#so ignore any typos

[l3viat8an]

Pervert Asmo with a scent kink he’s obsessed with your scent your perfume and how you always smell so sweet and tempting -🍿 

Nsfw!

🍿 did you read my mind?! I was literally thinking about this a few days ago skjskj

CW; scent kink duh ‘n a little bit of non-con touching at the end.

Perv!Asmo loves your scent, he’s not sure how to describe it but it’s so sweet and tantalizing it’s almost like a drug. and he straight up steals- I mean he borrows your perfume occasionally (all the damn time) just so he can spray it on his pillows and on his bedsheets and on his clothes and- you get the idea.

He wants to be wrapped in your scent all the time!! although it’d be even better if you were sharing the same scent….or you were covered in his scent!!!- but that’s something he’ll work on later. For now this will have to do.

He loves having your scent all around him because it makes it easier to imagine you’re in the room with him. That your hand is wrapped around his cock, that the teasing touches are yours and not his own…

and in general Asmo’s always touchy but he can play it off as just- well being Asmodeus! So sometimes he’ll pull you to sit in his lap and nuzzle his face in your neck to sniff subtly, soaking in your scent and body heat.

He tries to kiss and lick at your neck too but you always brush it off as more of Asmo’s playful antics. Which is fine with Asmo, as long as you don’t stop him. (really he’d do anything to get a taste of you.)

It’s even better when you have ‘spa nights’ and end up sleeping over in his room in his bed!!! He loves being cuddled up close to you, inhaling the same air and getting to bask in your scent.

Asmo likes to sneak under the covers as soon as you’re asleep, watching you closely making sure you don’t wake up as he slips down lower and lower until his face rests right over your crotch.

He gets bold too, slipping your PJ bottoms down enough that he can lick at your pussy a few times. Getting another little taste of that sweet smell he loves so much, the one that’s filling his lungs right now.

It’s a little awkward first thing in the morning, you’ll wake up and find Asmo’s arms wrapped around your legs, your PJs pulled back up now, but his face is still buried between your legs….but he gives you one of his extra sweet smile and laughs it off.

Obviously he moved down in his sleep, nothing more to it sweetie <3

[starrystevie]

18+ | explicit sex & smoking | read here on ao3

it's 1996 when steve's world gets turned upside down again.

or, well, technically it's a few minutes into '97 when everything changes. he's at a new years party that his ex timothy is hosting and everyone is still hooting and hollering as they ring it in, pressing sloppy kisses to cheeks and lips with arms hooked around necks.

steve doesn't get kissed. not because people aren't eyeing him with a smirk and mischief and open arms of their own. no, he doesn't let himself get kissed because something feels... off about the night. the energy is weird, buzzing through his skin like electricity, keeping him on edge in a way he hasn't been since he left hawkins for boston in the fist place.

it isn't long until he figures out why.

timmy is walking up to him with his hands on some guy's shoulders, pushing him backwards with a wide smile like he's trying to convince him of something. the guy is about his height, short cropped dark hair and a leather jacket, the sight of his back alone getting steve excited. timmy always did know his type to a t.

"hey!" timmy yells over the music as he catches steve's eye. "got someone for you to meet."

once the guy turns around, the smiles on both steve and the mystery guy's faces fall before their minds catch up with them and plaster them back together. even with the short cropped hair, even with the piercing in his eyebrow, even with the stubble spreading over his defined jaw, steve would know that face, that heartbeat, anywhere.

"steve, i wanted to introduce you to someone. jamie, this is steve, you know... the guy i was telling you about?"

timmy's trying to be helpful, not even attempting to be subtle as he pushes the two closer together with a wide grin. steve's going on autopilot, reaching out a hand to grab the one outstretched towards him, but his brain is going a million miles a minute.

"nice to meet you, steve," eddie, or... jamie, says, palm pressed tightly against his own.

steve can't say anything, focusing too much on the warmth on his palm and the way his deep voice shakes through him like thunder and the way he feels like he's 19 again with a stuttering heart.

"what are-" he starts.

eddie shakes his head and tugs on steve's hand. "not here. come on."

they end up in a secluded corner, close enough that steve can smell smoke and leather polish and the sharp bite of his cologne. close enough that he can see the lines starting to appear on the corners of eddie's eyes, the stray grey hairs popping up in his beard, the questions swirling behind his eyes.

"eddie."

"jamie," is all he says back, not even bothering to look away from steve's eyes. "it's jamie now."

they both sigh like they don't know where to start because they don't. steve grapples with all the questions in his mind before settling on one. the one that tore through him late at night. the one that stayed on the tip of his tongue anytime he heard a van backfire or metallica.

"where did you go?" he knows it sounds like an accusation because it is. he doesn't let himself feel bad when eddie (jamie) flinches.

"feds," he replies easily, sneaking a cigarette out of his pocket and putting it between his lips. he tilts his head back to light it away from steve's face, blowing smoke up towards the ceiling. "once i got better, they scooped me up and brought me to boston. new name, new hairstyle, new life. at least they let me choose my name so i didn't get stuck with some thing awful."

steve snorts. "so you ended up with 'jamie' how?"

"middle name's james. it just made sense." he says it with a shrug and puffs at his cigarette again.

they look at each other for a moment. steve watches his tongue flit out of his mouth to wet his lips, watches the overhead lights glint off the metal of a surprise tongue piercing, watches his throat swallow around nothing but spit.

he can see, feel, eddie doing the same. he hams it up, pulls his lip between his teeth and makes it a show, looks back up at eddie from under his lashes. takes in a deep breath when eddie inches closer to him until their hips are bumping and steve plucks the cigarette out of his lips for a puff of his own.

he's 19 again, in love or like or lust with a boy in a leather jacket that has the world against him. he's 19 again, working a hand over himself to thoughts of his crush who up and vanished without so much as a goodbye. he's 19 again, crying after he comes, wishing he could go back in time before he met curly hair and a battle vest.

"so how do you know tim?" eddie whispers like he has to be quiet even though the part is loud and no one could hear them if they tried.

"how do you know him?" steve asks back, blowing out smoke and putting the cigarette back between eddie's barely spread lips.

his eyes flick down to look at steve's still pursed lips from when he angled the smoke over his shoulder. "we used to fuck, once upon a time when i first got to boston."

steve hums like it's the answer he expected and maybe it is. "same here. dated for about a year."

eddies eyes grow wide and his hip bumps into steve's like it's a question in and of itself and maybe it is. "didn't know you swing that way, harrington."

"well, you don't really know anything about me then, do you? didn't back then either, munson."

his eyes goes even wider, something like fear and shame and comfort and hope swimming in them. "leonard. it's leonard now."

steve hums again, says 'jamie leonard' like he's feeling it out on his tongue. tasting it between his teeth. teaching his mouth how to form the words instead of what he really wants to say like 'eddie' or 'munson' or 'i'm still somehow in love with you no matter your name'.

"jamie leonard," he says again, breath hitting eddie's lips. he shivers when he sees his lips part a bit more like he wants to swallow the sound and air that steve gives him. "we have a lot to catch up on, don't we?"

steve's apartment isn't all that big, isn't exactly small either but it has everything he could possibly need. he has a living room that looks out over the harbor and a kitchen with all new appliances and eddie munson naked in his bedroom. you know, the essentials.

their clothes are all over the floor, eddie's motorcycle helmet flung somewhere in the vague direction of the armchair in the corner but the smack it makes when it hits the wall makes steve think there's probably a hole in the drywall.

but eddie's sucking on his cock, hands wrapped around his thighs as he takes him even deeper, eyes flicking up to meet steve's, beard scratchy as it rubs against his sensitive skin. he's never been blown by someone with a tongue piercing but he doesn't think he can ever go back now.

the last thing on his mind is wondering if there's a hole in the goddamn wall.

"oh fuck, yeah there you go. feels so goddamn good," steve breathes out as he feels the back of eddie's throat on his cockhead. he tangles a hand as best he can in his short dark hair to try and coax him even deeper. eddie hums at either the praise or the tug on his hair or the way it feels as he works his tongue over steve's cock and it makes him jolt unexpectedly.

if he could go back in time and tell his 19 year old self that eddie was alive, that he was okay and breathing and learning how to suck cock like a goddamn professional, he'd do it in a heartbeat. save himself a few years of pining and fly straight out to boston to see it for himself. he's sure robin would have preferred to not have to listen to his whining everyday about brown eyes and dark curls.

eddie brings a hand to cup his balls, finger teasingly pressing into steve's taint, bobbing his head eagerly like he wants him to come in his mouth, but steve has other plans. he tugs eddie off of his cock quickly, lines of thick spit falling between them and sticking to his chin before crowding him up against the pillows.

steve kisses like he's dying and eddie is survival. he kisses him like he is drowning and eddie is the shore that he's clawing his way towards. he kisses him like 19 year old steve could only dream about.

soon enough, steve's sliding into him with a groan that he lets eddie swallow from him. the headboard knocks heavily into the wall a few times making even more possible holes, but all steve can focus on is the heat around him, the way eddie's whines bounce off the walls of his too empty bedroom and cover him like a blanket.

he likes fucking this way. he likes being able to watch as someone's face contorts into pleasure, like to see eyes rolling back and mouths dropping open and sweat beading around their hairline. likes seeing eddie fall apart.

"steve, oh my god," eddie's voice is still deeper than he's used to as he moans so he angles his hips up more to hear it again, the low timbre snaking through his veins and leaving fire in its wake. "don't stop."

"i won't," he groans into eddie's open mouth. "wanted this for so long, for fucking 11 years, not giving you up yet."

it's a bit more open than steve normally is when he first fucks someone but this isn't just someone. this isn't fucking a stranger he picked up in a bar that had almost the right shade of brown eyes and patches on his jacket that are almost the right shape. this is eddie. his eddie. or well... jamie.

"fuck, i'm gonna date you so fucking hard, harrington. yeah, right there keep going, shit-"

he's babbling as steve works his hips faster, tangling their free hands together to press above their heads on a pillow, and it's everything steve could have asked for. hearing his name fall from the lips he's dreamed about for years, sharing the same air as they breath into one another.

he thought he was over it, thought he had moved on at least a little bit from a halfway stranger he knew in his teens, but with the way they're both looking straight into each other's eyes begging each other to see them, he thinks they might both be back in 1986.

"what do-" steve cuts himself off as he whimpers, close, so close to the finish line. "what do you want me to call you? is it jamie or-"

he's shaking his head on the pillow, leaning up to bite at steve's lips and pull it between his teeth. he looks serious and certain when he says, "no, that name's not for you, it's... i need-"

steve brings his hand down to work over his cock and revel in the way his eyes roll back until he can only see white. he hits something that makes his eyes fly back open and he gets to see his favorite shade of brown again.

"eddie," he whispers. leaning down quickly, steve presses a kiss to his ear before whispering his favorite name there too. "eddie, baby, come on. let me... come on, eddie."

it feels silly to be chanting a name of a ghost as intensely as he is. but he can see it crawl over eddie like it's bringing him back to life. like he isn't bones on the ground in an alternate dimension. like he isn't a plain headstone in a graveyard next to a forgotten trailer park. like he isn't playing pretend with a fake name and a fake life.

steve says eddie and it brings him home.

afterwards, they lay together in steve's probably too soft bed, tears drying on both of their cheeks as they catch up. as they tell each other secrets that their younger selves could never dare. as the piece together the lives they have and the lives they want to have and slot each other into the mix.

steve has a hand in eddie's hair, eddie has one trailing over steve's arm that's slung over his chest. he's always been a fan of cuddling after sex.

"y'know," eddie mutters, "tim's been trying to get me to meet his hot teacher friend for months now."

steve hums, presses a kiss to his temple. "and he's been trying to get me to meet his hot motorcycle tech for months, too."

there are a few holes in the walls from the headboard and eddie's helmet, but steve thinks that they can patch those up, too.

he's still jamie leonard to the outside world. he's still a guy who doesn't have much family other than a mysterious uncle in indiana and doesn't have many friends other than ex boyfriends. he still introduces himself with a handshake and says a fake name like it's real.

but when he gets home, when he crawls onto a couch that overlooks the harbor and has arms wrapped around him, he gets to be eddie munson once more. and with the ghost of a man in his arms, steve harrington feels more like himself than he ever thought he would.

[yaksha-lover]

As Lovers Go

Malleus Draconia x Reader

Summary: It may not be as grand as royalty is used to, but you do your best to plan a special night for Malleus on his birthday.

something short i scrambled together for my best boy, happy birthday malleus 🫶🫶

“Admittedly, it took some help from Trey to convince Riddle, but I like to think I did most of the work,” you say, leading Malleus by hand into the garden. “Okay, you can open your eyes.”

He blinks a couple times, but adjusts quickly to the nighttime lighting, surveying the scene. You’re in the Heartslabyul gardens, surrounded by red rose bushes on all sides. You’ve stopped in a small, clear area of grass where you’ve prepared for the night, a checkered blue picnic blanket laid out.

“Surprise! I know it’s not exactly a party, but hopefully my company will be enough to satisfy you…”

“When you’ve had over a hundred birthdays, parties begin to become monotonous. I much prefer your quiet company, tonight.”

You smile at Malleus. Even when the night’s about him, he always finds a way to make you feel special. “I hope you like the spot I chose. I know it must be hard being away from Briar Valley and your grandmother during the school year, so I thought I’d try to bring a little bit of home to you with the roses.”

“Thank you, truly.” Malleus turns to gaze around the garden, suddenly catching your hand in his own, running his thumb over your knuckles. “I do hope I’ll have a chance to show you my garden at home. I promise, nothing compares to the sight. Except for you, perhaps.”

“You’re too much, sometimes,” you giggle.

“If I am, do you not believe it is you who inspires such feelings in me?” Malleus teases.

The two of you take a seat on the blanket, talking and staring up at the stars as the night continues. The moonlight shines down on Malleus, making his dark hair shimmer and his skin glow. He’s never looked so beautiful.

“So, are you ready to open your gift now?”

He gives you a look. “I believe I mentioned no present was necessary. I only wanted your company.”

“I know, I know, but I wanted to do something.”

“You’re far too gentle with me. I suppose I’ll have to indulge you then.”

You grin and pull a gift bag out of your tote, handing it over to him. He settles it in front of him, pulling purple tissue paper out of the bag until his gift is revealed.

Malleus pulls out a white knit hat. He shifts to turn it around in his hands, smoothing over the fabric until his fingers run into a hole, popping out the other side.

“Oh yeah, it has holes. Y’know, for your horns.”

He stares at you in wide-eyed silence for a few moments. You break eye contact when it finally begins to feel a bit awkward.

“I know it’s not much, sorry.” You look down at your feet. “It’s just, Crowley only gives Grim and I enough for groceries and essentials. And Lilia only told me your birthday was coming up a couple weeks ago, so I begged Azul to let me pick up some shifts at the lounge, and long story short, I really only earned enough to buy some yarn. It’s super nice though, I promise! I made sure to pick yarn that-”

You’re cut off when you’re suddenly pulled firmly into a strong chest, arms squeezing you tightly.

“I will treasure it as I have treasured nothing else. Thank you.”

You smile, despite the fact that you can’t breathe well in his intense grip. You pat on his arms gently so Malleus will loosen up a bit.

“I’m glad you like it.” When he pulls away, you turn toward the cooler you’d set out with all the treats you’d prepared for him. “Now, what would you like to try first? I got Trey’s help with preparing the frozen desserts, since I thought you might like to have a variety. Oh, maybe cake first? You haven’t made a wish yet and the clock is ticking!”

“If it pleases you, then I will try the cake.”

“Great, it’s ice cream cake.”

You take it out of the box, laying it in front of Malleus and removing the container’s lid.

“May I inquire as to why a piece is missing?”

“Well…you said you hate entire cakes, so I took out a piece. Now it’s not an entire cake. Hopefully you’re in the mood to share a bit more with me tonight? I find even the sweetest things are best enjoyed with company,” you wink at him.

“Are you sure you won’t become too spoiled with all these indulgences I allow you?” He picks up a fork and takes a bit of cake, but he doesn’t taste it as you expect.

“No, but feel free to keep trying,” you mumble through the mouthful of cake Malleus feeds you. “Wait, I have candles. You have to make your birthday wish before we have anymore.”

You set three candles in the centre of the cake. It would be ridiculous to have a hundred, as much as you wish to be accurate to his age. You light them with a lighter, insisting on singing ‘happy birthday’ to Malleus before finally allowing him to make his wish.

“Blowing out fire with my breath instead of creating it with my breath. How amusing, you’ll have to teach me even more of these human customs.”

“What did you wish for?”

He tilts his head. “Am I mistaken in believing humans have customs that suggest it’s bad luck to ask?”

“No, but I’m nosy, so tell me anyway.” You tug gently on his sleeve.

“I only wished for things to continue as they are.”

“That’s all? You don’t want anything new?”

“What do I have to wish for? Everything I’ve always wanted, the thing I used to wish for each year - is already in front of me.”

The two of you talk until the sun comes up, upon which Malleus carries your snoring form home to Ramshackle, a smile lingering on his face from the previous night.

[theartofprongs]

Lily's Yearbook

"Sev does Hogwarts publish yearbooks every year?" Lily asks curiously from her spot at the library table.

Severus, who has taken up residence in the seat directly next to Lily, pointedly ignoring the other two Gryffindors at the table, grimaces at Lily's question.

"No Lily, that's a muggle tradition, why would we need such a thing?" Snape shakes his head tersely before pushing his nose farther into his Potions book.

Lily shrugs and hums lightly, "I guess I just think yearbooks are brilliant, oh! Especially the signing! Everyone leaves messages for each other and you get to look through them all summer."

Lily's eyes sparkle with excitement at the prospect of receiving handwritten notes from all of her dearest friend's at Hogwarts, ones that she can re-read during her time away from the magical world.

"Lily I'd forgotten all about yearbooks, it would be so wonderful if Hogwarts had them!" Little Mary Macdonald squeals from across the library table, her smile gleaming.

Marlene also perks up at Lily's excitement, "What's a yearbook?"

These new interjections cause the lone Slytherin tucked into the corner of the table to let out an annoyed huff, "Lily I cannot study here any longer, can we go somewhere that is actually quiet?" Snape directs his sneer at the two girls across from them.

Lily looks over at her two friends, who both have varying looks of disdain now plastered on their eleven year old faces.

"Sure Sev, I'll see you guys at dinner, Okay? Save me a seat if I'm late?" Lily quickly packs her books into her bag so that she can catch up with an already exiting Severus Snape.

"Oh, he is such a git, I don't understand why Lily puts up with that," Marlene snaps, "He doesn't even want her hanging out with people from her own house."

Mary nods in agreement, watching as the two finally disappear out through the library doors. There's a loud echo as the doors slowly close, and then Mary suddenly turns towards Marlene with wild eyes.

"I think I have an idea."

Marlene snorts, "An idea? That's a new one for you."

Mary gasps over dramatically at Marlene's quip, but continues smiling, "No Marly, we're gonna get Lily those signatures, like the ones in a yearbook, so that she can read our notes while she's stuck with him all summer."

"Wow Mary, you do put together some good ideas here and there!"

First year, 1971-1972.

Second year, 1972-1973.

Third year, 1973-1974.

Fourth year, 1974-1975.

Fifth year, 1975-1976.

Sixth year, 1976-1977.

Seventh Year, 1977-1978.

This was a lot of fun for me to do, but it also took me a while to get everything how I wanted. You'll notice that as they get older their handwriting (and for some even their writing utencils) change and grow with them. There are a few different themes and relationships going on throughout this whole thing so I hope you enjoy all the little easter eggs. Also you'll notice that it is heavily smudged and (wet?) even in some places, that's because I tried to make it seem as though it was pulled from an archive, whether from Lily's belongings or even Hogwarts. Let me know if you can't read anything specific and I'll tell you what it says. It's not perfect but I'm very proud of it!

[zorosdimples]

mdni. cw: foot job. the idea stemmed from this post.

ino takuma thinks you’re bluffing.

“you clearly don’t know me very well,” he shrugs playfully, plopping down to sit next to you at the foot of your bed.

he bumps your shoulder and you scoff. “you think i don’t know my own boyfriend? you’re just scared to admit that i could be right.”

he demurs without skipping a beat. “bullshit.”

you chuckle. “okay. prove it, then.”

oh—those are fighting words. he can’t back down; he loves it when you’re like this: pushy and stubborn, a curl to your lip that has never once led him astray. he squints at you in mock appraisal, umber eyes sparkling with mirth. he grins, cheeks dimpling.

“go ahead and show me your best, baby.”

“fuck—shit. jesus. could you pl-please,” takuma gasps, throwing his head back, “please slow down?”

your smile is sharp, a bright, mischievous gash that distorts your usually-placid demeanor. “how about no,” you coo. “this is what you get for doubting me.”

you stop stroking his length, your right foot dancing down to toy with this balls, your left foot pressing—perhaps too harshly—against his shaft. he groans as you play with his sack, rolling the ball of your foot against his velvety skin.

the man huffs. “are you seriously gonna—?”

pausing all movement, you look up at him with a warm gaze. “we can stop here if you want to.”

there’s something about your gentle tone and the vulnerable position he’s in that makes his cheeks flush; he pulls his beanie down over his eyes. as much as he wants to deny it, to gloat, to rub it in your face that he was right and you were wrong—so, so, so wrong—he can’t.

if you keep this up, he’s going to finish. all over your feet.

he pushes his beanie up and shakes his head. his voice wavers. “keep going, please.”

[lost-in-fandoms]

Thought i would be done but...yeah didn't happen. Part one here.

Living with Max is easy.

He doesn't whine when Daniel is taking care of his leg, he doesn't mind sleeping on some blankets on the floor, next to the fireplace, he offers to help around, and best of all he doesn't ask questions.

Well, not exactly. He asks so many questions. Once he gets over his initial bout of shyness and quiet, he asks questions about Daniel's vegetables, about his horse, about the woods, about the traps, about the animals. He offers his own opinions too, telling Daniel he's growing peas in too much shade and that he's cooking his meat for too long. And, much to Daniel's annoyance, he is often right too.

But he doesn't ask questions about Daniel. He doesn't know if it is because Max doesn't care or because he doesn't want to be asked questions back, but he appreciates being spared the trouble of telling him to mind his own business.

They also work surprisingly well together. Max is older than he initially seemed, dirt, hunger and exhaustion making him look younger, and he seems to know a little bit of everything. Even if he doesn't ask, Daniel is a little curious about what path in life brought him to have such a wide mix of knowledge. He seems to know how to move around the woods without scaring the prey, how to skin and cook animals, how to take care of the vegetables (better than Daniel), how to keep himself and the house clean.

It's nice to have a second pair of hands around, even if the pair of hands should sit down more often to let their leg heal. Not that Max ever listened to that.

And he's funny. Daniel hadn't realised how much he missed just sitting around the table after dinner, talking and laughing with someone else. How good it was to wake up and find the fire already stoked and the water pitch already filled. To have someone to say good morning to who would say it back.

Daniel hadn't been thinking of himself as lonely before, he was content with his choice of life, but he can admit that he likes this. He is glad Max decided to stay and he's glad Max seems to be having a good time too, at least from what Daniel could tell.

This is why, when about three weeks after Max's arrival he wakes up in the middle of the night to the sounds of him moving around the house, his first thought isn't Max is leaving, but something is wrong.

"Are you okay?" he asks, voice scratchy with sleep and way too loud in the quiet of the night.

He watches Max flinch, dropping something, before turning around to face Daniel.

"Go back to sleep," he whispers, too shaky to be a good order. There's something different in his voice, and it only takes Daniel's tired brain a few moments to realise that he had heard those notes before, in the woods about three weeks ago. Fear.

Daniel sits up, eyes finally adjusting to the silver darkness of the room, moonlight streaming through the open windows.

"What's wrong?" he asks again, voice lower, matching Max's whisper.

He listens to the sounds coming from outside, thinking that maybe the men Max was running from have come back, but he can't hear anything unusual in the late summer night.

Max is grabbing what he dropped on the floor, stuffing it into a bag that he must have taken from Daniel's things, but the moment, Daniel doesn't even care about the fact that he's very obviously stealing from him.

"Max, what is happening?" He's getting frustrated now, hates not knowing what is going on, worry and irritation growing together.

He stands up, taking a couple of steps towards Max, wanting to see him better, but he stops when Max flinches back.

"I need to leave," he finally says, voice raspy. It's not an explanation, and Daniel suddenly regrets never asking any questions.

"Why? Where?"

He doesn't want Max to leave. The knowledge of that settles like armor on his chest, safe but heavy. Living with Max isn't just easy, it's good. He doesn't want to go back to an empty house, not after the past weeks have been so nice.

"I...I need..." Max shudders, as if in pain, and Daniel's legs ache with the need of walking closer.

"Did something happen?" Did I do something wrong?

Max shakes his head, jerky and sharp. When he exhales, Daniel can hear him bite back a whine.

He doesn't want to scare Max, but he is confused, and he is worried, and he is not going to let him go without an explanation.

He steps between Max and the door.

"You owe me an explanation," he says, hating the way it makes Max stiffen, unwilling to take it back anyway.

"I don't owe you..." Max snaps, before interrupting himself with half a growl. "You haven't told me anything either!"

"That's different. I'm not running away in the middle of the night."

Max takes a step forward, back tense, and Daniel instinctively braces himself, eyes flying towards the table, where his knife always is, but Max doesn't attack him.

He shivers again, hands clenching around the bag and then letting it fall on the ground with a thump, shoulders slumping as all the fight seems to leave him.

"Please, Daniel, I need to leave. It's...it's not safe."

Max looks up, finally meeting Daniel's eyes, and he's suddenly reminded of what the man had said, so many days ago.

He's dangerous. Cursed.

Max's eyes look weird, blue brighter than ever, almost glowing in the moonlight. His face is twisted in pain and there's the glimmer of sweat gathering at his hairline. None of that would worry Daniel, but there's something...different in him. Something other.

Cursed.

The room seems too bright now. The moon is almost full tonight.

Cursed.

Max had said he hadn't killed anyone, but if this is what Daniel is thinking of...

Max closes his eyes, whole body shivering again, his edges almost blurring with it. Or maybe it's not just a trick of the light. Daniel doesn't know what to think anymore.

He doesn't want Max to go. He doesn't want this to happen.

He steps away from the door.

For a moment, they both stand still, looking at each other.

For a moment, Daniel hopes he'll wake up and it will be morning, and Max will be coming in with the last tomatoes from the garden.

Then Max whines, something low and pained, something animal, and bolts.

Daniel doesn't stop him.

He watches as his shadow changes even before he's fully reached the trees.

Then he sits on the doorstep and waits for the sunrise.

[bekkandaa]

Tom Riddle: Narcissism, Heritage, and Mental Breakdown

This analysis will delve into Tom Riddle's narcissism, heritage, and my own hypothesis that a mental breakdown led to the ultimate murder of his family.

Before I begin, it's important to define some key psychological terms for anyone unfamiliar with the subject. I'll try to simplify things down, but if anything doesn't make sense don't worry too much.

Malignant Narcissism: This term describes individuals who exhibit all three traits from "The Dark Triad"— Machiavellianism, Psychopathy and Narcissism.

Machiavellianism : Commonly characterised by manipulation and exploitation of others, unemotional callousness, self-interest, and an overall lack of morality.

Psychopathy : Commonly characterised by continuous antisocial behaviour, selfishness, unemotional callousness, and an overall lack of remorse.

Narcissism : Marked by grandiosity, pride, egotism, and an overall lack of empathy.

In Psychoanalytic theory, primary narcissism is a normal part of child development, involving self-interest and object-love. Children often harbour notions of greatness and believe they are immune to any consequences. As they mature, they become disillusioned from these grand notions to integrate into mature society. pathological narcissism actually develops when this process is disrupted, resulting in defective narcissistic structures.

( Interestingly, a number of psychiatrists have established a direct link between malignant narcissism and evil— a perspective likely considered in the creation of Tom Riddle's character. However, it is important to note that while there is a connection, it does not necessarily define someone as evil.)

Tom Riddle's behaviour aligns perfectly with Heinz Kohut's theory of object-love. According to Kohut, a child requires a mother to affirm their grandiosity or, lacking this, seeks an adult to create an "idealised parent image." Tom, lacking a mother figure and grandiose figure to emulate, proceeded to construct his own powerful parental figure.

This is evident when we see Riddle question Dumbledore about his father's wizardry, as Tom assumes his mother could not have been a witch as if she was she wouldn't have died. This belief is shattered during his teenage years, which inevitably triggers his (narcissistic) rage of his idea being disillusioned. Tom Riddle has always been a character with an ongoing quest for identity and self-validation, which is seen in his prolonged search for the Chamber of Secrets to confirm his status as Heir of Slytherin.

Tom Riddle's obsession with power and control is a fundamental aspect of his character we can't ignore. The pursuit of control is a primary human motivation, gaining control is actually proved to enhance one's sense of well-being. For someone like Tom, when this control is threatened, they would resort to coping mechanisms to preserve their sense of self. For a narcissist like Tom, a threat to his control equates to a threat to his very self.

Now, to my entire point. The revelation of his true heritage and the truth about his parents triggered a mental breakdown, causing an identity crisis. Freud posits that human behaviour is influenced more by the unconscious mind than the conscious. The unconscious mind protects itself by concealing negative memories, which can affect behaviour and attitudes. In Tom’s case, his father's abandonment left a mark, which he could not reconcile. His only solution was to eradicate this source of shame and hatred.

Tom Riddle’s patricide and subsequent name change to Voldemort signify his profound self-loathing and rejection of his humanity. This action eradicates the evidence of his shameful heritage. According to Krech, hatred often correlates with anger, manifesting as a desire to destroy the source of hatred. Riddle’s murder of his father and paternal family was an attempt to reclaim control and restore his ego. TLDR :  Tom Riddle has a fragile sense of control and ego, loses the sense of control once he learns of his true heritage. Causing a mental breakdown and killing his family. In conclusion, he is miserable and hates everyone. ( even himself to a point.)

[fiepige]

Tag game!

Tagged by @yannig! Thank you for the tag <3

Last song: Fever The Ghost - Source (love the music video for that song lol)

Favourite Colour: PURPLE MY BELOVED

Currently Watching: House of the Dragon (I'm still on the first season- don't really trust it after Game of Thrones)

Last movie: Watched Inside Out 2 today- it was fine but I had expected it to be better, didn't have the same impact as the first one imo (Also I got to watch both Spiderverse movies in theaters last weekend! <3)

Currently Reading: A Court of Thorns and Roses - it's a fantasy book with faeries (and I might have bought it because I still have some fae Hobie brainrot left after reading an amazing fic by @the-kr8tor (hope it's okay I tagged you in this- wanted to give a shout out cause I loved that fic so much <3 ) - reading this book and imagining Hobie being in it cause that's a normal thing to do right?

Sweet, Spicy, or Savoury?: Hmm gotta go with sweet I think

Relationship: I'm aroace and not looking for a partner so I'm single and plan on keeping it that way lol

Current Obsession: It's still Hobie lol (especially the Seabeast AUs we're cooking in the discord lol, I'm obsessed)

Last googled: The lyrics for Fever The Ghost- it's a good song but I can't tell what the guy is singing at some points lol

Currently working on: Way too many scenes for the Seabeast Hobie AUs lol, trying to stick to one at the time but we keep comming up with new stuff and it's hard to stay focused on only one of them lol

Tagging: @strawberrymilkmaiden @idrinkwetcementasproteinshakes @arachnix0401 and @moth-wave

[wellcollapse]

and what if i said that season six has been all about healing? there's been a lot of talk about how season six has picked up seemingly throwaway lines and dropped plot points from previous seasons, and i really feel like this is the season where these threads are finally winding themselves back together. as we know, season five is when a lot of these characters were at their worst mentally, and a big portion of the season was spent with the majority of the 118 and co. in a very fragmented, disjointed state....but with season six, so much of it has felt like the pieces are falling back into place.

athena getting to heal from the very first case that has been haunting her since she was a little girl and find some closure.

chimney healing from the scars that kevin's death inflicted on him and getting to trust himself and his own judgement again after that years-old wound.

bobby getting to finish the work that his old sponsor started and honoring him by living, doing the same thing for another person in need that wendall did for him, really coming full circle from the season one version of him that thought the rest of his life was meant for atonement for the apartment fire and nothing else.

buck starting to heal from the pain that his parents' neglect caused him, and finally facing his trauma and insecurities head-on and answering the question that has undoubtedly plagued his mind ever since he found out about daniel's death - yes, he is enough, yes he does matter, and slowly making his way down the path to finding genuine, true love.

hen choosing herself and her family and prioritizing the thing that will truly make her feel content instead of sacrificing her happiness to pursue being a doctor.

maddie healing from her PPD and learning to love life again, feeling safe and happy with a family that loves her.

and eddie, too, really living and being excited about life after his breakdown last season, not to mention finally acknowledging that he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life alone after shannon's death -- but not in a way where he has to put up some kind of show or play a part.

and this isn't even getting into some of the other storylines this season, such as denny asking about eva and nathaniel and the long-awaited return of ravi. i just wanted to highlight the way that we've gotten so much growth this season and so many of these characters have been able to finally face the issues that have been hurting them for so long and finally heal from them. in my opinion....if there's one thing this show definitely does right, it's playing the long game, and from everything we've seen this season, i believe that everything, even the storylines that currently seem like they're on 'hold,' will come to a conclusion that will feel satisfying and relieving.

i just. i trust this show!! i really do!! and i mean this in the gentlest way possible, but i think some of you could trust these writers to give us a good payoff as well, because i really believe they've earned it ❤️

[flowercrowngods]

shattered on the cliff’s edge, trapped by the tides

part 1 / 7 | or: read on ao3

The fog rolls in like a heavy cloud that morning, leaving the city in eerie darkness as Steve hurries toward the heavy door to the steel manufactory, scarf wound tightly around his neck to keep out the cold so uncommon for late September.

“Thanks,” he mutters to the gruff, broad man who holds open the door for him. He sees him every morning but has never had the chance to ask about his name. The question is on the tip of his tongue when, with a nod and a touch to his sturdy-looking hat, the man walks down a different corridor than Steve.

Where outside the fog was so thick that all noise seemed dulled, like cotton in his ears, the manufactory is a cacophony of banging and clanging, hissing and whirring, and Steve needs a moment to breathe the polluted, heavy air that’s always just a tad too hot for his lungs.

He doesn’t mind the work, is good with his hands and enjoys the single-minded focus it provides on a good day, the deafening noise loud enough to drown out most of the comments the other workers throw his way; comments about his father, his upbringing, and his rather sudden downfall when Richard D. Harrington decided to disown his eldest son three years ago without rhyme or reason.

Steelwork, engineering, intricate cogs that work massive machinery — they fascinate him, they keep him busy fourteen hours a day, and they leave him dead to the world when the shift is over and graciously let him sleep through the dreams that have been haunting him ever since he can remember being haunted.

It’s always the same dream, in the fall more than in the spring. A lighthouse trapped in the sea, waves rolling and crashing, water rising so high that it might as well swallow the lighthouse whole. And through it all, a beacon. And through it all, a voice he cannot make out. And through it all, a ticking that echoes through his skull even long after he gasped awake with a lungful of water that Robin says might be Tuberculosis.

He blinks away the gloom that has laid over his heart like the fog over the city, shakes off the trancelike feeling that overtakes him every time he tries to think about the lighthouse when he is wide awake, and rubs away the headache that comes with sleep deprivation. It’s fall again, which means he spends his nights haunted by ghostly images of a lighthouse he’s not even sure exists, robbed of all chances at resting if he doesn’t work himself to the point of absolute exhaustion.

They are earlier this year, the night terrors. Everything is a little earlier this year.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder as Emerson arrives behind him, leading him to their station with idle chatter about the weather and the horrible, horrible fog that Steve has not the patience to partake in today — which is just as well for Emerson and his sunny disposition, he’ll simply talk enough for the both of them. Steve is fond enough of him to let him be as he falls into the routine of working steel and breathing overheated, coal-stained air.

They work in unison until noon, the headache dull enough as long as he keeps busy, but almost blinding when he stops for even a second. A booming voice makes him look up from his station, though, as he is being summoned to the office.

It’s never a good sign, and Steve can feel the blood draining from his face, pulling the ache with it as it travels down his spine and settles in his centre in a pit of nausea.

“Oh no,” Emerson murmurs under his breath, even managing to sound genuine about it. “What did you do?”

Images assault his mind. Prison, if he’s lucky. Asylum and electroshock therapy if he’s not; if his father changed his mind about making it public that his eldest son and heir deserves punishment, or treatment for moral insanity. Steve tries not to think of that too often, tries not to look at men like that anymore — tries not to look at anyone anymore until the public forgets about him.

But every time he is reminded that he exists is another time of fear. Fear of being found out.

“I… have no idea,” Steve says after a while, looking up to where the door to the office looms above all of them, leaving them to feel like prisoners in a panopticon.

“Better not keep ‘em waiting, then. Probably too late to run, eh?”

“Probably,” Steve says, dazed, not really listening to Emerson as he kicks into motion and walks briskly up the stairs, pretending not to feel everyone’s eyes on his back.

It is out of a nervous habit that he pulls the watch from his pocket, its silver chain linked to his vest. It springs open in his hands as he takes the steps one by one, providing comfort for no reason other than it’s his. It doesn’t show the time, never has, but after losing everything at his father’s whim, the pocket watch stayed with him.

“Keep it,” Richard had sneered. “The blasted thing isn’t worth a penny!”

The fingers only ever moved incrementally over the years, and backwards, but still there is something about the watch that makes him keep it close at all times. Collecting himself, he closes his hand around the light metal and filigree ornaments and mentally counts to three before putting it back in his pocket and knocking on the door.

“Ah, Harrington,” the superior manager says, his voice sounding like gravel as per usual. The man has a habit of competing with the steel manufactory’s chimneys, only he smokes cigars instead of coal dust like his workers. Steve remembers the smell of fine cigars, and this office smells like the best among them.

It only helps to strengthen his disdain for the man.

Still he nods and aims for a pleasant smile. “You asked for me, sir?”

“Yes, yes,” the man says, leaning back in his thick leather chair and motioning for Steve to take a seat at the sturdy, delicately engraved mahogany desk. “Sit down, sit down, time is money and I give you more of that than you deserve anyway. I have a proposition for you and you are in no position to decline, yes?”

“Yes?” Steve says dumbly, taking his time to sit down just to spite him.

The man, however, is not as easily perturbed. “That’s what I want to hear, I have to admire your morale, Harrington. Here,” he turns and reaches for a cabinet, rummaging around for a minute before—

The blood in Steve’s veins freezes, leaving him cold and too hot all at once.

Underneath the beefy hand, he makes out a photograph — or possibly a postcard — showing a stark white lighthouse trapped in the sea, gigantic waves crashing into it, threatening to tear it down and carry it along to wherever the tides lead. The beacon of light is steadfast and stubborn, guiding and pointing at something that’s out of the frame, but what Steve can only assume is absolute nothingness out in the open sea.

He slides it over the table to lie in front of Steve, and he fights every urge to recoil, only gripping the arm rest far too tightly.

“See, we got a telegram earlier today that they’re having problems with the lighthouse up north. They say it’s something with the generator, not fit enough to last in the cold, where the air is made of saltwater more than oxygen.”

Steve nods, though he is only halfway listening, his heart hammering in his chest at the picture of the lighthouse, etched onto the paper like it has no idea it is also etched on the very forefront of Steve’s mind — has been, for almost three decades now.

“And since you’re the only one here traditionally educated in reading and writing,” the man continues, either unaware of Steve’s dizziness or delighting in it, “and you know your way around a machine or two, fixing the generator and handling the light shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even an offer.

Steve wonders if maybe he fell down the stairs and hit his head, if maybe the sleep deprivation is finally leading to hallucinations like Robin keeps warning him.

“You want me to fix the lighthouse?”

“That is precisely what I want, yes. Stay there a while, find out what seems to be the problem.”

He’s getting up, walking over to a cabinet, pulling out a half-empty bottle of what Steve can only assume is whisky. A biting, earthy smell floats through the room, thick enough to cling to his clothes if he stays here much longer.

“You’ll find yourself familiar with the equipment, as it is us who supply them. In fact, you have built generators and fixtures and engines like that. You’re a bright spark, Harrington, I can admit that. You’re the best fit. And I’m not asking.”

His jaw clicks shut, his hands clenched into fists beneath the table as he meets those dark eyes head-on.

“When do I leave?”

An ugly grin spreads the man’s face, gaining too much joy from other people’s powerlessness down the food chain.

“Tomorrow. If I remember correctly, and I usually do, you do not have much business to attend to, and even fewer things to pack. I trust you will find your place at the train station at five tomorrow morning. Emerson will know to fill your shoes in your absence.”

How long will I be gone? he wants to ask, but is too afraid that the answer will only be another cruel smirk and a sip of whisky.

He gets up, certain that he is being dismissed, and getting no sign that he’s wrong.

“Oh, and Harrington.” He stops with his hand on the door already. “Perhaps this is a good time to mention that the lighthouse is without a keeper. I have offered your services for the time being, seeing as you will already be there. The salary, of course, will be thrice as much as your usual.”

The daze is back, smelling of saltwater air and whisky, rushing in his ears like waves bursting on the cliffs.

“What happened to the old keepers?” he dares to ask.

“That doesn’t concern you.”

“Yes, it does. What happened to the old keepers?”

“I think you shall find out soon enough.” A beat of silence — horrible, tidal silence. Then, “You’re dismissed.”

***

The train ride is blessedly pleasant, the first class ticket providing the luxury of comfortable seating and relative silence, the wheels occasionally clicking along the railway loud enough to drown out the near-deafening rushing of the ocean in his ears — or perhaps it’s not the ocean, perhaps it is his own blood, pumped with fear and apprehension.

The only upside to all of this is the telegram he’s been gripping tightly all morning so as not to lose it, not to forget about it, not to think it was a dream. A childish, hopeless dream, a longing for company to battle the fear of the dark.

I’ll meet you there. 3 days.

Signed: Robin Buckley. She never took his name, said she did not want to be associated with Richard and the Harrington wealth that came with the Napoleonic wars — never mind that they happened almost a century ago.

Blood money isn’t wealth, Steven, she’d said to him on many occasions, and he loved her for it all the more.

Maybe it will be fine if Robin is there with him. Maybe they won’t end up succumbing to madness like people are wont to do, subjected to the endless loneliness of lighthouse keeping. Confronted with a darkness so deep it needs human invention to remain habitable. Maybe, he wonders idly and with shortness of breath, the world will end if all its lights are gone. Maybe all that will remain is nothingness and the ruthless sea — maybe, until the sun rises again and the light returns. But up north, the sun doesn’t stay all that long. Up north, they say the darkness is different. They say it’s sentient. They say—

A servant offers him some tea or coffee if he pleases, ripping hit out of his obsessive spiral of apprehension and fear.

“Yes, thank you,” he breathes, miming quiet politeness to cover up the lack of air in his lungs. The servant nods, not at all perturbed by Steve’s rather horrific disposition, and moves along.

The tea helps a little. It’s hard to think horrible thoughts when there is a steaming cup in your hands smelling comfortingly of herbs and just a hint at something spicy. It feels almost primal, his fear of the lighthouse — but just as primal is the comfort he finds in the warmth spreading from his hands all the way through his body. The shaking stops after a minute, and breath has returned to his lungs in a way that doesn’t leave him scared to let it out.

It will be fine. The sea will lose its terror, and so will darkness. He will read, and fix what needs to be fixed, and laugh at it all with Robin by his side, who will teach him about birds they will never see, about authors that don’t live anymore, and about the stars they get to watch.

It will be fine. He will be fine. Always, with Robin.

***

He arrives at the seaside town just before nightfall, and the first thing he notices is not the rushing of the ocean, but the crispness of the air that feels vastly different in his lungs to the grey and brown, polluted city air. It’s like he’s a babe taking his first breath in this world; and just like a babe, he is overcome with the urge to cry. He doesn’t, only pinches the bridge of his nose and grabs his bags — two of them, filled only with clothes and books to pass the time.

The walk to the next inn is a long one, and by the time he arrives there — guttural laughter coming even through closed doors and windows — he is frozen to his bones. If he’d thought that fall was quick to arrive in the city, he might as well have entered an arctic winter up here. The half suspects, though, that the cold comes from his empty stomach and the bitterness that replaced the fear just as well as the actual, biting cold.

And to think it’s only just early September.

He pushes the door open and finds it blissfully warm, a large fire roaring in the fireplace and in the hearth, leaving the food steaming on the plates. Silence settles almost immediately, and Steve freezes on the spot. Being perceived in a situation he has no control over has never been his strong suit, and he wonders just what these people have heard about him. If they heard anything at all.

“Come in or get out, but leave the cold out there,” a large lady says from behind the bar, an apron wrapped around her skirt and a towel in her hand as she eyes him with wary but not unkind eyes.

“Forgive me,” Steve says, stepping further into the inn and letting the heavy door fall shut behind him.

“Ahh,” someone says from where he’s sitting on a round table with six other, quite burly men. Fishermen, Steve assumes, or harbour workers, if their sun-tanned skin and general muscular build are any indication. He places his jug of beer on the table and eyes Steve rather closely. “You’re the boy they sent. Who will fix the lighthouse, aye?”

“Aye,” Steve says stupidly, internally cringing at himself. Then, turning towards the woman, “Have you a room to spare?”

“Have you money to spare?” she retorts, clearly mocking him for his odd choice of words — it’s hard, laying down his aristocratic upbringing, especially in a town auch as this.

“Of course,” he says. “For food, drink, and someone to bring me to the lighthouse in three days.”

Another man of the group snorts loudly, shaking his head and studying his ale like it would tell him the future.

“No way, boy. Ain’t no one gettin’ close to that thing.”

“She’s haunted. Has a mind and a life of her own, and she’s made it clear that no one is welcome to get too close. ‘S what lighthouses are for, eh? No getting too close. You get too close, you die. Simple as that.”

Steve takes it in, the pale faces of the men all nodding along, the thousand yard stares they all have in common — and his fear is back. But greater than his fear is his annoyance with men who insist on calling him boy and decide to speak in riddles instead of making sense.

“Haunted?” he asks, taking one of two spare seats at the table, nodding at the woman in thanks as she brings him an ale that only barely smells like piss. “How?”

“Haven’t you heard?” a fourth man, the oldest of them, speaks up. “There’s a curse on the lighthouse. No one gets out alive. We only ever bring her new stock, like cattle to the slaughterhouse. She takes. She takes and takes, boy.”

“So you do bring them,” Steve points out, far too tired and irritated to listen to a ghost story before he’s even had a proper, warm dinner.

The men still, and Steve places a tower of money in the centre of the table.

“It’s yours,” he says, looking at each of them, one after the other, “if you take us there in three days. Four, if the weather decides to play.”

“Us?”

“My wife,” Steve says.

“Fine,” one of them, the one who first spoke to him, grumbles, reaching for the money. “Now go. This table is for grownups, boy.”

With an eye-roll and an air of arrogance, Steve gets up and finds a seat at another table closer to the fireplace. Soon after, fresh stew is placed before him and he dives in.

***

The lighthouse towers on top of the cliffs and Steve watches, mesmerised, as he makes out its shape even in the pitch black darkness. It’s eerie, the power it emanates, the myths and legends that weave around it and its kind. Legends that would be fascinating learning about them in the safety of one’s bed, but which are horrifying to remember days before the nameless fates could be one’s own.

The darkness of the night really is endless here without the lights of the city, and he can only imagine how the lighthouse would help, how it would bring back hope and security, a promise of safe passage. It’s brings him a sort of peace; a purpose, imagining this town in the lighthouse’s beacon. Safe for the night, safe until the sun comes back.

Still it doesn’t ease his night terrors, filled with whispers as they are, growing in urgency and almost clear enough to make out.

Three days pass. Four. Five. There is no sign of Robin. Anxiety grows within him, because Steve knows Robin was going to take the seaside route from the Cunningham estate — well, one of them, at least.

She has a mind of her own. She takes and takes, boy. She’s haunted. Has a mind and a life of her own, and she’s made it clear that no one is welcome to get too close.

What if…

No. No, there is simply no way. Haunted lighthouses taking lives. There’s no— no way. He won’t fall for their ghost stories.

Unfortunately, however, they don’t fall for his charm either, and on the seventh day, when the sea is calm and the sun steady above them, the man who took they money — Old John, apparently — approaches him.

“We’re leaving now,” he says, shoving Steve ahead of him, deaf to his protest that they have to wait, they have to wait. “Your sweetheart ain’t coming, kid. Don’t think she’ll be coming anywhere ever again if she really took the ship. They talk of a ship that got lost in the storm, burst on the cliffs because there was no light. I’m sorry, kid, but I won’t risk waiting any longer.”

A ship lost in the storm?

But… No. No!

“No,” he whispers, letting himself be shoved onto a tiny boat and rocked this way and that, feeling nauseous for more reasons than one.

He’s wrong, Steve knows; feels it in his very soul. Robin is not dead. She’ll come.

She… She will come. She won’t leave him alone, all alone, in this place that has been haunting him for years and years.

She’ll come.

The lighthouse towers above them, perched on top of cliffs that make Steve understand why nobody wanted take him here. There’s no safe way of getting close, let alone climbing up the stairs carved into the cliffs, leading up to the door with no railing, no rope to hold onto. One large wave crashing into him, and he’d belong to the ocean.

He wants to cry again. Wants to curl in on himself and weep as the reality of everything begins to settle in the deepest, darkest places of his heart.

If he leaves the boat, he’ll be trapped with no way of getting out, no way of contacting the land they’ve left far, far behind. Supplies are said to last several months, he knows, he studied the file he got. Several months without human interaction unless Robin magically, wonderfully appears in a few days after all.

“Good luck, kid,” is the last thing he’ll ever hear of Old John as he pulls himself onto the cliffs, reaching for his bags from the old man’s hands. The sea is deafening here as waves crash and burst relentlessly, and he can’t hear what else Old John is saying, but he thanks him and salutes, which the seaman returns with an air of melancholy.

Steve climbs the stairs, soaked to the bones by the splashing water, but somehow — miraculously — malign his way up. As he turns around, fog is starting to gather above the water, but he can make out the tiny silhouette of the boat.

He watches, and it’s meant as a last goodbye, one last glance at his one way out. But terror fills him as he watches, helplessly, powerlessly, as Old John’s boat keels over and disappears. He keeps his eyes fixed to the spot, not daring to look away until there’s proof of life. But Old John doesn’t break the surface again.

And Steve is left filled with horror and the absolute certainty that he might not make it out if he sets foot inside the lighthouse.

Behind him, the door opens with a horrible, terrifying creak, and the beating of his heart is too loud for any other noise to exist in Steve’s world right now.

🌊 part 2 (coming 26 October)

tagging (trading tags for kindness): @klausinamarink @vampeddie @steviesummer @sharpbutsoft @auroraplume

[l3viat8an]

ROO HEAR ME OUT

Mephisto choking MC while they’re going at it in his office because he heard someone coming down the hall and doesn’t want to get caught -👁️ 

Nsfw!

I mean- it is kinda hard to be quiet when you’ve got a demon fucking you like an animal- jsksjksjs

And it’s especially hard to keep quiet when you’re laid across Mephisto’s desk, leg spreed for him and moaning his name as your fingernails dig into the edge of the desk trying desperately to ground yourself, while It’s creaking and shaking underneath you as he thrusts into you, harder this time causing another, louder, “ahh- fuck~” to fall from your lips.

Loud…Mephisto finally realizes you’re being too loud, way too loud actually. Any other time he would love to hear you moaning for him and even screaming his name-

But right now you’re trying not to get caught and if he ever wants to do this again… later down the line Mephisto needs to figure out a way to keep you quiet, and fast.

Panic is mixing with his pleasure now, the idea of fucking in his office had sounded wonderful just ten minutes ago- the halls had been empty and everyone was in the dinning hall or library but after the bell sounded and the hallways start filling up with students again…. now that he can hear the muffled sound of foot steps in the hall, all those people passing the newspaper club room and heading to their next class just on the other side of the door.

Now he realized how poorly this was planned. Just another reason never to listen to a horny human, when will he learn? You’re nothing but trouble!! Trouble with the best pussy he’s ever had the pleasure to fuck- but still trouble!

Yet, here he is still balls deep in your pussy, not slowing down or even letting you catch your breath. Tentatively…as if testing the waters, one of his gloved hands moves from your hip to wrap around your throat, slightly squeezing as a warning. His other hand stayed on your hip keeping you in place, keeping you still.

“Quite. Human. We absolutely can’t let anyone find us here.” he hisses out. He can feel your breathing stutter as you clenched around his cock even tighter then before, you even have the nerve to grin up at him, “Then do it harder, keep me quiet.” you gasp out, tilting your head back a bit so he can keep his hand there until you’re done…

[starrystevie]

rating: mature; 18+ only | cross posted on ao3 here

"truth or dare?"

steve's looking at eddie expectantly while he waits for his answer, his eyes wide and cheeks pushed up from the grin pulling at his lips. he's shirtless from past dares and eddie's trying hard to not look at the hair covering his chest, to not look at the way his scars have faded into a pretty dusty pink, to not look at the flexed muscles in his arm from where it's slung over the back of the couch and he's definitely not looking at the way the movement pulls his pec up.

they aren't high enough for this, not drunk enough for it either, but he feels intoxicated. maybe that's just what being around steve harrington at 2am does to him. it makes him stupid.

"...truth?"

steve's grin grows wide enough to challenge even the cheshire cat and eddie knows that truth was the wrong choice. see? stupid.

the hand on the back of the couch tightens and eddie can feel the way it pulls the cushion under his back, the fabric creasing against his shoulder blade. steve's leaning in a tiny bit closer, same wild grin on his face, and eddie feels himself stop breathing. he tries to remain calm, tries to keep an even expression on his face, but when steve harrington is in his presence, it's harder than it seems.

"okay... truth," steve's close enough that eddie can see the specks of green in his eyes and he tries to focus on that instead of how he can almost feel breaths that aren't his own on his lips.

"what's your biggest turn on?"

whatever breath eddie attempts to suck in gets stuck in his throat and turns into a cough forcing steve to pull away cackling. he isn't in eddie's face anymore but he can still feel him, can still sense the barely there exhale on his face, can still only see steve green behind his eyelids.

"what the fuck, dude?!" is all he can get out. his palms are sweaty so he rubs them furiously over his jeans, scowling at his fingers when they get stuck in the small rips.

steve is laughing at the other end of the couch but his arm is still settled over the back of it, creating the most delicious tension on his chest. he looks broad like this, broader than eddie's really ever seen him. and with his hand across the couch and his legs opened just slightly and his bare chest on display and his bright white teeth glinting in the dim moonlight he looks-

he's hot.

he looks like the old steve, all cock-sure and suave, like he knows he can get absolutely whatever he wants. it does eddie's head in. is he what steve wants? is he why steve looks like he could jump on anything and everything that came his way? is he why steve thought he could ask him about his turn ons as easy as if he was asking about the weather?

"i don't have-"

"oh bullshit," steve says with a flick of his free hand. "everyone has one, man. what gets you all hot and bothered?"

eddie tilts his head up with a scoff. "why do you want to know?"

"consider it your average every day bonding." he says it like it's obvious, like all guys do when they sit around and play sleepover games like they're kids again is talk about what they like in bed.

but eddie's drunk on steve in 2am moonlight and can't help himself for giving him everything.

"i like dirty talk."

he'd always give steve everything.

steve's grin shifts into something borderline feral that has eddie vibrating under his skin. he moves his hips and settles back into the arm of the couch, leveling eddie with his gaze. his eyes are heavy when they look at him and eddie feels glued to the spot.

"oh yeah?" steve's inflection sounds exactly like what eddie craves for and he's afraid that he's shown all his cards already if steve was able to pick up on it that fast. "like what?"

he rolls his eyes if only so that he can take them away from watching steve's muscles contorting as he shifts on the couch. it's not hard to get eddie in the mood, that's the embarrassing thing. his limited experience before he learned about alternate dimensions and things living under hawkins didn't exactly help his case. he didn't exactly have guys throwing themselves at him as a social pariah covered in still healing scars, either.

so steve looking at him with those eyes and that grin and without a shirt for god's sake? not helpful.

"i don't know, i just-" his mind supplies images that gets his cock stirring. a certain king of hawkins under him or on top of him or right behind him whispering things in his ear that he had never really thought about before.

"-i just like hearing the effect i have on them, i guess."

and then without warning steve is moving. he's up on his hands and knees and is leaning into eddie's personal space again, his face close enough to eddie's that he can see that damn green in his eyes again.

there's still a bit of space between then but not nearly enough that eddie isn't effected by it. steve's pinkie is brushing his thigh and his cock that was already interested just thinking about the sounds steve could make is stirring even more awake under his gaze.

"you like hearing you're doing good?" steve questions. eddie sighs. "you like all the moans and stuff?"

all eddie can do is nod, afraid that if he speaks that he'll do something embarrassing like say he wants to pull whatever sound out of steve that he'd let him. suddenly, steve's pulling away minutely to get his mouth close to eddie's ear, breath coming out in puffs against his skin.

"oh fuck," steve huffs out, voice pitched high and dainty. feminine. "oh, oh eddie, it's so good."

eddie grips his hands onto his knees like they're the only thing keeping here on planet earth as steve moans in his ear. his cock is starting to grow, whatever blood that was left in his head heading south fast and it's leaving him dizzy. from up close, he's sure steve can see what he's doing if he was to look down. he's wearing sweatpants that don't exactly hide anything, after all.

the sounds steve are making are all light and pretty like he's going off of his own experience and eddie has the fleeting thought that it's what girls sound like under him. that some girl has been pressing up close to steve's chest and had her pretty pink lips up close to his ear as he fucked her into the mattress. but oh, if eddie had the courage he'd tell him. tell him that he doesn't want to hear some girl, some stranger.

he wants to hear steve.

"you gonna take care of that?" steve's voice is back to somewhat normal, a bit raspy and deep, and it floods through eddie's veins like molten lava. he doesn't remember closing his eyes but he peels them open and turns his head to look at steve. he follows his gaze and sees that they're both looking at how turned on eddie is. he doesn't have enough blood left in his cheeks to blush but he would if he could.

"steve, that's wei-"

a hand wrapping over his knee stops him mid sentence. "not weird. do it. i want you to."

eddie gulps even though his throat feels drier than it's ever been. steve's fingers tighten and he jerks his chin up to urge him on and fuck, he knew he'd always give steve whatever he wanted.

"can you just," eddie sucks a breath in through his teeth as he drops his hand to his waistband, fingers teasing under the fabric. "sound like you, please?"

the silence feels palpable. he can feel every place that his clothes are touching him, every place that steve is touching him, every place his breath has fallen on him that evening. he has half a mind to take it back and tell him he was joking, to pretend like he's some girl again and eddie could get off on that, too. he could at least try, especially if it was steve.

but then- "eddie, fuck."

steve's mouth is close to his ear again, lips ghosting over the shell of his ear as he groans into it. his voice is pitched deep but it's definitely undeniably steve. he shifts onto his knees so he can drape his arm behind eddie once more. not touching, but there and as eddie's hand slips under the fabric to grip at his cock, they both let out a sigh.

"yeah, there you go. gonna touch yourself for me, hmm?"

"shit," eddie groans out as his hand trails over his weeping cock. he brings his thumb up to gather a bit of the precome that's dribbled out of the top and rubs it between his fingers before gliding them down his length. steve's panting these little sounds into his ear that mirror eddie's own moans. when he sighs, steve sighs, when he whines, steve whines.

it's like he's touching himself to get steve off, too, and isn't that something to think about? them laying side by side with each other's dicks in their hands, stroking just how the other likes to get them off. he'd watch steve's face, speed up when his eyes open and slow down when he's close. he'd buck his hips into steve's steady grip, swallow the moans he pulls out of him so they echo through his body. it'd be heaven on a mattress or hardwood floor or ratty couch in a ratty trailer.

"got me all hard in my jeans, eddie." steve breathes out and eddie can't see is he's lying or not but it sounds true and eddie briefly wonders if steve should go into porn with those acting skills. "the way you look with your hand in your pants, jesus, it's a sin. all flushed and hot and, god-"

if steve keeps it up, eddie is going to be done way faster than he wants to be. his hand speeds up when steve lets out a particularly loud moan in his ear and then there's a brush of denim against his arm and wow, steve was in fact not lying. his hips keep jumping up to get pressure against eddie's forearm and the long line of steve's cock is teasing him.

"steve," he whines out, "are you..."

"of course i am," he laughs against eddie's ear before sneaking a tiny kiss to his temple. "you're so fucking hot, dude. been wanting to do this for too long. too long, oh my god."

his hand that was on eddie thigh moves up to unbutton his pants and slides under his own waistband and eddie takes a moment to slow his strokes as he looks up at steve. he looks like a greek god in grungy trailer lighting, chest shimmering with sweat and puffing with heavy breaths. he's grinning down at eddie and he feels like he could float away.

"think i'm hot, stevie?" he says on a shuddering breath as he hits a spot on his cock that he immediately goes to find again. steve smirks before his eyes roll back as he gets a hand on his own dick.

"so hot, so fucking-"

he's cut off by a moan and eddie sends up a silent thank you to the universe that they have the trailer to themselves for the next few days because eddie needs to pull more of those out of him. he needs steve on his back and on his cock and in his mouth and on his fingers and every which way he'll let him have him if it means he gets to hear more of that.

"gonna get my mouth on you soon enough, gotta know what you taste like. gonna get you down my fucking throat..."

steve's brought his mouth back down to eddie's ear and is grunting like he's running the race of a lifetime while he tells eddie what he wants to do him. says truths of his own outside of the now forgotten game, secrets laced with some of the most romantic things eddie's ever been told. tells him how pretty he is, how good he is, how he's imagining eddie's fingers on his cock and on his skin and how he's close, close, close.

knowing he's effecting steve this much, knowing he has this hold on him that he thought was one sided, knowing that he's racing through steve's veins like he's racing through eddie's, it's too much.

"i'm... fuck- i'm gonna," eddie's hand speeds up and the hand on the back of the couch comes up to tangle in his hair. there's a pressure pulling him back until he's looking at the ceiling for a second until all he can see is steve and the flecks of green he's come to love.

"it's okay, i've got you, come on. let me just-"

their first kiss is shared on a ratty couch in a ratty trailer with their hands in their pants and come covering their fingers. eddie's mouth is open enough that he's moaning into steve's and the hand on the back of his head is twitching while he comes. they pull apart enough that eddie can hear what they sound like as they work through their orgasms together, can hear what steve sounds like as he works himself down.

he's going to get that on a record someday, he tells himself. it'll go platinum.

and just as quick as it started, it's over. only this time steve's snuggling up next to him and using his clean hand to stroke over the exposed skin on eddie's stomach instead of returning to the opposite end of the couch. their chests are heaving as they try and regain their composure and it feels like bliss until steve laughs.

it's like an ice bucket being poured over him and he wishes he didn't love hearing steve so much because he's afraid that the laugh will haunt his memories for ages to come. steve must feel him freeze up because the hand on his stomach circles around his waist and pulls him even closer so he can nuzzle his face into eddie's chest. it starts to settle the nerves that had wound themselves around his insides.

"i don't know if you could tell," he starts, voice muffled against eddie's flannel. "but i've been wanting to do that, this, for ages."

eddie snorts. "you've wanted to make me jizz in my pants for ages? really? low standards even for you."

steve snorts out a laugh in return. "no, you idiot. i've wanted to be able to do this for ages."

he tilts his head up and places a featherlight kiss to eddie's lips. it's soft, it's sweet, it's the opposite of everything that happened not two minutes prior. eddie feels a smile tugging at his mouth and pulls back to see steve smiling, too.

"does this mean..."

there's no words, no definition that eddie can put to the events of the night that don't sound silly or juvenile. but then he sees steve settle back down, pressing a kiss to right over his heart before laying his head down where it was.

"... that we're doing that again? absolutely. just maybe in a bed next time."

and maybe they don't need a label. maybe all they need is laying on a couch with come cooling in their pants and echoes of what just happened bouncing off the trailer walls. maybe all they need is a promise of later sealed with a kiss and their heartbeats in synch.

and maybe, just maybe, they'll play truth or dare again.

[hergrandplan]

Unedited Sunday snippet of You're the Risk I Want to Take Chapter 2 (#3)

I was really really hoping to get this chapter out this week, but then life got busy! So please accept this small snippet as a token. It's also nsfw. fair warning. but not too much

Also you can read chapter 1 here!

The thing is, they’re good hands. They're big and look like they could fit both of Simon's hands in them with room to spare. Simon can’t help but imagine how they would feel on his back and on his chest and along his arms as they explore every inch of Simon's body. 

And when he’s alone at night, Simon imagines what they would feel like wrapped around him as Wille renders him speechless. Wille is probably the kind of guy who whispers sweet nothings into his ear while he makes Simon feel so good – and he'd probably be the kind of guy who'd make Simon feel good first, because that's how gentle he is.

One night, when Simon is once again thinking about those hands, his phone lights up next to him.

JustWille: Hey! I miss you ☹ how’s your evening going?

Simon considers just abandoning his current task completely in order to talk to Wille, but he’s so, so close to the edge, it would just take –

Simme.eriksson: Hi! I’m in the middle of something, gimme a few minutes. Then I’m all yours 💜

And fuck, does Simon like the thought of being all his. He moans at the idea, thanking the gods that he doesn’t have roommates, or else they would definitely be complaining. 

Simon has every intention to just finish what he’s doing before cuddling up to talk to Wille, but Wille seems to have other plans. That, or he’s simply impatient.

JustWille: In the middle of what?

Simon considers lying; this certainly is … a bit unconventional, at the very least. Because how can he tell Wille that he’s currently getting off to the thought of his hands? But their entire relationship (as far as it is one) has been unconventional. Plus, he can share anything with Wille. What difference would this make?

Typing with one hand is hard, but he manages.

Simme.eriksson: Okay, this is going to sound so weird so please don’t think I’m a freak. But I kind of haven’t been able to stop looking at your pictures. So I’ve… kind of been taking matters into my own hand.

A grin spreads on Simon’s face, and he wishes Wille was be able to see him.

JustWille: What do you mean?

Simme.eriksson: I mean like… ugh, fuck, your hands are just really hot and I just cannot stop thinking about them so now I’m… thinking about them. And thinking about you and how you would feel and

Ugh, why can’t he just say it? He’s already doing it, he already has a hand around himself while talking to Wille.

JustWille: I’m thinking about you all the time too but… that’s nothing new right?

Fuck, was Simon really going to have to spell it out for him?

Simme.eriksson: I’m thinking about you touching me, Wille. In a very hot, sexy kind of way

JustWille: Oh. That’s … wow. Really?

JustWille: damn. I didn’t know I could have that effect on people like that

Simon laughs softly, because has he ever seen his own hands? Probably. Simon now imagines Wille looking down at him while he strokes himself, and though chatting with Wille has brought him back from the edge just a little bit, that image has him bucking up into his own fist.

JustWille: is there anyway i can help?

[coltitz]

Ok another headcanon, this time about one piece!

I really like the idea of Sanji being ace.

"But coltiz, he yaps about women all the time!" yeah I know, I'll get there ok? be patient.

Sanji doesn't know he's asexual. He never really cared to explore this side of himself nor knew it was a thing. It isn't like he avoids sex and intimacy at all costs, quite the contrary actually, but he doesn't really feel something during the act. It's a "I don't like it nor dislike it" kind of situation.

For some time when he was younger he thought that maybe everyone was like this, that this kind of intimacy was just another way to show love and didn't really generate any significant physical pleasure, that people only said it felt good as in "I felt loved and cared doing this" type of way rather than "im just did it because I was horny".

Also, he doesn't really understands what it means to be "horny" lol.

When he realizes it isn't like that, he starts to worry that maybe there's something wrong with him. I mean, what kind of man would he be if he didn't get any physical pleasure from a woman?

He doesn't really talk about it with anyone, and tries not to think much about it himself. For some time he just thought that maybe he was gay, and this didn't really help either (ohh the internalized homophobia). So he just... tries to ignore it.

He keeps hitting on women because he doesn't really know how to differentiate attraction from admiration. After all he was raised to admire and protect all the women. He thinks that the way that he acts - the flirting, the exaggerated reactions - are just the norm if you're attracted to someone.

Also, he keeps insisting on intimacy because the feeling of being loved and cared for is something that he has sought since he was a kid.

It ends up doing more harm than good in the end tho.

After a reaaaally long time sulking up about the "maybe I'm gay" thing, he tries something with a men and gets the exact same response. Nothing, emptiness.

So now he just thinks he's broken fr.

Things start to take a turn for the better only after the timeskip and his stay on Momoiro island. There he learns about the existence of asexual people and all the different types of attraction trough the okamas, but has a hard time wrapping his mind around it.

He still thinks he's broken and that, if he tries enough, maybe he'll find someone that will make him right.

After the incident in WCI, he tries to be more open with his nakamas about all the things that burden him - and just tries to be more vulnerable in general. He talks about his lack of sexual attraction and how it makes him feel and everyone tries to be supportive, even if some doesn't really grasp the concept quite right (also, that's how they discover that Luffy might also be ace - not that he really cares about labeling himself lol).

It takes a lot of love and support from his nakamas for him to finally accept this part of himself and to try and understand his feelings and desires better. He ends up doing good tho.

Finally, idk about romantic attraction - me personally-, I like to think that he's biromantic, but that it still took him some time to admit that he was attracted to men. He still has some trouble trying to differentiate love from admiration nonetheless, but he'll get there eventually lol.

[daboyau]

This was the other dialogue prompt idea I got when thinking about @psychologicalwarclaire’s ask. No. 3 from this post here. :) enjoy. (Threat of drowning and peril, lots of injuries, boys generally being stressed and hurt and having a Not Good Time.)

.

The gentle sound of trickling water is a cruel mockery of the grim reality of the situation. Mikey is clutching at him as much as he can when they’re half buried like this, nails digging into the back of Donnie’s hand with the kind of desperation that he hasn’t felt since his little brother was six and they’d found themselves huddled together in front of an illicit late night horror movie marathon. 

If only it were so simple now. 

The water is rising slowly, but not slow enough. Raph and Leo know where they are, but they’re not supposed to get here for another hour, and that’s only if they’re on time for once in their life. By then, the water will be above their heads. If they arrive on time, Donnie will be fine. 

His little brother won’t. 

The rubble doesn’t shift when Donnie reaches his free hand beneath the water once again, pushing against it with a desperation that thrums both hot as fire and cold as ice inside his veins. He does his best not to let it show on his face, but of course Mikey can tell. He’s always been far better at that than Donnie ever has been. 

“Dee?” he says, and even though his voice barely rises above a whisper the sound reverberates through the cramped hole they’ve fallen into. 

Tiny pieces of concrete fall from the ragged edges above them, plunking into the rippling pool. The water comes just a little faster, stirring up sediment and clouding it even more. He can’t see through it, and can’t tell where his best point of leverage might be to try to safely shift the rubble. Blood drips from the gash on his head to dance in the water around them and if not for the way the mere thought of trying to string two coherent thoughts together feels like agony, Donnie could probably have calculated exactly how much time the sound of his name had cost them. 

He forces himself to smile, though he can taste the blood on his teeth and it makes him want to gag. He and Mikey have matching gaps now. They can bond about it later. Right now, all he can focus on is the throbbing of his head and Mikey’s hand in his own, and how the water is tickling against his waist. It’s strangely warm despite the time of year.

Mikey’s hand curls tighter at whatever he sees in Donnie’s expression. It is shaking, hard enough that it sends tiny ripples through the muddy grey water. 

He lifts a finger to his lips, cringing at having the filth that’s clinging to the creases in his palm and lingering beneath his nails so close to his face. Not that it matters. He’ll be swallowing it by the lung full soon, if he can’t come up with a way to get them out of here. It’s a lot of pressure to put on his pounding head, but it has always been his belief that a true genius can work best under pressure. 

(In theory, that is. He refuses to think about how often he’s found himself at a standstill, locked between choices, frozen by uncertainty. It’s not what Mikey needs from him right now. They’ll both be dead if he lets those feelings overwhelm him, this time.)

The water tickles where it laps at the base of his ribs. The silt and debris swirling beneath its surface hurt when they brush against him, and he can feel the grit lodging itself beneath the scales of his legs as he tries to wriggle and drag himself even an inch away from the rubble that’s pinning him down. 

There are broken bones hidden beneath the weight of concrete and rebar. He feels them, and he ignores them, and he hopes that he’ll still be alive in order to complain about them in a few days. Mikey will probably handle being in a cast better. He’ll probably like bossing Leo around. Maybe he’ll even let Raph baby him a little. That would be nice for them. 

Donnie carefully extracts his hand from his little brother’s iron grip, meeting his wide eyed gaze with a steady — if slightly hazy — look of his own. He needs both hands to fiddle with the tech on his wrist again. It’s been useless the last fourteen times he’s checked, but he keeps holding out hope that his inventions won’t fail him this time around. 

The screen is completely shattered. There are no blinking lights or even the softest of sounds emanating from it. It was designed to be waterproof, but not entirely crush proof. It had worked to save his arm, but between his bones and his tech, he really wishes that it had been his tech that had survived the fall. 

He grumbles low in his throat, mostly because he can’t risk screaming all the curses that he wants to right now. Not when the most infinitesimal sound is enough to destabilize the small lip of the hole that keeps the water from rushing inside and drowning them all the sooner. Mikey makes a similar noise, something low and soothing, more of a gentle vibration that Donnie can just barely feel through the water than actually hear. 

When he looks, Mikey is staring back. Eyes wet with tears and full of terror, but with a trembling smile meant only for Donnie. It is a fragile thing, but it is full of hope and faith and trust that his big brother will be able to get them out of this mess.

Donnie’s throat goes painfully tight. His subvocalizations stop with an abruptness that makes Mikey jerk a little bit with worry and confusion. The water sloshes, brushing against the center of his chest plates. He can feel it slide beneath his battleshell, the wetness and the silt trying to wind its way into every inch of his body. It’s going to chafe on the walk home, he’s sure of it. 

Mikey raises a shaking hand, wiggling his fingers to get Donnie’s attention. Blood and water drips down his arm. It’s almost reached the top of his plastron.

Mikey waves, and Donnie’s eyes snap briefly towards his face before they settle on his hand again. 

It’s okay. We’ll get out, he promises, jerking and slow, wincing when the careful finger spelling pulls at the obviously broken bones of his metacarpal. He smiles with gritted teeth, and Donnie smiles back.  Neither of them are very convincing. 

There was a feature he was in the middle of testing. Something he should have already had installed ages ago. It’s supposed to act as a warning system, where if his tech gets damaged to the point where it’s unusable, it will send an alert to Shelldon and to each of his flesh and blood family members. It was supposed to be for catching Leo in the act of playing with things that aren’t his, but…well. This is a perfect example of other ways it can be used. 

There’s a 50/50 chance that the alert will have been triggered when his wrist tech was shattered. Shelldon and Leo and Raph and April might already be on their way, or they might still be lounging in front of the tv back at the lair. He doesn’t like their odds very much. 

The water is warm when it brushes against the scales of his chest. At least when they drown, the water will be warm. That’s…it’s not actually much of a comfort. He’s heard that drowning is a terrible way to go. Turtle biology or not, he’ll need to breathe eventually. It’s going to hurt. 

He turns his eyes to Mikey’s face. His baby brother is tipping his head back, eyes squeezed shut. The water is lapping hungrily at the base of his neck, squeezing like a noose around the delicate hollow of his throat. 

He doesn’t want it to hurt. Not for Mikey. 

He takes a breath and dips beneath the water again, redoubling and then tripling and then quadrupling his efforts, screaming and howling and beating against the concrete that has crushed his legs and kept him pinned. Helpless and useless and he doesn’t want to die, not like this, and god oh fuck, not Mikey, pleasepleasepleasenothisbabybrother pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplea

The rubble shifts, just the tiniest bit, but it shifts wrong. He screams again and tasted the water in the back of his throat as it slides down his calf to settle instead on his knee. He feels the bones grind and crunch as it bends in a way it shouldn’t. He surfaces, heaving and gasping and biting back the sobbing screams that would do nothing but rob Mikey of these final precious seconds of air. 

The water has reaches his neck now, and he breathes deep, trying to slow the racing of his heart so his body doesn’t burn through more oxygen than it needs to. He tries to center himself like dad used to tell them to do when he was pulling out splinters or bandaging a scraped elbow.

The rubble had moved. That was something. He can work with somethings. 

The water kisses Mikey’s jaw. Tears mix with the water on his cheeks, and when he tilts his head to look towards Donnie with wild, horror stricken eyes, it licks at the corner of his mouth, begging entry. Donnie shudders at the sight.

Mikey whimpers, so soft and so broken. He’s pinned worse than Donnie is, all the way up to his thighs, and with only one arm free. That’s okay, though. Donnie can fix this. It’s just going to hurt a whole lot. 

Hey, he signs, and then again, harsher this time to make sure he has Mikey’s full attention. Hey!

He forces a smile, rictus and pained, but he puts every tiny flicker of his belief that he has a chance into it. He raises a finger to his lips again, hushing Mikey’s whimpers, quieting his worries. 

You’re okay, he signs, deliberate and stern, like he can push force the world around them to bend to his will through sheer bullheadedness and love. You’ll be okay. I’m going to fix this.

Mikey meets his gaze. Holds it. Then, he nods. The water reaches over his mouth when he does. Donnie nods back. 

Then, he takes his final breath, and he dives below again. Blood blooms in the water. Mikey’s head goes under. 

He knows he’ll get them out. 

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 12 thoughts

ha! a post at a different time than usual! you didn’t see this coming, did you? well i like to keep you guessing

do you hate bugs? if so, this may not be the episode for you!

(based on the poll i have running, i’m going to try putting a “read more” thingy on this post. please let me know if this enhances your experience. what a cruel thing to only think of 3 seasons in…)

disclaimer on the formatting of this blog aside, let us jump in, straight from the moments right before i clicked the play button.

okay, so last episode will be a hard act to follow, given that it was my new favorite episode. BUT i think i’ve seen that this episode is a fan favorite?? i think?? so we shall see…

trying to go in with no expectations at all. not even one. just let the story take me where it goes.

but i thought i did see something about this episode referring to a mulder ex?? not sure i can deal with that again at this point in my life. not after phoebe. still haunted by that arthur conan doyle thing.

it's bug time in massachusetts. learn some bug facts with this kindly looking fellow. 

i love academics who are really into things like bugs. i love when they love funny creatures. WAIT HE STEPPED ON IT!! that was cruel??? maybe he is not a kindly fellow after all…

okay, i THOUGHT this dude was teaching a class on science, but he’s an exterminator... LMAOOOOOO they got me with that gag

so he’s putting down a new pesticide to kill the cockroaches. always risky business, those pesticides.

he sprayed the bug with the stuff and then stomped on it and it seems like he started choking?? is he messing with some dangerous poison here??? pesticides scare me…. 

the bugs are pouring out of surfaces and onto him and it is making my skin craaaaawl!!!

oh, a cricket now graces our screen! a pleasant creature. on mulder’s windshield? he went up to massachusetts for the weekend! but not for family reasons. for alien reasons.

scully is cleaning her gun and talking to him on the phone while he looks up at the sky. it’s quite charming <3

“look scully, i know it’s not your inclination, but did you ever look up into the night sky and feel certain that not only was something up there, but it was looking down on you at the exact same moment, and was just as curious about you as you are about it?” <- ohhhh he’s waxing poetic. ohhh what does the massachusetts bring out in this man?

scully is going on about how she thinks the real fascinating truth is that life exists here on this planet at all, and uses the word “anti-darwinian”… and he asks what she is wearing??? she laughs at this 

(i actually really liked her little monologue here and would copy it down, but i want to see what happens next)

he references planet of the apes and they both understand it, which means they have both seen a movie that i have not. sad!

a bright light shines on him and he says he has to go, so he hangs up. way to freak her out!

it’s a cop. he asks what mulder is doing. “just sitting, thinking” LMAOOOO they hate to see a man who ponders

the cop asks for his ID after implying he is on drugs, and then is gagged when he pulls out his FBI badge. and then all of a sudden he’s a “sir”... okay. only getting respect AFTER the occupation reveal. not the most morally outstanding thing...

the cop asks why he has his windshield wipers on and he’s like oh, just knocking a bug off, and the officer reaches for his gun??? and asks if the bugs he is referring to were cockroaches. he’s like… maybe? or maybe a beetle?? “i’m not really good with bugs” LMAOOO

then the cop leaves when he says there is a roach attack. oh?

scully is trying to just enjoy a meal and some tv when he calls and says that she needs to get up here because “it appears that cockroaches are mortally attacking people”, to which she replies “i’m not going to ask you if you just said what i think you just said, because i know it’s what you just said”, which would also be my response to this information!

(she has flowers on her glass of water. it’s quite pretty)

anyway. bodies with roaches. (nicki voice) ROACHESSSS!

oh, they’re very scientific up there in this town, all the people who were victims/witnesses were expert scientists... hmm. any roach scientists?

the guy whose house was being exterminated says he sees cockroaches when he closes his eyes, and he can’t sleep!! that is very concerning.

scully says it might be an allergic reaction to roaches that killed this dude, and this seems to please mulder as an answer, or at least bide him enough time to let her stay the night at her place. and when the cop asks who was on the phone, he says “my drug dealer” <- hahahaha get his ass

in this next scene, i at first thought people were doing some science, but it seems these are teenagers that are doing drugs. and whatever it is has a cockroach crawling in it?

OHHHH OHHHH NO. A COCKROACH JUST CRAWLED INTO AN OPEN WOUND ON THIS KID'S HAND. OHHHH IS THIS GONNA BE A BODY HORROR EPISODE??? BLECKKK this was not what i was expecting after many jokes!! 

he’s scratching and scratching and i literally cannot look. i heard him yell “get them out of me” but i am already light headed and we shall leave it at this.

cut to scully cam. her dog is getting a bath!!! with anti-flea shampoo….. does the creature have bugs or is she just being very cautious? not sure if more bugs would be an auspicious sign. good to see the dog again, i’ve missed him. what a cute little fellow. he whines. 

of course her phone rings when she is covered in soap!!

mulder says she better get up there. the kid is dead. and there were very much drugs at the scene, but mystery drugs.

she says that sometimes people who are high can imagine bugs in their skin- it’s called ekbom’s syndrome. again, love when she knows this stuff. and he says that she is probably right, and she doesn’t really have to come up. “sorry to bother you”, he says, and she says “it’s no bother” into the phone with a smile. 

but the dog!!! he has run away!!! still covered in soap!! naughty little fellow.

back a the scene of the crime. a roach has been caught. mulder somehow squished it. but the exoskeleton was made of metal?? OH! his hand is bleeding!!!

GET HIS HANDS CLEAN NOW!!!

is this some sort of future cockroach that has developed advanced resistance to eradication efforts?? like the darwinian stuff scully was talking about earlier???

he is still bleeding. at the doctor. and the doctor wants to know what the hell is going on. mulder doesn’t know. and the sheriff asks the same thing!!! many are wondering.

doctor goes to the bathroom and a roach approaches. NO NO NO I SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING AND I HATE IT NOOOO. 

“i see the correlation, but just because i work for the federal government doesn’t mean i’m an expert on cockroaches” mulder!!!! what a way to speak of your coworkers! hahaha

oh!! someone has been doing experiments in the town!! this dude says killer bees were an accident, and maybe these cockroaches are something similar- is that true about the bees??? need to fact check. OH MY GOSH IT IS??? what the hell. what a scary world we live in.

so the doctor is dead. he was covered in cockroaches when he was found dead, but now they are gone? except for one on the sink. that one falls down the drain.

back to scully cam. she’s reading truman capote’s breakfast at tiffany’s!!! she picks up the phone with “who died now?” LMAOOO

she says it was probably a brain aneurysm that killed the doctor, and it looks like it was. cutscene to him jumping into the secret area.

scully at home, looking up cockroaches on a… laptop? with her glasses on <3 and eating ice cream right out of the carton. honestly queen shit!!! her hypothesis: new cockroach species…?

“mulder, you’re not thinking about trespassing onto government property again, are you?” she asks, while he is at the door LMAOOOO 

“i know that you’ve done it in the past” <- yeah, he is a repeat offender. her tone here was so funny, too. trying to gently talk him out of it.

“it’s too late, i’m already inside” HAHAHA

(deep resigned scully sigh) “well, what’s going on? what do you see?” this exchange says so much about them <3 if he's gonna get his ass in trouble, he at least better describe to her in great detail what is going on

he is giving her a full walk through of this place, which looks like a normal house except the moving walls. until the roaches burst through.

and someone turns a light on! he says he has to go. see, that is exactly when i would want someone to be on the phone with me, when a mysterious entrance is made.

so we see dr. berenbaum. i guess she was at home alone, but damn, they are really trying to show off her chest.

“what’s a woman like you doing in a place like this?” he asks. gag (and not in the slay kinda way, in the "please stop mulder, you're making me cringe" kinda way)

OHHH scully is still staring at the phone… is she contemplating or did he forget to hang up?? does she have to listen to all of this? another case of her being god's strongest soldier if she has to hear this.

and in the next scene, dr. berenbaum has buttoned her flannel. it is differently buttoned in the next cut.

WAIT. she’s talking about UFOs. she thinks they are really insect swarms. this seems like a trap to lure mulder into some trouble, by getting him distracted...

she’s saying something about loving insects. so now we get a REAL academic who loves bugs!

LMAOOOO the phone rings and he answers it only to say “not now”, ohhh he wants her bad. he says that he finds insects to be very interesting. LMAOOOOOO an absolute LIAR!! just after she said she loves bugs for being honest. mulder is not immune to lying to women to make them like him. a cardinal sin! just be yourself, man!

at a motel room, a cockroach is approaching another guy’s feet. and he’s scratching at himself and i see where it’s going and i’m NOT LOOKING. i can’t bear it. 

mulder waking up. in. a bed? did they hookup??? oh i don't need to imagine that.

no, seems he is by himself, in the motel. which is good. i don't need that kind of energy in my life. 

he opens his eyes and immediately calls scully. who was sleeping with the phone on her pillow to be there if he called again. AWWWW. she is so thoughtful.

she does not seem to be enjoying that the scientist is a woman, and also that her name is bambi, which like. okay, i get that. bambi is kinda wild as a name, lmaooo. she cannot believe it. no offense to any bambis reading this, you are deeply valued. he's babbling about bambi and bugs and her parents were both naturalists, and dude, shut upppp

“scully, can i confess something to you?” he asks

(scully is visibly cringing, with pain in her voice) “yeah sure, okay!” <- LMAOOOO she was prepared for the worst!!! but ready to try and be supportive no matter what!! that is friendship! this moment was sosososososo cute. she was bracing herself for the worst but still trying to be kind. she did NOT wanna hear about his antics with this bambi!! and i do not blame her!!!

he says “i hate insects”, and she tries to comfort him saying lots of people are afraid of them!!! because that is a good friend who sleeps next to the phone waiting for your call, even after you mysteriously hang up on her!!!

! MULDER LORE REVEAL ! he was terrified of a praying mantis as a child. they look like aliens. he was repulsed by the mysteries of the natural world. we can unpack that at another time.

he says that it “wasn’t a girly scream” that he let out as a child, and she asks if he was sure LMAOOOOO 

she’s so funny i SWEAR. they need to call more late at night/very early in the morning just to make fun of each other but also do their very best to support each other.

but! a loud screaming in the distance. he hangs up the phone again and she rolls her eyes. 

discovery: that the dude seen in the hotel earlier was covered in cockroaches. also, he is dead.

mulder at the scene with his JEANS ON, NO SHIRT, BELT UNBUCKLED????

wait. we need to unpack this. was he SLEEPING in jeans??????? holy fuck... we need to lock this man UP, that is CRAZY!

anyway, the cockroaches that were just on that guy's body are gone. so they just disappeared somehow. not as crazy as a man sleeping in jeans, but it is up there.

she’s getting her stuff to come up there now. and i like that we get to see into her place, her little kitty on the desk, her two giant bookshelves. maybe i tried to pause and read what was on there, any maybe i had no luck!

also, now she’s on the phone with him explaining the mysterious death, and he’s clothed. he must have saw the dead body and realized he had time to change.

mulder seems to think that this dude had a heart attack. and all of scully’s theories have seemed correct. but that doesn’t explain the metal exoskeletons, which he had NOT mentioned before, and leaves her gagged.

“mulder, i’m coming up there” “whatever”, he says, as he sneaks onto the ground, to catch a roach!!! petulant child of a man.

cut to bambi, analyzing the cockroaches. with mulder pressed veeeeery close to her face. and the cockroach is… hung? but they are actually robots??? so this robot cockroach has that as a design. interesting. 

turns out, a guy who makes bug robots lives in town. so mulder is off to visit. and we see a little one walk by!!! about the size of a roomba or small dog. mulder seems enchanted by it, following it in. it's a very cute little guy. i politely request 10 of them.

dr. ivanov is the fellow behind all this. they’re trying to make AI robots by making them bugs. interesting strategy. if only AI was used to make cute little dog-sized robot bugs in our age...

the robots are following mulder about. dr. ivanov says the bug robot likes him!!! aww

the goal of this research is that they want to send the bugs to space!!!! to explore alien civilizations! and that if aliens visit our planet, they will also be robots. if you think otherwise, you have been brainwashed by sci-fi. scalding hot takes coming from dr. ivanov here.

interesting to see two separate takes on what aliens/UFOs actually are in this episode from someone other than mulder.

these roomba or small dog sized bug robots are soooo cute, not at all like those real looking cockroaches.

ugh! i just realized they probably had to get a TON of roaches on set to film all this. and they were probably crawling about…. euGhHhh

he asks dr. ivanov to identify the bug legs. and dr. ivanov looks terrified. he says it is beyond his comprehension...??

and then a cockroach walks across the screen? it looks like it’s walking right on the camera. i had to replay to see if it was supposed to be walking along their faces, but no, it’s completely flat, right on you, the viewer’s screen, which i’m sure made a lot of people jump!!!

the grocery store is being looted for all things, even chocolate and pantyhose. someone crashes a car, and someone else slams into scully, who looks IMMENSELY displeased.

scully just wants a damn map, but one person is saying that roaches are eating people whole, then another person says they’re spreading ebola. the misinformation panic can produce!

she starts yelling in the convenience store, and people mostly calm down. queen of controlling the situation. until someone knocks over some candy that sort of kind of looks like roaches if you squint and the stampede resumes. 

LMAO SHE TAKES ONE OF THE CANDIES. 

dr. ivanov and mulder are drinking whisky??? okay, boys night i guess. he finds a real looking roach on the way out. and starts talking to it.

he brings it to bambi and she confirms it’s a real cockroach.

scully calls, saying this town is insane. and that she has a lead! the alternative fuel researcher brought various animal dungs in, which could have started an infestation. and she says “maybe you can confirm this with your dr. bambi” and there is a sort of venom in there that has me giggling. get his ass queen.

oh, and now he’s going on about aliens. she says he’s been in this town too long. 

HE BRINGS BAMBI TO THE INVESTIGATION??? he says to wait until it’s safe and he’s worried about the human element. DOES HE MEAN SCULLY?? or the researcher...

so poor bambi is just gonna sit in the car i'm crying

it’s the guy who was saying he was seeing cockroaches in his sleep!! and who found the first body, of the exterminator!!! he’s in there spraying stuff on a cockroach and it doesn’t do anything.

sure enough, cockroaches in his dung samples. mulder goes to touch it when this DUDE SHOOTS AT HIM?? his name is dr. eckerle. he says they’re following him. and that the bugs drive him crazy. 

scully rolls up and says “let me guess- bambi” and bambi says “fox told me to wait out here” FOX?? hearing his real name is always such a jumpscare. she loads her gun and says this is no place for an entomologist. OKAYYYY steal his girl!!!

back in the lab, dr. eckerle has mulder at gunpoint. he’s reciting bug facts to distract him.

mulder tries to explain that dr. eckerle hasn’t gone crazy, but then he brings the gun back up to his chest and asks mulder if he’s a cockroach, so. jury’s out on that one. 

scully in da research facility. she can’t find him. so she rings his phone. and dr. eckerle takes this as a sign that he is a cockroach!! he fires his gun in the facility full of methane gas and they have to run run run!! they make it outside and tell bambi to get down just in time.

agents are covered in exploded dung. deeply unfortunate.

and there had been 4 other fires that night!!! and a whole lot of automobile accidents, assaults, other such panic induced things. but no cockroach problems. 

the episode ends with another planet of the apes quote and bambi hitting it off with dr. ivanov.

scully observes all this and says “smart is sexy” LMAOOOOOOOO 

AND THAT THEIR CHILDREN MIGHT SAVE THE PLANET THE NEXT TIME DUNG EATING OUTER SPACE COCKROACH ROBOTS REACH THE PLANET. she is sooooo out of pocket!!!!!! but it was deserved.

he doesn’t seem to know what to say to this so he tells her she smells. and she seems taken aback LMAOOO

episode wrap up time. mulder edition. “the development of our cerebral cortex has been the greatest achievement of the evolutionary processes. big deal.” <- okay i’ve said lmao a lot, but that one got a real, genuine laugh out of me. ugh his dumb ass… love him so bad. 

he is typing and typing and we see his fish in the background. also he is eating something. that i really hope has no cockroaches.

he’s going on about the vastness of technology but then has to slap the computer to get it to work LMAOOOO

he’s calling humanity mindless and primitive and BAM cockroach looking thing on whatever it was he was eating. he gets around to smack it. and then he lands a great smack, with an FBI file. i paused in case it had any clues to various mysteries and the file number is “667386”, but i don’t think that’s actually relevant at all

we hear a cockroach chirp as the end credits roll

WELL! that was an interesting episode. it’s interesting how even an episode centering on mysterious cockroach deaths can be made funny. they leaned into the campy elements, which i enjoyed.

things on my mind, in no particular order: scully cleaning her gun while calling mulder, mulder talking in poems while watching the stars, how they quoted planet of the apes at the beginning and then when two other did it it was in an implied romance (hey listen, you can’t stereotype the bond between two academics sharing a niche interest into such basic categories as “romance” or “friendship”, but i call it as the narrative presents itself), doggy bath time, the intimacy of long distance phone calls in pajamas, scully sleeping with the phone on her pillow, scully reading breakfast at tiffany's, this man sleeping in jeans.

it’s always weird watching them flirt with people that aren’t each other. and i know the writers do that on PURPOSE but it’s so weird!! the thing you did to be purposefully weird is working!!! so i was wrong about my initial assumption i had seen based on posts crossing my dash, she was NOT a former romantic partner, but a current love interest that did not seem to really feel the same. she just loves bugs, man. can you blame a woman? is there any greater love than between a woman and her research?

but seeing scully lowkey kinda jealous was also making me laugh. i’m not a believer in the whole “men and women can’t be friends thing”, so i choose to interpret that she wasn’t thinking along those lines at first, but the way she clocked him as down bad for her that fast was soooo funny. the minute that first name came out it was game over. 

(i mean, maybe it could be interpreted less as jealously and more as friendly antagonism, but that wasn’t the vibe i was getting. she wanted the tea. and then cocked her gun in front of said bambi and implied she and her new scientist friend were sexy due to their smarts at the end. always watch your back because scully can and will flex in front of ur girl)

it was nice to have a silly one!!! a good old fashioned silly one. although the body horror really did jumpscare me because i was enjoying the silly and then WOAH. cockroach in the arm. i also just shivered thinking about bugs again. nasty nasty! i’m sorry bambi they are just crawly!!! i appreciate their value to science but i just watched that little critter crawl in an open wound so have some space for my discomfort!

i wonder if in the writer’s room, they allotted how many silly episodes are per season. or arc. i see people referring to “arcs” in my reblogs by specific names; you’ll have to fill me in on that measurement of episodes. because it sounds intriguing. but yeah, sometimes you need a lighter one, and it’s nice to get that. 

need a scully fancam to femininomenon….