#the infinite expanse of ‘what now?’ before you

[mmavverickk]

you know that ADHD feeling where you’ve got something coming up, some big plan or some small thing you’re looking forward to, some event happening in the future, and your whole being seems to put itself in standby mode? it’s just waiting. that’s all life is, until finally your thing happens and then it’s over. it’s over and now you don’t know what to do with yourself.

can you imagine Percy’s experience with that feeling? for four years of his life, he’s been told his existence was outlawed because of a prophecy that could destroy Olympus. so he knows. he knows that either he’ll die before this happens, or he’ll be the one in the prophecy. he’ll be the reason the gods have lived in fear since this prophecy’s creation.

he’s got that hanging over him for years. that death or that destiny.

and then he reads the prophecy. he learns the wording, learns the future, and realizes, “this was only ever going to end with my death.” he’s the half-blood of the eldest gods. the prophecy said hero’s soul cursed blade shall reap. he has ample reason to believe that he’ll die on his sixteenth birthday. that he’ll never get a future.

it looms. all he can do is train and wait. standby mode activate.

he goes to war. he leads his camp against an army, fights to save his city, the world, the campers. kills a titan, makes a hurricane, destroys a bridge. fights, and fights, and fights until the moment comes. until he’s realizing he’s been wrong. he’s not the hero. he doesn’t need to die.

and when it’s all said and done, Percy doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore. he’d been prepared to die to save the world. that was his whole plan. how is he supposed to keep going? what is he supposed to do with this future that he’d been certain he wouldn’t have? he has so many options and possibilities and choices open to him now. how overwhelming must that be?

[deadsetobsessions]

I just really like the trope of Danny getting summoned, alright?

——

After he shoved Pariah Dark in his coffin shaped locker what what Danny hoped to be for all of eternity, the half unfortunately inherited all of Pariah’s responsibilities.

“What was it again? With great powers comes great responsibilities?” Danny let his head hit the table with an audible thunk. He’s in his “office,” the ghost zone’s approximation of where he might be able to do work seriously. The house- the extension of his haunt- had added the room right next to his bedroom. Danny had to lift all of the paperwork from Pariah’s castle (that’s now also a part of what’s considered Danny’s but he doesn’t think about that) and move it to his main haunt.

He prayed to the universe at large to let him off. Danny hated doing homework- science not withstanding because at least he understood that- let alone an asshole’s centuries worth of work. Danny bemoaned the fact that he was elected the King. He didn’t even defeat Pariah all by himself, so why couldn’t the others do it?!

Like a wave of merciful fate, the beginning tugs of a summoning pulled at his core.

“Thank Ancients!”

Danny scrambled to grab a sticky note, unfortunately glowing green as things tended to in the Ghost Zone, and scribbled down that he’s been summoned and to not look for him until his vacation work was done.

With that note done, Danny decided to bring his A game to the summoning. Allowing his secondary form to wash over him, Danny quickly checked the mirror to make sure he was presentable. A bright glowing ice crown- not the crown of fire, because it was essentially useless without the ring and Danny wasn’t keen on being a king, let alone a near infinitely powerful one- settled across his brow showed his status. A cape, this form’s best feature, made of an expanse of galaxies, nebulae, and frost cling at the end was swept over his shoulders and pinned together with a cloak pin made of clusters of black holes.

A couple of additions to his normal hazmat suit and his trusty thermos at his side, Danny all but dove into the summoning magic with an excited whoop of glee.

As Danny got closer to the magic-made portal, he could hear the whispers of the living presences beyond it.

His summoners! Hopefully it’s not a cult again, even if he thought they were pretty funny trying to summon the king of the dead to kill more people. Not funny “haha,” funny weird.

How should he do this…? Scary? Funny? Oh! Or maybe he should ditch the crown!

Danny grinned, waving his hand to dispel the crown of ice. It was nice, but he was in a dungeon critter mood today.

“Oh, this is going to be gooood.”

Danny cracked his knuckles and put on the most dead-inside-and-outside expression he could manage, modeling it off of the Nasty Burger workers during closing shift. The halfa stepped through the portal.

——

“The ritual is completed! You will all face the might of Pariah Dark, the eternal king of the dead!” The villain of the week cackled as his cult cheered. Wonder Woman, scuffed and injured from the magical bolts these magic users had shot at her earlier, grimaced and raised her sword.

“We will defeat Pariah Dark,” she proclaimed. Her allies rallied at her proclamation and readied themselves for another fight. “This world will not bow to the likes of you!”

“We are all but mere ants before the king of the dead! Pariah Dark will bring forth the reckoning this shitty world deserves!”

“Actually, Pariah Dark’s kind of busy, so you’re gonna have to leave a message.”

Green Arrow’s arrow jerked towards the new voice. Batman paused, hand holding batarangs at the ready. He, out of all of them, knew better than to underestimate a young voice.

A gloved hand shoved through the green portal, using the edges like a door frame to heave itself through. A humanoid shape, with sharp ears all but crawled out of the Lazarus green portal. Batman wondered if this was what Jason saw when he came back to life.

"Lord Pariah Dark is busy?!"

The figure- a boyish not-human- heaved a sigh. "Do you people seriously think that the High King of the Infinite Realms isn't swamped with work?"

"And who are you supposed to be? His secretary?" Hal asked, Ring glowing and at the ready. Wonder Woman tensed and mentally struck Hal away from the list of people to consider for diplomatic missions.

"Me? I'm a glorified paper pusher." The being turned back to the cultists, his cape containing the universe swished behind him. "Did you have a message for Pariah Dark?"

"He was meant to rain down death and destruction!"

"Okay, first of all, I feel like you guys are missing a really important point." The being pointed at the cult leader. “It’s not called the King of the Dead for no reason, you know. Death comes for everyone eventually. Also, I have to do a seriously giant amount of paperwork every time one of you fruitloops gets the bright idea to cause an influx of deaths.”

Danny stomped across the circle, grabbed the collar of the cultist leader’s cloak and yanked him down. He shook him. “Do you people have any idea how annoying it is?! Huh?! Do you know how long the A-354 Form is?! Stop trying to get Pariah to kill people! I’m sick of the paperwork, dammit!”

"How- how did you get out of the circle?!"

The cultists and the heroes squared up, ready to fight the possible common enemy: Danny.

Danny is having the best time of his half life. Screw kingly dignity, Danny’s gotta de-stress somehow! He had a whole bag of complaints!

"You wrote the circle wrong, idiots! Ancients, are you people even literate? What even are those scribbles?" Danny kept shaking the cultist. Wow, what an amazing stress ball!

“Uh- hey, he looks kind of sick…” The Flash said, trying to be a good hero and mediate before escalating. Danny snarled and Flash held up his hands, gulping in fear as Danny’s eyes narrowed at him. “Did I… do something?”

“You,” Danny hissed. “You mother- fruitloop! Stop screwing with the timeline, you giant red-! Do you know how annoying it is to readjust the death count every time one of you little merry red jesters takes a jaunt through time and space?! Do you even know how many complaints I had to field?! Oh, boy you’re all going to regret summoning me today, because I’ve had a long time to think about what I’d do to everyone who made me work overtime!”

Danny bared his teeth, eyes sparkling with mirth as he froze the cultists.

"We're not letting you take over the world," Hawk-Woman said, raising her mace that pulsed with electricity.

Danny snorted to hide his wince. "I'm not interested. Just let me punch him once. Just once." Danny pointed at the Flash.

"Honestly, I can't even blame you," Black Canary muttered, fists raised.

"Wha-! Canary! That's so rude! You traitor!"

"Shouldn't have put skittles in my shoes then. Those hurt, Flash."

"Enough." Everyone shut up at the sound of Batman's command. "What do you mean they wrote the circle wrong."

Danny, who was watching the byplay with interest, shrugged. "They wanted to summon the Ghost King, right? We've had a... change of leaders recently."

"Who is the leader now?"

Danny waggled a finger at Batman. "Nuh-uh. I'm gonna collect my over-time compensation, which is punching the Flash, and then we can negotiate for information."

"Flash."

"I don't want to get punched, Bats!"

"The alternative is that I let the current Ghost King have a go at you."

"Flash."

"Oh my god, just get punched, Barry!" Danny heard Green Lantern Hal Jordan whisper.

"Ugh, fine. No one video this."

Immediately, three phones go up to record the Flash getting decked by a teenage looking ghost. Danny floated closer and wound his fist back, letting loose some of the ghost strength he normally keeps restrained. "This is for my overtime and for Clockwork, you jerk."

The halfa slammed his fist straight into the Flash's face, knocking him clear into the air. Superman catches him but Danny no longer paid attention to the Flash, petty vengeance enacted.

"Honestly, I don't have a problem with you as a person. You're kind of cool. Break the timeline again in the next three months, though, and you're on my shit-list."

"What do you want in exchange for information?"

Danny hummed. "Depending on the level of information, and I reserve the right to not answer any questions. For the name of the current Ghost King..."

He did want that new gaming console. And Jazz could use some help with her rent.

"I want $5,000 and a plate of really good spaghetti."

"I have cash."

Danny nodded at the Dark Knight. "You just carry $5,000 in cash on you? Who does that?"

"I like to be prepared."

"And he's rich," Superman chimed in.

The Flash reappeared with a plate of spaghetti from an Italian place he teleported to. "Here you go. Fresh, and pleasedon'tscrewwithmyafterlife."

Danny shoveled the spaghetti into his mouth, jaw unhinging like a particularly disturbing snake right before he dumped the whole thing- plate and all- down his throat. "Thanks! The food didn't even try to kill me this time! You're good."

"Does your food try to kill you all of the time?!" The Flash- Barry, apparently- asked.

Danny nodded as he took the cash from Batman's gloved hands. "Totally. It sucks."

"Identity." Batman demanded.

"Oh, yeah. The current ghost king is me."

"...What."

"You have been swindled. Bamboozled. Outwitted and outsmarted," Danny snickered, shoving the bundle of cash in his chest. "But seriously, I'm the king. We got rid of Pariah a while ago."

The crown of ice materialized.

"You said you were a glorified paper pusher!" Hawk-Woman chortled.

"I am! I'm pushing so many papers across my desk, it's unending, I swear!"

Batman growled. "You tricked us."

Danny smirked, "You got tricked." Red Robin, in the corner, snorted quietly. "Anyways, if you've got more interesting things around here, I'll considering busying myself with that instead of sentencing you to an afterlife of paperwork."

The adults straightened, grimacing. "Beast Boy is green," Hal offered up.

"Hey!" Beast Boy shouted, offended at the easy way Hal offered him up. He turned to Danny. "But have you ever seen a green chinchilla? Super cute. Watch!"

"Woah!" Danny clapped. Yes, he'll hang out with them before dragging himself back.

[spacedace]

“Hey, I need to get married for bullshit Infinite Realms reasons, you two in?”

“Tt, of course.”

“Sure thing! Do we need to get going for that like, right now? Or later?”

“Eh, like in a couple of hours? The Observants are demanding some Royal Ball or something and they pulled out some stupid old laws out of their collective asses that if I’m not married by the time it starts they can assign me spouses of their choosing, can you fucking believe that shit?”

“Woah, what the hell? Can they even do that?”

“I was under the impression they were only permitted to observe.”

“Right? It’s total crap, but apparently there’s like this super old law on the books and they didn’t bring it up until now when there’s like no time left to try and force me to marry someone they pick.”

“They are training to gain influence over you?”

“Eh, more like they’re trying to get control of my Dad by way of me. But still fucked as hell.”

“So why do you need to marry both of us? Or do you just need to marry one of us and we should play rock paper scissor for it?”

“Technically I only need to marry one of you, but I don’t want them pulling out any loopholes or something. So, it’d be great if one of you could be my consort for my role as Queen of Mirrors, and one could be my consort for my role as Crown Princess. You two can figure who’s who on that all that, I’m good with whatever.”

“Oooh, can I be consort for the Mirror Court? I can annoy Kon more that way.”

“I am amenable to that. Grandfather will have a fit when he learns that I can cut his access to the Pits off at my discretion and there’s nothing he can do about it.”

“Awesome, okay are you two good for meeting up at like, three? We can pop over to my Lair and get everything sorted out there.”

“Works for me, my only class til this afternoon is at one and the professor already said we’re cutting out early because she has to go out of town this weekend.”

“Four would be more agreeable if possible, I have to take Titus to the vet for his checkup.”

“Okay let’s aim for four then. It’s just signing some paperwork, making some quick blood-slash-ectoplasm pacts and swearing a couple binding oaths… Should only take like five or ten minutes?”

“They’re not gonna make you have a huge royal wedding or anything?”

“Nah. Dad keeps things pretty chill so as long as the paperwork is all in order we’ll be good. Though once Auntie Dorathea finds out she’s absolutely gonna make us have one. She loves planning weddings. Swear its what she makes her hoard out of somehow.”

“So long as we have a say in some of the proceedings I have no issue with that eventuality.”

“Same, it sounds like it’d be a fun way to annoy the Observants even more.”

“Don’t for get all the weirdos trying to be my suitors and all that bullshit.”

“We have an accord then. We can reconvene at the usual place.”

“Awesome, you two are the best! I gotta jet and let everyone know and get the ball rolling on the paperwork stuff. See you guys at four!”

With that, Nomad - Stella Phantom, Crown Princess of the Infinite Realms, Queen of Mirrors, Core of the Speedforce and ghostly hero of the Titans and the Justice League - tore a rip in the fabric of space and time and darted out of the room the same way she came. Through the mind-bending tear in reality the eerie, eye-searing green of the Infinite Realms glowed in all its unsettling glory, Phantom Keep a glittering expanse of night sky made solid in the distance.

Jon waved at her cheerfully as Damian gave a nod of farewell before both silently turned their attention back to their respective tablets as the portal closed behind their friend and teammate and the glimpse of the Ghost Zone disappeared again. Completely unbothered by the conversation just held or the life changing implications that came with them.

Jon was humming as he tapped away at something on the screen before him, Damian propping his head up on his fist in vague boredom as he frowned down at the information he was reading.

The rest of the room Nomad had left behind was caught in a frozen, stunned silence in the wake of the baffling conversation they’d all just been witness to. All eyes in the room darted between Flamebird and Pheonix seated calmly at the end of the table, then to the space where Nomad had disappeared to, back to the young men, and then towards the head of the table where Superman and Batman sat looking bewildered and a bit on the verge of heart attacks.

The short status update meeting was about to become much, much longer it seemed.

Though a lot more entertaining.

[hwaightme]

Safe and San

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR MOUNT'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

🟡 pairing: san x afab!reader 🟡 genre: smut, pwp, fluff, established relationship 🟡 summary: in the coolness of an early morning, choi san reveals to you what it means to love in a quiet timelessness, where all that exists is you, him, and the sunrise. 🟡 wordcount: 5.3k 🟡 warnings/tags: fiance san, falling asleep in the living room reading together, sharing hoodies, just loving each other, summer season - yes it is spring but now it is summer because san said so, hoodie san, cuddles, hugs and kisses, sort of edited sort of not (lmk if there is intense chaos anywhere) 🟡 taglist: @doom-fics @legohwa @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven 🟡 a/n: seriously idk where this came from, all I know is that I have been occasionally mindblanking and... here we are. Much love and all reblogs, comments, notes welcome <3

🟡 nsfw taglist: the petname content is intense in this one (sun, moon, stars, summer, honey, darling, love... nicknames...), all the praise, lazy sex, no protection (wrap before tap c'mon), cum inside, cockwarming, sex while in a state of semi-dress, fingering, the softest dom san, basically a service dom

The early morning haze entranced you. An ever-changing palette, the walls of your living room appeared to take on a different hue every time you languidly blinked, still fighting the heavy remnants of sleep. After having forgotten to completely draw the curtains, the luminescence of the cheerful, expectant sun crept across the cold wooden floor in a shy line, barely caressing the cream wall on the other side of the room, centimetres away from producing a kaleidoscopic scene by hitting the glass inserts of the shelving unit. The soft cushions that lined the l-shaped couch, and the woollen throw that hid you from the chill, were a cloud suspended in a tranquil bliss. You studied the familiar, adored surroundings as they metamorphosed from a lilac wonder to a glowing mandarin masterpiece, the brushstrokes of a pastel pink, coating the awakening sky, peeking from the other side of the window, capturing your bleary attention.

Not a sound, except for the level breathing of the man beside you. The man who had your love so fully, so deeply that you were not sure if the slow thudding in your chest was real, or was simply an echo, a comfortable illusion that you had agreed to settle for just so that you could give the heart away for him to keep. He would most definitely keep it safe. Find a neat little box for it, and, if you were lucky, find a place for it somewhere between the books and the video game DVDs, and admire it whenever he would walk past. Or perhaps he would be crafty enough to find a way of putting it in his pocket and carrying it around with him wherever he went – that way, you could miss him less than you normally did when you were apart. Shame you only had one heart, because you would give Choi San the universe if you could.

Your fiancé was like the grand starry expanse in the night, paving the way for explorers, lovers, and mystical creatures alike, and the radiant manifestation of Apollo in the day, bestowing upon the earth a hope, a heavenly brilliance, a magic the secret to which only he knew. With each moment that passed, you had come to understand that there was always more to San. Be it hidden in a sigh, in an enchanting glimmer in his eyes or in a simple gesture, he was an ethereal enigma that you were shocked, and infinitely grateful, existed.

Careful to not disturb him, which was a challenge in its own right considering that you had used his broad chest as your pillow, you lifted the throw ever so slightly and rose into a seated position. You gingerly adjusted the material back, and twisted yourself to be seated on the edge, and facing the literal sleeping beauty before you. You let your eyes travel across his resting face. From his forehead that was obscured by adorably ruffled onyx locks that poured out from underneath his grey hoodie. To his eyelids and lashes that showed the tiniest movement, making the soft light occupying the room land onto the little hairs and turn them to white gold. Down to the perfect line of his nose, the tip of which you liked to plant a quick peck on when you wanted to see your fiancé get flustered. And to his alluring lips which were parted ever so slightly. In the somnolent daze there was an angelic quality to him, a peace that you wanted to sink into and never depart from.

This was one of the first mornings in a while, that you had all the time in the world to keep on staring. For the most part, it was either you or San, or both of you having to get up and rush out of the door for work after having snoozed the alarm a ‘healthy’ number of times. Which is why it was surprising that you were even awake – five o’clock was not exactly your usual territory, and if not for the summer season blessing you with longer hours of sunshine, it was likely that you would not have distinguished between dream and reality, and dozed off lulled by the rise and fall that came with San’s every breath. But your wakefulness had its beauty: there was no stress spurring you on, and the sight of your love beside you, serenity written across his features, made you grateful for the surprising perkiness. For this short while, your personal heaven could be committed to memory, and serve as a transformation for every future when you would need to ‘rise and shine’.

You spotted San’s reading glasses lying, discarded, between his body and the back of the couch, inches from being squashed, while the books you and him had been reading were lying in awkward positions on the floor, much to your amusement. Careful not to damage the pages any more than they had been, you reached to pick the novels up, momentarily studying the covers before marking the pages with what turned out to be a folded receipt and a post-it with the glue segment torn off, and placing them on the coffee table. You settled back into a seated position, tucking one of your legs under you and pulling down the base of your oversized tee. A shiver passed down your back, reminding you of the fact that the air conditioner, your saving grace after the summer heat kicked in, rendering natural ventilation impossible if you wanted fresh air not laden with pollution and unbearable humidity, had been running at full power all night. Only now that you have removed yourself from the human radiator that was your fiancé did you realise this, and began to construct an escape plan that, hopefully, would not break San's peaceful slumber. If you were lucky, perhaps you could snatch and save his glasses.

These small troubles, trivialities of daily life were what brought a smile to your face. Endearing dilemmas that left you confident that what you were experiencing was a continuous blessing. Tongue between your teeth, poking ever so slightly out of your mouth, you concentrated on stalking towards the spectacles. Having stood up from the sofa, you were in a half crouch, bare feet sinking into the soft carpet, with only the rumble of the air conditioner to accompany you. When you were already hovering above San's chest, arm out reached to fish out your target, your breath hitched as he shifted and smacked his lips, following the adorable gesture by placing his arm, which previously was your only line of defence against falling off the sofa, over his abdomen, which in turn made the glasses fall a little deeper, just out of your reach. You mouthed a 'now what', contemplating your next course of action - you were getting cold, but too stubborn to accept a so-called defeat in this miniature game of capture the metaphorical flag.

The only way out was to summon the powers of feline agility and hope that San decided to be a deep sleeper today. Knee sinking into the edge of the pillow, the stitching digging into your skin as you inched forward while trying to keep a toe still on the ground, a peculiar source of security for the case that a quick retreat might be needed. Fingers flittering across the material, reminiscent of the pitter patter of rain - every effort to blend into the dormant landscape, an accidental echo of a season recently culminated. Closer and closer, your leg was a mere few centimetres away from San's torso, and you were arched over him, checking for any sudden changes in his position. But he was still. Almost too still. You narrowed your eyes and scanned his face, but could not detect any difference, aside from his mouth now being pressed together, however he did that in his sleep on occasion, so you paid it no mind. Suppressing a shiver, what used to be careful manoeuvring turned into risk as you took one final look at what you determined to be the sleeping form beneath you, and made a reach for the glasses, quietly hissing out a congratulations to yourself as soon as you felt your fingers touch the frame. Just a little more and you would be able to go get a sweater. Or turn the air conditioning off. Perhaps, since you were still occasionally blinking away the remnants of dreamland, you would get a cup of morning brew ready, and properly greet the sunrise by lounging on the tiny, but nevertheless welcoming terrace encased in shimmering glass. Or so you had hoped, until, as you were making your so-called journey back, a strong pair of arms snaked around your waist, and sharply pulled you in, so you now found yourself pressed flush against your sleepyhead love.

“Hmm… where are you going?” San mumbled, voice deep and groggy, resonating right above you as you wiggled to nuzzle into his neck, triumphantly holding onto his specs with one hand, pleased with yourself for having accomplished your initial task.

“‘s cold, so I need something warm.” It always took some time for him to register what you would say to him as he was waking up – on a number of occasions, he had not been able to recollect a single thing. So you kept your words simple, but even that made him give an exasperated whine as he hugged you tighter and rubbed the side of his face against your head, resulting in his hood being pushed back to reveal more of the heavily ruffled locks of jet black hair.

“But you have me… Y/N…” while answering you, San had managed to kick away the blanket fully, so that it now formed a dark grey heap at the other end of the sofa.

“I didn’t want to wake you, love,” you whispered back, shutting your eyes and relishing in the sensation, “you looked so cute and so peaceful.”

“What?” the sudden question made you raise your head momentarily, only to find San squinting right at you, “Nah… no.”

“No? My Sannie isn’t cute?” you asked, voice tinged with playful disappointment as you let your head fall back down, and took a deep breath.

Much like the early morning light, the mixture of cotton and San’s cologne was unequivocally captivating. It was the scent of the lazy days, the moments when you would allow yourselves to fall asleep, much like today, on the living room couch, legs intertwined after having spent the entire evening reading. An aroma of an embrace, a slow dance and a humming of a tune that only you knew, the notes that carried with themselves the melody of sweetest memories. The interplay of hemlock and bergamot, accompanied by heliotrope and mimosa – when you had pestered San enough times, he had read the profile out for you, the brief paragraph now forever imprinted in your mind in his timeless timbre.

A hand travelled underneath your t-shirt, trailing up and down your spine a couple of times before settling on tracing random patterns on the small of your back. You stifled a gasp as your fiancé took to toying with the waistband of your tracksuit bottoms, and, still laden with sleep, grunted and uttered his short, gruff retort.

“Not when I’ve read what I’ve read… ‘m surprised I even fell asleep.”

“Oh? And what was it you read?” a soft grin settled on your face as you sank into the feeling of San’s hands moulding you to his heart’s content. Unable to settle for one place, they roamed your body, worshipping every curve.

“Mm… too sleepy to explain…” he leaned into you, and upon nudging you to lie down a little bit higher, trailed a series of kisses down from your jawline to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin, “…but I could show you.”

“Is that so? Well, I’m more than interested.”

“Wake me up a little bit more and I’ll give you a spoiler.” One of his hands travelled to meet your chin, and tilt it forwards so that his dark, glowing pools of adoration could meet yours, pupils trained on every micro expression despite being cradled in a blur, contained by relaxed lids and wispy eyelashes.

“Such a tease, Sannie.” You whispered, and gave into San’s guidance towards his soft lips, closing the space between you.

The infinite gradient of the sky’s spectacular hues exploded in your vision, as love’s intimate caress ignited a radiance within. With every passing moment, just as the cherry blossoms twirled to the ground in a muted waltz, giving way to flamboyant hydrangeas and mystical lilies, you too, fell deeper and deeper only to bloom once again with a new evolved adoration. A love that grew day in, day out. A love that motivated you to go on until tomorrow, for you knew that you would love even more then, and come to understand the naïve emptiness that you had trusted to be infatuation in the past. Fuller and fuller the soul became. The fuelled up inner fire that contained and protected your safe haven and your eternal paradise. While lilac skies and lavender fields blended into a heavenly unity only for a season, gifting natural beauty for a fleeting appreciation of its temporary existence, the reality that you and San had crafted was evergreen. It was, of course, expected to waver, much like any flowers that were meant to bloom, but together, you would sway and intertwine, two lifetimes turned to one harmonious duet in an everchanging landscape.

New leaves and blossoms replacing those that wilted, but to inexperienced eyes, devoid of recognising the impeccable, intricate details of time, it meant continuity. It meant immortality and a youthfulness that did not know time. This was how life with San had been and will continue to be forevermore. Each tender gaze and caress, the sweetest sigh into your ear was a rekindling of something greater, and left you in an ecstatic daze. The invisible paths of his strong hands exploring every inch of skin left behind a budding desire as you thought back to the transforming garden of hues outside the apartment, now turned to a colourful prologue for the beginning of your hazy summer day.

“Tease… I’m very polite, I’ll have you know.” You giggled as San broke away from the kiss, revealing his lovable pout. Unable to resist, you pushed your free arm up and cupped one side of his face, running your thumb over the cheek, poking his nose with your own as you broke into a wide grin. The action had an effect on San as he moved and tightened his grip to your hips, not once breaking his gaze, while the expression changed entirely.

Like a traveller who had finally found their oasis after an eternity of roaming the scalding hot sands, persevering through madness, he revered you. An unfiltered, unabashed, quiet love that could only be felt amidst total tranquility emanated from him as he resisted the urge to never let go, instead relishing in the beautiful, fleeting instances that you could spend together. Timeliness had taught him to treat each moment with special attention, but with you, he need not try. You were the moment. You were the one who shared his rhythm. You were the meandering river that he would forever prefer and worship over a roaring, cacophonic ocean. Elegance, grace – an identity that could never be replicated. In the rolling tides of strangers, he would always search for where the river met the sea, and would marvel at just how quickly he gravitated towards you. His priceless love and life, the one with whom he wanted to see every sunrise and sunset.

“Well then, gentleman, care to warm me up? Since I have been so politely intercepted.” The attempt at a joke flew over San’s head, but nonetheless, your wish was rapidly granted as he propped up his left leg so it was bent at the knee and his foot was steadily positioned on the couch. Arms still wrapped around you, he gave you another peck and inquired, voice low:

“Y/N, may I… roll you over?”

“Yes, you may. See? Such a sweetheart.” Words of praise always found their way into your responses when it came to your fiancé. Sometimes to obtain his shyness – a breath of spring, or relief – to last the autumn and the biting winter, or, like now, to lie down, impressed at the evoking of the blazing, sultry summer.

He encouraged you to give up any balance you had, and with impressive care switched you places, so that you were now the one resting on a fabric pillow, enveloped between the echoes of San’s body heat on the material, and the man himself, who had one arm on either side of you, and a goofy, proud smile adorning his features. Unable to contain yourself under his intense scrutiny, you raised the glasses you had been securely keeping, and unfolded them to try place a barrier between San and you. But to no avail. Reading your intentions, what used to be a pure cheekiness suddenly gained a darker colour, that of an intimate dusk, and lifting a hand, he hooked the spectacles right out of your outstretched hands, and raised an eyebrow.

“I can see you pretty well, darling. I am more than awake and focused now.”

He tossed the glasses onto the coffee table, sighing in relief as he saw them stop their sliding journey right before the far edge, which earned him a rolling of the eyes from you.

“All these efforts to get them, and you are ready to throw them into oblivion, yeah?”

“No idea what you mean, all I see is that everything is how it’s meant to be.”

The strength of his glances as he brushed your hair out of your face was reminiscent of the sun at its zenith, while the kisses he peppered on your forehead, flushed cheeks and longing lips were the rays of sunshine that would trickle down from the skies through cloudy barriers. The contrast in his light touches and their intentions as he slid a hand under your t-shirt and found your bare breast was immersing you in your personal summer. Your head fell further back, and you let out a satisfied sigh as San took the opportunity immediately, searching for the sensitive spot on your neck.

Taking his time, San nipped at it, while sending your mind into a disarray once his hand pinched your nipple and began to rub languid circles over its very tip, sending an electrifying shock to your core. One kiss after another, he was soon sucking on the sweet flesh, proudly giving life to a garden of unbridled lust spurred by a desire to show closeness. San wanted to melt into you. Melt with you. No embrace was close enough when souls could be together, and so through intimacy and the approach of ‘a small death’ did he strive to express his adamantine devotion to you. Any evidence of your harmony was nothing but heavenly music for him, and it was with pride that he claimed you, and was elated when you claimed him, be it in gratitude, in bliss or in frustration for your yet to be released high.

Your hands snaked themselves around San's perfectly sculpted torso, pulling the hoodie and the black tee underneath, higher and higher, until you could slip beneath, and your cooler skin touched his. The action made San stop his teasing and chuckle against your neck, while his body reacted automatically to roll his hips against yours, member concealed by layers of clothing growing more prominent and pressing against the material of his bottoms.

"Cold." The comment, uttered hoarsely though holding nothing but excitement for what is to come encouraged you to tilt your head and kiss San’s jaw, preparing to return his little, colourful favour.

"Told you."

"Mm, I know a way to fix that." Alas, you were not fast enough, and he lifted himself off you, the loss of contact making you whine. To remind you of his proximity, one of his legs remained between your thighs, knee too close to your core for you to interpret his steps as unintentional, innocent, serene.

With one final smirk in your direction as he caught you eyeing his body voraciously, San took off his hoodie, and motioned for you to sit up – only for him to grab your hand, and cautiously pull you towards him, grinning once you understood his mission and raised your arms above your head. It did not matter – the design, the colour, the cut… any item of clothing that belonged to him, in his opinion, looked better on you for the simple reason that it could hug your form, be an extension of him if he was away and could not wrap you up in his arms. At times, when you were showering, he would purposefully replace your clothes with an item of his just so the scent of your favourite shampoo could linger, and your image would be even more easily imprinted in his mind. Not that it was much of a challenge in the first place, but having all of his senses being preoccupied only with perceiving you was a state he wished could turn into permanence.

“Ah, but there’s a catch, my love.”

“Come on…” you whined and fluttered your eyelashes.

“These,” he grabbed onto the waistband of your tracksuit pants, “off.”

“Yes sir.” As soon as you uttered the phrase you noticed a lustful darkness flash in your fiancé’s gaze, one which he, much to your surprise, suppressed and shook his head.

“Y/N don’t do this to me, or you will not get up ‘til sunset.”

“If that’s your plan, would I even be able to get up?”

“And that’s why I want to make love, Y/N. I want to love you quietly… lie down for me, darling?” he requested, interlacing his urge with the words of one of your favourite poets. A tenderness in his directing you, how he reduced the bottoms and panties he had hooked along with them to a mere accessory on the floor, and how he caressed your thighs, revering every detail, was leaving you breathless. But, just as he was approaching your exposed, aroused sex, you called out to him, reaching for the hand that was resting on your leg.

“Then look at me.”

“Hm?”

“I want to see your pretty face, love.”

The dimples that fell into his cheeks as he beamed at you, crawling up to be right by your side much like a cat would, and letting you roll over so that you were nose to nose, sharing hot breath, made you fall in love again. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say ‘rise’ in love, for when you were like this, vulnerable, and yet so totally safe, you felt like you were soaring.

San took no time in finding your lips, relishing in the stifled moan that escaped you as his fingers teased your moistened labia. A leg resting over his, you were enamoured with the gentleness of his worship of you. The tip of his tongue begged for entrance and elicited a muted sigh as it entered to explore you. With an approving hum, San curled his digits and let your walls clench around him, as he proceeded to set an unhurried pace, knowing you, knowing how to coax out every feeble mewl and build you up to an unforgettable ruin. You had the luxury of time, every worry replaced with the opportunity to connect and combine into one.

There was an added pleasure that came with the surpassing of the excitement of your relationship’s novelty. The intricate mapping of your fantasies had now taken on a new level of complexity, and the sequences transformed into a language only you and San shared. Delighted in the lewdness of sound that was produced by the relaxed pumping of his fingers into you, the gorgeous man further deepened your kiss by taking the strings of his hoodie, now adorning your frame, and drawing you in. Whatever illusion of space between was now entirely gone, and all that existed for you was San’s touch, San’s fragrance, San’s body heat, and the knot in your stomach that was getting tighter his thumb ran circles over your aroused clit.

There was no urgency in his movement as he unravelled you, even though, as you adjusted your positioning, you became aware his stiff erection. The sudden friction caused San to gasp, and, when you brushed your leg against his again, to test the waters, he pleaded, voice ragged and airy:

“Let me take care of you, honey.”

“But San-” you protested, hand palming his length, but denied as he kissed the response away from you.

“You’ll help me out with that later.”

“But I can get an early start.” A final attempt, only spurring San on to push his fingers deeper into you, massaging your pussy until he hit your most sensitive spot, earning a yelp and an approaching tender pulsation.

“Needy for this cock, huh?”

“Ah…What happened to… mfph… sentimental lover boy?” you joked through shallow breaths, choking out every word as you clung onto San’s t-shirt for support in your approaching high.

“I’m still here. Still here… You look beautiful, Y/N… taking my fingers so well, dressed up in my hoodie…” he praised, emphasising his role in your unwinding. Gazing at the love bites he had left on your soft skin through hooded, lust-filled fog, he was motivated to give you any satisfaction you could possibly desire.

“Sannie, please… ah that feels so good…”

“Please what, darling? Hm, tell me.”

Continuing to relentlessly abuse your g-spot, San sweetly took in your writhing form, enjoying the power that he had in this moment, while a ray of the morning sun crept across the floor towards you, traversing the territory of the living room like a foolishly courageous voyeur.

“Faster, please…”

“But it’s so early sweetheart, don’t you want to take it easy?” he inquired, knowing full well that you would not give him a well-structured response, intoxicated by the intensifying arousal, climbing closer and closer to a climax.

“Ah… please… Mm… I need…”

“Elaborate, or I cannot heed to your caprices.”

“I need you inside me.”

“Is that so? Well, I can’t deny you anything, my love.”

Reduced to a whimpering mess, you waited with bated breath as San shuffled to finally push down his trousers and reveal his throbbing member, now adorned with rivulets of pre-cum after having been left abandoned while his digits satisfied you. In a matter of seconds, you could feel its tip against your folds, gliding up and down the slick until you inadvertently bucked your hips towards him, unable to hold on for any longer without a stronger stimulation. Luckily, San was in a loving mood, and submitted to your silent begging. Soon enough, he began to drive into you, so agonisingly slow so as to not force how perfectly your pussy accepted him, and once his pelvis was flush against yours, embraced you. He strived to have you entirely, as if, even when you were with him, he missed you.

Overwhelmed by the fullness your head tilted forward, your forehead meeting San’s as he barely withdrew his cock, and re-entered you, mumbling fuzzy words of praise at how well you were taking him, and just how heavenly your soaked cunt was as he went deeper, rocking his hips upwards to drown himself in your heat.

The world on fire, skin lapping against skin like waves of a mountainous current, painting the landscape in the hues of a blazing sunrise, much like how hedonistic desire washed over you. It grew at an alarming speed until it was threatening to bloom, a crimson rose of undying attraction and adoration for the man who was offering himself to you as your cunt clamped around him. San was entranced by you, and wanted more than what ‘more’ could signify, lifting your leg and throwing it over his to bring you to your sensual demise. Your grasp of his tee tightened as the pounding became hungrier, and you dropped the act of being able to contain a portion of your moans, letting the salacious melodies go right by San’s ears, interlaced with expletives and your beloved’s name.

With every affirmation to roll off your tongue that he had only recently confronted with his own, he would grind harder into you with ease, now that you were propped up just how he wanted you. San could never get enough of your flushed cheeks as the ripples of pleasure ran through you, with his cock rendering you speechless, muscles tightening in anticipation of a crashing orgasm. Only feeble, high-pitched gasps bounced around the walls of the living room, blending into the warm ambiance as your climax hit you – a monsoon, the season controlled by none other than your fiancé, who kept up his flow, mumbling barely coherent phrases:

“So gorgeous, my love, that’s right. Come for me, come over my cock-”

It was not long after your orgasm that his thrusts lost their steadiness, San’s grip on your thigh grew unbelievably tight and he dived to find stability in the dip between your shoulder and neck, leaving feathery kisses and biting the area to suppress his low grunts, now turned to helpless moans that served to prolong your own high.

The erratic motions of his hips culminated in a series of deeper thrusts as he buried his dick as deep as he could inside you, groaning as ropes of cum painted your still-pulsating walls, that seemed to be pleading for more, greedily taking every drop. You rolled your lower half a couple of times, ecstatic from the dizzying fullness that his cock and thick release provided, causing some of the cum to ooze out, threatening to coat your inner thighs. San had no plans on moving, at least not until mist lifted from his consciousness, and he could conjure up at least one thought that did not relate to having you again.

While his dick twitched inside you, you attempted to remain as still as possible, regaining San’s attention by whispering his name. Through half-lidded eyes he gazed back, sending you a shy smile so endearing, and so much brighter than every star, contrasting the remnants of earlier intimacy in the form of a bead of sweat that concealed itself under the hair that fell over his face, and the reddened, plump lips.

“San?”

“Hmm?”

“I’d say I’m very warm now.” He chuckled, making you bashfully glance off to the side, catching the reflection of the sky in the coffee table. The simple ability to hear San’s husky voice as he drifted with you in post-coital bliss, an arm lazily resting on your waist, was a blessing.

“Anytime, my love.” He matched your lightheartedness and squeezed your side.

Your precious sun and moon. The one with whom your heart beat in unison, the one who had read you like a novel, front to back, back to front until he could recount every detail better than you ever could. Time stood still as you lied there, on the couch, sharing addictive nectar and basking in the afterglow. The day only beginning, the room decorated in a light gold hue. Unwilling to part just yet, you shared another kiss with San, in adoration for how the early morning haze entranced you.

[dezertvideogames]

The Subnautica of other fears

Subnautica is a game infamous for it's almost all ocean planet, underwater worldbuilding, and deep sea gameplay. It's also the bane of all thalassaphobia peeps.

So here's the subnautica of other phobias

Claustrophobia Fear of Tight/Cramped Spaces - The Forest Series : After a plane crash leaves you stranded in a strange forests, something increasingly becomes... wrong. The caves around don't help.

Scopophobia Fear of being watched or the center of attention - Brighter Day : A weirdcore horror game where something is definitely watching you and definitely following you.

Entomophobia/Arachnophobia - Grounded : You play a group of kids who are stuck in a "honey I shrunk the kids" incident. They are forced to venture across their yard, and survive the various common insects around.

Megalophobia Fear of very very very big things - The Utility Room : An experience. More of an experience then a game and fever dreamish, worth it, and mysterious all the way. It's almost as if the universe accidentally left one strange dev room behind.

Nyctophobia Fear of darkness - Amnesia: The Bunker (from the Amnesia series) : It's a first-person survival horror. You play a French man trapped in a bunker during WW1, while being hunted by something inside its darkness.

Autophobia Fear of being/feeling alone - Firewatch : You work in a national park in order to watch out for fires. Traveling across the Wyoming wilderness takes a complicated turn.

Hemophobia Fear of blood or bleeding - Iron Lung : What awaits you in the deep of a strange moon. Trapped in a submarine you have no choice but to find out.

Amaxophobia Fear of car accidents or being run over - Decimate Drive : After freeing yourself from a kidnapping, the world you wake up to is full of hostile cars.

Final Boss Games:

Lethal Company

Fun with friends :D

Genre: Indie Comedy Horror

Takes place on alien planets in outerspace

It's multiplayer, and very fun, but as soon as it hits the fan the sound design works hard to immerse you in the sudden loneliness. The games sound design is one the major players of Lethal Company's fear. As soon as a friend walks away the proximity chat teaches you just how separated you now are.

Before you know it you have had something unfriendly following behind you, and finally finding the silhouette of a friend in the dark you are betrayed by the creatures of the Lethal Company universe.

Fear of Darkness

Fear of Loneliness

Fear of Being Watched

Fear of Outerspace

The Metro Series

Genre: Survival Horror Shooter

You play the beautiful and amazing Artyom Chynornyj in the post-apocalyptic world of Metro. Developed by Ukrainians and based off the Russian book series + Polish fanon writing community.

The world of Metro is unfair and unforgiving, full of mutated creatures, and the leftover souls that the destruction of humanity left in it's wake. Crawl across the underground of Russian cities, or panic across the even more dangerous world of the destroyed above.

Fear of Darkness

Fear of Wild Animals

Fear of Deep Water

Fear of Ghost/The Supernatural

Fear of Insects/Spider

Fear of Heights

Fear of Dead Bodies

Fear of the Cold

No Man's Sky

The scariest game I've ever played. I don't know why, but this game freaks me out. I know the picture I chose was harmless, but I did that on purpose.

This game is beautiful, but don't let that fool ya. This world will leave you no hesitation lost in the unpredictable randomly generated horrors of space. From planet that are all water, to colossus creatures you see for only a split second, to the infinite colorless expanse of space.

Megalphobes and astrophobes, this is your subnautica

Fear of Outerspace

Fear of Darkness

Fear of Cramped Spaces

Fear of the Unknown

Fear of Very Very Very Big Things

Fear of Deep Water

Fear of Loneliness

Fear of Caves

Fear of the Supernatural

[jinnis-stuff]

HUMAN DAUGHTER OF MUZAN (Y/n) WHO DEVELOPED CLOSE RELATIONSHIP AND SPEND TIME WITH THE UPPER MOONS+RUI

Nakime Edition:

In the middle of the night, (Y/n) Kibutsuji, a six-year-old human girl, woke up. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, then quietly slid open her bedroom door. She tiptoed down the hallway of the Infinity Castle, exploring the moonlit corridors with wide-eyed curiosity. The only sounds were the soft echoes of her little footsteps in the quiet night.

As she roamed the Infinite Castle's hallway, (Y/n) unexpectedly encountered a peculiar biwa-demon. Startled, the demon spoke, "What's the little princess doing here? Staying up for humans is bad, you know?"

Innocently, (Y/n) inquired, "Nakime-san, where's my papa?”

With a measured response, Nakime replied, "My apologies, but Muzan-sama is busy right now."

(Y/n) nestled into Nakime's comforting clothes, murmuring, "I had a nightmare... I can't sleep." Sensing the distress in the young girl, Nakime, who was seated nearby, invited her to sit beside. With a gentle nod, Nakime began to strum her biwa, creating a soothing melody that wrapped around (Y/n) like a protective cocoon in the quiet expanse of the Infinite Castle.

Leaning into Nakime, (Y/n) whispered, "It's pretty." The gentle strums of Nakime's biwa enveloped (Y/n) in a calming embrace. Slowly, with a sense of tranquility, (Y/n) closed her eyes, surrendering to the lullaby of the biwa, until the gentle melody guided her into a peaceful slumber.

Observing that (Y/n) had drifted into a deep slumber, Nakime continued to strum her biwa, utilizing her Blood Demon Art to transport both herself and the sleeping (Y/n) back to her bedroom. Gently laying (Y/n) in her bed, Nakime ensured the little girl was comfortable before settling down herself.

With a sense of dedication, Nakime resumed the soothing melody on her biwa. The gentle notes filled the room, creating an enchanting atmosphere that cocooned (Y/n) in a realm of undisturbed tranquility. Nakime, the biwa-demon, stood sentinel over the sleeping (Y/n), weaving a musical tapestry that guarded her dreams throughout the night.

Muzan entered the room, and Nakime paused her playing, bowing respectfully. Muzan, with a stern expression, inquired, "What happened here?"

Nakime, still bowing, reported, “(Y/n)-sama had a nightmare. I played my biwa to help her sleep, and then I transported us back to her room. She's resting peacefully now."

Muzan demanded, “Very well. You can leave now,”

Nakime nodded and exited the room silently, leaving Muzan alone with the sleeping (Y/n).

Muzan's gaze softened as he beheld his daughter, (Y/n), peacefully asleep. Approaching her with a tenderness rarely seen, he leaned down and placed a gentle peck on her forehead. A rare, genuine smile graced his lips as he observed the innocence that rested in the form of his slumbering child.

"Nakime-san, thank you for last night. I hope you'll do that again whenever I couldn't sleep," (Y/n) expressed with a sweet smile.

"Of course, little princess, I would be happy to do so. I will be here whenever you need a lullaby from the biwa. Please come and find me if you ever feel scared or troubled," Nakime replied, her voice carrying a reassuring warmth.

(Y/n) handed Nakime a ribbon. With delicate fingers, Nakime tied it around her hair. “This is lovely. Thank you," Nakime expressed her gratitude.

"It looks pretty on you," (Y/n) added, sealing the moment with a heartfelt compliment that echoed through the quiet chambers of the Infinite Castle. The exchange between the two, bound by an unusual connection, added a touch of warmth to the enigmatic atmosphere that surrounded them. 

From that day forward, Nakime became a constant source of comfort for (Y/n). Whenever sleep eluded her or tears threatened to fall, Nakime would skillfully pluck the strings of her biwa, weaving a gentle melody that cradled (Y/n)’s troubled heart. The soothing notes acted as a balm, calming the storms within the young girl and lulling her into a peaceful serenity. In the quiet moments of the Infinite Castle, the bond between (Y/n) and Nakime grew stronger, their connection a testament to the healing power of music and the unexpected friendships that can blossom in the most mysterious of places.

[southelroydrive]

brand new obsession.

pairing: robin buckley x f!reader summary: you have a slight obsession with your girlfriend's hands. word count: 0.9k title: obsession by sir chloe warnings: sexual themes but no smut a/n: it's my wife's birthday so i have to post something for my favourite character of hers <333 (inspired by the middle photo - it lives in my mind rent free)

“you know they filmed these scenes in real mines? and they could only use certain lighting otherwise the entire thing would of like blown up from a methane explosion. oh, and-”

you hum softly in a half-hearted response as your girlfriend rambles about the movie in front of her. the tv illuminates the darkened space of her living room, playing ‘my bloody valentine’ on the screen. the very movie robin insisted on watching for this week’s movie night after you revealed that the half-dressed woman in the opening scene was the catalyst for your gay awakening in 8th grade. 

you're sprawled out on her couch, legs pressed together as you rest against her body, cheek pressed against her shoulder. the blanket once draped across your laps now left abandoned on the floor as the only warmth you need is the embrace of the other. but despite the rapid speed of which random facts and critiques tumble from her lips, your attention is completely elsewhere.

as the other moves emphatically with her words, robin’s hand keeps a firm grip on your bare thigh. the shorts you’re wearing hiking up your legs, allowing her fingers to spread across the expanse of exposed skin. and god, does it send your mind reeling.

now, there are an infinite number of things you loved about your girlfriend. from the dusting of her freckles on her shoulders like twinkling stars among the night sky to the scar on her knee from a playground accident when she was six, all these small things culminated into your unconditional adoration for the girl. but nothing could quite compare to her hands.

the way her slender fingers grasp your thigh, feeling the cool metal of her rings against your burning skin that make goosebumps rise on your leg. you're entranced, fixated on the dips of her knuckles or the way her veins pop as her grip tightens when a particularly important statement leaves her lips. you swallow a lump in your throat as her hand moves, almost kneading the soft flesh as she talks passionately. your surroundings muffle, the tv now a distant murmur, biting your lip as a haziness clouds over your mind. head empty except for the ideas filling your head of ways to put her hands to better use, like when she- 

“babe?”

“hm?” your head snaps to look up at her, eyelashes fluttering as you blink slowly. once, twice to regain your train of thought. “sorry, what were you saying?”

“nuh uh.” robin shakes her head, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. the hand that had previously been waving around erratically now reaches over to settle on your cheek, cradling the side of your face. “what's got you so distracted, hm?” i thought you liked this movie?”

“i do…” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek into her hand. your head tilts, your eyes locked on hers as your lips press against her palm.

she hums at the contact, stroking your cheekbone with the pad of her thumb as your lips brush against her warm skin. it almost makes her forget what she was saying until her eyes narrow, focusing on the tinge of embarrassment that flushes your cheeks. she leans in closer, her lips grazing the shell of your ear and hot breath fanning across it as she whispers, “so… what is it?”

a huff of air escapes your lips, your head tilting to the side to look around the room. at anything but her to hide the flush that creeps up your cheeks and tints the tip of your ears a deep red. however, you hear a small noise of protest fall from her lips, close to a whine, before she’s gently guiding your head to look at her once again. In a desperate attempt to avoid direct eye contact, your gaze flickers around before they inevitably fall to the culprit of your preoccupied mind. the hand that still firmly grips your thigh. her inquisitive stare follows, and from the corner of your eye you can see the smirk that curls on her lips. and in that second, you are caught. 

“oh.. so that’s it?” her voice lowers, sending a shiver down your spine at the deep rasp of your girlfriend’s voice.  you feel her shoulders shake with the chuckle that leaves her lips, your entire face feeling like it’s burning from the embarrassment that fills you. it doesn’t help when she squeezes your thigh experimentally, nails lightly digging into plush flesh. and it especially does not help when it elicits a small whimper from your lips. 

you feel her hand pause, and you can practically hear the shit-eating grin that spreads across her lips. your face buries into her shoulder, cheeks almost exuding heat from the pure humiliation.

“shut up.” you grumble into the fabric of her shirt, evoking another chuckle from the girl.

“i haven’t said anything, baby. you’re the one drooling over my hands.” “robin!” you gasp sharply, head shooting up as you smack your hand against her chest. said girl bursts into a fit of laughter, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you into her embrace. you can’t help yourself when you begin to laugh yourself, head buried in her chest that vibrates with every giggle that leaves her lips.

you both sink into each other’s arms, cheeks aching from the wide grins resting on your lips as your laughter eventually drifts off into a comfortable silence. you let out a soft sigh, heavy with contentment, as robin’s hands drift down your back, inching down to your hips. you feel her lips press against the crown of your head before she leans down further, breath tickling your ear.

“you know… i think my hands would look better somewhere else.”

[just-your-average-cryptid]

ok I know fluff all about economics but. we really need to move away from shareholders and stocks

look at Lego. It’s privately owned, all the stock is in family/company hands, no shareholders. The bricks are made just as well, they’ve kept up good business, they’re doing great. No degrading quality or crappy tricks to increase profits, a set from the 90s will work just as well as a brand new one. Only real difference is more complex pieces (I did their monthly builds before they ended it a few years back, you can see the improvements over the years.)

now look at apple. Apple went public, they’ve got plenty of shareholders. Apple changed their charger ports to a proprietary version. Apple got rid of headphone jacks on their phones. Apple forces you to get a new phone by making apps only use newer software versions that old phones can’t get. Or just killing their battery.

yeah, these are two specific and very different companies, but the point is that businesses that answer to shareholders have to convince them to keep those shares. they want a return on their investment- line go up, more more more, bigger and better. Private companies like Lego don’t - they can keep doing the same thing forever, as long as it still works, and make small improvements along the way. You go public, you chain yourself to the infinite growth cult. And at a certain point, you’ve hit the max. There’s only so many people who need so many things. There’s only so much material to make or run things. You physically can’t keep growing forever.

now this bit is my personal opinion, but shareholders. don’t actually do anything useful. it feels like if I gave you $20 one time and then expect you to give me 0.5% of your paycheck every week after that. I didn’t do anything to help you get that money, but I gave you that $20, so I deserve it. actually, I deserve more. you need to work harder so I can get more money from you. otherwise I’ll take that $20 back, plus interest. you don’t want that, do you? no. so go do some 14-hour shifts and ignore your friends so I can get more money out of you.

you get what I mean? it’s dumb. it sounds really, really dumb.

do not explain the stock market to me I know how it works it’s still stupid

anyway

if we want to still have a livable planet and make real progress towards… anything actually beneficial to the general population and not ten guys with more money than god, we need to step away from shareholder control of businesses. it helps no one, it causes so many problems, it’s not good. deincentivize eternal growth and expansion, center people over profit. use over profit. longevity over profit. etc.

[glow-worms-are-believers]

All along the watchtower (dp x dc)

Clark is walking alongside Batman through the halls of the watchtower. Their steps echo in the long halls, and Clark has a fleeting thought he really doesn't want to be late.

"Where are we going?" Bruce turns towards Clark to ask.

"To the meeting," Clark answers confusedly, because if Batman isn't attending an official meetings, he is at the very least aware of every single one of them.

"There's something wrong," the Gotham vigilante says as he starts to slow their pace.

"What? Bruce, we have to go or we'll be late," Clark answers but still slows alongside the other man.

"No," The bat states. "No, there's something wrong."

"We can talk about it once we get to the meeting," Clark tries, tempted to tug at the other man but he knows better.

"What meeting?" Bruce is now completely stopped.

"What do you mean what meeting?" Clark is trying his best to be patient but they are going to be late and he hates being late.

"I mean what is the meeting about? Who's going to be there?" Batman narrows his eyes at him.

"It's-" Clark stops himself. "Uh," he lets out before shrugging embarrassedly. "I guess I wasn't paying enough attention last week."

"I can't remember either," Bruce says simply and that has Clark frowning. The batman rarely forgets anything, and that goes doubly for Justice League matters and meetings. Clark turns his head to look around him and notices it for the first time.

"Where is everyone?" he says. The watchtower isn't infinite and though there aren't that people manning it usually, when there's a meeting, it's more lively. They should have walked past someone by now, or at least heard someone.

"I don't know," Bruce says. "I can't remember how we got here."

Clark tries to remember anything before them walking in the hallway but comes up with nothing. He can't even tell how long they were walking. "Me neither," he admits.

Bruce nods before twirling around and walking away.

"Where are you going?" Clark asks as he follows.

"The com center," Batman says without turning. Clark says silent as he walks up to his side. There is nothing but the sound of their footsteps to accompany them on the way and they make it to the bay without seeing anyone.

Once there, Bruce sits down in front of the control while Clark looks out through the large windows into the deep darkness of space. From the corner of his eye he sees a movement within the watchtower and he turns his head to look. For a split-second he sees a shadow of something that looks like a woman before it's gone.

"Did you see that?" Clark asks, his heart rate hitching up.

Bruce looks up and around but coming up with nothing looks back at the other man. "What?"

Clark trusts his senses, a lot more than what most people do, but this is different. "Nothing," he says.

The batman just squints but Clark offers no further information. Tense silence settles back as Bruce slowly turns back to his station and resumes once more.

Then, there's a deep rumbling that sounds out. Clark puts a hand on Bruce's shoulder who straightens. It lasts a few seconds, sounding like to a low growl that reverberates in the chest before it stops.

"Bruce," Clark starts. "Bruce, that came from outside."

"Sound doesn't travel in space," Bruce refutes but his shoulders are tense.

"I know," Clark answers, eyes stuck into the dark expanse of space.

And as he looks and looks he sees the stars starting to blink out, one by one, like candles in the wind. It's like a trickle of stars being snuffed out slowly and then it starts going faster and faster. And simultaneously, there's a sound like wind flowing that starts up.

"Clark," Bruce's voice is as measured as ever but Clark recognizes the tension in it, the fear. The wind picks up.

The darkness is gaining faster and faster, whole chunks of space getting blacked out like someone drew a heavy curtain over them and the wind is whistling by now and then it's all darkness.

"Clark," Bruce repeats.

"I don't know," Clark answers, helpless.

Just as he finishes speaking, every screen lights up a neon, acidic green and the wind is howling in their ears and it shouldn't be possible because there's no wind here there's only vacuum it hurts it hurts and then it's silence. The green is gone.

They are alone in the dark.

[perpetualfox]

Oh my god smug Gaz goading you to be a brat so Price’ll take his frustrations out on you (instead of him)

Make Me - Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick and John Price x Fem!Reader [NSFW]

Warnings: Dub-Con, Brat Taming, Rough Handling

Wordcount: 1398

Gawrsh this took forever. I changed the vibes of it so many times, maybe I'll post the scraps of the other versions some day. Until then: this.

→“Spread your legs for me.”

→You lean back against the warm expanse of Price’s chest, a lazy grin sliding across your face. Gaz’s weight presses down on you, comfortably heavy in your lap; his hips slotted against your own, strong thighs caging you in on either side. You tip your chin up with a defiant air—it’s cheeky and playful, but defiant, nonetheless.

→“Make me.”

→“Ohhh, are you sure you wanna do that, babe?” Gaz’s eyes shine in the low light, a lopsided grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish.”

→“I absolutely can finish it,” You buck your hips up, grinding your bare pussy hard and slow against him. The slick slide of your flesh against his cock—still frustratingly clothed in the thin grey cotton of his boxer shorts—pulls a groan from the pit of his chest. He twitches against you, and all of a sudden, you can really feel him: he’s filling out nicely by the second, chubbing up against the warm press of your body. You roll your hips again, a contented sigh on your lips as the length of him catches against your clit, “And you couldn’t stop me.”

→“Could so.”

→“Then prove it. You want me to spread my legs? Fucking. Make. Me.”

→And you knew he could. If he so desired, he could have you on your stomach, his tongue buried to the root in your pussy before you could even blink. He could hold you there, thighs spread so far apart your hips creaked in protest, until he’s had his fill of you; until you were sobbing his name; until it was the only coherent world your lips could form. And yet, he hasn’t.

→Why?

→The pleasant rumble of Price’s voice vibrates up through your back, “Play nice.”

→There’s a threat beneath the words—the growl of distant thunder on a picnic perfect afternoon. You know you shouldn’t push him, but oh how that tone makes you want to. It would be so easy—the words were all but pulling on your tongue, burning at the base of your throat.

→You lock eyes with Gaz, and it’s as though he can see into you, reading your thoughts as they surface in your mind. His expression is grave, a stern knot forming between his brows. He tilts his head, looking down at you with dark, serious eyes. The message is silent, but clear: don’t.

→You almost think better of it.

→Almost.

→“Make me, old m—”

→And Price’s hand is at your throat. On some level, you knew you were making a mistake, but it wasn’t until that large, calloused fist closed around your neck that you came to understand the sheer gravity of it. Your breath catches beneath the press of his fingers, and you can feel your eyes going large and round, eyebrows shooting up toward your hairline as you fight not to struggle against him.

→The serious edge of Gaz’s expression melts away, and in its place rises something else—something infinitely more frightening. He looks…smug. Terribly, terribly smug—the very picture of the cat who got the cream, and it’s then that you realize: you’d fallen right into his trap.

→‘Don’t,’ his eyes had said, but he had known you would. Of course he’d known.

→“Oh no.” Price’s voice is a growl, low and gravelly in your ear, “That shit doesn’t fly with me. Gaz might put up with it, but I—” His fingers tighten around you, constricting your throat just enough that you feel it; a buzzy, light-headed sensation at the very back of your skull. It’s enough to make your heartbeat kick up beneath his fingers, “…I am not Gaz. Understood?”

→“Y-Yes, Sir.”

→He barked out a laugh at that, “Oh, so it’s ‘Sir’ now, is it? What happened to ‘old man?’”

→“I-I…um…”

→“Shut up.”

→Your jaw snaps shut with an audible click.

→“So, you do have some sense. Good.” And with that, Price begins to move. His free hand trails down your body, thick fingers skimming across your flesh: your clavicle, your sternum, your stomach, coming to rest at the apex of your thighs. Gaz slid back, tilting his hips up, allowing Price room to maneuver with a hungry glint in his eyes. Those calloused fingers slipped between your clenched thighs with an ease that shocked you—as though he had met with no resistance at all. God, he could do anything he wanted to you, and what could you do to stop him? The idea sent a little thrill through you, a gush of wet heat blooming between your thighs.

→A shudder goes through you as his fingers find your clit, rubbing a tight, rough circle into the sensitive bud. Though his touch does not linger, it leaves you breathless, practically panting for more. He presses forward, fingers slipping against your slick flesh.

→“Is this what gets you off, eh? Being a disobedient little pest?”

→Your cheeks feel hot, your face burning up under his scrutiny. Though you open your mouth, your retort, whatever it may have been, tapers off into a broken gasp as he presses two thick fingers into you.

→“You might think you can act a brat with me, but you’re wrong. You haven’t the spine to do it proper; a hand around your throat and you roll right over.” His breath tickles against the nape of your neck. “But I’ll give you a chance—prove me wrong.”

→He crooks his fingers inside of you, rubbing hard against something that makes your vision fill with flickering stars. Your walls spasm around him and he laughs, fingers stroking relentlessly into that spot, “Go on then.”

→You bite your lip, trying desperately to think through the waves of pleasure that roll over you with each stroke of his fingers, but to no avail. A high, keening whimper slips past your lips. Gaz croons above you, a soft, almost condescendingly sweet sound, “Aww, baby! Does it feel that good?”

→Price’s hand slides up from your throat and grips your chin, his fingers digging into the meat of your cheeks. He turns your head none too gently, forcing you to look into his eyes.

→“That really all it takes? Just two fingers stuffed up your cunt, and you go brainless and pliant?”

→He looks to Gaz, a smile, wicked and keen as the edge of a knife spreading across is face, crinkling the corners of his eyes, “Pathetic, isn’t?”

→Gaz’s expression was a young mirror to Price’s, the sharp points of his teeth poking out between his plush lips, “Utterly.”

→“Now,” Price squeezes your cheeks together, “Look at me.” It takes you a moment for your eyes to focus, the heavy press of Price’s fingers inside of you, and the sight of Gaz, looming above you, his perfect cock leaking into his boxers mere inches from your fingers, it’s no easy task. Still, Price waits until he has your full attention.

→“There you are. The Sergeant gave you an order, didn’t he?” He bobs your head up and down, before turning your face back toward Gaz. He’s looking down at you with hooded eyes, warm and brown, and full of want.

→He’s practically glowing, basking in his triumph, and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

→Price’s chin comes down to rest upon your shoulder, digging into the pressure point in your neck.

→“I suggest you do as he tells you. Or—” He slips his fingers out of your tight heat. “I’ll make damn sure you don’t get yours.” A sob tumbles from your lips as you buck your hips, trying to follow his fingers; to follow the pleasure he’s trying to deny you. You’re empty, desperately so after the stretch of his thick fingers—it was all you could do not to cry, to fall back against him and beg for something inside of you. “Understood?”

→You nod, but it isn’t enough. His hand comes down hard against your pussy. You jolt under his hand, a hoarse cry tearing loose from your throat.

→“Understood?”

→It takes you a moment to find your voice, thin and wavering as it is, “Y-Yes, Sir!”

→“Good. Sergeant?”

→Gaz’s smile is radiant as he leans in to caress your cheek. His palm is warm, his tough achingly tender.

→“I win. Now, open up, Sweetheart.”

→And you do.

→“Good fucking girl.”

[sagaduwyrm]

Infinite Realms World-building

So I have a lot of thoughts over why their aren't that many ghosts in the Ghost Zone/Infinite Realms and how other afterlives fit into the situation so here.

The Infinite Realms aren't an afterlife. They're not a place any mortal soul is supposed to reach. They're the lining between afterlives, the wall holding them apart, the cradle holding all those places souls are meant to go. The Infinite Realms aren't anything, just a no man's worthless land.

The Infinite Realms weren't anything.

But. Picture this.

You are dead.You are dead you are dead you are deadyou aredeadyouaredead

It hurt. It was the worst thing you've ever felt, that moment when the bindings between your mortal body and your immortal soul were sundered beyond all recovery. You're disoriented and in pain and crying, weeping wails echoing across the metaphysical expanse.

But then a hand reaches out to you.

Hands, really.

They whisper in your ear. Come home, one says, offering gentle, glittering love. You've earned this, screams another like it’s a battle-cry. A dozen voices like hellfire and damnation offer atonement, if that's what you seek, although the punishment they offer varies. One voice that is not a voice but is the void offers the rest of non-existence, the creak of a wheel suggests reincarnation.

These gods and demons and spirits and entities want you, is the thing. Their grip is like chains around your ankles, dragging you down, and you have to choose, you hAVe To cHooSE, or It Will Be Chosen For You.

And this is what's supposed to happen, isn't it? The next step. Your eternal rest. Getting to pick is a greater mercy than a little mortal deserves, even.

But.

But…

You aren't a little mortal. You refuse to be.

You are the woman who revolutionized school lunches.

You are the greatest hunter in the world.

You are Romeo and Juliet, except they were a tragedy and you are not because you can bet your ass you went out laughing.

You are the world's next rock-star whose voice no one ever got to hear.

You are a man who loves boxes.

You are a clever wish-granter, the greatest magician in the world..

You are a Queen with people to protect.

You are the master of technology.

You are a boy who died too soon, too young, and hell, you should give up, but you never got to see the stars. You never got to see the stars, or what your sister looks like graduating from college, or how your friends look when they change the world. You'll never know if you'll be an uncle, if you'll have your dad's shoulders or your mom's wiry strength, what it feels like to kiss someone, whether or not Dash will ever get that stick his ass and become a decent person again. No one will ever read your paper on the genesis of stars, or fly to Pluto in a rocket ship you designed, or welcome you home after you've fulfilled your life's dream and gone to space.

It's a goddamn tragedy is what it is.

And dying hurt, so bad you're not sure if you'll ever be the same. But. All your chains are broken now. Your soul is free, in a way that it's never quite been before. You are a butterfly, broken free from your cocoon.

And they want to chain you.

They whisper so sweetly, so gently in your ear, even as they tear you apart in a child's game of tug-of-war. You have to choose.

Fuck that.

Fuck that. Dying hurts but it also freed all the potential of your beautiful, brilliant soul, and you aren't going back. Maybe you’re Icarus, flying too close to the sun, but you have wings now, and you won't let them be pinned.

You take the plunge. Through brimstone, through the river with its eternal ferry, through light and dark and a thousand different afterlives that want you like they have any damned right to your soul.

You fly, and you aren't sure if you're running forward or fleeing, but you fly. And it takes forever, a century and a day that lasts less than the beat of a heart, but then you burst free of all those grasping hands and you see green.

The green is infinite and it's empty. But it's free. It's beautiful and bright and you breathe it in, this base stuff of reality, this entropy in motion, and your soul comes to life. You aren't bound anymore, not by the base practicalities of your body, not by the laws and hunger of the gods, not by anything but your own willpower and trust in yourself.

Once the Infinite Realms were empty, once they were nothing. Now there are ghosts singing their exultant freedom. With them they bring ideas and movement and life, and the eddies they stir become whole new beings, spirits that never lived as anything other than what they are. These empty currents now hold whole worlds, ghosts and spirits and monsters.

And one day some strange being comes and tries to take your freedom and he calls himself Pariah Dark. Maybe he was a determined mortal just like you, maybe he was a demon, something sent by the gods to punish you for daring to be more, but it doesn't matter. Regardless of how hard he tries, how many lands his armies invade, how deep he digs his clawed hands in, it doesn't matter. 

No one can conquer Infinity.

And then the Ancients awake. Even in a realm of equals, there are still those who are more. And what is the point of power if you can't protect your fellows?

So they shut him away, this fool who doesn't care for the freedom the Infinite offers, put him in a sleep so deep even his dreams can't disturb others. And when he wakes up there is a boy, small and young, but with more determination in his body than most could dare claim, and the tyrant who steals freedom is sent straight back to sleep.

The Infinite Realms need no King, but this boy is small and clever and kind, and when two people war, he is the first to come and mediate, the first to shove himself between their fury and make them remember themselves. They don't need a King, but the Infinite Realms are so big, with so many people, and they wouldn't mind a Speaker. Someone to connect them all, regardless of how far they lay apart.

And this boy with stars in his eyes and gentle hands grumbles, but he loves the Infinite as much as they love him, and he's almost meant for this, existing between Ancient and New, Living and Dead. They would never chain him, but he was always meant to explore, and who wouldn't want to meet and see and know everything?

The Infinite Realms are green and free and beautiful, and no god can ever change that.

[avatar-of-the-blank]

What do you think each entity tastes like?

OOOH, LIST TIME! I LOVE LISTS

ITS LONG SO I PUT A CUT HERE TO NOT CLOG DASHBOARDS

THE BURIED

WELL. LIKE DIRT. NATURAL BUT OPPRESSIVE OF ANY OTHER TASTE EXCEPT FOR DIRT.

THE CORRUPTION

LIKE YOU TOOK A LEMON WARHEAD CANDY AND CRANKED IT UP TO 11. OVERPOWERINGLY SWEET AND SOUR AT THE SAME TIME, MAKING YOUR TEETH ACHE AND ROT AND YOUR FEATURES SCRUNCH UP.

THE DARK

LIKE AN OLD DINERS' HOT COCOA. NOT A POWDERED MIX, NO. DELIBERATELY MELTED CHOCOLATE, OVERTAKING THE WHITE CREAME IN IT WITH ITS THICKNESS. THE WHIPPED CREAM ON TOP MELTED IN IT, NOW JUST BUBBLES AT THE TOP OF THE SMOOTH WARM ABYSS IN A MUG.

THE END

IM FEELING BLACK LICORICE? I ALWAYS FIND THE END TO BE SUCH A GENTLE ENTITY, LIKE A HAND YOURE SCARED TO HAVE TOUCH YOU, BUT WHEN IT DOES.. I FIND THERES THAT APPREHENSION AROUND BALCK LICORICE, A STIGMA OF IT THAT ITS THE MOST REPULSIVE TASTE. I PERSONALLY FIND IT LOVELY.

THE FLESH

IF IM SPEAKING FROM EXPERIENCE? EUGH. SOUR, WARM, AND WET. CONCEPTUALIZE BITING INTO A PAPER TOWEL JUST USED TO CLEAN RAW CHICKEN JUICE FROM A GRILL'S LID.

AS A HYPOTHETICAL? LIKE A BLUE RARE STEAK, WELL SEASONED. UGH, EVEN THINKING OF THAT DOESNT GET THE MEMORY OF THAT SHOULDER OUT OF MY HEAD.

THE EYE

ALMOND SCONES DUNKED IN COFFEE WITH JUST A LITTLE MILK. A SMART FEELING FLAVOR, MILD AND EARTHY, NOT OVERWHELMING THE SENSES LESS IMPORTANT THAN SIGHT.

THE LONELY

RAINWATER, COLLECTED ON A COLD AUTUMN EVE IN A CLEAR MASON JAR, FILTERED OF COURSE. THERES NO FLAVOR, ITS WATER, BUT IT FEELS NATURAL TO DRINK, ESPECIALLY SINCE YOU DONT HAVE TO BOTHER THE TAP TO COLLECT THE DRINK.

THE STRANGER

COTTON CANDY GRAPES! HAVE YOU EVER HAD THEM? IF YOU WERE TO SHUT YOUR EYES AND BITE THEM, ITD FEEL LIKE YOU WERE BITING INTO A COTTON CANDY EYE. BUT ITS NOT, AND THE EYES WOULD DECOEVE YOU. ITS NOT WHAT IT TASTES LIKE, BUT ITS THE EXACT SAME TASTE.

THE SLAUGHTER

JUST A FEAST. IMAGINE VEGGIES AND STEWS AND MEAT AND BREAD IN ABUNDANCE, THE FLAVORS MIXING AND THE SCENT ATTACKING YOUR NOSE AS YOUR DIG IN, A FEEBLE ATTEMPT TO MAKE A DENT IN THE MEAL

THE HUNT

SUMMER WIND. LIKE YOURE A DOG HANGING YOUR SNOUT FROM A CAR WINDOW, MOUTH OPEN AND TONGUE FLAILING AROUND WILDLY AS YOUR OWNER PRESSES PAST 70 KPH.

THE VAST

THIS ONE IS HARD. HOW CAN YOU TASTE THE INFINITE? HOW COULD YOU FEEL THE EXPANSE OF EVERYTHING IN YOUR MOUTH.

MM. MINTY GUM. LIKE REALLY MINTY GUM RIGHT BEFORE YOURE ABOUT TO FALL ASLEEP, RIGHT AFTER YOU TOOK A SIP OF 3 AM WATER.

THE DESOLATION

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN CAMPING WITH THOSE PEOPLE WHO STICK THEIR MARSHMALLOWS IN THE DEAD CENTER OF THE FIRE? AND THE POOR THINGS COME OUT GOOEY AND BURNT ON EVERY SIDE? THE METAL ROD THEYRE ON IS GLOWING AND THEYRE SLIDING OFF THEM. LIKE THAT, BUT DIP IT IN MILK CHOCOLATE.

AND THEN BURN THE CHOCOLATE TOO.

THE WEB

HOME BAKED COOKIES. FROM YOUR HOME. I DONT HAVE AN EXPLANATION HERE, THIS JUST FEELS LIKE THE RIGHT ANSWER.

THE EXTINCTION

SO IVE HAD A CONTAINER OF A CANDY CALLED TOXIC WASTE IN ONE OF MY ROOMS WHICH IVE BEEN DREADING TO TRY. I DONT KNOW WHAT IT TASTES LIKE, BUT I KNOW THE EXTINCTION TASTES JUST LIKE THAT.

THE SPIRAL

I ACTUALLY HAVE A DEFINITIVE ANSWER HERE, SINCE I KNOW! WOOD PAINT, WHIPPED CREAM, HEMP SEEDS, HAIRSPRAY, MOCHA COFFEE, YELLOW, TYPE A- BLOOD, THE AIR IN YOUR ATTIC, METAL STAIRWAY RAILINGS, IRON, OBTUSE RUBBER GOOSE GREEN SNAKE GUAVA JUICE

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 19th: Scifi/tech | Electric Eye - Judas Priest | Bewildered a/n: eddie pov, eddie & dustin friendship, dustin & steve friendship, and an excuse for me to weasel one of my favorite steve headcanons into something. un-betaed because I'm challenging myself to write these in under an hour. read on ao3 + masterpost | tumblr masterlist

After his release from the hospital and the unfortunate news that his trailer had been destroyed, Eddie goes from functionally homeless to having multiple spaces that feel like home. 

He’s been all but adopted by Claudia at this point, an offer extended immediately after hearing the version of the story everyone’s agreed upon— that the ground split open and Eddie nearly ate it pushing Dustin out of the way. It’s not quite the truth, but the theme is the same and anyone who’s willing to sacrifice themself for her son is welcome any time. 

Especially when he’s been called upon to help with Dustin’s science fair project. It’s out of Eddie’s league a bit, the actual science part, but he and his mechanical brain prove helpful. Kinda nice, actually, to use those hotwiring skills for good. 

Of course, it also helps that the government set him and Wayne up in a modest two bedroom house down the road, and that Eddie can practically smell Claudia's cooking when the windows are open. Like Garfield, he’s drawn to the Henderson house with the scent of a fresh lasagna. 

Bellies full and completed project sitting confidently on the kitchen table for tomorrow, they’re watching Star Wars movies in Dustin’s living room, one after another, and he feels just a touch like a traitor. Star Trek will always have his heart and Wayne can never know. 

“How’d you get into Star Wars anyways?” Eddie asks, sprawled across Dustin’s couch. 

“Can you believe Steve actually got me into them?” Dustin replies, curled up on the recliner. 

There’s an infinite number of ways a child might be introduced to the Star Wars franchise— a parent, a trailer before another movie, a carrier pigeon dropping a flier at their fucking feet— and they’re all more believable than Steve Harrington introducing Dustin Henderson to the sci-fi epic. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie turns with wide eyes and a crooked grin to face Dustin. “What?”

“I know, right? It was uh, okay this is a little embarrassing.” Dustin cuts himself off, justifying some secret Eddie somehow hasn’t been told yet. 

He knows about the Mind Flayer and the Russians, and all the other Dungeons and Dragons lore that’d lived beneath his feet for years. What could possibly be left to make Dustin cringe like that? 

“Oh, do tell.” Eddie raises an eyebrow and gestures with an arm towards the expanse of space between them. “Floor is yours, young Bard. Spin the tale.”

Dustin rolls his eyes and throws popcorn at him. He tries to catch it in his mouth but he’s never been that coordinated. 

“It’s not really a tale. A few years ago, there was this school dance, the Snow Ball. I got all amped up, Steve helped with my hair, and then the night was a total fucking dud. Nancy danced with me which was like, super awesome of her, but I felt like shit after anyways.”

Eddie listens with rapt attention, pissed off that Dustin had such a relatable middle school experience and intrigued at this new sliver of Steve lore. Not that he cares. Obviously. Why would he? The idea of Steve helping Dustin get ready for the Snow Ball doesn’t conjure up words like adorable at all. 

He nods him on. 

“And uh, I called Steve the next day. He came over and we had pizza and he brought some of his favorite movies he thought I’d like. Star Wars had spaceships so obviously, easy choice. And here we are now with Return of the Jedi.” 

Okay, yep, that’s gonna be hard to tamp down the next time he sees Steve. Stomping his ill-advised crush into the ground beneath his Rebooks has been hard enough but now? Motherfucker. 

It’s also not lost on him that Dustin chose these movies today. Eddie feels like he’s stepping into some tradition that doesn’t belong to him, but he can’t squash the kid’s enthusiasm with his own insecurity. 

Instead, Eddie goes for the low hanging fruit.  

“Wow. Gotta tell you man, that’s maybe weirder than finding out about the monsters and shit. Steve’s favorite movie is Return of the Jedi?” 

Dustin snorts and laughs, toothless and free. Happiness isn’t new for Dustin, not anymore, but it’s still nice to see after all they’ve been through. 

“Well, that’s one of them. He always calls it ‘the ones with the teddy bears’, so people assume he means Return of the Jedi. But I know the truth. That dork loves Caravan of Courage.”

Eddie flips through his mental catalog of sci-fi movies and lands on a VHS cover: a couple of humans, a few Ewoks, and something that looks like a machine gun. If he remembers correctly, it has something of a cult following but wasn’t touted as a high point in the series. 

… And it’s Steve’s favorite. The one with the teddy bears. 

“Wait… what?!”

[morallyinept]

Silver - An Ezra One Shot ☔

Written for @undercoverpena 's April Showers Challenge ☔ April Showers Challenge Masterlist Thanks Jojobean for putting this together! 🥰 This is Helianthus Ezra <- You may want to read that story first for context, but you can read this as a stand alone. 🌻

Summary: A heavy rainfall gives Ezra some time for some cleansing contemplation.

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity. It’s you, bub. However, Reader has hair and is pregnant.)

Word Count: 3k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️ “Don't hurt me, cadejo."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.  

Warnings/Triggers: Brief mention of genitals and unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/some heavy petting/it's mostly fluff - you're pretty safe.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned. 

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Ezra in the rain. 'Nuff said. ☔

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

As Ezra works diligently outside the weathered homestead, his singular arm deftly manoeuvring rustic tools and materials spread out before him, he can't help but notice the subtle shifts in the atmosphere around him. 

A change that sends a ghostly shiver down the back of his bronzed, sweat-damp neck. The once clear sky, so often dominated by the relentless blaze of the imposing sun, now bears the telltale signs of an impending storm.

The air, previously heavy with the oppressive heat of a stifling midday, now crackles with a newfound electricity - a palpable energy that seems to dance upon the incoming breeze. The usual azure canopy giving way to ominous, dark clouds, heavy with the promise of rain, swirl and gather on the horizon, their billowing forms casting shadows upon the vast sunflower field below at the bottom of the rugged slope. 

With a sense of anticipation tingling in the air, Ezra pauses in his work, his keen gaze scanning the horizon. 

He can feel the distant rumble of thunder, a low and steady drumbeat that heralds the storm's advance.

"It appears that nature, in its infinite wisdom, deems fit to grace us with the spectacle of a storm," he continues over his shoulder, a hint of anticipation colouring his words. "After enduring the relentless ardour of the sun's embrace for so long, the prospect of rainfall is a welcome respite indeed, eh?"

"Ah, Birdie, do you perceive the portent of the tempest that approaches?"

Ezra's voice, rich with the cadence of his Southern prose, carries through the weathered homestead as he steps across the creaky veranda admiring the view.

Perched atop a gentle hill, overlooking the vast expanse of the sunflower field, stands a weather-beaten homestead - a relic of a forgotten era, its timeworn facade bearing the scars of countless seasons.

Ezra's left hand, calloused from turns spent toiling under the unrelenting sun, moves with purpose over his glistening forehead as he speaks.

His eyes attend to the final details of the homestead's restoration, alight with a quiet fervour, flickering with a mixture of determination and contentment as he surveys his handiwork.

With its timbers bleached to a mottled gray hue and its roof adorned with moss and spackled patches of alien lichen, it seems to blend seamlessly into the landscape, as if it’s grown organically from the turf itself.

When you’d both happened upon it, your excitement unable to be quelled by your rambunctious ramblings about making it a permanent home, Ezra was only amiably ambivalent to give it to you. 

The homestead's walls, once painted a cheerful hue, now bear the faded remnants of its former glory, peeling and flaking with age. The windows, their panes cloudy and streaked with grime, offer glimpses of the world of endless golden sunflowers swaying gently in the breeze.

Outside, a sagging veranda extends from the front of the homestead, its wooden planks warped by years of exposure to the elements. A rusted metal railing, twisted and bent with age, offers a precarious perch from which to survey the surrounding countryside.

A rusted wood-burning stove stands in one corner, its flue choked with soot and ash, an artefact of a time when warmth and comfort were still to be found within these walls.

Inside bears the unmistakable signs from rotations of neglect and disrepair left by its previous occupants. The floorboards are worn smooth by years of use and groaning underfoot, their once-lustrous finish now dulled by layers of dust and dirt.

Cobwebs hang from the rafters like ghostly draperies, their delicate strands shimmering in the dim light that filters through the cracks in the walls.

It’s a far cry from any modern amenity found back on The Pug. But that’s what makes it perfect, timeless. A piece of history tucked away in quiet surroundings where nature can provide any shortfall. 

Ezra can clearly see the sunflower field stretching out before him; a sea of golden blooms swaying gently in the breeze. And he remembers that night you both made love amongst them on, what was supposed to be, a pitstop, but has now become an extended stay, possibly for the remainder of your lives, he suspects.

He recalls, with a smile, sleeping within the cradle of their thick stalks as you both watched the cosmos glitter above you, stars pirouetting in a nebulous sea of gases and mesmeric twinkles. 

And as he stands here, taking a beat and surrounded by the weather-aged remnants of the homestead, Ezra feels a sense of determination welling up within him. For in this forgotten curio overlooking the sunflower field on the cosy planet you’re now passing off as a dwelling, he sees not just a crumbling ruin, but a blank canvas upon which to paint a brighter future - a restful sanctuary amidst the lonely ruins, surrounded amongst the golden helianthus.

"Oi." He calls out when he notices you haven’t crept out to his call, a note of concern carving into his twang. “Do you heed, Birdie?”

There’s no response, no indication that you’ve heard his words. 

Ezra turns his back on the encroaching swell, stepping inside to find you nestled amongst a tangle of faded quilts and worn blankets; your hand resting gently upon your swollen belly, cradling the precious life growing within as you sleep.

It’s only then, as he watches your peaceful expression and listens to the steady rhythm of your breathing, that he realises the truth - you’ve been asleep all along, lost in dreams far away from his excitement amidst the gathering storm.

He reaches out to stroke your hair, and Ezra's gaze falls upon the empty space where his arm should be. A peculiar feeling as he swears he can feel his fingers brush against your skin before the obvious realisation settles in.

It’s a stark reminder of the sacrifice he’d made back on the Green Moon, a price in exchange for an extension of his grubby mortality. One, he pertains, was worth the occasional bouts of twisting nerve pain and the sensation of a phantom limb, for it led him back home to you. 

Ezra feels a surge of protectiveness wash over him. He vows to keep you safe here, to shelter you from the storms that’ll rage outside, to provide for you and his unborn child with all the strength and courage he can muster. But with only one arm, that could well prove a difficult task to fulfil in its entirety. 

Frowning, Ezra soon finds himself grappling with an ugly companion of unwelcome trepidation - a fear that gnaws at the edges of his bolshie consciousness, threatening to consume him with its insidious whispers of doubt.

How would you both manage, he wonders, in a world devoid of modern medicine and the reassuring presence of skilled healers?

But your stubbornness always stunts practicality, and ordinarily he revels in it, encouraging it to some degree with a lust for zealous menace. But now there’s more than just the pair of you and your reckless abandon.

He determines he’ll visit The Pug again soon to stock up on further supplies - trade some of the pilfered loot of Aurelac he'd hidden in the floorboards - and obtain another book amongst the necessities.

Most evenings, after his work on the repairs are completed, Ezra finds himself pouring over the instructional text, swotting up and absorbing its teachings with a fierce intensity.

He reads of the stages of labour, of the signs to watch for and the actions to take in the event of complications, often reading them aloud to you in fascination at how the vestige of your womb works. 

And each day that time draws nearer, the opportunity for flight back to The Pug to the birthing pools snipped down to the fraying edges. You’re determined to have the babe here, in the sanctuary of your new home together; your confidence in him resolute, despite his own, insipid questioning of it. 

Each word is a reassuring lifeline as he prepares himself for the role he’ll inevitably play in the birth of his child. But even as he immerses himself in the knowledge contained within the pages of the book, a persistent sense of doubt lingers on the fringe of Ezra's consciousness, refusing to be dispelled.

What if he isn't up to the task? What if he fails you in your time of need?

The fingers on his remaining hand brush over your brow line gently, and Ezra smiles. 

“Dream irreverently of me, Pet.” He smirks.

His thoughts are dispelled by a rumbling crack across the sky, and the heavy fall of the rain that soon succeeds it. An ember of longing ignites within Ezra's chest, drawing him inexorably towards the siren song outside. 

He steps back out onto the creaking veranda, bewitched by the ethereal allure of the cooling rain. The heavens weep, Kevva’s tears of liquid silver cascade from the graphite velvet sky. Raindrops, like crystalline jewels, dance upon the lackadaisical frame of the shelter, their gentle pitter-patter a soothing to his weary heart.

Ezra is soon greeted by the primal fury of the storm as it breaks fully, the rain cascading down in torrents; a deluge of liquid life upon the parched soil. Yet amidst the chaos, there’s a profound serenity - a tranquil beauty about it that transcends the tumultuous cacophony of the wild elements.

With measured steps, Ezra ventures forth into the heart of the spate, his senses awash with the intoxicating scent of petrichor and misty ozone.

He stands fully exposed to the ire of the rainfall, his face upturned towards the heavens; a lone figure bathed in the pewter glow of the downpour.

With eyes closed, allowing the cool rivulets to trace delicate paths down his, sweaty, parched skin, their touch is akin to the tender brush of silk against his flesh.

Ezra feels the weight of the world fall away, replaced by a profound sense of liberation. The rain washes over him like a baptismal benediction, cleansing out the hollows of his bones from doubt and despair.

He snorts, a light awed chuckle escaping him only to be swallowed up by the splinters ripping across the sky.

The rain whispers rejuvenating secrets in his ears, its symphony filling the void left by the silence of space. The lightning strobes blind him, leaving him with a flux of glittery phosphenes to die out behind the thin membrane of his eyelids.

He’s a neutron star imploding, leaving shattered stellar remnants that incapacitate and crack through the universe.

As the rain descends into a softened cascade upon the sunflower field, each golden bloom bows gracefully beneath the weight of the droplets, their vibrant petals glistening with moisture that refract the skewbald light piercing through the clouds in small, bullion slithers.

As he stands amidst the silver downpour, Ezra feels as though he's been reborn - a creature of pure sensation, unbound by the constraints of mortal flesh.

The rain soaks through his tattered clothes, plastering them to his skin in a sodden embrace, rinsing off the cares and worries of the world like so many whispered secrets carried away on the wind.

With each passing moment, the weight of his burdens seem to lift entirely for a few moments, mind blank with the rhythmic patter of raindrops falling against the earth, becoming a symphony of release, a melody of liberation that echoes in the depths of his soul.

With a smile playing at the corners of his lips, imbued with restoration, he hears his name emerge from the veranda, and turns to see you standing on it with a bemused expression lighting up your sleepy features. 

His raggedy moustache is now adorned with tiny droplets of rain, glimmering at you as they catch the dim light, like coveted, precious gems taunting you with their expense. The stark blonde patch in his hair is stuck to his forehead; his crown of usual oil-slick waves soaked and pressed flat against his temples.

His outline seems to blur and shift with the movement of the rain, casting an amaranthine aura around him; his usually sharp features softened by the gentle glow of the storm.

His dark eyes, usually filled with a quiet determination, now sparkle with a sense of wonder and joy, reflecting the beauty of the moment back to you.

But it’s more than just his appearance that captivates you, leaving your breath floundering in your throat - it’s the way he stands there, amidst the storm, with an air of quiet confidence and strength.

“Majestic, isn’t it, Pet?” He simply calls to you as your smile grows. “Come on,” he sways, his fingers beckoning you with a simple flicker. "Come kiss me in the rain!"

It’s a beguiling command, one that carries the weight of swampy desire, pulling you towards him with an irresistible force. 

Your bare feet squelch into the soil as you start forward, the rain soaking you instantly as you make your way towards him, all recesses of your sleep left in the warmth of the cosy homestead.

You laugh out, cackling and cooing as it pelts you, and he wraps his arm around you as raindrops blind you momentarily. Insidious, thick fingers roam over your lower back, pushing you closer to him.

The rain continues to fall around you both as Ezra pulls you in, its cool touch mingling with the warmth of your embrace. With a gentle yet firm grasp, he tucks you tight, his hand sliding down to rest against the small of your back, the globe of your tummy pressed into his.

Your lips meet in a haunting, tender kiss, each movement slow and deliberate as you savour the enticing sweetness of the moment. His lips are soft against yours, slanting with a gentle rhythm that seems to echo the pelt of raindrops all around.

His hand is still there, tethering you with his gravity, and you feel yourself relax, the hunch in your back and tension in your shoulders start to drop as you focus on his thumb moving up across your hip bone.

A little, tantalising circle or two before you feel his hand slowly make its way up around your back, and it leaves goose pimples flooding over your body, streaming towards your nipples as they harden.

The cold tingling wakes them up and they ache with the heavy pull inside them as his fingers trail up the back of your neck against your slick skin, groping and melding to the skin in your nape.

Feasting on his inflected tongue, gorging on loquacious groans that hit the back of your oesophagus, you clutch onto him tighter; your own hands roaming the map of broad shoulders, pudgy hips and finding a hard, swollen cock between his legs as you squeeze gently. 

His fingers are then felt running down your back again a few seconds later, and once more the pull on your nipples is tightening as they strain, begging to be touched, licked, sucked...

Your gasped breaths mingle in the cool air, warm and inviting, as you both lose yourselves in the explorative intimacy of the kiss.

Then he stops touching you, denying you of any more contact, and you let out a barely audible whimper as you mourn the loss. Of course it's swallowed up by his mouth, but it doesn't stop it from coming out of you.

You then feel Ezra squeeze your ass, and you can't help but let a smirk erupt into freedom as he clamps a hold of it and massages it inside his hand as he dips his hips, making you feel him press against your centre.

He grunts as he nips on your lip and slips his tongue further around your mouth. You stay locked at the lips until you shudder as the cold starts to nip at your bones.

“We’ve lingered long enough in this spectacle.” He breathes, eyes dark and as foreboding as the storm. “Let’s shed our soaked garments in the warmth.” Ezra smiles, leading you back towards the homestead. 

With a playful glint in his eyes, Ezra can't resist flashing you a mischievous grin as you make your way back inside from the rain-soaked veranda.

"You know," he begins, his voice low and teasing in its tincture, "they say sharing the abundance of body heat is the best way to stay warm."

He waggles his arched eyebrows suggestively, his gaze dancing with amusement as he watches your reaction. "What do you say, Birdie? Shall we put that theory to the test?" 

He pulls you back towards him, peeling you out of the saturated layers clinging to your skin.

"You just want an excuse to cuddle." You smirk, completely naked before him.

Ezra chuckles, wrapping his arm around your bare shoulders and pulling you close. 

“You know how to charm the pants off of me.” You smirk.

"Guilty as charged," he admits with a serpent-like grin, pressing a kiss to the top of your wet head. "But who can resist the chance to snuggle up with someone as lovely as you? I can't help but be drawn to you.”

He looks down at your body, the shapely swell of your belly, eyes trailing over the fullness of your breasts, hungrily. “You have this... glow about you, like moon bugs on a summer's night.”

He runs his palm along the expanse of your belly, stroking across it gently.

“Quite literally,” he agrees, nodding to them on the floor with cocksure mirth. 

You pull his sodden clothes off into squelchy piles on the floorboards as you step backwards, pulling him with you until the backs of your calves hit the bed frame. 

He sniffs in deep and smiles. “I love the scent of petrichor, don’t you?”

“It smells almost as good as you.” You say. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Pet.” He confirms with a crooked grin as he places your hand on his cock, groaning as your fingers curl around his throbbing length. 

Ezra pulls you on top of him, explorative fingers knotting in the wet stands of your hair as he sinks into you. Exhales a deep, satisfied grunt pushed into your lips as he breaches the warm depths of your soaked cunt. 

You both spend the remainder of the storm tangled up in skins and blankets, stopping intermittently to watch the thrashing spectacle refresh the land and sunflowers outside the homestead.

Thanks so much for reading - I have more Helianthus Ezra to come in the future. If you enjoyed this fic, please consider re-blogging and leave a comment telling me your thoughts. Thankies! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST

[eggtartz]

✧ 11th October ✧

Gojo Satoru // Unlimited Void (f! curse reader)

kinktober masterlist

warnings : horny gojo, usage of domain

"Unlimited Void attacks the target with infinite knowledge and makes them see and feel everything and nothing at once, which is the true essence of a void. consequently, the target is immediately paralyzed, being unable to think or move. all they can do is wither away slowly as they're subject to a painful and excruciatingly slow death" sounds pretty awful and should have been avoided right? should have been feared and know not to mess with but you were stubborn. stubborn to face the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the era despite being a second grade curse. stubborn to fight him despite leaving you to die the next battle but you didn't cared.

so how did it became like this? how did gojo immediately activated his domain expansion upon seeing you? well, for starters gojo was horny. seeing you, a pretty little curse who wore barely nothing to cover up in hopes to 'move smoothly' was a feast for his eyes. gojo was intrigued and couldn't pass on this opportunity. when will another time come for the strongest to fuck a lowly curse?

"really? you think you could kill me? when I'm the strongest?" he taunted as gojo trapped you in his domain, keeping you almost immobilized but still aware of your surroundings. his words was ringing at the back of your head like a reminder of how weak you are compared to him. trying to release your technique has deemed useless as he moved easily while you struggled. gojo scoffed, pulling down his blindfold and revealing his blue eyes. he merely chuckled at your attempts of movement, pulling your hands behind your back and tied them with his blindfold. "nicely secured" he remarked before hands roamed on your waist that made your eyes widened, "it's such a bad timing that you came here, now the hunter has become the hunted" he smiled against the shell of your ear as you could felt a bulge resting on your ass. 'what? how big is he?' you thought.

his hands moved to your stomach and draw small circles there, his fingertips ghosting on your skin "what do you think? should I just fuck you dry? or pound so deep that you might get pregnant?" he huskily whispered as your eyes glanced at him. he giggled, gripping your stomach almost possessively while groaning. "oh i know you're damp, baby" his hand went under your clothing, ripping it with one hand and immediately found your pussy "see?" he bought his fingers, slicked with wetness to your face "curse or not, you're still a whore" he exclaimed, grabbing one boob in hand as plunged his long fingers into your mouth.

you felt like a doll, being used against your will but it feels so good you can't help but close your eyes slowly as you gagged on his fingers. you could feel your pussy aching for his hard on. "fuck me" you said slowly as he pulled out his fingers "say that again, baby?" he teased. you managed to look at him and say again "fuck me.." gojo grinned, quickly unzipping his pants and his monstrous cock came out. he was cruel and intended to use the effects of his domain as much as possible. he stood behind you and lifted the back of your thighs and spread your legs. your vulnerable pussy was attacked by the sorcerer as he popped his cock inside, your eyes shooting opened at the delicious drag. "such a good doll, you feel so good" his strong arms held you up as he thrusted in with a moderate pace while sucking on your neck. all you could do was gasp and take it, clenching your pussy when you feel close again.

gojo manhandled you so you laid on the floor as spit on your cunt, smearing it as he kept thrusting. short pants came out from your mouth as you felt nothing but everything at once. "you're a lucky one, you know that?" he mocked and chuckled as he saw your face forming an 'O' as you squirted all over his cock. "my, look at you. It felt so good you squirted?" he scoffed, speeding up his pace as he looked down and groaned "so pretty.." he cooed as you twitched, legs cramping over how much effort it took to move. gojo stilled and rolled his hips, his cock invading every inch of your pussy that you wailed. he smiled, rolling a bit harder and flicked your clit ripping another orgasm. he shuddered as he felt your walls convulsed as he emptied himself inside you, making small thrusts so it'll stay inside.

after several minutes, the man pulled out and deactivated his domain, leaving you a nasty mess on the ground with cum spilling out from your pussy. he stood up, took his blindfold and zipped up his pants. "next time, i won't hesitate to do more. see you, sweetheart" he kissed your forehead and left. damn you, gojo satoru you thought while drooling on the ground because of how good you felt.

[polyklok]

Omg omg i love your writing!!! No words can describe how much I love it!

Imagine muderface with a s/o or crush that says the weirdest stuff, like some stuff that they have been through. It is so random! Like those tik toks that say "the Egyptians believed the most significant thing you could do is die" in the most randomest of situations.

Like imagine just chilling out doing nothing and y/n looks over at muderface and says "would a zombie apocalypse be a formal event? Like your buried in your best clothes?"

It woukd very so cool if you could write something for this but if you don't want to that's cool!

Just wanted to share my thoughts. No one I know watches Metalocalypse.

Thank you!!!

Have a wonderful day or night!!

(I didn't really check my grammar or spelling that well, I am sorry)

Murderface with an S/O that says ~random~ things!

“The color is actually named after the fruit.”

You baffle him daily. He never asked to be spoonfed random trivia, shower thoughts, or absurd hypothetical questions. And yet, here he was, eating it all up.

When William was first met with your verbal hijinks, he was just so, so confused. Why did you know this? Why were you telling him this?

“What?”

“Orange. Like, people just described the color as yellow-red or something before the orange fruit was spread around Europe and they got a new word for it. The color is named after the fruit.”

“…Okay???”

For a while, he thought you were trying to give him clues about something. He was just extremely suspicious of you. Like, surely there had to be a reason behind it, right? Well, no, and he soon just found it was a quirk of yours.

He was always told to shut up whenever he tried to pipe in or had an interesting fact to share, so you defying one of the fundamental rules of his life is a bit jarring.

As he grows closer and more comfortable to you, he gets used to your pondering and even begins to consider them. Maybe you have a point?

“What’s the minimum amount of ducks do you think it would take to fully kill an adult rhino?”

“I don’t fuchkin’ know. Probably a schit ton.”

“I bet, like, five. They’d just swarm him.”

“You are scho wrong. He’d schtomp them all to a pashte.”

Well now he’s gonna stay awake all night thinking about it. He can’t decide if you’re the stupidest person he’s ever met or the smartest. Either way, he gets a little flustered when facing the seemingly infinite expanse of your mind.

After a while, he begins to pick up your habit. In his own Murderface-way, of course. He had a pretty obvious interest in things like car mechanics and war history, but now he’s more willing to share all of what he knows with you. He’s really excited that someone finally seems interested in what he has to say, no matter how meaningless it is.

And once that door is open, he becomes more willing to open up on a deeper level. Even though he’s a dumbass, he does have a depth of intelligence, even if he isn’t great at articulating it. Be patient and you’ll get some fascinating conversation from him.

“Even if there isch a God…like, what the fuck, man?! You juscht gonna leave us all down here to suffer and schit? I might as well ignore you juscht to schpite you! What a dick move.”

William never realized how valuable it was to him just to be listened to. Simply talking to you slowly becomes one of the better parts of his day, everyday.

It takes a lot for Murderface to love and it takes even more to love him back. But the effort is well worth it with these types of riveting discussions;

“You have to fight a bug that’s 100 times its original size and you get one weapon from the medieval era. What is your bug and what’s your weapon?”

“Easchy. Butterfly, Croschbow. One arrow for each wing. Instant win.”