#the towers sang and you cried

[kimbearablykute]

Every once in a while, I'm minding my own business, maybe not even thinking about Doctor Who, and then my brain reminds me :

"A night on Darillium is 24 years. That's a nice long honeymoon... longer than I've been married... long enough to raise a family to adulthood. Do you think the Doctor and River got a chance to have a real life together on the slow path?"

[iceinherheart-kissonherlips]

“That old reflex never died; the little pang of Don't go, just stay. Settle over me like the tide, cover me like a blanket, wrap around me like the sun. 

Don't go, don't go, don't go.” [x]

[many-gay-magpies]

a night on darillium is 24 years. they got 24 years together

[huevobuevo]

AAGAGGHH RIVER SONG :[[[

[starsinlegions]

tag dump

[middlingmay]

Gale Cleven never learned to flirt

And I have some HCs about that and how it came to bite him in the ass.

Here, have 2K+ words of the Buckies being an absolute mess.

Gale managed to reach his mid-twenties without ever flirting.

He and Marge had been inseparable since they were kids. Being together was second nature, so by the time their teenage years hit, the awkward rituals of their classmates trying to catch some guy or girl’s attention just didn't apply. Gale simply told Marge whatever he thought and felt. If it never strayed into the territory their classmates were so eager to dive into head (or pelvis) first; if it never sounded like the cheesy lines boys used to ease past a skirt, then that’s because he was too much of a gentleman. Everyone knew it. Marge’s dad never batted so much as an eye when she spent time with Gale, because he was such a good boy.

Really, that should have been the biggest clue among many before he signed up.

But then he did sign up, and he met John Clarence “Bucky” Egan, who flirted with everyone and everything.

No, really—everything.

One night after one too many beers, John was leaning against a coat rack, regaling Gale with some story or other. He gave a particularly enthusiastic wave of an arm, and nearly sent it toppling over, and him with it. But John's reflexes were still good even three sheets to the wind. He caught it before it hit the ground, set it up right and said, “Sorry, doll. I’m normally a gentleman. I’ll show you, sometime.”

It was the first time Gale laughed until he cried.

Gale had been flirted with plenty, of course. Others back home had batted eyelashes at him and sidled up to him and placed fleeting, coy touches in innocent places.

John did absolutely none of that.

He drawled and called Gale doll, sweetheart, dilly and beau. He’d look Gale in the eye whilst talking to someone else entirely and say, “My guy, Buck, here…”

He pressed their foreheads together and grabbed Gale's thighs tight and put an arm over the back of Gale's chair.

He’d chuck Gale's chin and press hands firm into the small of Gale's back, around the curve of his hip, into the dips of his waist and that was usually followed by a quick, deliberate clench of his sizeable hands.

John outright called him gorgeous, “a real heartbreaker”, and the others would laugh but that was always one of the few times John didn’t join in.

He watched Gale’s training and his flights like a hawk, bugging others over the radio: “Where’s Buck?” He’d bugged those in the tower so much, that he nearly got himself banned.

John sang love songs - badly - and smirked at Buck the whole time.

Finally, in the after, when they’d left Wyoming and Wisconsin behind for good, John had stepped up behind Gale in the kitchen in the house they shared and reached forward. He placed a whisky glass of apple juice on the counter and came round to Gale’s side. He leaned his forearms on the counter and looked up at Gale through tumbling curls he’d been letting grow a bit and said,

“Lookin’ awful lonely there, doll. What’s a guy gotta do to be your fella?”

And apparently Gale was easy, because he downed the apple juice to wet his parched throat and lips and threw his arms around John’s neck and kissed him with a fire he hadn't felt this side of a plane.

He threw the rest of himself at John, too, who caught him easy and hoisted him up on the counter. He pulled Gale's hips forward by the belt loops and ground his own hips up against him just as his tongue slid home dragged and teased out the gaps and moans Gale couldn’t control—

That afternoon, evening and night had been incredible. But, if Gale thought finally getting what they had been stepping towards for all these years would have taken some of the pressure off, he was dead wrong. He craved more.

Only, he had no idea how to go about getting it.

He wasn’t like John. Never had been. Flirting and being so damn bold didn’t come easy to Gale. Truth be told, he’d never has a reason to flirt before. And for the first time in his life, John was being absolutely no help.

If Gale didn’t know him any better, he would have said he was being shy.

But ain’t no man who could do those kinds of things with his tongue got any business being shy.

And Gale knew John wanted it, wanted him, just as badly. He caught the heated looks; heard the aborted gasps when Gale did something - anything - that showed off his physique (and his brain, he’d later discover). Christ, he felt it every time he woke up before John in the morning.

But it didn’t seem fair to always leave it to John. John had done the bulk of the legwork throughout their whole relationship, even before they finally figured it out. It was Gale’s turn.

So, he started easy.

The next morning that he woke first, the heavy weight of John at his back, he buried his smiling, blushing face in the pillow and rocked back into Bucky’s hardness. He did it harder than he expected, and Bucky woke with a groan pulled from the depths of him and grabbed Gale and pulled.

Gale revelled in his easy and rapid success and coyly teased, “John. You woke me up with that thing.”

And John abruptly released him, full of apologies and sweet kisses to his shoulders before he toddled off to the bathroom, leaving Gale painfully disappointed.

Disappointed, but not deterred. His next idea involved Bucky’s favourite hobby: lookin’ at Buck. There were horses stabled in a field nearby, and Gale had permission from the owners to take them out for some exercise anytime he wanted.

John had never been, but agreed readily enough when Gale asked him to come along.

Gale made sure to wear his tighter pants, and when they got there stripped off his shirt so he was left in only his tank, and mounted a horse called, of all things, Major.

Gale didn't go overboard. He was still workin’ an animal that demanded respect and care. But he made sure to show Bucky the flex of his thighs, the roll of his hips, the strength in him, staying in the saddle when Major wanted to jump.

He got a little lost in it and wasn’t sure how long it had been. But when he looked up, John was gone.

He found him back at the house, stumbling down the stairs red-cheeked, glassy-eyed and a little breathless. And Gale knew. He knew that look; had seen that look so many damn times since they were cadets in basic.

He looked at John with such vicious fury, that he’d gone and done that without him, that John had turned tail and given him a wide berth for the rest of the day.

Gale was going to pull out every damn hair on his head. He’d tried everything he could think of: pressing up against Bucky whenever he moved past; biting his lips like he knew John loved. He even rubbed Coppertone on John’s shoulders and back when he was out doing yard work in the heat one day. But, when Bucky had turned to him and rasped a husky, “Thank you”, Gale got so worried that John was dehydrated, he’d rushed back into the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water and glowered at him until he drank it all, before fetching him another one.

One day, Gale had had enough and decided to take a leaf out of John’s book. He was gonna flirt with that man like he’d seen John do a dozen times before, even if it made him feel like the stupidest man alive.

He allowed himself a small whisky for courage. In return for John dramatically reducing his alcohol intake, Gale sometimes, rarely, let himself indulged and shared a glass with John.

He downed this one in one go and headed into the living room where John was trying to pick a record.

Gale sidled up to him, placed his arms around his waist and said, “Hi darlin’. Can I buy you a drink?”

John’s eyes crinkled, he smiled so wide, and leaned back into Gale's arms. “Oh, I dunno. My ma warned me about guys like you.”

Gale thrummed with excitement that John was playing along, finally, finally getting the damn hint. He let his hands move from John’s hips to the spot on his belly, just above the waistband. His fingers tickled and traced along the hem. “Guys like me?”

“Mhmm. Y’just wanna get me outta my skirt.”

Gale's breath hitched. He moved the palm of one hand to John’s thigh. Heavy and slow, he stroked it up and up, letting John feel the drag of each finger. “I think you’d look good outta your skirt,” he mumbled with a nip to John's ear. He stilled his hand on John’s upper thigh and with one finger, drew a teasing line across the expansive width of it. “Maybe keep the stockings on, though.”

John choked on a laugh, on thrilled disbelief, and Gale grinned into his neck and let John turn in his arms.

And the best part, Gale quickly decided, was that for the first time ever, he managed to make John blush—at the mention of women’s stockings no less, which he had much more experience in than Gale.

Gale rejoiced as John careened forward, tongue slipping straight into Gale’s panting, waiting mouth, and Gale whimpered in the dizzying satisfaction of it as they fucked their tongues into each other and their bodies writhed standing there, in a promise of what was to come.

But then, John pulled away. Gale watched him suck on his own tongue, like he was savouring the taste of something, before clarity and realisation descend over John’s face.

“Ah,” he said. “That make sense.”

Gale frowned, even as John drew him in close and pressed their foreheads together so softly and asked, “Wanna go to bed?”

Gale could have crowed. “Mhmm. Yeah. Yes.”

John brushed a hand through Gale’s hair. “Yeah. Lets get you all tucked in, before you wake up with a sore head.”

Drunk. John thought he was drunk. And rather than giving Gale what he wanted, he was trying to be a gentleman and send him to bed. But Gale was too frustrated to be endeared by the evidence of John’s goodness. Not tonight. No siree.

He almost screamed and threw his hands up in the air. “Goddamn it, John! I’m not drunk!” He even stamped his foot. “I am trying to fuck you!”

John just stood there dumbstruck while Gale raged.

“I have been trying for days! But you, for the first time in your sorry life, have become as dumb as a bag of rocks! How come a girl used to just have to look at'cha long enough and you were all over her, but I try every trick I got and nothing!”

That jolted John out of his Gale-induced stun. “Tricks? What tricks?!”

“Oh I don't know: how about rubbin' against you like a damn bitch in heat the other morning!”

“You said I woke you up! You haven’t been sleeping good!”

“And showing off with the horses—!"

“That was on purpose?! Buck - I left because I got hard watching you! I didn’t want you to think I was some kind of perv! No one should feel like that around an animal!”

“The I rubbed you down with Coppertone?!”

“I was gonna! I got that one and I was gonna, Buck! I swear to God, but then you made me shotgun water and started yellin’ at me about dehydration!”

Gale had worked himself into a fervour and paced the living room, barely looking at John.

“After that first night, you ain’t come near me like that again. And I know I’m hopeless at this kinda thing, and you got a lot more experience than me. But I don’t want it all to be on you. And Christ, John, I was starting to think you didn’t want—what are you doing?!”

John’s shirt was on the floor and he was using one hand to wrestle his undershirt over his head and the other to unbuckle his belt.

Muffled under the fabric of his shirt Gale heard him say, “You said you wanna fuck,” he finally pulled the shirt over his head and his curls sprung free and wild, “we’re gonna fuck.”

Gale stood with hands on his hips, still in his lecture pose. “Right here?”

John lost the belt and went for the buttons on his pants. “Right here.”

Gale drummed his fingers against his hips and stared as John dropped his pants. “Well…that’s, good.”

John snatched Gale by the belt and dragged him him. “Don't be getting shy on me, now.”

And normally that was exactly the kind of thing that would send all of Gale’s bravado running for the hills, but he’d been so desperate for so long that he pounced on John before he even made the conscious decision, and together they undressed him in record time.

John got him on the floor, somehow, and twisted and flipped them so Gale was on top, and Gale looked at him with one eyebrow arched in breathless judgement. “Really?”

John nodded wide-eyed. “Oh, yeah. Really. I’m serious, Buck. I don’t think I can go near those stables with you again. It’s indecent.”

Gale gave an experimental roll of the hips, and when John keened and bucked underneath him, Gale clenched his thighs and drove him down and brought him back under control easy. So he didn’t see that much difference between the skill this would take and what he used to work Major. But still. After what he’d put him through, John didn’t deserve to have it too easy. “Hm, I don’t know. How long you gonna last like this? You got a lot of making up to do.”

And John looked mortally offended, but he’d learned something about Gale through all of this too, and said, “About a long as you will when you see me in those stockings you’ve been fantasizing about.”

And Gale’s hips jerked without his permissions, and things descended beyond the power of words after that.

Later, as they languished on the living room floor with the throw from the couch tossed over them to ward of the evening chill, John turned to him and said, delighted, “You could just ask me to fuck you, you know. Ever thought of that?”

And Gale smirked and nipped at the finger tracing his cheek. “Don't count on it.”

[lokisgoodgirl]

The Feast [Asgard!Loki x Fem.Reader]

A follow up one-shot to Hail, Commander A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A filthy Commander Loki is ravenous post-battle. (w/c 1.7k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Oral (F), Salirophilia (dirty Loki) Exhibitionism. Language.

The approaching drums were deafened by a low roar from Loki’s throat as he came undone. It was harsh. Ragged. It was fierce. The rush of hot breath flooded your ear, carrying the syllables of your name on wings of relief. His grip on the cape wrapped around you both loosened as he rocked you; held against the sharp drop of the balustrade safely in his arms.

“My love…” you whispered against his moist, dirt soaked brow, as Loki panted heavily into the curve of your neck. He hummed drowsily in response, hips continuing a gentle thrust to the beat of the victory procession hundreds of feet below. The heat of your lovemaking had warmed the primal scent clinging to his scalp, its tendrils winding their way deeper into your senses. The first time he had returned from battle, it had disgusted you. For a moment, at least. But now, your body only wanted more. It meant victory. It meant glory. It meant days of violently passionate fucking while he shook off the animalism and barbarity of war. You ran your fingers through his tangled hair, crusted and clumped with the stale filth of battle. The scent of blood and sweat and death clung to your fingertips, a tacky residue holding fast as you worked your digits to the back of his skull. Hail, the fallen; the lone chanter cried, hundreds of feet below. His voice was soulful and solemn, misting around the high towers like summer pollen. Hail, the shuffling crowd reprised in a haunting hymn. You didn’t know if it was the adrenaline bubbling down in your blood after Loki had thoroughly claimed you, but they sounded louder now. Or maybe it was just the wind. Loki’s grip tightened around your thighs, sliding upwards. His thumbs pressed into the crooks of your pelvis, pushing your legs wider. Without raising his head, he sank to his knees; war-ravaged leathers creaking as layers of festering dirt and grime cracked. His hands settled around the pristine skin of your thighs, marking them instantly.

“Loki…” you whispered warily, glancing up to the guards standing to attention, their gazes fixed in a thousand yard stare. Hail, the deliverer; the dark victor; the faceless voice sang, soulful reverence bouncing between golden turrets which glinted in the setting sun. Hail, Loki. Hail; the crowd chanted like a prayer in the depths below the balustrade. “Loki…” you murmured again, as trumpets blew a regal tremor alongside the eerie thump of ceremonial drums. “The guards…” The victorious god chuckled against your skin before he slid his cheekbone firmly up your thigh, a possessive harshness glinting in his eyes. “I am their commander. They will do as I say.” he growled coldly, his stare never leaving yours. A muscle in his jaw bobbed as he clenched, a ferocious haze descending over his features. He turned a stained cheek to the side, the marr of slaughter and destruction smeared messily where he had rubbed against your leg. He placed a wet kiss on your knee before he spoke. “Guards! About turn.” he roared.

Your gaze fluttered from your betrothed to the dozens of Einherjar standing to attention against the columns lining the balustrade. In perfect synchronicity, each one turned in a tight semi-circle to face the interior walls. They thumped the base of their spears against the stone in receipt of their order, the cold clunk of metal making a wave of arousal flip in your stomach. His presence. His power. You had almost forgotten. Almost.

Loki’s fingers resumed their iron grip around your thighs, sliding the hem of the dress gathered around your hips higher. “I trust this satisfies you…” he murmured, the brilliant blues of his irises startling against the shadows of brutal deeds layering his face. You thrust forward, aching to feel him against you; letting your hands wander over the buckles of his armour.

The leather felt ragged beneath your touch; burnt and battered. You could feel the tacky stick of warmed blood beneath your fingertips; the proof of his violent prowess. “We can wait...until...after the feast.” you panted half-heartedly, feeling his cracked lips graze against your freshly cum-soaked folds. Loki looked up from between your legs, the heroic commander on his knees ready to devour your glorious pussy. You could feel his seed pooling in thick drips on the stone below. His eyes were wide, brows slanted in mock innocence. “Oh, love…” he purred darkly, as his softness melted to a mischievous smirk. “But I haven’t eaten in days.” The prince’s nose nudged against your slit, making you groan shamelessly above him. “You know how ravenous I become after the rage of battle, love.” he purred, smirking against your hot, wet cunt. “You would not deny your Commander. Would you?”

You shook your head silently, fingers gripping the side of the cold stone balustrade. Loki inhaled deeply, letting it go with a shuddering sigh. Without another word, his warm tongue melted to your core; licking a flat stripe which made you jerk against his face. The filthy god’s fingers wrapped around your calves, pausing to hoist them over his shoulders. The grime-coated gold of his armoured epaulettes slid against your bare skin; the chill making you buck into his open mouth. Your back arched against the glittering lights of Asgard; darkening skies illuminated by the ethereal glow of thousands of candles held in homage by grateful citizens below. Were they praying to the god kneeling between your splayed thighs? You hoped they were. Loki’s tongue slid in messy kisses against your sex, searching every soft pleasure point as he sucked his sacred cum from your centre. Muffled moans of pleasure sounded against your heat, his unfettered enthusiasm loud and wet against the rock of your hips. The naked curve of your ass scratched against filth-soaked leather as the god suckled your clit, moving in rhythmic swirls that coated your womanhood in waves of unbearable pleasure. Your lover leant you backwards so you hovered at an angle off the edge of the balustrade. Gusts of warm dusk air skated over your bristling skin, melting into the dangerous thrill of his obsession. Hail, the victorious dead; the bellman called below, a resounding chorus following the settling of his words; echoing in the night. Hail. The call made your pussy clench, sweet juices beginning to spill against Loki’s lips. He groaned wistfully, tightening his grip around your thighs hanging against his shoulders. You wound your hands in his hair, feeling the familiar resistant tug of crusted sweat and dirt which covered every war-drenched inch of him.

Hail, our Benevolent Protector. Our God. Hail. Your gaze lingered between your legs, the sight of his unmistakeable dark curls bobbing against folds of silk as he dove further sending waves of bravado through your veins. “Did you think of this while you slit the enemies throats, my prince?” you gasped, feeling him nod slowly against the methodical slide of his tongue. “Did you b-burn their world... and their hope... take their lives, uhhh g-gods... just to feast on the pussy you c-crave?” you murmured, seeing a violent shiver roll over his broad shoulders as he moaned in response.

His nose slid into view as he leant back ever so slightly. He knew when you were watching. He always did.

Slowly, Loki licked from the pucker of your ass to your clit, the width of his tongue hovering against the swollen bundle as he lapped gently. The flat massaged the underside, every soft, soaked caress accompanied by a deep groan simmering in his throat. “Did you...f-fuck...miss the taste of me?” you whimpered, seeing him nod again with his brow creased in shameless adoration. The pressure of his talented mouth latched to your sex was incomparable; a light wind rustling against your shoulder-blades making it feel primordial. And perhaps it was. You caught a glimpse of your blackened inner thighs as he dipped lower, grime marks from the slide of his skin and the rub of his hair making you as filthy as he. The unspeakable paint of war coating his sharp cheeks and chin rubbed against your swollen sex, eagerly disappearing in messy slurps down the god’s throat as he lost himself between your spread thighs. Loki could feel you beginning to shake against him as you tried to control yourself, a smirk tugging at his dimples as he put on a show. Relishing you falling apart like foam on the shore beneath his tongue. If there was one thing Loki of Asgard loved more than public adulation, it was giving head. You let out a shameless moan as the low blow of trumpets sang beneath the balustrade, a fervent hum from the citizens now gathered in the square below accompanying the conclusion of the traditional victory prayers. Hail, Commander. the bellman roared; the final steps of his journey giving new gravitas to the most sacred chant. Hail, the crowd refrained. Their intensity rose like a wave of heat, wisping against the back of your hair as your head fell back.

“Do you w-want me to..uhhh-fuck, cum in your m-mouth, Commander?” you gasped between shaky breaths. A loud moan shuddered through you as Loki rumbled against your wet slit, a whine of need bubbling on his lips. You wound one hand through his blood-crusted hair, the other clutching tightly around the ledge of stone beneath your ass. A surge of power vibrated as you pressed the commander deeper into your pussy, his searching tongue curling inside your channel as you rocked against his face. How many women in the streets below would slay their own grandmother for what you had between your legs this very moment? And many men, too; you’d wager.

Loki’s grip tightened around your femurs as he smothered himself. He shook his smooth jaw slowly back and forth, teasing every aching inch of protracted pleasure from your approaching orgasm. He would be soaking. The dulled shine of his battle-leathers glinted in the torchlight, dark stains of brown and red and black sliding easily from his armour to your fresh, perfumed skin. Hail, our Victorious Commander; came the final forceful shout; as violently clear as though the man the voice belonged to was standing by your shoulder. Hail, Commander. Hail; the crowd roared in unison. There was a rapturous cheer as the drumbeats quickened, signalling the arrival of the procession to the main square of Asgard set below the balustrade. Loki’s tongue delved deeper against your cunt, his carefully timed laps burrowing against the source of your undoing. You bucked into him, his name a strangled cry in your throat as you tugged gently at tangled curls. Fingernails dragged down the leather of his overcoat, feeling a layer of enemy blood gathering beneath them. With a final twisted groan, you came over his waiting tongue. Hot arousal flooded his mouth, a welcoming sigh of pleasure sounding from the leader of Asgard's victorious forces as you rocked against his face. Loki could spend hours buried in your cunt; although tonight you suspected you would not be afforded that luxury. “Commander?” a low voice muttered nervously. Your eyes snapped up in alarm, seeing a young guard trembling to your side – facing away from the scene. Had he walked backwards towards the two of you? You thought he must have, if he valued his life. Loki was still lost in your heat, carefully gathering every drop of your cum with fastidiously gentle precision. Your fingers ran lovingly under his chin, cupping the angle of his jaw. His sex-drunk eyes rose to yours, stare hardening as he finally registered the unwelcome figure off to the side. “What?” he spat incredulously, not deigning to rise from where he was spread on his knees in full battle armour on the stone before you. The guard cleared his throat. “Majesty, I am bound to ask you to make your way to the feasting hall. The Allfather impatiently awaits your glorious return, Commander” Loki sighed. “Go.” he ordered bluntly, watching with growing amusement as the terrified guard hurried away without looking back. He lowered your legs from his shoulders, rising regally to his full height. Flickering lamplight illuminated his ghostly features, a glistening slick shimmering around his mouth and jaw revealing his familiar perfectly fair skin beneath the dirt. His lower face. It was the only part of him that was clean.

You closed your legs reluctantly, taking the hand of the victorious god and standing from your perch on the balustrade. The silk of your dress fell against your newly dirt-smeared legs, the folds of antique fabric stained with the same unspeakable remnants of battle as your lover. As your Commander. “It’s incredibly obvious that you have been busy on your return, my prince.” you smirked, biting your lip as you regarded his increasingly dishevelled state. If it were possible, he was even more of a mess than before. Loki chuckled, flicking his tangled hair as the new layer of saliva and cum settled against his war-worn features. “My love, it is us...” he purred, raising your hand and turning it over. He set a kiss down on the delicate underside of your wrist, the cracked sheet of grime covering his beautiful face doing nothing to hide the mirth playing beneath it. “They would not expect anything less.”

A/N: Thank you @simplyholl for being absolutely feral the night she read Hail Commander and immediately hitting me up with this mental image. You're the best my lil smut-sugarplum, I hope I delivered on our vision! Tags @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @loopsisloops @thedistractedagglomeration @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @joyful-enchantress @sititran @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @michelleleewise @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @ravenwings73 @xorpsbane @filthyhiddles @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @astridstark13 @arch-venus25 @nine-leafclover @springdandelixn @smolvenger @fictional-hooman

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Another Time

Half Life Fanfic from this blog? It's more or less likely than you think, it just takes 1-4 business years.

-

When she was young and the oceans were still full, Alyx Vance dreamed of bright lights and a dark tower that touched the sky.

Her mother didn't know why she woke crying in the middle of the night. Azian fretted and fussed. She pet Alyx's hair and whispered comforts as Alyx's shining eyes locked onto her mother's smiling face and the dancing flash of her silver necklace. Her child's mind full of a grief not yet come to pass and the drowning sensation of loss. The minds that sang to hers silenced for a bit longer. Tears shed for those still alive. The absence of a chorus in a once echoing cathedral. The concrete walls of Black Mesa swallowing voices and silencing the halls of its labyrinth.

Outside their apartment, the New Mexico sun breached the horizon and painted the sky anew. Night's blues and blacks gave way to an ominous red. Workers awoke and the complex buzzed with the rising day shift. The hive fell into motion once more. Scientists and Security, and all the little people who kept the wheels turning, all the ones who got caught in the machinations and ground up in the cogs, awake and alive for the moment.

Somewhere a man in a suit adjusted his tie.

-

When she was young and the oceans were drained and left only with leeches that stripped meat from bone in seconds, Alyx Vance dreamed of two prisons. One full of light, floating in the sky, and the other on the ground, full of loud noises, the ringing of bullets and the shrieks of something she both remembered and had not yet heard.

She was older now, wearing her mother's necklace, as she raced around the halls of Black Mesa East and asking questions as quickly as her mind thought of them. D0g nipped at her heels, small and sleek with his metal paws clacking against the concrete. The passage to Ravenholm was open and she waved at the couriers making runs and delivering news.

Alyx rarely cried nowadays. It was something she prided herself on. Babies cried, or so she'd been told, and she was a big girl now. She found herself frustrated by being one of youngest, being coddled and hovered over, so she threw herself into her studies. Uncle Izzy would give her books and she would give him drawings. She was hungry for knowledge, for understanding, to speak and be listened to, to have some real power to help.

Somewhere in a lab late at night, her father rests his leg and allows him the moment to think of what could have been.

-

When she was young and brave and trusted with making the trips between safehouses, Alyx Vance dreamed of brilliant blinding pain in her body and the suffocating gulf of grief. She awoke to what she thought was the sound of helicopter blades, but silenced greeted her and her tear-stained face. Uncle Kleiner's notes on the Borealis lay on the desk in front of her and a blanket covered her back.

She moved a hand to her torso and did not pull it away with the sticky warm feeling of blood through cloth as she imagined she would.

Somewhen or where, another reality overlapping with hers, a man in a suit stands and picks up a crowbar.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

For Eternity, Chapter 4

Alastor x Angel!Wife Oc (Isabel) Rated: Adult - this fic contains content inappropriate for minors. Chapter Warnings: Discussions around consent in relation to the porn industry

@impulsivethoughtsat2am Was darling enough to beta <3 Many thanks, Dearheart.

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord. And my friend runs a Hazbin Fic Community

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

~~~~~<3

Trusting Vox had been a mistake. 

Isabel sat, head in her hands as she cried softly. Her throat was raw from the sobs that had ripped through her the day before. The price of Vox’s help was far more than she could pay and yet, what choice did she have? 

“Isabel!” Vox’s booming voice filled the small apartment he had presented her with. “Doll, why such the long face? I’ve brought you some guests! You wouldn’t want to be rude to our guests?”

Our guests. 

Vox had this whole fantasy constructed in his head where she sold her soul to him in exchange for knowing the fate of her dear Husband. He was confident that she wouldn’t regret selling her soul for the information. He was even more confident that she would grow to love him in her husband’s place, just as soon as she realized her darling husband didn’t want her. 

She knew he knew. He teased it all the time. He hinted at a man who’s love for his wife in life had long since died, hinted at a monster that would rather remove her from existence than see her again. Much to his dismay, regardless of what he would say to her, she would not yeld. 

“This, my dear, is my partner!” Vox held his hand out to the tall purple man dressed in a strange cape and looking what could only be described as tacky. “Valentino.” 

The man held the same look on his face when he looked at her, eyes roaming over curves and features, as Adam did. Just another body to put under him, not seeing the person for who they were and the heart they had. 

“Angel,” The man thing folded, taking her hand from where it rested in her lap and kissing it softly before licking a pink trail up her forearm, “An absolute delight.” 

“My name is Isabel,” she tried to sound braver than she felt. 

“You see,” Vox pulled her up from the couch by her elbow as she tried to wipe off the pink saliva, “Isn’t she just perfect?”

As Vox spun her, she tripped over her feet. The ends of her wings brushed what random assortment of items Vox had decorated the coffee table with off, clattering to the floor in a mess as they flared out in an attempt to right her balance. 

“She could make us a lot of money,” Valentino sang the last word as his eyes ran up and down her body again. “And she is unspoiled?” 

Vox shrugged, “I haven’t touched her yet.” 

They were talking about her as if she was an object. There was nothing more she wanted to do than yank herself from Vox’s too large hands and run for the window. Leaping, she would fly through the sky and be free again, cuts from the broken glass a small price to pay. 

But it wasn’t any use. 

The windows did not open and she had spent much of the night trying to break them without causing so much as a scratch to the surface. The only way she was going to get out of the tower was if they let her walk out. 

“She was married in life?” Valentino looked like he was appraising meat as he looked at her. “So she’s not totally untouched. She could have taken lovers in Heaven too, no?” 

“That’s the kicker, she’s utterly devoted to her husband! She’s been waiting for him like a good little wife but he never joined her.” Vox laughed, enjoying every moment of her torture as his fingers danced over the plush feathers of her wings. He pulled her back to his chest, holding her to him with a arm around her shoulders, slotting his torso between her wings. 

“Did you take lovers while you waited, Little Bird?” Valentino’s eyes seemed to glow from behind the ugly heart shaped glasses he wore. 

“No,” Struggling against Vox’s grip got her nothing but a tighter press against him, 

“So devoted, she came all the way to hell to find her husband.” Again, Vox laughed as if he was in on some secret joke. 

“And who is her husband?” 

“Alastor!” 

“Alastor had a wife?” Valentino blinked in shock, leaning back from her for a moment as if she would sting him if he got too close.

“One that made it into Heaven!” 

“Surely it’s not the same-”

“How many Alastors do you know?” Vox was having the time of his afterlife, grabbing her hand and forcing her to dance with him, back pressed tight to his chest. 

Closing her eyes, Isabel tried to focus on what she’d learned. They knew an Alastor and only one. It wasn’t a common name, in all her years both alive and dead, she had never encountered another. That wasn’t to say it was impossible but she had to cling to the hope that they were right, that it was her Alastor. 

If they had reason to have such negative feelings toward her husband, surely they would brag about what they had acquired. Arrogance and bragging seemed to be their style. 

Perhaps Alastor would find out. Maybe he would come for her. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe they were lying. 

If she was going to get through this, she needed to cling to that hope. It would all be worth it if it meant that she could be with her Alastor again, even for just a moment. It had to be worth it.

~~~~~<3

“Charlie?” Vaggie called from the couch she sat on, “Come take a look at this?”

“What’s up?” Charlie plopped down next to her girlfriend who angled the phone for her to see the screen better. 

They had been busy since the Extermination battle. Every waking moment was spent rebuilding and healing. Only now, after a week did they have a chance to slip back into normalcy and do something as mundane as looking at the news they had missed. 

“That’s an angel.” Vaggie whispered as Charlie took in the picture of a woman, large white wings and long dress being lead into Vee Tower by Vox himself. “Why does Vox have an angel?” 

“That’s not good.” Charlie recognized her in an instant, “Ohhh that’s not good.”

“I feel like that’s a bit more of a ‘not good’ than appropriate, what do you know?” 

“I could be wrong,” Charlie didn’t think she was but she certainly wanted to be, “But that looks like the woman we met in Heaven.”

“Alastor’s-”

“My what?” The man materialized in front of them, grin spreading at how they jumped, sending the phone in the air only to clatter to the ground, face down. He spared it a glance, eyebrow raised before directing his attention to the two woman he had caught speaking of him in hushed voices. 

“Your… jambalaya! Would be really good to have for dinner!” Charlie answered with a wide grin of her own. 

Not telling Alastor wasn’t an option but they needed to be sure. They needed to know for sure. They couldn’t see her face in the picture. There was no need to start a war if it wasn’t even her. 

But really, would Alastor care? He had swept aside the idea of being reunited with her as a reward for redemption as if it was unimportant. 

~~~~~<3

The door to her prison apartment opened, startling Isabel out of her daze. She’d been alone for the last two days and was torn between wanting Vox to return in order to have some sort of interaction or never seeing him or the man he had brought with him again. 

Scrambling to her feet, she peered across the living space, unsure of what to expect. Vox had what seemed to be volatile moods that set the tone for his visits. It wasn’t Vox who walked through the door however. 

Valentino had returned, the last person she had wanted to see. Along with him was a tall pink man with four arms and covered in fluff. He wore a pink blazer that almost matched his fur color and the smallest pair of black shorts she had ever seen. The short shorts contrasted with the tall black boots he wore, making him look somehow both covered up and exposed at the same time. .

The kindness in his eyes contrasted with the sharp hunger in Valentino’s. 

“I brought you a friend, little bird. I figured you’d be getting lonely, Vox being so busy,” Valentino presented the pink man- was it a man?- as if they were a prize. 

“Heya, Toots,” he said and you were sure then that he was a he, at least in the conventional sense. 

“This is Angel Dust, It’s best that you get to know eachother. You’ll be working closely together soon, after all!” Valentino laughed, “Very closely indeed.”

She didn’t expect to be left alone with the strange new man. Fear surged through her as her eyes bounced between him and the closing door as it latched shut behind Valentino. Holding her breath, she waited for the new man to make some sort of move, to say something to set the tone of their interaction. 

“You can relax, I’m not going to hurt you.” Angel said, walking around the space like he owned the place. “Got any drugs? Drinks?”

“No?” She hesitated as he made himself comfortable on the couch. 

“You’re like a damn deer in the headlights! Do you even know what’s going down? Damn.” “No, they haven’t told me anything.” 

“Well, fuck me.” Angel Dust ran a hand down his pink face, “You’re going to want to sit down.” 

She did, perched on the edge of the couch to allow her wings room to breath behind her. While he gathered whatever thoughts he needed to gather, she waited, watching his face morph with the thoughts in his head. He seemed nice enough at least but Vox had seemed nice at first too. Trusting her first judgements was what got her into this situation. 

“I’m a porn star,” Angel Dust started and her eyebrows shot up toward her hair at the interesting choice in leading statement. “A pretty famous one, if I do say so myself. And I do.” 

“Oh, okay…” Isabel wasn’t sure what the appropriate response to that declaration was. 

“Valentino is king of the porn district,” Angel Dust really wanted her to figure it out herself. He didn’t want to have to tell her this but she just blinked those amber eyes at him. 

“His outfit makes so much more sense now.” 

“That’s what you’re taking from this?” Angel Dust ran a hand through his fluffy pink hair. “Look, I’m going to just say it. Vox is giving Val permission to use you in his productions. I don’t know why, he usually keeps his toys separate.”

“Use me in one of his productions? What does that mean, exactly?” She didn’t think it would mean holding the mic or adjusting lights but it surely couldn’t mean... 

“You’re going to star in a production, at least one, maybe more.” Angel Dust hated how dirty this was all making him feel, “With me.”

“With you?” She shot up off the couch, “A pornographic film?” 

“Hey, I’m in demand, I’ll have you know!” Angel Dust tried to joke but it fell flat. “Look, you can either agree to do it and do it willingly or Val will force us. I don’t- That’s not my thing. I don’t want to be a part of that. Hell, I’m not even into women or being the top for that matter-” He was starting to ramble.

“I can’t,” She ran her fingers through her hair.

“You are not going to have a choice,” Angel Dust stood, wanting to offer comfort but not sure how. “I will do everything I can to not hurt you but unless you know how to change Vox’s mind, we’re going to do it.” 

“I can’t,” She repeated, pacing the space. “I’m married, I can’t. Even if I wanted to, I can’t.” 

“You’re married?” Angel Dust was taken aback, “Why’s everyone married all of a sudden? That’s some antique shit. Come on, sit down and let’s talk this shit out. I’ve been here awhile. What’s your name?”

~~~~~<3

Angel Dust felt like the dirtiest sinner in all of Hell as he dragged his ass through the hotel doors and he hadn’t even done anything yet. He had gotten to spend an hour with the angel Isabel and made no progress toward obtaining anything remotely close to her consent, let alone agreement for willing participation in the planned production. 

That was part of what Val wanted though. That sick fucker didn’t care if she was willing. Hell, if she wasn’t the film would sell for even more. He wasn’t sure there were enough drugs in all of Hell for him to bury the guilt if he was forced to-

“Angel!” Charlie had been waiting for his return. 

Her eagerness caught him by surprise. She wasn’t one to wait up for him though it wasn’t uncommon for her to be in the lobby. Maybe it was his own guilty mind but he had hoped to slip to the bar, get a drink and hide away.

“Heya,” He side stepped to try and make it to the bar but Charlie was hot on his heels. 

“I just have a feeew questions for you,” Charlie reached out, grabbing one of his hands to pull him to a halt. 

Knowing this wasn’t something he was going to get out of, he sighed and said, “What’s up?”

“A far as you recaall,” This was off to a great start, “If any of the Vee’s have any new, shall we say, winged-”

“Yeah, Vox has a pet angel. Can I please drink now? Today was kind of shit.” 

“Oh, Good!” Charlie clapped her hands before reconsidering her reaction, “Not that that’s good good, just that that’s what I wanted to hear. Not that I WANTED to hear that-”

“Find the point and get to it,” He was far too sober to be dealing with this shit right now. 

“What do you know about her?” Vaggie stepped in, saving them both from the rambling. 

“Big amber doll eyes and totally devoted to her husband. It’s gonna make shit hard for her, she’s not playing ball for Vox or Valentino.” 

“What’s her name?” Charlie asked.

“Isabel, she said. Isabel Dupont. Why?”

“I beg your pardon?” Static violently tore through the room as lights flickered and shadows deepened, growing and spreading like spilled ink.

~~~~~<3

Tag list: @preciousbabypeter, @catticora, @alastor-simp, @alastorthirsty

[aylen-san]

The Black Oath of Arda

Maglor stood on the edge of the cliff, where the relentless wind tore at his dark garments, as though nature itself was trying to push him away from a fateful step. Around him lay the broken bodies of his brothers—Maedhros and Celegorm, those who had once been his support and family. The silver and copper strands of their hair mingled with the dust, shadows of past sufferings frozen in their lifeless eyes, and their hands, petrified in final agony, still reached out toward distant stars.

Before Maglor, like the primordial darkness, stood Morgoth himself, the Dark Lord, surrounded by his eternal shadow. His armor, black as obsidian, gleamed, reflecting the faint light of the dying moon. In his eyes burned a fire—not the blaze of vengeful wrath, but the quiet, unrelenting flame of vanity and pride. His menacing figure towered over the world like a black spire, radiating a power capable of breaking the will of any mortal or immortal.

Maglor, gripping his harp, now destined to be a silent witness to his fall, looked at Morgoth. His fingers, which once brought forth melodies that could calm a storm or inspire heroic deeds, now trembled with fury and bitterness.

"Oh, great Melkor, mighty Dark Lord!" His words rang out like thunder across the shattered valleys. His voice was filled with pain, as if every note resonated with the collapse of his hopes and dreams. "I hear your command, and I swear an oath upon the bodies of my brothers. With their death, my heart dies too, but a new will is born—a will to dominion over Arda. Let every corner of the world bow before me, let every people know my power. I will destroy all who stand in my way, be they Eldar, Men, or beasts, for my vengeance knows no end. You will rule over the Worlds, and I—over Arda!"

Morgoth smiled, but it was the smile of a beast preparing to devour its prey. Darkness thickened around them, as if space itself retreated before the greatness of the evil that had forged the oath.

The ground beneath Maglor’s feet began to tremble, as if Arda herself cried out in response to his words. The air grew heavy, and even the sky, once free and clear, was covered with dense clouds. The sounds of nature vanished—the birds no longer sang, the wind stilled, and the forests fell silent. Even the waves crashing against the distant cliffs seemed to freeze in fear.

Maglor felt something changing inside him. His heart, once filled with melodies and light, now empty from loss and trials, was eclipsed by darkness. The music that had once flowed through his veins dissolved, giving way to silent rage and a thirst for power. His gaze hardened, and his hands, accustomed to holding the harp, seemed to grow used to the idea that they would now grip a sword.

Thus, Maglor, the last of Fëanor's sons, crossed the final threshold.

[raccoonsrummagerostrum]

Twisted Memories

Fem Yautja x Fem! Human! Ex-soldier! Reader

Word count: 928

Warnings: Brief mentions of: suicide, SA, harassment violence, and injury. Themes of PTSD. Nightmares. Hurt/Comfort

Summary: After living through hell, dropping out of service, failing to re-enter civilian life, and trenching across the galaxy, you finally get some peace of mind in your new life. 

A/N: This is probably the most specific fic I've written, and probably the most heavy, but I think it's really good!

You don't like talking about your service, you don't even like telling people that you served. Folks always tried to thank you, and tell you how brave you are. You hated it. There was nothing from your service that was worth being thanked over. You had been forced to kill and maim in the name of corporate interest. You had been harassed simply for the crime of having tits. And so many of your friends were dead, not because they were killed valiantly in the heat of battle, but because they too had been mistreated and abused by the government who they had sworn to protect.

Somehow things got even worse when you left service. The VA was absolutely now help, you had been left with chronic pain from all the shrapnel left in your body. Radio shows and news anchors kept reaching out to hear your story, only for you to tell it and be met with horrified looks and an empty promise that they would keep in touch. The worst part was having to live amongst civilians who had no idea what you went though and would likely vomit if you told them. In the end, getting off planet was the best decision you ever made.

The yautja were much more your style. Their entire civilization was focused on hunting. But not just random senseless killings like back on earth. These hunts had rules, they were fair, and it was for glory. You were treated so well by everyone too. Free, no hassle health care, mental health support, and best of all a loving wife to come home too. 

You loved telling her all about your hunts, but always refrained from telling her about your life before leaving earth. You didn’t want her to know about any of it, and for the most part she didn’t ask. But she did wonder. 

Despite how hard you tried to run from your past it always caught up to you, especially in your dreams. Vivid images of war would regularly flash across the back of your eyelids as your brain struggled to rest. What was worse is that these nightmares were always worse than your memories. They were twisted and warped by your subconscious until they became more horrific than reality could ever be. 

You once again flew out of your sleep, the tendrils of those nightmares slowly fading as your dark bedroom came into view. The soothing voice of your lover wafted into your ears as you slowly regained awareness of the world around you. Even sitting in bed she towered over you, and effortlessly pulled you into her lap and cradled you in her arms as though you were her pup. She loved you like you were her pup. Without even thinking you burrowed your face into her clavicle and sobbed.

“IT WAS SO SCARY!” You wailed. 

“I know love, It's ok, I'm here,” she soothed back. 

“I-I was jus- just tr-try-trying to pull hi-him to safety, and-and they j-just kept SHOOTING AT ME!” You completely lost control as you sobbed and cried into her. She began to rock you as she sang something that you had once heard her singing to a suckling. It was hard to tell in the dead of night how much time had passed but that didn’t matter as your sniffling slowed then stopped.  

“Please,” she spoke, honey and silk dripping from her voice “Tell me.” She didn’t even need to say what, you knew. 

You followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the table. She fixed you both a warm drink before joining you. Almost immediately you poured it all out. Everything you had seen in combat, everything that had been done to you by your superiors, everything. Eventually you had to stop. Your breath hitched, your eyes stung, your nose ran, and the sun was starting to come up. You hadn't even gotten to the subject of the nightmare. Your lover soothed you once again, treating you very much like a sad pup. 

She curled back into bed with you in her arms. Somewhere between the heat of her body, the soft plush of the bed, and the reassuring sounds of the early morning, you were able to fall back asleep, if only for a moment. 

Over the next few days you told your wife more. Telling her how and why you left service, your life after, the many many funerals you attended. Eventually you told her about how and why you left earth, and how everything has been better since then and how you don’t think you can ever go back. She gave you a sad smile.

“My life as well has been better since you have come into it, but I am so sorry that you had to walk though that to be here.” It was at last her turn to cry. Her heart ached for what you had lived though. In that moment the only thing she wanted to do was take that pain away, to take those memories, and to take the nightmares. You both held each other, and embraced for a long moment. Once the tears from both of you began to slow, you pulled away and looked at each other. Her hair painted her face and the tears caught the sunlight to look like jewels. Your rosy cheeks bloomed, and a smile was spread across your face. You echoed back your wife's earlier sentiment.

“I'm sorry I had to go though that too. But fuck do you make it all worth it.”

[iceinherheart-kissonherlips]

Jesus, he thinks, something is wrong with us, we are unwell, no one has ever felt any of this without destruction. Empires have fallen like this, he thinks, but it only makes him want her more, makes him look at his hands and think, My god, what a waste of time doing anything else but holding her. What a waste, and then he says aloud, JesusfuckingChrist what have you done to me? And she says, Kiss me.

He kisses her, thinks, Go on, ruin me. Wreck me, please. 

She kisses him back and she does. [x]

[fan-goddess]

Authors Note: Happy 1k bestie! You deserve it! Tried to write this like you would in a Targaryen history book, and here’s the result. Went all out as only the best for you! Muah

Taglist: @humanpurposes, @valeskafics, @arcielee, @blue-serendipity,

Come and get some

Skinning the children for a war drum

Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns

It's quicker and easier to eat your young

Extracts from, The Tales From The Dance Of The Dragons:

‘After the Prince Aemond had murdered his nephew, the Prince Lucerys Velaryon, with his dragon Vhagar, the usurped Queen Rhaenyra went mad with grief over hearing the news of the death of her son. That night, and for many after, all that could be heard from her chambers by her handmaidens and guards alike, were cries of sadness and begs for the gods to be bring her son back to her into the safely of her arms.

Her husband however, the King Regent Daemon Targaryen, after hearing the words of his sons death, did not cry to mourn his niece-wife. Instead, he vowed a new retribution was to take place to honour Lucerys death.

As whilst the Prince Aemond had successfully enacted his vow for an eye for an eye, he had also unknowingly paved the way towards Daemons vow. His vow, for a son for a son.

Aemond Targaryens only son had not even passed his first name day. The babe was a quiet one, like his father had been, and had been named Maelos. Though whilst his father set his future in stone, the boy peacefully laid in his mother’s arms as she herself sat by the fire, both blissfully unaware of what the one-eyed prince had set in stone.‘

‘After Blood and Cheese had come for the young Maelos, the boys mother held her son in her arms and refused to let anyone but herself touch the body. “He’s my son!” She would yell, over and over when anyone got close enough.

The only person she allowed to touch the corpse in her arms was the prince Aemond, who by the end of the next moons turn, had somehow managed to persuade his lady-wife to release her grip and let their son be burned by the princes own dragon Vhagar for his funeral.

The prince and his wife never had more children after their sons murder. Even after being encouraged both by the Hand and the other maesters alike.

Even after the prince Aemond had been crowned as Prince Regent, and the efforts were tripled to convince his wife to give him a male heir, no child was ever birthed by the woman.

When asked one morn by an unknown handmaiden, supposedly she had whispered back to her, “If I was to bring forth a child now, it would be a swifter and easier death for them to be eaten for our dinner, then for me to let them be brought forth into this world…” as she looked into the fireplace she used to sit by holding her son as she sang to him.

It seems the princess was right in a way, as her husband died not long after she supposedly spoke those words. Overcome by the grief however, she allowed herself to fall from her tower and be impaled by the sharp spikes below.

The princess and Aemonds only remaining child, the princess Visenya, was a girl shy of her seventh name day when she lost her mother, and by the end of the day, she was all that was left of their shared blood. She grew to be as fierce as her father had been, never allowing any man diminish her fire.

The princess though was pardoned by her cousins, and soon after travelled to the north, where she married a lower lord who felt no issue in fanning her flames. She was supposedly called to be her name sake reborn, as not only did she birth only a single son, but she got all the north to fear her just as all had feared the original Visenya.

That single son, was named Aemond, to honour his grandsire. Though the bloodline of Aemond Targaryen and his lady wife blurs from there, as it’s unknown if their blood died out or whether it spread. We will never know.

[64yrsold]

the 1975 (notes)

“In a little while from now, if I’m not feeling any less sour,” I sang quietly, strumming his guitar carefully. The empty house echoed my timid singing, the drip from the faucet accompanying me. “I promised myself to treat myself, and visit a nearby tower.”

The chords came easier than they usually did, thankfully. I couldn’t help but grin, the lyrics skipping ahead of me. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine my voice filling the room.

“We may as well go home as I did on my own, alone again, naturally,” I had forgotten how good it felt to hear my own voice, to feel the notes buzz in my chest, to hunch over the acoustic and play as loud as I could. Not that he wouldn’t let me play, just… He had a better ear than me, he spent his life perfecting a sound. I was just having fun.

“What do we do, what do we do,” I sang, and took a deep breath. The solo was my favourite part, but my fingers often tripped over the fretboard. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to live in the moment for once. And it came, my fingers working habitually on their own, my ear turned into the sound-

“You liar,” he whispered, leaning against the doorframe. I yelped, shocked at his sudden presence, muting the guitar with a whine from the strings. “You filthy little liar.”

“You scared the shit out of me!” I gasped, rubbing my hand against my thrashing heart.

“You said you didn’t play. And you said you couldn’t sing!” he pointed an accusatory finger at me, shaking his head.

“I’m just messing around,” I laughed, setting his guitar back on the stand, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were coming home tonight.”

“No, don’t change the subject. You lied!” he crossed the room, sitting beside me.

“About what?” I held my hands in the air, and he grabbed my wrists.

“Darling, your voice,” he sighed, “I knew you were lying.”

“Alright, relax,” I groaned, shaking my hands free, “I like singing, but I love listening to people sing. To you sing. I’d rather hear your voice than mine.”

“You sing so effortlessly,” he ignored me, a hand set firmly on my knee, “And you’ve got this gorgeous, airy tone that’s just so soothing.”

“Sure,” I blushed, tapping his knuckles, “This is embarrassing.”

“Why?” he frowned, lifting my chin, “You can’t be embarrassed around me.”

“I think I can be,” I laughed, smothering my face in his neck.

“Sweetheart, you’re fantastic,” he hummed, rubbing circles into my back, “Please, please, sing for me.”

“Oh God,” I mumbled into his sweater, "I knew you'd get like this."

“Seriously!” he giggled, letting me go and getting his guitar, “Come on, please?” He picked at the strings, and I covered my face with my hands.

“I’m gonna throw up,” I moaned, earning a boyish giggle.

“Looking back over the years, and whatever else that appears,” he started where I left off, his honey voice forcing me to peek through my fingers. His watched me with an eager grin, head tilted to the side and nodding rhythmically, “I remember I cried when my father died, never wishing to hide the tears,” he prodded me with his foot, then closed his eyes. “Help me darling, I don’t know the lyrics.” I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“And at sixty-five years old, my mother, God rest her soul,” I sang, my throat dry and voice shaking.

“Couldn’t understand why the only man she had ever loved had been taken,” he sang along with me, keeping his voice slightly under mine.

“Leaving her to start with a heart so badly broken,” I smiled as he nodded quickly, our voices both distorted from our widening grins, “Despite encouragement from me, no words were ever spoken.”

“Yes, baby!” he chirped, his guitar ringing into silence as he reached a hand out to cradle my face.

“And when she passed away, I cried and cried all day,” I watched his eyes soften as he listened to me sing alone, “Alone again, naturally.” My voice seemed to echo down the hallways of our home, the sounds sinking into the walls and the bedding and the curtains, our voices together flooding the room with warmth.

“Beautiful, darling,” he murmured, kissing my cheek, “Now you’ve got to do it in the studio for me.”

“Not a chance,” I giggled, tilting my head up so his lips would meet mine. He pressed a soft kiss to my open mouth, laughing into me. He pulled back, smirking.

“Well, I already recorded this,” he wiggled his phone in front of my face, pausing the voice recording.

“You did not,” I gasped, grabbing for his phone, which he easily held out of my reach.

“Might as well finish it off, don’t you think?” he winked, setting his guitar to the side. I lunged for the phone again, and he sprung from the couch, "Come on, we can record a lovely duet together! It'll be romantic."

“Delete it,” I said sternly, stalking him down the hallway.

“This recording is my prized fucking possession,” he raised an eyebrow, “If you want it… I’ll be at the studio,” he turned quickly, sprinting down the hallway to the front door.

“Don’t you dare!” I yelled, chasing him out the front door to his car.

“Baby, I love you, but I am much faster and stronger than you,” he swiftly opened his car door, hopping inside and locking it. I stood at the window, knocking on it uselessly as he typed on his phone.

“Open the door,” I whined, and he held his phone against the window.

“I already sent it to the guys. Might as well hop in, I’ll give you a lift to the studio,” he shrugged, muffled by the car door between us.

“You’re unbelievable,” I shook my head, jaw open.

“Your voice is what’s unbelievable,” he unlocked the doors, giving me a sheepish smile, “Get in the car, sweetheart.”

//

[zvphyr]

. ִ ֗..envy looms over them, pleas for mercy falling upon deaf ears.

˖ ࣪ ‹ FOR envy is a cold blooded killer, slithering through slips and cracks between ones mind, filling any gaping voids their melancholy couldn't. . .

─ TO SUMMARIZE, the position of an archons lover comes with great responsibility and great sacrifice..

. ִ ֗ cws ; yandere behavior, dark themes, death, descriptions of dead bodies, light gore, slight mindbreak, imprisonment.

CRIES AND WEEPS WERE HEARD AS A THICK MELANCHOLY FILLED THE AIR, a newfound grief swallowing the crying figure whole. Hands shaky and bloodied, the metallic smell fills their lungs as they choke back venom, cursing upon the name of the one who bore responsibility of this crime.

A different figure approached the weeping one, kneeling down beside them but their demeanour unfazed. No tears left their eyes, for they knew their crying lover would soon return to their senses, sacrifices must be made, and not everyone proves themselves worthy of seeing another day.

˖ ࣪ ‹ “HEAVY EMOTIONS BURDEN YOU, MY BELOVED, WHY'S THAT?”

The bards smooth voice taunted them, for the blood staining his hands was far too visible despite not being there anymore. The voice which once sang and whispered the sweetest of love poems to them now disgusted them, for they knew he was the one who caused their loved ones death.

Poor poor soul, the blood from their veins spilling onto the ground and dirtying the mourning figures clothes with a deep crimson, the corpse almost unrecognizable. Grief filled the crying persons heart, staring down at what was left of the one who was so full of life mere hours ago. A shame, truly. Tears spilled down their eyes as they cursed the anemo archon under their breath.

Their eyes glued onto the fresh corpses face, the poor souls face twisted in horror and frozen in utter fear. His hand slithers onto their shoulder, slightly rubbing circles onto it as their cries fell upon deaf ears, for he doesn't regret his actions and would not hesitate to do this again.

The figure of the anemo archon's beloved was one regularly seen amidst Mondstadt's bustling roads, always so quick to start a conversation, everyone knew their name yet nobody quite knew them. Soft summer breezes danced around them with every step they took, as they listened to their partners honeyed words.

Nobody quite caught onto their pain, nobody quite saw past their friendly demeanor as they had to beg the archon to spare the lives of the ones they interacted with, promising to never leave his side as he held a blade to their throat.

Perhaps this was their fate, to forever remain in his grasp and suffer the consequences of giving into his love, for the wind carried their cries and ushered them away, never to be heard again.

˖ ࣪ ‹ “THE GRIEF IS TEMPORARY, DEAREST, AND I BELIEVE BOTH OF US KNOW THAT BY NOW, NO?”

Amber eyes stared down at their shaking form, his voice eerily calm as if he wasn't just staring down at what was left of a fresh corpse. Those deep amber eyes which they once gazed at lovingly now sent shivers down their spine, as they couldn't even raise their head to meet them... For they knew those amber eyes hid many secrets, one of them being the fact that the person behind them caused the death of the young person.

The corpse was now beyond recognition, the only thing that they could recognize being a mere scrap of fabric left behind from their tattered outfit. Crushed to death, most of the corpse was gone yet the deep bloodstain and the organs spilling out of what was left of their torso was enough to make them sick to their stomach as they cried, cursing the geo archon under their breath.

He didn't kneel beside them, choosing to instead tower over the crying figure, he only slightly did so to tap on their back, a silent threat.. for their contract clearly stated that crying over or mourning someone who wasn't their beloved would be considered deep betrayal and would result to breaking the contract.

The geo archons beloved was seen around Liyue quite a lot, too. Fairly less talkative and hanging off of the arm of their partner, one normal couple that seemed so passionate about one another as the illusion of pure love was strong. Rocks could turn into mush from the lightest of touches from them, noises of jewels hanging off of them clinking together were like a sirens song to their partner.

And yet, it was all an act. Merely a play, to have others believe nothing was wrong with the two of them when the red flags of their relationship were just so many. People they interacted with a little too much would go missing, as would a piece of their soul as they'd betray the contract binding the two lovers together.

Perhaps this was their fate, to forever remain in his grasp and suffer the consequences of giving into his love, for the depths of the tall caves muffled their cries, never to be heard again.

˖ ࣪ ‹ “YOUR TEARS PROVE WEAKNESS, HOWEVER DO YOU BELIEVE WE WILL ACHIEVE OUR ETERNITY WHEN YOU'RE SO INCAPABLE?”

Her expensive perfume filled their lungs as they inhaled sharply, one they were used to all too well. The airy perfume haunted them even in their slumber, one that they initially enjoyed breathing in now made them want to lose their sense of smell completely. That sweet, sweet fragrance drowned out the metallic smell lingering onto her skin, for they knew all too well it was her to blame for this inhumane crime, and she was wearing it with pride.

The corpse was still fairly intact, blood spilling out of their mouth and down onto the floor as it seemingly wouldn't spot, electro scars clear on their skin. Electrocuted to death, the sheer intensity and speed of the electricity which hit them causing an immediate death. Despite her cold words, their tears just wouldn't stop as they sniffled, silent tears falling into the nasty puddle of blood. Choking back their tears they cursed the electro archon under their breath.

She didn't lower herself to them, merely scoffing as she threatened them to stop making a scene with the crackling of thunder in the distance, they knew they'd be next if they didn't cut it out. They wiped their tears, breath still shaky as they held in the tears, for they knew they had to be strong for the sake of their life.

The electro archons beloved was never seen. A mystery on their own, wandering through the halls of their current residence with the archon and making servants think they were some sort of ghost. Usually locked up in her plane of euthymia, they'd have to beg for countless hours just to be let out for even a few minutes to breathe in fresh air. Electricity surged through their fingertips, answering to their calls, it was but another mark of ownership, another thing she did to claim them.

Whenever they were let out however, they'd be under high surveillance, despite the fact they were there for barely five minutes until they'd be brought right back to their lover, isolated within the depths of her very mind, the threat of never being let out again lingering in their mind. And if they did interact with someone? Well, they'd be dead in an instant, this scenario would replay itself as she'd force them to stop crying and drag them back to their prison home.

Perhaps this was their fate, to forever remain in her grasp and suffer the consequences of giving into her love, for the rain and crackling of thunder silenced their cries, never to be heard again.

˖ ࣪ ‹ “. . .”

Her touch chilled them to the very core as merely her presence caused the already impossibly low temperature to drop, the very touch they once yearned for making them flinch away from her gloved hand. They were used to her touch all too well, despite that, to know the very sin she had just committed drove them away, the very tears in their eyes almost freezing before leaving their eyes from the cold. Snowflakes dancing between them yet they could only pay attention to the corpse before them.

Fully intact and almost alive looking yet that peaceful expression could not hide her disgusting actions. Sharp pieces of ice that bloomed from the very ground piercing through their flesh, a clean kill yet just seeing their loved ones body frozen and impaled in such inhumane ways made their eyes turn into waterfalls. Tears trickled down their cold cheeks as they cursed the cryo archon under their breath.

She lowered herself slightly, hand onto their shoulder as it slightly slithered to their collarbone, her every touch practically leaving an icy imprint onto their very soul. She pulled them back a little, and they got the hint. Sniffling a little they got up, shaking from the cold and the tears they let her pull them into her embrace, buried deep within her heavy coat.

The figure of the cryo archons beloved was a fleeting one, never seen outside her palace and even there.. the servants were barely aware of them, gossip making it's way through the dark halls, creepy stories of a sickly pale figure, the archons very beloved hidden away deep within the palace. The only one who knew of their existence fully being the Jester, the archons most trusted harbinger. He who had seen them full of life once, sunkissed skin and eyes with genuine life behind them, now had caught sight of them as a breathing corpse.

Her promises of fixing a world where they'd eternally be safe and never hurt again lingered in their mind, she excused her imprisonment of them as a safety precaution, for the world was "far too dangerous" for them, despite their strength. Rarely let out, and only during formal events, they'd be seen sometimes.. perhaps buried under her coat or just by her side and not interacting with anyone else, for bad things would happen if they did. The Jester had caught their gaze once, and maintaining eye contact with them even for a second caused a chill to go down his spine, he knew that look all too well. A silent cry for help, eyes sunken from tears and deep dark circles visible on under their eyes, a gaze which haunted his nightmares for multiple nights.

Perhaps this was their fate, to forever remain in her grasp and suffer the consequences of giving into her love, for the snowstorms haunting songs lulled their cries into an eternal sleep, never to be heard again.

˖ ࣪ ‹ . . .ISOLATING the poor soul with the envious god eternally, it's green light flashing within their eyes, the last thing they saw as the cuts and slashes through their skin dug deeper.

─ do not copy, steal nor translate any of my works without explicit permission from me. ++ ignore any mistakes

[bookishtheaterlover7]

https://www.tumblr.com/fukyourmind/729723043722690560?source=share

Archangel ari watching his demon lovers and they wanna let him relive his stress after dealing with an irritating soul

Irritating soul is Mr freezy

We diving down into Ari's spicy side now! Let's do this, An🫶n!

Side bar, this happens sometime after, Lloyd and Ari are allowed to marry, Y/N. Bunch of drama before this happens, but I won't spoil it for y'all.

The thing with Ari is that sometimes, he's tightly wound... It's why Lloyd loves to mess with Ari, but not to the point of pissing off both him and Y/N (he made that mistake once, and let's just say blue balls weren't the only problem he had). But sometimes, his archangel duties really get to him, and the souls he deals with really grinds his gears.

His current charge is Robert Pronge, a real pain in his ass. The guy was a real piece of work, who somehow kept Ari on edge, and stressed. Even worse, is when he's enjoying a day in with the people he loves most in the world, and is grinding against Y/N's barely covered backside, as he and Lloyd caress, kiss and suck every inch they can reach. And he gets called away to deal with the little fucker.

"God... Not now..." Ari groaned against Y/N's neck. Desperately burrowing his face into the crook of it, while squeezing her lace covered mounds.

"What's wrong, Sunshine? Did our foreplay make you cream your pants too early?" Lloyd smirked, mischievously smiling at Ari.

"God, I wish!" Ari sighed. Slowly removing himself from the sandwich, with a few light kisses to his lovers.

"I'm being called away..."

"No! Ari, you aren't supposed to even have any form of work today..." Y/N pouted turning around in Lloyd's arms to face the archangel, as the top demon resumed his delicious torture.

"I know... But I'm needed, and I can't disobey Them. That's part of the conditions set, when they agreed to let me keep my powers and both of you..." Ari said, zipping up his jeans, and fixing his navy blue buttoned shirt.

"You sure you have to go, Levinson? Cause it'll be worth it..." Lloyd teased, cupping the apex of Y/N's thighs, making her release a borderline pornographic moan.

"Yes. I'm sure. I don't want to, but I have to if I'm to keep the possibility of our future." Ari sighed, cupping Y/N's face and kissing her deeply, and pecking Lloyd's cheek, as he was nibbling Y/N's ear.

"Carry on without me. I'll be back before you know it..."

~

"Jesus Christ, Freezy! I'm supposed to be on fucking vacation with my loves. And you just had to fucking make an escape attempt today?!" Ari exclaimed, definitely not happy with his Charge. The ethereal being was sexually frustrated and disappointed that he's missing out on vacation sex and aftercare, and so he's taking it out on the menace to his personal life.

"Oh, please. All you archangels ever do is stand around like idiots waiting for the next order. You have nothing more important to do, but be my little bitch of the afterlife." Freezy cackled.

"I'm not just an archangel now! I am married to two of the best creatures on Earth. And we will have a family, and no one, especially not some pathetic scum of the Earth will stop me from enjoying the life I have with them." Ari cried, using his archangel blade to send Freezy back to hell where he belongs.

With that done, Ari dusted the dirt and ash off of his suit, opened his wings, and flew back to their new French vacation home. Flying into the wide open patio doors leading to the balcony attached to their bedroom.

"Y/N! Baby Angel? Lloyd?" He called wondering where they could be?" He wondered. Walking through the home until he heard Y/N beckoning.

"Ari! We've got something for you..." She sang. Ari chuckled, and amusedly shook his head before following the sound of his girl's voice.

The scene before him stopped him in his tracks, the living room, with a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower, was covered in rose petals, Y/N's horny playlist was playing, the lights were set low to create ambiance, and in the center of it all, his succubus wife dressed in the most sinful of the lingeries he had given her as a gift, sitting on a golden chair, one hand in her hair, the other, slowly and teasingly inching down her thigh towards her center.

"We've been waiting for you, my sweet Angel." Y/N sighed. Her voice hitching up a little as she started to slowly, achingly play with herself.

"We?" Ari asked, before being dragged down to an identical chair directly across from Y/N.

"We, Pigeon. Took you long enough! Our girl has been aching to do this all day..." Lloyd laughed, strutting towards their succubus, and patting the back of her head, giving her lips a soft peck, and unlatching the strappy bra, that was covering he luscious breasts, and giving them each a teasing squeeze.

"You left in such... A hurry... Ah... I knew you'd need release..." Y/N sighed. The stimulation making her lose her breath.

"And so, our clever girl came up with the idea of giving you a show. Working you up to pound her sweet pussy, like there's no tomorrow..." Lloyd finished for her, pulling her up to her feet and bending her over the chair. Exposing her plump ass to Ari, who was slowly pumping himself, before slapping it. Causing Y/N to squeal and tense up, both hands desperately clutching the back of the chair.

"And by the looks of things... I think you'd like the idea..." Lloyd said with finality. Grabbing Y/N, and getting on his knees in front of her, roughly pulling her panties down, and sucking and kissing marks all over her ass, before diving down to drink her seemingly endless flow of juices. Allowing Ari to watch it all unfold, before getting a taste.

~

Alright you, horny fucks 😆 this is the weirdest way to start it but, eh, it's a process.

🎉Welcome to the start of my Hundred Follower Celebration!!!🎉

Over the next few days, my asks are open for any questions about me or my writings, or even about celeb tea. And while I will answer your asks. I will also be uploading a handful of fics, so stay tuned and let's celebrate!

Because y'all are the best for allowing and helping me to reach this many followers, when a few months ago, I had zero. I'm saying thank you, from the bottom of my heart. And I look forward to growing even more with you all ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️