed fills your hole. 

The two of you lay there a while, Joel softening inside you as his body envelopes yours. When your body has relaxed and your breathing has slowed Joel softly presses his lips to yours. He rises and slowly pulls out. You feel your combined arousal spill out of you once he’s completely out of the warmth of your cunt. You immediately miss the fullness he gave you when he rolls over to lay beside you. 

The storm continues on outside. Fat raindrops pellet the cabin and the wind rattles the windows. Staying in was a good call, the sky was already darkening with the approaching night. 

You look over to Joel. His eyes are closed, his face is soft and relaxed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so calm before.

“Y’okay, sweetheart,” you ask, mirroring Joel’s words from last night. 

Joel chuckles as he intertwines his fingers in yours. “Yeah. I am now.”

[lostaurorax]

breeder

pairing | husband!travis kelce x wife!reader

summary | travis, jason and donna are filming a new episode of the new heights podcast when the topic of breeding gets brought up and things escalate

warnings | indications of sex & breeding kink!!

authors note | i absolutely LOVE this man so i thought why not write a fic for him!!! lmk what u think and if u have any requests send them my way :)

travis, jason and their mom were all currently recording a new episode of the new heights podcast. they had gotten onto the topic of who donna would save if she had to pick between travis and jason.

“who do you actually root for? in the battle to the death..me versus travis who are you rooting for?” jason said as travis laughed in the background

“if you were on a boat and you were in the middle of the ocean who would you save- me or your father?” donna said trying to one up jason

“she just fucking threw it right in your face.” travis said

“that’s easy i would save you in a heartbeat! there’s no question on that! who would you save trav?” jason said wanting to hear travis’s side now

“you know what? dangnamit…”

“if you don’t act quick enough you’re gonna lose both of them you don’t have a choice!” jason said as serious as ever causing travis to laugh again

“all right mom answer the question, who you saving?” jason said

“life or death….” donna said as she sighed drastically

“if you choose me just know that both wyatt and elliotte will grow up without a father!” jason said trying to persuade his mother even more which just lead her to chuckle

“i’ve gotta start breeding…” trav said after not speaking for a bit

“please do not.” jason said

“more grand babies? that sounds like a great idea!” donna said ecstatic that she might get more babies

“imma find a breeder and i’m gonna get kids so that mom can love me again..” travis said causing jason to laugh

conveniently you had just gotten home and walked into the room immediately being seen on camera by jason and donna.

“speaking of breeders!! mrs y/n kelce has just entered the room.” jason said introducing you to all the people who were listening

“hi jay! hi momma how are ya?” you said as you sat on one of travis’s legs and leaned into his headphones so you could hear what everyone was saying

“hi hun! i’m doing well! you look stunning as usual..” donna said she had always been so sweet to you and you absolutely loved her

“aw thank you! what we’re you guys chattin’ about?” you said now turning around to look at trav but before he could speak jason did “travis needs to breed you so mom can pick him over me..” jason said causing you and travis’s eyes to both go wide

“jason! that would not make me pick him i love you both equally!!” donna said trying to defend herself

“we’ll on that note! me and my wife are logging off goodnight everyone!” travis said as he heard jason laughing in his ear as he shut his laptop. he could hear him say something along the lines of “looks like their about to go breed your gran babies mom..”

after a few minutes of silence you turned around in travis’s lap to face him. “so…you want to breed me?” you said looking up at him

“baby it was just a joke i swear! unless you’re up for it…” he said when he noticed the smirk on your face and how your hips were rubbing over his growing boner “oh i’m down…”

“mm now that i think about it you’d look so fucking sexy with your belly all swollen with my baby inside.” trav said as he found your hips and placed you flat on his boner causing you to gasp “fuck just go ahead and breed me then…” you said rolling your eyes back as you felt his dick poking your clit through your shorts “shit you don’t have to tell me twice!!” he said as he stood up and threw you over his shoulder and ran to your shared bedroom. it was gonna be a long night of breeding.

[the-fab-fox]

Okay. So Imma just come out and say it.

Y'all who read fanfic. You. Need. To. Start. Commenting. On. Fics.

I have been told I'm a great writer. I've been told I'm spot-on with characterization. I've been told I'm great at making readers feel and experience what the characters are feeling and experiencing. Been told it's like the reader is in the room as everything plays out.

However, when I see that my fics have upwards of 1K hits and maybe 100-300 comments and maybe 40-100 kudos and not even hitting triple digits in the bookmarks/subscriptions to a fic... Well, what would you think in my shoes?

Most likely, if you're like me, you're thinking all kinds of negative things (especially if you have mental illness/ADHD/neurodivergency of some kind). Stuff like... Oh, those other people are just being nice (not fair to them so I try not to think this way but negative self talk doesn't play nice with me).

Or I think... Okay so they checked it out. They had to click on the fic for it to even register the hit, right? So why don't I at the very least have more kudos? That's the easiest option on there (though it's like a like on here; if you are gonna leave kudos please also leave a comment), right? So what was wrong with my fic that I don't have more kudos at least.

But then I get on here and see so many comments and reblogs on FANART (still not enough for them either though lbr). THE POINT IS... If you read a fic. If you read it and liked it, you all really need to start commenting.

It doesn't even have to be long paragraphs or quoting or any of the ✨ big comments ✨ stuff. You could leave an emoji that be showing me what my fic or update got you feeling. You can do keyboard smash. If the author asks for it, you can leave constructive criticism (but only if the author has actively asked for it; if they haven't or given you permission, then don't). You can absolutely do big comment things too.

One of my favorite type of comments to get are the quoting ones. You just copy/paste and then say what you liked about it or what it made you feel or your reaction to it. Things like that. I love when my readers tell me their fave parts in an update. Or quote a line and tell me their thoughts and feels. Just yes.

We are far too advanced in this day and age and fanfiction and fandom are wholly more accepting than it used to be but for some reason, comments and reactions have become almost non-existent compared to when I was 15. And I was... Pretty cringy in my writing back then but I can admit that. But every chapter I'd get at least 8-10 comments. A chapter!

Even earlier in my Twst series I was getting A LOT more comments and with every fic it seems to have dropped significantly.

To me, to my brain, that tells me that my writing is suddenly sucky or I lost my talent or I'm not actually as great a writer as I was told because then why aren't more people commenting.

You might try to argue and say you're shy. Do you comment on order things? Do you tack onto a reblog to put out some addition to the original post? Do you chat with people in the fandom? Do you comment on fanart?

Then what makes a fanfic any different? (This is not including smut fics because I get but necessarily wanting it tied back to you. But if you open ao3 in a browser you aren't logged into ao3 on, you can (as long as the author has allowed it) post a comment anonymously. Yeah!)

You might say oh well I don't have time to comment right now. But you had time to read the fic? You had time to reblog that shit post? You had time to comment on the tags on a fanart you really loved? Thing is, unless you want to write a long one, comments do not take that long to leave. They really don't.

If you're worried the author doesn't want to hear from you—I'll stop you right there. The author ABSOLUTELY wants to hear from you.

So now is the time to stop making excuses to be lazy. You are reading really great fan literature for free. The least you can do as a thank you and to show support is to COMMENT. ON. THE. FIC.

And if you wanna really make an author's day and help support them and their work, REC the fic. REC the Author's work list. You can do that to friends you know would like it or even better, make a post about the fics and link your recs.

It's really not that hard and we should not have to beg. Realize the blessing you have that fics you would enjoy exist for free and do your part. COMMENT.

[xiaoluclair]

Yo! Hi. So,

Lestappen 7, 16 or 48

Mctwinks 32, 13 or 17

Norstappen 22, 20 or 2

Please and thank you

hi boo, imma get one of these out bc it was draiiinning and write the other two later!

17. to distract // ln4.op81 // G

Liam was a terrible influence, really. The Logan of this morning, bleary eyed and braindead with the prospect of a new day, would never have picked a lock, let alone failed at picking it and been bestowed with detention the entire month.

So. Terrible influence.

It's in the hour before his first detention, where he's stowed himself away in the library next to Oscar, that he gets a WhatsApp notification from his mom. Don't forget eggs for tonight! Also Kat has something to ask you.

logan, pops down from the top of the screen a second later. He thumbs open the message thread. i left dad's present in m02.

good for you, Logan thumbs out, while trying to think of a way to get out of detention that isn't 'I have to buy eggs'.

"What's wrong?" Oscar asks him. "You've got your 'Something is wrong' face on."

"I have to run groceries for my dad's birthday cake," Logan tells him. The time on his phone flicks to 16:57. "And get my sister's present for him that she forgot in the art block, and do this while I'm in detention."

"I can do those," offers Oscar.

"We're going out for dinner at six," added Logan, swinging his rucksack over his shoulder as he stood. "I haven't even told my mom yet. Don't play the Jurassic Park theme tune at my funeral."

Oscar grins. "No promises. And don't tell you mum," he adds, grabbing his own bag and following Logan out of the library, "not today anyway."

"Okay," they turn down a corridor of lockers, "so I should just. Not show up? Happy birthday dad, your son's M.I.A."

Oscar doesn't say anything for a minute. Logan leaves him be, caught up in his own trainwreck. They get to the room with a minute left on the clock. Logan turns to give Oscar a hug. When they pull apart, Oscar gives his shoulder a squeeze, round lump of a nose scrunched up a little with his grin. "Sit near the window," he says. "And leave the rest to me."

Logan enters detention feeling suitably concerned about his best friend's mental health. There's a couple of people already sat down, and a girl takes up the seat closest to the row of windows so Logan takes the seat just behind her. There's no teacher. Two minutes later, a boy lopes in, and drops his backpack down as he props himself on the desk at the front of the room, a wrinkled piece of paper in hand. "Prigard?"

"Here."

"Lawrence?"

"Yup."

"Sargeant?"

"Uh, here," says Logan, staring. He's fairly certain the guy is too young to be a teacher. He barely looks older than Logan. No one else says anything about it though, so.

It's fifteen minutes into the hour, maybe, when the door opens. Logan glances up, history essay blurring on the table. A few others do too, including the guy at the front, who's spent the entire time after taking roll fiddling on his phone.

"Ella Hare?" he says, glancing down at the register sheet. "You're a little late."

"Sorry," says Oscar, slipping slightly awkwardly into the room. "Got stuck in a comb."

Guy At The Front lights up like a very small Christmas Tree. He leans forward slightly. "Glad you found your way out."

Oscar makes his way to the front of the room. By this point, everyone in the is watching with at least an absent boredom. "Sorry to interrupt, mister..."

"Norris," says the guy, grinning.

"Mr Norris," repeats Oscar, stopping at the other end of the desk, and Logan can see his entire face. "What are your thoughts on... defenestration."

Logan puts his pad of paper and pen carefully into his bag. He zips it up as quietly as he can while Mr Norris says, "I love defenderation." Logan's hand slips, and the zipping goes slightly high-pitched and too loud. He freezes, eyes on the back of Mr Norris's head. It starts to turn.

"Hey," says Oscar loudly, quickly, "Mr Norris, are you free right now?"

A pause. "Depends," says Mr Norris. Logan edges out of his seat.

"Would you mind listening to my sister's grade eight saxophone?" Oscar continues. Logan nearly chokes on his own tongue.

"Would I..." echoes Mr Norris, and now he sounds confused.

"Yeah," says Oscar. The girl next to Logan is watching him creep his bag onto his shoulders with raised, incredibly studded eyebrows. Logan wonders if they're legal. "She needs a second opinion?"

"I'm the second opinion?"

"On estimate," says Oscar, and then there's a saxophone blaring through the room, just obnoxious enough for Logan to lift his chair back into the desk and fumble the window open. Now everyone is looking at him. There's a set of twins who look like they're three second away from shitting themselves with laughter.

Logan looks to where Oscar has his phone out. Mr Norris has perched on the end of the desk, back of his curly head to Logan and eyes on Oscar. He reaches up just as Logan puts his leg out of the window, and presses a finger to Oscar's phone. The music cuts out on a high note. "She's good," he says. "But is that what you came here to ask? If you were looking for Brown, then-"

Logan's arm slips and bangs into the window sill. Shit.

"What the-" Mr Norris twists. Logan's mentally signing his death certificate, when Oscar lunges out and his hand goes around Mr Norris's cheek. And then he, to Logan's immense horror, crushes their mouths together.

Logan's pretty sure his jaw just hit the other side of the earth.

Then he remembers why Oscar's just kissed a teacher, and funnels himself the rest of the way out of the window as quickly as possible.

Liam hands him a carton of eggs, the present his sister forgot, and three packs of Daim. "Sorry," he says, sincerely. "I wouldn't have asked if I knew that was all today."

"No problem," says Logan, still reeling. "All in the name of love."

Liam looks at him concernedly. "Right. Are you. Okay?"

"Oscar kissed a teacher," Logan tells him. That's illegal, he's pretty sure. More illegal than twenty piercings in one eyebrow.

Liam's face goes bewildered. "Really? Why?"

Logan groans. "To get me out of detention."

"Why'd he have to kiss a teacher?" asks Liam, confused. "Wasn't Lando taking it?"

Now Logan's also confused. He asks, tucking the eggs, the present, and two of the Daim packs into his bag. "Lando?"

Liam elaborates, taking the Daim pack and opening it so Logan can arrange everything in a way that hopefully won't break the eggs, "Lando Norris? Curly hair, kind of tanned. He's a senior. And a teacher's pet, although I'm not sure how, he's not exactly known for being the perfect academic."

"So he's not a teacher?" Logan checks.

Liam shakes his head, confirming, "Nope," as he passes Logan the opened Daim pack. "Also you better get a move on, or Oscar kissing Lando to get you out of detention is going to mean nothing." Urged on and sufficiently comforted by the knowledge that his best friend will not be sent to jail, Logan rushes to flag down his bus home.

are you alive? he sends Oscar. he isnt a teacher btw hes a senior. also im on the bus.

The reply comes while he's video taping his dad cutting the cake and he's singing Happy Birthday a lot quieter than his mom. That's a relief, it reads, punctuation and all, because I'm pretty sure I asked him out for good measure.

Logan continues recording, and just hopes Oscar's bid for love never involves breaking into the cupboard of art supplies.

[therealgchu]

Snippet Sunday

today was busy day with chores, taking care of friend's cat, and stream. but, it's still sunday! i made it on time. go me!

thanks for the tag, @fangbangerghoul! i'd have prolly forgotten.

imma doing something different today. i'm putting up a snippet of an original poem i wrote years ago. i've been trying to get back into the habit of writing poetry. bits of poems float through my head all the time. i'd like to publish them somewhere, but i'm not sure where. my understanding is that ao3 isn't the right place. if anyone has any ideas, besides tumblr, LMK.

so, here's a bit of poem i wrote a long time ago. some mature themes, but nothing explicit? metaphors are fun.

...amber eyes, the color of a winter fire slowly eating away at the logs like they were the most delicious pussy they’d ever tasted

I listen to the wind rustle the leaves of the big oak tree outside your window drinking in the taste of your kisses and the scent of your heated skin

I taste the salt and the burning on my tongue as my chest feels as if it’s made of helium to float up like a demented balloon but the demons are still there stomping their little feet to get my attention

I thought the salt was from sweat but I’m under the bed again waiting for the hand to strike and claw to drag me into the darkness where I’ll never leave...

(I walk up to the priest "this is my body this is my blood" my tiny hands out cupped like a baby bird’s mouth and i see blood and flesh coming apart between my legs "What did i do wrong this time?"

waking silently trying to be invisible choosing my words like choosing a diamond thinking they are the hardest things to protect me from shattering with the next blow)

[serverusslaype]

(This isn't an ask, I just wanted to remain anonymous.)

Hey, I just wanted to say that your writing is so moving to me and I'm very glad that you're back! The way you write is so captivating and it's like I'm right there in the moment, so big kudos to you :] Honestly, anyone sensible understands that we all need a break sometimes and there aren't really limits when it comes to needing time to get back on the horse. I'm sorry you were struggling for so long, but I can assure you that I, along with a couple other friends, just kept re-reading your beautiful work and anyone who took your hiatus the wrong way can step on a nail. I haven't read the newest chapter yet but I'm definitely nervous about it, considering what happened in Ch. 14 lmao. Anyway, thank you for taking the time to create this AU in the first place, it's truly been an emotional rollercoaster (in the best way) and I hope you're doing well; take all the time you need for the chapters, we'll devour whatever you feed us regardless of how much time passes in between chapters 🤭

hello, :)

this message made me emotional and i don't know why, probably because it was incredibly empathetic and i am but a sensitive, soppy soul, so thank you for taking the time to write this out. <3 i know it's been so long since i've posted (april i think?), i sort of go through phases of like 'YES NEED TO WRITE' and then something like 'ahh fuck, need to write, but don't know what or how to-', and it just like.. suuucks. honestly how do authors pump out whole ass trilogies in such a short period.. but either way i feel like i'm sort of, potentially,, back into a writing mood? testing the waters atm. i don't want to just write something just to get it out, you know what i mean? i want it to actually be... of somewhat good quality, so i try and only write when i want to, mentally?

and no, thank you!!! for even giving my ideas a chance, like i deadass just woke up one day and messily wrote that first chapter because it just slipped into my head and this all sort of got out of control LOL, but in all honesty, i love it, but sure-- there are some things i wish to/want to change but it will just take a verryyy long time and i will for sure lose motivation and just.. end up scrapping the whole thing so i'm forcing myself to not do that. and i'll probably end up wanting to go back to how it first was anyway haha. but again thank you so much for reading and supporting this and me, i appreciate and love you, so much. the internet can be such a daunting and scary place but in the corner of it all, there's you guys <3.

ok before i literally start crying imma head out. <3

(thank you again honestly i was not expecting these kinds of messages when logging back on :') )

i hope you have a fantastic day, anonymous, and everyone else that did read all of this gobbidigook above ^ <3

-mari x

[thegamingcatmom]

it’s me again! haha calling me “odor anon” made me laugh as much as the foot fetish gif!🤣 i forgot i should have said “it’s me…pee anon!” so you would know i was back again!👋🏻😂

i didn’t have much time earlier when i sent my message asking about the smell thing. i had just quickly sneaked on to check momma’s tag and speed read your new post.. so that’s why it was so short, ‘cause i was rushing to get my ask sent before i had to log off, hoping you would be on here at some time before i got back on tonight😭

OK so i have another question lol! so sometimes you call maggot momma ‘she’ and sometimes you call her ‘it’.. is this on purpose?

i was reading your long post again…the one inspired by mommy kink.. and in it you switch between ‘she’ n ‘it’ freely. so for example.. sometimes reader will be ‘hers’ but other times reader is ‘its’. or sometimes you’ll say ‘her hand’ and others you’ll say ‘its face’ etc.

so i was wondering if there was a reason for the switching between both? (that i’m missing because i’m dumb) or if it’s just something you hadn’t even thought about?😁

Ohhh well then, hey there and welcome back! 😄🥰

I guess that makes you...pee-odor anon then? 😅

Oh that´s okay, no need to rush at all! I do check in on my tumblr multiple times a day, especially since I´ve started writing about Maggot Mommy in greater detail. So if there´s a new ask I usually answer it right away (if I can). 😊

Although, Imma start working again on tuesday so I might not have as much time as I do now ´cause work sucksssss. 🥹

Also, pls don´t worry about an ask being too short or anything like that, really. I´m happy to receive any ask, no matter if it´s a full paragraph or a short sentence. It gives me the chance to gush and obsess about Maggot Momma and her certain someone and, ofc, there´s a real chance any new ask might just turn into the next installment of what-the-actual-fuck. 😜

So yall, don´t be shy, lemme know your kinks and quirks...

As for your question, I´m so glad you asked. 😈

Because yes, me switching between her/she and it is on purpose for multiple reasons.

As yall know, I see Maggot Momma as animalistic, feral being which acts on instincts more than anything else, is driven by them. Her deceased, rotten brain is just wired differently (meaning: she thinks her precious Drama Queen was meant for her and they belong together and she wants to climb into them and she thinks a certain someone is just as besotted with her as she is with them and-) and whenever I wanna show what´s going on in that rotten brain of hers, I use she/her. Basically Maggot Momma´s POV.

Now, imagine finding yourself in that situation - being hunted down, clawed at, sniffed at, licked like a lollipop, smothered, used as a humping pillow and-

(Doesn´t sound so bad though, does it? 🙈)

And all of that happens all day, every day and It looks like the walking dead and limbs get sent flying on a regular basis and there´s always this fear that It might just get tired of you after all and any day could be your last because you have no idea what´s going on in that rotten brain.

So, whenever I use "it" that means the story is being told from a certain someone´s POV.

Switching between "she/her" and "it" is basically me trying to show and clarify that there´s a distance - physical and emotional (more so emotional though cause Momma does as she damn well pleases and personal space wha-?) - between Maggot Momma and a certain someone. Because we have to remember that, while you as a reader do know what´s going on in Momma´s brain, they don´t.

When I write I focus mostly on the animalistic, unhinged nature of Maggot Momma and how someone would, realistically, react to that. So me using "it" means I want to stress that feral nature of hers.

Also, I rarely use actual conversation in my posts, as you might have noticed. What I do instead is trying to describe a situation as you would experience it yourself. Always keeping in mind that Maggot Momma and a certain someone have quite the different mindsets...

If you got any more questions I´ll be happy to answer them all. 😊

And now Imma get back to that rather full bladder of a certain someone...poor thing indeed.

Until then! 🤗

[dixonlvr-online]

If the world was ending

Hi...back to share this with you before logging off again probably. I wrote most of this back in November, but just finished it today. It's something I'd like to expand on more in the future, adding more memories in to deepen the meaning. Right now the writing bug is evading me, though, so it may be a while.

Miss you all. Miss writing on here. Hope you like this xx

Do whatever you need to get your heads on straight. This is gonna be the fight of our lives.

Earl’s words rang through your ears as you loaded your quiver with arrows. It was still light out; sun beating down on your skin and making the vertigo worse. You’d been in this situation before, many times in fact, but it never got easier. Knowing that tonight you might die because someone wanted to get their knuckles bloody. The fear that someone you cared about might die instead.

You swallowed hard, lifting your head to watch the people around you. It was quiet, an uneasy contrast to the hurried movements. No one had the words for this, this limbo period where you all awaited trial. Tonight the Whisperers would attack, and Hilltop would fall. You all knew it. There weren’t enough fighters to hold it together. Now it was just a question of who would fall with it.

From the corner of your vision, you saw him. You held in a breath, heart skipping a beat. Of course, the end of the world had come and gone for you many times, but you’d never been alone. He had always been beside you, from start to finish. Through good and bad. Until bad had gotten so bad he’d left, and the good had gotten so good he’d been too afraid to return.

Daryl met your gaze then, walking over to you as you straightened up to greet him.

“Hey. You ready for this?”

He nodded, though you saw the tension in his shoulders. It was the same posture he’d had at the prison when the Governor attacked, and Alexandria when Negan rolled up to the gates. 

“Gotta make sure the kids are alright. Imma ask Ezekiel for help with that, but can ya also watch out for ‘em? In case I don’t…”

You nodded, grasping his meaning. He didn’t think he was going to survive tonight. This man, who appeared so fearless to everyone else, so confident in his abilities, was preparing to die. You’d only seen him like this once before, and the memory fought its way to the surface. You pushed it down, focusing on the man in front of you now versus that man you used to know.

“Yeah. I can do that.”

You didn’t know what else to say. If you die, how could anyone else hope to live? What happens if I die, too? We both know we’re willing to. But this was Daryl, who knew you better than anyone. He knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Hey, s’gonna be alrigh’.”

Your tight-lipped smile said everything. He wasn’t fooling anyone, especially not you. He scratched at the back of his neck, looking around at the others. You followed his gaze. They all had their heads down, building and sharpening weapons, treating old injuries, whatever they could do to keep their minds busy. God, how you wanted to hand them all a drink and say, Here, take the load off. The thought sparked an idea.

“Do you want to have a drink with me?”

Daryl turned sharply, your words registering. You sent him a pleading look, needing him to say yes. To share one last moment with you before the end. To pretend everything was normal, the way things used to be. By the way his face softened, you knew he needed it too. He nodded, reaching a hand for yours. You sucked in a sharp breath, the action so foreign yet familiar at the same time. For the first time in years, you placed your hand in his, and neither of you pulled away.

The trailer was warmer with him on your couch. It had been awhile since you’d had company. Since before the Whisperers, you were sure. Back when things were settled, peaceful. The calm before and after the storms. You remembered the day you moved in, how exhausted you were after a long journey from Alexandria. How depleted you felt after gathering your belongings, ones that used to not be just yours, and taking them as far away from home as possible. It wasn’t home anymore, anyway. 

Tara had helped you unpack, an uneasy smile on her face as she pulled out your belongings. She knew what you were doing, why you were doing it. She knew how badly you were hurting because of it.

Seeing Daryl on your couch now, you also remembered the last time he sat there. A year after you’d moved to Hilltop, when he’d come riding in on his motorcycle in a huff, demanding to know why you’d left without a word.

“Why did you?”

Your words left him speechless, grasping for a response. In that moment, you both knew it was over. All the years together, all the pains and comforts and connection, had scattered away the moment you both ran. Him to find Rick, a few months turning into a year without word, and you to find a new life, away from your shared home and all its memories. It was over, and you both had to face it now.

That was four years ago, and the man in front of you was not that same man. You knew it because you’d changed, too. But then he turned those beautiful eyes to you and it was easy to pretend time had stood still. Like you still meant everything to each other. Like he was still your lifeline, and you his. 

You sat down, handing him a drink. He thanked you quietly, taking a large gulp of the old wine you’d found in the mansion. You were both silent, focusing on your drinks until they were empty. When the silence grew too painful, you spoke up.

“How bad are our odds, really?”

He grunted, resting his glass on the table with a clink. You followed his actions, setting the glass down and leaning further into the couch to face him. He ran a hand down his face, which had taken on a red tint from the alcohol. Your own vision started to blur while he thought, the pause growing uncomfortably long as you shifted in your seat. Finally, he sighed.

“Ain’t gonna lie to ya. They ain’t good.”

You nodded. It was the answer you expected, though that didn’t make it any easier to hear. Still, a gnawing thought sat in the back of your mind.

“We’ve been here before and we made it. You don’t think we can do it again?”

 “Those were different. We had more people, more fighters. Less to lose.”

You considered his words, rolling them over in your head as the meaning settled. Less to lose? I’ve always had something big to lose. I thought you did, too.

“We’ve always had something to lose. Our people, each other. This isn’t different.”

Each other seemed to hit him like a brick wall, your words surfacing a truth he’d rather keep buried. But you knew him, and you remembered what he’d said all those times before. That night at the prison, when he’d held you close…

It was right after the loss of his brother. Merle had been an asshole, to be sure, but he was still the only family Daryl had. The person who’d raised him, taught him everything he thought to be true, kept him alive. And now he was gone, and Daryl was lost.

The two of you were friends, life on the road forging a bond that could only be made through shared experiences. Late nights keeping watch when neither of you could sleep. Him teaching you to hunt and to fight after much begging. Inside jokes that you both found funny but no one else understood. You were just friends, though both of your feelings had grown deeper without the other’s knowledge.

That night was dark, and cold, and fearful. You were all prepared for the Governor’s attack, the news of Merle’s death sending everyone into a panicked frenzy at what would happen next. But while everyone else was worried for tomorrow, you only had eyes for Daryl, whose red eyes and slumped shoulders gave away his pain.

“Can I talk to you?”

Daryl nodded, following you to your cell. Closing the door and lowering the curtain behind you, you pulled the stoic man into a hug. He stiffened at first, but within a few moments he was leaning into you, choked sobs wracking through his body. You held him close, running a hand through his hair and letting him cry. You didn’t know what it felt like to lose a sibling, but you knew he’d be shouldering the weight for a long time. It felt natural to kneel beneath it, raising your hands to keep it from crushing him.

When his cries faded into shaky breaths, you lifted his head from your shoulders. Cupping his cheeks in your hands, you stared into his swollen eyes. He looked so broken in that moment, you knew you’d do anything to keep him from looking that way again.

“Everyone here cares about you. We’re here for you, no matter what,” you said, eyes never leaving his. “This hurts, I know it does. But you will be okay. You need to be, for him.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept looking at you with those intense hunter’s eyes you’d grown to love. Your thumb caressed his cheek and he leaned in, the weight on your palm reassuring. When he did speak, his voice was scratchy.

“Why did he do that? Why’d he get himself killed for us? He ain’t never done nothin’ like that his whole life.”

Your chest fell, his desperation creeping out in the questions. His brother’s actions confused him, and that made the outcome so much harder to accept.

“He cared about you. You inspired him to be a better man. He wanted you to live, no matter the cost to him. I understand that.”

Daryl pulled away from you, just slightly.

“Don’t see why anyone’d give their life for me. I ain’t special.”

His eyes found the floor, shame overtaking his features. He knew what you’d said was true, but he didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to blame himself for his brother’s death. You stepped forward again, lifting his chin to face you.

“You are. And like I said, everyone here cares about you. We’d all give our lives for you, and we know you’d do the same for us. That’s just how it works.”

He studied you, gaze drifting from your eyes to your lips and back. It was impossible to look away, a light beam trapping you and sucking you in. You leaned in closer, only inches away from him now.

“I would.”

Your brows furrowed, not understanding.

“Would what?”

“Die. For you.”

His eyes glistened with tears again and you felt your own bottom lip quivering.

“Daryl, I-”

“I’m not losin’ anyone else. Especially not you. Ya understand?”

His tone was so firm you felt yourself nodding. One look between you and a mutual agreement was made: you would both die before losing the other. It was impossible to think otherwise.

After the Governor’s attack, when everyone was still alive and emotions were high, Daryl kissed you. In the moment, all you knew was you loved him, and you had a feeling he loved you back. 

Now, with those memories tainted by his leaving, you felt yourself wondering what that kiss really meant to the two of you.

“Was any of it real? Or did we both just need someone?”

Daryl startled at your words, your blood running cold as soon as they left your mouth. They’d been simmering for a while, the questions, and if tonight was your last, you needed to know the truth. Even if the pain in his eyes was so visceral you wished you could take them back.

You let them sit between you, the words and all the memories they presented. It felt real; the kisses, the arguments, the tears, all of it. But maybe it was just a cruel joke, about as real as the years between Rick’s death and the Whisperers. A dream that couldn’t last.

It was Alexandria all over again. The promise of a new life, of starting over and making things better, ripped away as soon as you felt comfortable. Because even when things were easy, there was always the looming threat of another fight. Another death. Another argument about these threats.

The day before the outpost massacre, the two of you had had it out. Life had been peaceful, happy even, since the walker herd attacked Alexandria. A few months was all you needed to settle in and enjoy it. You wanted to find the person you’d lost at the prison, and you finally had. Daryl seemed to feel better, too, getting to know the other Alexandrians and loosening up to the routine. Days were busy, nights were reserved for the two of you. Your glass heart was repairing.

So of course something had to come along and shatter it. 

“How could we even consider doing this? After everything we’ve been through, all we’ve lost, we’re just going to start another war? Keep killing people?”

“We’re doin’ this so we don’t lose more people. These Saviors, ya think they’re not gonna find us eventually? We gotta take ‘em out before they ride up to our gates and do it to us. Thought you would understand that.”

You scoffed at his words, walking away from him to your shared kitchen. He followed close behind, unable to leave well enough alone.

“Here’s what I understand, Daryl. You’re putting yourself at risk, again, doing something you know is wrong, again, and all in the name of ‘keeping us safe’ again. When are you going to accept that you just can’t walk away from a fight?”

“I’m doin’ this for you! To keep you alive! If there was another way, I’d take it, but there ain’t. This is happenin’ whether ya like it or not.”

Silence fell between you, piercing each other with the fire in your eyes. You’d always been well-matched, in your humor and your fury as well. His hands gripped the countertop, leaning over it with a heaving chest. Your arms remained crossed over your chest. A stand-off you knew all too well. 

After a minute, his eyes softened. His grip loosened, his body weight shifting backwards. His voice was low, gentle when he spoke.

“I can’t lose you. Ya know I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you alive. This is what I gotta do.”

You felt your own resolve crumbling, the defeated look on his face making it easy to believe him. You uncrossed your arms, stepping closer. His gaze met yours just before you pulled him in, a sigh of relief escaping his lips as he buried his head into your shoulder.

“I can’t lose you, either. That’s why I’m arguing. You know that, right?”

He raised his head and nodded, lifting a hand to caress your hair.

“I know. And you ain’t gonna lose me. Not today. Not tomorrow. I need ya. I’ll always come back to ya.”

His words from that day were echoing now. I need ya. I’ll always come back to ya. How could they be so hard to believe when he was sitting right in front of you? He had come back, just as he’d said. But not in the ways you wanted.

“I needed you.”

He mumbled it like a secret, like it wasn’t the most honest thing he’d said in his life. Metal filled your tastebuds, a lump in your throat growing. The pressure of it all was expanding until you thought your head would explode. You looked at everything but him. The walls were white. I needed you. The throw pillows on the couch were blue with white flecks. I needed you. The wine on the counter was still half-full. I needed you. I needed you. I needed you. 

“Then why did you leave me?” 

Shameful tears poured down your cheeks as you tried to brush them away. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. The distance between you now was greater than it’d been when he was in the woods. At least then you had the soft memories in front of you and not the painful picture itself. Timidly, Daryl raised his eyes to meet yours.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him. Your face was still wet with tears but you didn’t care anymore. I’m sorry, he said. It was the first time he’d said it. The first time he’d apologized for leaving. For shattering your heart. For breaking you into a million pieces. And despite thinking you were ready for it, wanting it for so long, you weren’t, and you didn’t. How could you be mad when he was looking at you like that?

He’d changed, and the realization was hitting you in waves. The day he arrived at Hilltop with Carol and Henry, the day the life of peace you’d worked so hard to build the past four years would end, you’d noticed the changes in him. The new scar over his eye, the sturdiness in his posture, the way he didn’t hesitate to hug his friends…and of course, Dog.

But now, you realized just how much time had really changed him. Not his appearance, or his surface, but his actions, his feelings. He was a far cry from the man you met at the quarry, who had to be approached like a wild animal. And from the man at the prison, who held everyone at arm’s reach. Even the man in Alexandria, who fought every fight he could in fear of losing everything he’d already fought for. The startling new man a few months ago, who’d threatened a young girl in a cell. This was not that man, though the others were still real.

He cleared his throat, head hung low as he interpreted your silence. “Ya don’t have to say nothin’. Just wanted you to know. Ya got every right to be mad still.”

Thoughts were tumbling around your head, rolling over and over so quickly you assumed the words were written across your face. But of course, this was Daryl, and while he knew how to read you like an open book, he didn’t always believe the words. So you spoke.

“I’m not angry with you. I was, but…” you trailed off, searching. His eyes shot up to yours and you found yourself trapped in them, their surface reflecting what you wanted to say back to you like cue cards. “Some people are easy to stay mad at. Some are impossible. I forgave you a long time ago, Daryl, it just took me a while to realize it.”

You’d forgiven him the moment you laid eyes on him again. After four years of silence, seeing him again was like seeing a mirage in the desert. No one was gone until they were dead, and you hadn’t realized how tightly you held onto that belief until he was standing in front of you. Of course you’d forgiven him. He was alive. He’d come back to you. Even if it wasn’t for you.

You thought about it again, and no, you’d forgiven him even before then. You’d forgiven him at dinner one night, when Alden told a joke so hilarious you turned to see Daryl’s smile. He wasn’t there, of course. You were through and he was God knows where. But just that moment, that small second where you forgot it all and reached for him, was enough to spark your heart. To remind you you were alive. He did that, even from a hundred miles away. He was always the reason. So how could you be angry with him? 

His hand was in yours again, and you realized you were the one reaching for him. He hesitated before tightening his grip, securing your hands together in a firm knot of strength. It was comforting, but you’d always been greedy, especially with him. You scooted closer and rested a head on his shoulder, needing him closer. He carefully wrapped an arm around you, erasing any space between your bodies. You felt the movement of his chest when he breathed, felt your own heart beating in time with his. This was timeless. This was right.

“Can we just pretend for a while? That nothing changed?”

You barely heard your own question, but he nodded against you. Lazy smiles, warm hands, relieved kisses, it all came back to you. This time, with the promise of pretend, you let them wash over and consume you. Beside you, Daryl’s eyes were glossed over as he relived his own memories. Breaking the long silence, his sharp intake of breath sounded painful.

“I ain’t ready to say goodbye,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “Said goodbye to ya once already. I don’t wanna say it again.”

You thought of the battle ahead, growing closer with the darkening sky behind you. This time, fear didn’t overtake you. It was replaced by that memory of the prison, the night you and Daryl had been sure you’d both die fighting the Governor. The night before the Savior outpost, when you’d both known you’d die for each other without hesitation. How death had followed the two of you for a decade, yet here you sat, pressed against each other, alive.

And you knew then that this wasn’t the end. The world may be ending tonight, but your story wasn’t.

“Then don’t say goodbye,” you said. “Just hold me until it’s time.”

[boxofbonesfic]

I’m ngl I followed you ages ago during an mcu phase and have no business in this discourse at all but the victim mentality these white women have is v v weird.

Sometimes I genuinely wonder if they believe what they are saying? Like do y’all not see the irony of saying you aren’t being racist while turning a black person into some attacker who is out to destroy your happy fanfic land by bringing race into it? Do you not see how painting a black person as an attacker for calling out ur shit instead of reflecting on WHY your work is problematic to us IS IN AND OF ITSELF RACIALISED?? Or assuming, without proof, that a big angry mob of black people will rampage your blog and cancel you for a tiny innocent mistake? Like do you not recognise the immense privilege y’all have and how you’re using it to manipulate this narrative. I am so completely sick and tired of white women crocodile tears, please, it’s not hard to say you’re right and I’m sorry and let me fix that. Also there’s tons of resources on tumblr on how to write inclusive reader inserts - I once read a gender/sex ambiguous SMUT and didn’t feel pulled out the story at any point BECAUSE it was so good at being vague where necessary.

Anyway bones, I do hope your inbox cools and you don’t have to deal w more shit. Imma stick around and maybe get back into MCU smut.

PS anons get fucked xx

the cognitive dissonance literally is staggering. and so, so disappointing to see in my peers. i’m still shocked someone told i i need to “go to twitter”. i hope they have since logged out and touched grass because chile, i truly cannot 😮‍💨

[starfirette]

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

⭐️Shelly Johnson x Male! Reader | masterlist | requests are closed but tons more to come!!! I really wanna write more twin peaks so after these requests are done I might put out some twin peaks content 😤

⭐️The request: R and Audrey Horne or Shelly Johnson having lunch the day after some passionate sex, and they're still feeling the aftershocks while trying to be/act normal

⭐️ here are your warnings: allusions to smut + allusions to domestic violence aka Leo Johnson is an asshole + log lady is a weird pervert. Imma say this is actually more angsty than anything else, a little bit because I tried to go for the twin peaks vibe

Double R always had just the right comfort cure. In the leather seats you leaned back, sliding your fingers to the underside of the booth and peeling the leather flakes.

Tire withered into your muscles as you watched Shelly Johnson grab her own food behind the counter. She didn't wear her blue and white uniform today, rather your varsity jacket from your senior year and some old blue jeans.

You pulled the flakes of the leather and it peeled too far back, leaving a long, thin stripe trailing up the seat. If Norma saw this, she'd smack you on the back of the neck so hard the skin would sting for days.

Shelly shuffled towards your table with some plates in her hand, a pencil moving up and down between her teeth as she hummed a song.

She propped a plate in front of you, followed by a cream soda and water. "Your usual," Shelly said to you quietly.

Shelly's own plate was piled pretty high with her own favorite foods and a tall glass of ice water was at her left, the glass dripping with condensation.

You lazily took a drink of your soda; the fizz warmed your throat as you used a fork to pick at your array of food.

Shelly sat in front of you, staring at the plate with benign fear.

"Something on your mind?" You asked. You used your fork to cut a waffle in half, again and again.

Shelly shrugged as she took a long drink of water.

The anxiety in her eyes was dull and rounded. As if she'd been used to it already, tired and worn down by it. "Not ready to go home," she admitted. "He's there."

You tried to restrain the emotions as they tried to peel onto your face. "He can't do nothin' anymore," you muttered.

Shelly's eyes glazed over with a hard sheen of impatience. "Of course I know that," she said in a biting voice.

And still, Shelly seemed afraid.

Perhaps it was the fact that she had to take care of Leo, even after everything he's done. To have to tend to that prick's needs knowing that if he could, he would beat on her for the slightest reason.

"Send him away," you urged Shelly.

"And how the hell can I afford that?" Shelly asked with a dirty look towards her water. She envied the pool of cold, fresh water, wishing she was nothing more than a goldfish swirling around the same cylinder over and over. Memories in a fish reset every so-and-so seconds after all. Shelly would never be bored. She'd never feel pain. She'd just swim in that cool water for the rest of her days.

"I can ask my parents for some money," you pressed the matter.

Shelly sent you the dirty look next. "If they ever found out that you were even with me they'd pitch the bitchiest fit. Haven't ya heard the news? I'm damaged goods," Shelly said with a wave of her eyebrows.

"Don't talk like that," you chastised her. "Shell, why don't we just get out of this hellhole? Let's go somewhere else. Let's go to California."

Shelly snorted. "California?" She repeated. "We'd be lucky to get out of this county, let alone this town."

Her voice shot down as she held her pouting chin in her hand. She jutted her chin towards the door with a scowl as the Log Lady walked in. "Check her out. Bet she'll start crying here in a minute, that fucking pervert."

The Log Lady had always been harmless; at least until she watched you and Shelly having sex from outside the bedroom window.

As you roughly rammed into Shelly, Shelly crying loudly as you did, you happened to look towards the window, and there she had been. The Log Lady, ever so protective of her kindle, had been peering into the window, looking over her glasses with strangly narrowed eyes.

You had rushed to pull the thick drapes shut while Shelly curled up under the quilt, looking panicked.

Ever since then, Shelly had given the Log Lady a particularly hard time.

But you had chalked it up to just another day in Twin Peaks.

That had given Shelly some particular anxiety; she fears that she's always being watched. She fears that Leo knows her every move and thought and that one day he'll come together and he'll beat on her one more time. One final time.

She fears that everyone in town will know of her infidelity. Of course, she knows that everyone already judges her. After all, she had dropped out of school and married the first man she saw. She knows she was stupid.

She just doesn't like the thought of everyone else being in on such a secret.

Shelly always watched her surroundings like a hawk. She did so especially this evening as you picked apart your blueberry waffles.

"You think she knows what we did?" Shelly asked as the Log Lady took a seat in a booth.

You paused your chewing. Your jaw clicked as you glanced towards the Log Lady, who seemed to not pay you two any mind. "I doubt it, baby," you reassured Shelly.

Shelly remained insistent that the woman did know.

Shelly bit the prongs of her fork. "She knows my secret," Shelly muttered as she watched the woman set her kindling down on the table in a bed of soft linen.

Shelly felt dirty.

She ran a hand over the inside of her thighs and remembered how tenderly you had kissed them just an hour or so ago. She thought of how sticky they had become with your seed, with her arousal, and the sweat that you'd both produced as you took her slowly and passionately on the dining room table of your little, ground floor apartment, the both of you knowing full well that Leo was drooling over himself in the next room.

Her core still ached from the session; she was surprised she could even sit still without feeling like she was going to fall apart.

Shelly was pulled from her speculations when you snatched the fork from her hand. Shelly flinched in spite of herself and you immediately looked gaunt with shame.

"You're chewing the fork," you said as you set it down carefully. "'Ll break your teeth..."

Shelly grabbed her fork and made an indent in the eggs.

"It's all hopeless," Shelly sighed. "It'll never really work."

"What'll never really work?" You asked as you took a long drink of your cream soda.

Shelly watched sadly as your lips curved the edge of the glass; you were a beautiful, wonderful, happy ending that she could never have. One day you'd realize you could have it better. You're not like the others in this deadbeat town. Your fate isn't confined to the town limits, unlike her's-she'll probably take care of Leo till her dying days, always picking up extra shifts at the diner just to make rent for her shithole house.

"Baby?" You asked as you watched Shelly closely. "What are your talkin' about?"

She shrugged. She resigned herself to simply smile and say: "Nothing. Nothing at all."

[lostcybertronian]

For the Prompts, how about "I Can't Control It"? Um, I'm not sure on the who for the Egos so, Imma gonna let you decide! HAPPY WRITING!

The one time Mark managed to bust through Celine's defenses. I imagine it took a lot of energy out of her.

Tags: @darkstache-iplier @redraspberrycats @cookieface678 @bing-iplier @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @darkiplurrr @darksaceofshadows @moonysmayhem @xpouii @projectwkm @sororia04s @purple-anxiety-blog @rabbitsartcorner @endangered-cryptid-reblogs @tried-my-best @skatle-skootle-demon-noodle

No amount of logs fed into the hearth could produce a fire that could heat the tiny cabin room; so Damien huddled under the threadbare blanket, holding his gloved hands as close to the flame as he could stand, willing feeling back into his numb fingers.

Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windowpanes. Heavy gusts of snow painted the landscape white, obscuring any view through the fogged glass. Damien worried for Celine, out there in the storm with only a rifle to protect herself. He worried that the winter would never end, and that they would never leave this cabin. Had it always been this way?

He couldn’t remember.

At some point he crawled into the creaking wooden cot they called a bed. At another point– much, much later– he must have fallen asleep. Because he woke up not to the roaring wind outside, but to the soft drip-drip-dripping of water to the floor.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Damien groaned. Pried his groggy eyes open. Turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling; he’d just repaired the roof a couple days ago, and it was leaking again?

But the more he lay there, breathing in, breathing out, his breath fogging up the now-dim air, the more it didn’t sound like the dripping of water. Not at all.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Fingernails against wood.

“Celine?” Had she come back? Damien sat up.

It was not Celine sitting at the table, but a figure Damien could not identify immediately. It hurt to look at him directly, leaving him with just the fringe details; a crimson coattail, shiny, slicked-back hair free of flecks of snow, the shiny end of a cane jutting into the old wood.

“Not Celine.” The figure drawled slowly, a thin grin snaking across his face. “Come, old friend, you don’t recognize me? You’d think with all the effort it took me to get here I’d receive a warmer welcome.”

Wait. Damien got up, stumbled, sat back down, clutching his head as half-formed memories flooded his brain. “You’re-” he stammered, “you’re supposed to be dead.”

Mark’s grin turned bitter, more like a grimace. Tap-tap-tap went his fingers to the table. “Funny how that works out, isn’t it?”

A million questions bubbled to the surface, overcoming, overwhelming. Damien opened his mouth to voice one– any one– but Mark waved a hand. “I don’t have time for your questions. It won’t be long until she realizes that I’m here.”

“Here.” The same fucking cabin they’d been in for how long? The same trees, cut down day after day, yet the firewood pile never seemed to grow bigger. Damien’s head ached. “Where is here?”

Mark’s eyebrows rose, and there was that smile again, Cheshire-wide. “You mean she hasn’t told you?”

Their gazes met. For the first time Damien noticed the sickly-sweet scent of decay hanging in the air, overwhelming the acrid stench of old ash.

Go on. Ask. Mark’s eyes bored into him, oily black irises swallowing his pupils. He’d never seen eyes that dark. Had never known eyes like that would belong to his friend.

He opened his mouth.

The ground began to shake. Red light seeped under the door and lit up the snowstorm outside.

Mark flung one hand out and an invisible force threw Damien to the floor. He stood, gripping his cane in one hand as he turned on one polished shoe to face the door right as it burst open, spilling snow and wind and red sparks into the cabin.

“You!” An axe flew through the air, missing Mark by a hair’s breadth. It clattered to the floor, clunking to the wall by the bed, mere feet from Damien. Celine charged in moments later, her rifle clutched in her hands, her face tight with fury.

“Me?” A sinister smile seemed to split Mark’s face in half, opening to a black maw of perfect teeth. Rows and rows of them. The cane snapped out and Celine stopped dead, her eyes widening as she suddenly found herself immobile and suspended. “I’d wondered when I’d see you again, dearest Celine.”

“Celine?” Damien watched as she struggled, caught in Mark’s grip, her rifle pinned to her chest.

“Damien!” Her cry was strangled. Anger and fear contorted her gaunt face.

Damien struggled to his feet, breaths coming in heavy pants, fogging the frigid air in front of him. “Mark! What are you doing?”

“If you trust me you need to run, Damien,” Mark grunted. Red began to spiderweb Celine’s invisible bonds, casting her face into sharp shadow. “I can’t control her for long.”

“What do you mean?” What was going on? Damien’s eyes darted from Mark to Celine, his friend to his sister. Mark’s entire focus was on keeping Celine contained. But Celine’s gaze was on him, even as she forced her way free of Mark’s power.

Mark risked a glance back at him. His eyes were hard. Something about his snarl sent chills down Damien’s spine. “Run, you naive fool! She’s a liar and a witch. She’s deceiving you! I can get you out of this forest! Back to your old life as mayor!”

“No!” Damien dove for the axe, snatching it up as there was an explosion of crimson. Celine raised her rifle.

Bam! The bullet plunged into Mark’s chest at the same time Damien’s axe buried itself into his back. The actor lurched forward, clutching at wounds that spilled black, black that soon became a fog and evaporated into the wind. He laughed. Tipped back his head and howled.

Then, he disintegrated.

Damien sank to his knees, feeling as if everything he’d known had been stripped from him. He looked up at Celine, hovering in the doorway. Wind whipped at her hair. She held her rifle tight to her chest, her face was grim. And tired.

“Now I’m going to need to hunt the bastard down again.” She said, half-mumbling, half to herself.

“What- you can’t go out now! You need to explain to me what the hell just happened!” Damien gestured to her, to the axe, abandoned on the floor, to the open door and the roaring snowstorm. The strength of his fury surprised even him. “I need answers, Celine!”

She glanced at him, as if remembering he was there. Then, she crossed the room. Helped him to his feet. “Answers will come later,” she said. “But for now, you need to rest.”

“How can I possibly-” she touched his forehead. That was it; a mere brush of her fingertips. Their surroundings flickered, and-

No amount of logs fed into the hearth could produce a fire that could heat the tiny cabin room; so Damien huddled under the threadbare blanket, holding his gloved hands as close to the flame as he could stand, willing feeling back into his numb fingers.

Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windowpanes. Heavy gusts of snow painted the landscape white, obscuring any view through the fogged glass. Damien worried for Celine, out there in the storm with only a rifle to protect herself. He worried that the winter would never end, and that they would never leave this cabin. Had it always been this way?

He couldn’t remember.

[gubler-me-up]

Missing in Action

Request: Can you write a fanfic where Hotch's daughter gets kidnapped and Hotch and his team have to find her?

A/N: Thanks for the request, anon! This is my first Hotch request and I usually don’t write for Hotch but everyone needs a lil challenge here and there right? I’ve decided to make this a two parter because I love suspense and since they asked for a fanfiction imma give them a fanfiction. Hey, it might even be three parts who knows? Hopefully y’all enjoy it, I’ve watched a lot of The FBI Files lately so I’m adding a ~sprinkle~ of that in here as well. I was very nervous while writing this but hopefully it’s decent 😬 p.s. I put y/n still so you can insert yourself as Hotch’s daughter if you’d like or create a name whatever floats your boat

Category: Angst

Content warning: Kidnapping, mention of violence, crime scene, blood

Word count: 2.5k

————-

Hotch packed up his briefcase for the day. He had promised his daughter he would pick her up from soccer practice. He had also promised her and Jack they would go out for dinner since they hadn’t done so in months. He had instructed Jack to meet his older sister at the soccer field after his school book club meeting was over.

He looked at the time on his watch and saw it was quarter to six. The two of them were probably already ridiculing him because of his tardiness. He checked his phone to see if she had texted him complaining yet. There was no notification which caused him to raise an eyebrow. Y/N was usually very vocal about her dad being late when he was the one always telling them about being punctual.

To his surprise his phone started to ring. For an instant, he thought it could have been Y/N calling him but the caller ID said Unknown Caller. He hesitantly answered it, anxious to know who would be on the other line. Before he could even greet the other person on the line, he heard Jack’s voice yelling in a panic.

“Jack, buddy, slow down. What do you mean your sister was taken?” Hotch asked.

The next few words Jack told him sounded unreal to him. His mind couldn’t process even the slightest possibility of Jack’s story to be true. Jack had seen a black car pull up at the corner of the sidewalk where his sister was standing waiting for him. He was just a block away when he saw a man jump out of the backseat and grab Y/N. He shoved her in the back and then the driver sped off.

“Jack, where are you right now? You’re at school? Okay, stay there for now. The police are at the scene right now? Okay, okay, I’ll be there soon. Bye.”

He hung up the phone and for once didn’t know where to begin. His mind was racing in overtime trying to think of who it possibly could be, if Y/N was okay and how long he had to find her. He ran out of his office to go towards the bullpen. He watched as everyone stared at him in confusion as he tried to form the right words to tell them.

Everyone had already packed up for the day and were almost on their way out by the time Hotch came to them. The look on his face was one they hadn’t seen since Haley’s death. They anticipated the worst to words to leave Hotch’s mouth.

“Y/N was kidnapped. We have to act now.”

Every single team member’s face filled with dread as they realized how little time they had to find Y/N safe. With no other words exchanged between anyone they made their way to the briefing room. Hotch let everyone walk in front of him as he still tried his best to comprehend the whole situation.

He felt someone gently touch his shoulder. He turned around to see Rossi looking at him with his famous look of determination. It was visible to him Hotch was in a place of discouragement that he had to break out of if he wanted to get his daughter.

“We’ll find her, Aaron,” Rossi said.

“We realistically only have two and a half hours before the possibility of finding her alive becomes slim. We have to make a move on these sons of bitches now,” Hotch said.

Rossi nodded. “Let’s do it.”

They made their way into the briefing room as soon as Garcia pulled up phone records from Y/N phone. Hotch sat down as he analyzed the screen in silence, checking every phone number to see if there was one out of place. His eyebrow raised as he saw a number he didn’t recognize and it only showed up once in her call log. She had ignored the call and according to the time the call was made she was taken about five minutes after.

“Garcia, can you check if the last number on her call log is anywhere else in her call or text history?” Hotch asked.

“Of course, sir,” she said before searching for the number.

She pulled up a text message sent to Y/N. It was an attachment. It was sent recently which confused everyone considering they already had her in their grips. Garcia went ahead and opened the attachment to reveal the picture. It was a letter addressed to Hotch.

Aaron Hotchner,

Expect a call from us around 7 p.m. You have my word your daughter will be safe until then. It’s up to you to agree or disagree with our demands which will ultimately determine her fate.

“Garcia, can you trace the number?” Hotch asked.

“It’s a burner number from an app. It’s out of service now, but I will trace Y/N’s location on her phone,” she said.

“We have about half an hour to go over possible suspects who could be responsible for this,” Morgan said.

“It seems personal, so it’s more than likely that Hotch and the perpetrator have come into contact. It seems especially personal since they want to call Hotch to tell him what they want from him instead of detailing it in the ransom letter,” Reid said.

“It seems whoever wrote the letter is the leader since he says ‘we’ and ‘our’ but only says ‘my’ when referring to keeping his word of keeping Y/N safe,” JJ said.

“Jack said there were two men who had abducted her but it’s less than likely the leader of the group would be one of the two doing the kidnapping. For now, we know there are three suspects but there could be more. Morgan, Prentiss and Reid will go to the kidnapping scene while the rest of us wait here for the call to come. Please bring Jack here when you’re done at the scene. He’s at school waiting to be picked up,” Hotch ordered.

Morgan, Reid and Prentiss nodded as they got up from their seats. They left the room in urgency as the time was slowly ticking away on Y/N. Hotch didn’t take his eyes off the screen as Garcia did her best to search for the phone. JJ and Rossi looked at him as they tried to remain calm for him. They knew as soon as Hotch found out he had his daughter it would send him over the edge. They wanted to avoid a possible repeat of the Foyet situation.

A map popped up on the screen with a red dot pinging on the location of Y/N’s phone. It was pinging in a lake not too far from the area Y/N. was last seen. Garcia touched her throat as she felt it run dry as she thought of the worst. She looked over to Hotch who was already looking in her direction. He looked calm and collected enough for the whole room.

“Don’t worry, Garcia. She’s still alive, they just dumped her phone, so we can’t trace them. Don’t give in to their fear tactics,” Hotch said.

Garcia took a jagged breath. “Of course, sir.”

“JJ, call Prentiss to inform them to go by the lake just off highway 66. Let’s pull up the street footage to see if the camera’s caught the getaway car.”

————

“Agents.”

Morgan, Reid and Prentiss looked over at where the voice had come from. They saw detective Broderick of the Arlington police department walking towards them. Morgan and Prentiss held their hands out to greet him with a handshake while Reid waved. He walked them over to the area where Y/N was taken from.

The area was riddled with pylons to identify every piece of evidence. They saw there was a trail of shattered glass on the road. Morgan went over to look at the pieces. He took out a pair of latex gloves from his pocket to put on. He picked up a shard to examine it.

“We sent samples of the glass to the FBI forensics lab in D.C., so hopefully we can determine the make of the car that way,” detective Broderick said.

“Our tech analyst is looking through street camera footage to see if the car was caught driving through this area. Y/N must have kicked out the backseat window, so someone could see her. Dangerous move, but helpful,” Morgan said.

“We should also get some of your officers down to the lake off highway 66. Y/N’s phone’s there but there could be other evidence there as well,” Prentiss instructed.

“You got it. You think they’re going towards the D.C. area? Should I send units out that way?” He asked.

“Not exactly. They could have just dumped her phone there and other items to throw us off. They’re most likely still in state because they still have to call Hotch. Whatever exchange that needs to take place has to take place nearby,” Reid said.

“Makes sense. I’ll send some cops down to that area for you.”

As detective Broderick radioed in for police officers to the location of where Y/N’s phone was, Reid noticed something on a piece of glass. He took out his latex gloves to put on before crouching next to the shard. He picked it up and saw what appeared to be blood. Then he noticed another shard with more of the red substance on it.

He called over an officer to give him an evidence collection bag. The officer handed over a bag to him. Spencer put both shards into the bag. As he tried to look for any more shards on the ground that could potentially be evidence, he saw Prentiss walk into his sight. She crouched down close to him but she looked at a completely different area of glass shards.

“I think that might be a partial print,” she said.

“Where?” Reid asked.

She pointed at a shard in front of her. She carefully picked it up to show Reid in the reflection of the dim sunlight a possible partial print. Reid nodded his head in agreement to the fact that it could be a partial print.

“Let’s get this to the lab along with the other shards in this specific area. Maybe we can find another shard with the rest of the fingerprint or even a palm print somewhere.”

———

Hotch, JJ, Rossi and Garcia waited around the round table for the call to come through. They were informed of the evidence being processed at the FBI forensics lab in D.C. for clear identification. They had also been informed that the area where Y/N’s phone was found also had her soccer bag tossed into the river as well. They were still actively combing the area for any further evidence.

Garcia managed to identify the car as a black 2002 Mercedes Benz C Class sedan. The license plates weren’t visible on camera due to the angles they were taken. She didn’t have any success finding that type of car registered to anyone in the Arlington area who had been near the abduction site.

All the information Hotch was receiving was sticking in his mind and he continuously thought of who could be behind his daughter’s kidnapping. He would have honestly rather they have shot him and spare her of any trauma. He swore he would never let anyone harm his family again and it seemed as if no matter what he did nothing protected his family from the demons of his job.

The clock struck 7 p.m. and his eyes darted to his phone on the table. Everyone else’s eyes also followed his gaze. They were anxiously waiting for the call too. They wanted to find Y/N in one piece just as much Hotch did but they couldn’t even fathom the agony he was in being helpless in this situation. His daughter’s fate laid in one phone call.

JJ jerked in her seat as she felt her phone vibrate. Her anxiety towards the situation was heavy for her that it almost felt as if she was in his seat. Her heart still pounded as she looked at her phone even though she knew it was probably only a text from Prentiss updating her about the situation. Which she was correct about but her heart still pounded and her hands still shook from the sudden vibration of her phone.

“They found a tire track, so they’re going to run that by the lab as well,” she said.

Hotch’s phone rang. The sound of everybody in the room taking a deep breath was the only sound next to Garcia typing away as she got ready to track the call. Hotch calmly picked up the phone even as the burning rage inside of him tried its best to come out. He had to resist any hostility during the call at all cost.

“Hotchner,” Hotch said.

“Aaron Hotchner. Glad you picked up,” the distorted voice said.

“What do you want for the safe return of my daughter?” He asked.

“Is this the same guy who doesn’t make deal with people like me? Isn’t that what you said when George Foyet wanted to cut a deal with you? Why the sudden change in song?” The voice asked.

“And look how that turned out,” he said.

“I wouldn’t harm your daughter but if you try to find me as I know your team already is I’ll have no choice to.”

“Tell me what you want and we’ll stop hunting you.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes.”

“I need $500,000 dropped off at 3600 17th street north by 9 p.m. and your daughter will be returned safely to you. She will be in the forest nearby waiting for you. If you deviate from this plan I will not hesitate to inform my partner to shoot her. Are we clear, Aaron?”

“Yes.”

“Do you not want to hear your daughter? It’s chilling knowing you don’t want to know for sure if she’s alive or not.”

“I know she’s alive. You can’t fool me with your fake confidence. You and I know you’re going to keep me playing this count and mouse game until 9 p.m. when you realize you messed with the wrong person.”

“Charming, Aaron. We’ll chat later.”

They hung up without another word exchanged. Hotch looked over at Garcia but she slowly shook her head in defeat with tears gradually forming in her eyes. She wasn’t able to ping a signal to the call.

“I think they’re blocking the signal because I can’t find a tower they’re boun-”

“That’s okay. I have a feeling I know who it is,” Hotch said.

Everyone raised a curious eyebrow to what Hotch had revealed. Though the conversation was short and mainly to the point, Hotch had listened out for a few key aspects. The most telling aspect he noticed made him confident in knowing who it was.

“You know them?” JJ asked.

“Yes. I know from the way they said, “charming, Aaron,” Hotch explained.

“Okay, so who’s the guy?” Rossi asked.

“It’s not a guy. It’s a woman.”

—–

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @shadyladyperfection, @slutforthegubes, @pinkdiamond1016, @spencerreidsthings, @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto, @slutforsr @bxtchboy69, @fallinallinmendes @haihappen5 @mgg-theprettiestboy @siltuz-png @ptrs-prkrs @tclaerh @agentadhd @alexmarie29 @closetedreidstan @mac99martin @blxckhearthood @jesspavlik0vsky @katexrichardson @keniaasf @reidbuck @corishirogane3 @thegoddamncrazycatlady @keniaasf @pastelbabygirl19 @shadybagelsludgecolor @bootycrackraisinjuice @vintagebeauty1496 ​ @laneybobeczko-g​ @littlewierdalien @cynbx

[jamesholden]

I just got myself super heated thinking about how often fandom seems to reduce Holden down to nothing more than “straight white male hero” with a side of “kinda dumb and nice”. I feel like the darker parts of him, all his internal struggles, get ignored to help push that fanon view of him.

So in the interest of talking more about how Holden really is as a character: What are your favourite “darker” parts of Holdens character, and what things about Holden do you wish fandom would see more?

oh my god this is going to be a lot like a LOT so just brace yourself, nonny. Imma talk about Holden’s burden of responsibility, his guilt center, his PTSD, how he makes mistakes and actually tries to apologize, make up for, and grow from them, and his absolute fucking resiliency so like here we go I guess.

It’s easy for us to be like “oh he had an easy life” and for a long time, he did have an easIER life than Amos or Naomi. But he had a lot of weight put on his shoulders by his family, eight adults. They wanted him to take over the farm, and the message he got from them was “it’s your job to protect this, our home, our legacy, and to carry it on”. That it was HIS RESPONSIBILITY to save his home. The entire reason he was born. Elise feels guilt over his upbringing even years later. That his childhood was devoted to learning how to save the farm. Reading court briefs and GOING TO COURT. That he met ARMED GUARDS AT THE GATES AS A TEEN. for someone who had a normal childhood that seems uh NOT NORMAL.

So he left at his mother’s behest and joined the Navy. Took the officer tract. Was well liked by his superiors and fellow crew members. Until one day when he refused an order to fire on a ship that he believed had Belter refugees on it. He threw a punch, broke his hand, and watched how he was proven right in the end. He was kicked out, and never went home again. Ran from responsibility because all he did was fail people. So he did what he believed he was best at and ran. He lived with a lot of guilt, pretending he didn’t.

And that’s a common pattern for him. He carries a lot of guilt. For home, for the belter ship, for the Cant, Shed and the Donnager, getting the Roci crew into trouble, Eros. Eros was what really fucked him up, what the fans really took the wrong messages from. He lived with not only survivor’s guilt, but PTSD, which fans ignored or wrote off as “assholery” even as the show gave clue after clue that the protomolecule was his trigger. It took him back to Eros. the books had an incredibly sad scene where he actually thinks he IS back there when on Ganymede, and Amos has to snap him out of it. 

He struggles with that, and it colors his actions for SEASONS. destroying the aid ship, the search on Ganymede station and the moon itself. He’s scared of Eros happening again and he wants to stop it at all costs, and he comes to realize how it’s affecting those he loves most. And it still affects him for YEARS after. Miller in his head, the station, SEEING AN ENTIRE RISE AND FALL OF AN ENTIRE CIVILIZATION, the Behemoth, Ilus OH MY GOD ILUS. 

I saw him being called “whiny” for a particularly meaningful scene in S4 in which he tells Elvi he has nightmares of what he’s seen over the years, but specifically what the station showed him. She writes it off because BUT SCIENCE, which bothers Holden in the moment. Holden’s trauma, which has kept him up at night, kept him from eating, changed his behavior so much he pushed his loved ones away, brought him to Ilus to relive parts of it, means NOTHING because SCIENCE.

And like... if that isn’t reflective of fandom’s response to his trauma over seasons 2-4... I don’t know what is. Holden’s trauma was virtually ignored or waved away. While we (rightly!) praised the portrayal and writing of Amos’ trauma, decades older than Holden’s fresh and ugly trauma, people wrote Holden off as an asshole, an abuser, a pointless character who should just die already. Like wow what a way to talk about a character who is traumatized and raw, one whose portrayal was based in ACTUAL RESEARCH OF PTSD BY STEVEN STRAIT. All because... what, we don’t like him? No one has to LIKE Holden, but to be so flippant about what is pretty plainly fresh, horrible, ugly trauma that made him into someone he isn’t and never wanted to be, while praising Amos and Alex for their responses to trauma, even when they also bordered on “bad behavior”... it left a really bad taste in my mouth. I gave up on arguing about it. Holden isn’t WHINY. He’s open and vulnerable about his pain and trauma and fears. Something I thought we WANTED from male heroes. Less toxic masculinity, more vulnerability. 

I love Holden for being a character who makes mistakes, acknowledges they are mistakes, and apologizes or tries to atone or be better for them. He wears his flaws on his sleeve. And he tries to patch them up. He tells Naomi he logged the distress call. He tells Naomi that he almost didn’t go back for the refugees on Ganymede. He tells her he regrets fighting for justice for the Cant instead of protecting them better. He tries to tell her his own feelings don’t matter about her decisions, and goes on to tell her he’ll never like something she did, even though he’d never hate her for doing it. He blames himself for her leaving, admits that his actions pushed her away, even if she denied that. He defers to Naomi SO MUCH after realizing how he’s wronged her or because she’s opened up to him because he realized how he didn’t listen and tries to listen MORE. He’s HONEST. Even when it hurts him or the person he’s speaking to. HE GROWS. Even if it’s imperfect at first. Holden tries, and to me that’s so incredibly important, and it’s not spoken of because for many it’s not good enough just to TRY. and that’s a shame.

Lastly, I love his resilience. It’s what drew me to him from the get go, aside from being someone who tried very hard to do the right thing. Holden gets beaten down so many times, but he always gets back up. Always. He always keeps fighting, keeps trying, keeps learning. His arc plays out SO BEAUTIFULLY in book 8, because he doesn’t give up, and he uses all he’s learned to survive. I found The Expanse when I was in a really dark place, trying to claw my way out. Holden helped me with that because he ALWAYS clawed his way out. And it meant so much to me. Holden doesn’t stop. He keeps moving forward.

SORRY THAT WAS SO MUCH i kept coming up with new thoughts and ideas I am SO sorry but I hope this gives you what you’re looking for! Thank you for giving me the space to rant about my bisexual himbo space knight. 

[alberivh]

brainrot, brainrot, brainrot, lets see. KAEYA Hurt/comfort with "Talk to you" by Ricky Montgomery >:D (with my favorite au :D)

Been a pretty long time; Since you saw me last; Since I saw you last

There he sat, in his dining room with a glass of wine. Youve been gone for a while again, days and weeks passed by without your presence. And within those weeks, the eye patched man has been trying to understand his feelings.

Wonder if we met today; Would it all end up the same?

Maybe they'll log on today. He thought. Kaeya's eye stared at his last sip of the wine. He knows the time in his reality and your reality was different...but why this big of a difference? "When will you come back?" He whined quietly.

Would you take me for a ride?; Would you toss me to the side?

Even if you were to log back in, what would you do this time? Spend a couple of hours doing commissions? Take him to fight the ginger? Or would he be taken off the team? Kaeya is scared at the fact that you'll abandon him, take him off the team and never be brought back again. Each day, he tries harder to become stronger to please you. To make him stay on the team longer. Kaeya shakes his head and brings the glass to his lips, sipping away the last bit of wine. He'll deal with those thoughts later on.

I wish I could talk to you; Pull my chair right up there next to you; And talk to you

Kaeya longed for your presence. The way you make him smile. The way you make him laugh. The way you make him feel happy and loved. Love? Kaeya ignored that thought...his experience with love hadn't been the best.

You're in my head more often than I want; More often than I wanna tell you

Fuck. Why are you always on his mind? Why is it that he wants you to come back so badly? He slammed his hand on the table. Hes in love. But how can someone be in love with someone whose not in their...reality?

"This...this is truly troubling...fucking hell." He laughs. How did someone like you intoxicate his mind so much? Dont get me wrong, its not that he doesnt want to love you. Its just that hes not sure what to do now. How do two people love when they are dimensions apart?

(Not the best, but my fingers went numb mid-writing D: Its cold)

- Moon anon

AAAAAA THIS IS REALLY COOL! I LOVE IT <333 ,, i will not bench him. Even if i already reach level 10 friendship w/ him (i use his namecard everywhere, #kaeyamainpride) , even if he doesn’t crit (he fucking crits once in a blue moon bro, kaeya this is why i have a love-hate relationship w/ u), i STILL WOULDNT BENCH HIM CAUSE I LOVE HIM VERY MUCH AND I STAND BY THAT <333 IMMA CROWN YOU AS SOON AS MY MORA FINANCIAL IS STABLE, ALRIGHT DEAR?

him crying in the tavern after you bench him because you main a limited 5 star who’s probably better than his ability. And he felt as if he’s useless to begin with, and it started to get on him how sometimes you’re struggling while carrying him as a ‘main’. It obviously hurted him. He doesn’t want the one who take care of him struggling to even play as him…so, he took the sip of the last droplets of wine in return, as if it was to say goodbye to the old memories of you and him.