#unseen recesses of thought

[thoughts-for-a-penny]

I write solitudes and tragedies.

Ones that brew deep behind the shades of the mind. There all is murky, and nothing black or white. Say your prayers, oh you who wish to venture in. Without them you will perish.

The darkness is peace and the light warmth. Or is it spine chilling and and despairing? I've long forgotten. Within grows a tree, or a gem, or a boat. Yes, all for one and one for all. Both are like that, swallowing everything in their path and leaving none untouched.

Scars are deep and unhealing. Even the wise women can't cure them. Forget their pain and mourn your loss. Loss is the greater of the two burdens. Beneath your skin resides the answer, and you must shed it to learn the truth.

[moonmaiden1996]

Claiming his Queen

Taking a break from the real world and wanted to write a random idea I needed to get out after watching the Sandman. I loved the book but the casting was amazing. I am literally dying with how good it is. REQUESTS OPEM

Soulmate Fic

Summary- You spent your summers at the Burgess Manor with your parents, but stumbling upon captive in the basement is going to change your life forever.

Slightly dark fic- Warnings include imprisonment, possessive thoughts, pain and soul branding. 

You remember playing at the Burgess Manor as a child. The gardens were stunning, a sea of green against the glimpses of colour. You spent many days happily frolicking outside as your parents attended the meeting within the house. Many staff had whispered about the devil trapped in the basement behind the Grand Magus's powerful spells. Some said the Grand Magus himself had discovered the secret to eternal life and hid it behind the door. One staff member even said it was a vampire who would creep upstairs in the dead of night and steal away his victims.

There was a sort of glee at taring around the ancient house, discovering secrets, chasing the ghosts and battling monsters. As you grew older, the monster did not lose their appeal; it was more that you had discovered everything that could be discovered, apart from the mystery of what was in the basement. In the long summer breaks away from school, you spent great lengths observing the guards disappearing and not reappearing till they changed in the early morning. Was it the demon? Buried treasure? Or something more?

The summer humidity clung to your brow as you absentmindedly perused one of the many books in the library. The ruckus from the party had long ago distracted you from reading. Your parents were regular attendees of the Burgess coven meeting; as a child, the cloaks and candles held some romantic notion, but as you grew older, you saw what it was, a chance for bored people to play dress-up and dance around naked.

'You should get to bed.' The soft voice of Paul pulled you from your musings.

'Come on, Uncle Paul, it's early.' You smiled, sliding the book off your lap as you stood.

'Hmmm, well, I won't tell if you won't; there is some chocolate in the study; I think I can trust you not to get caught.' Paul wagged his finger.

With a new sense of glee, you abandoned your attempts to read, slipping into the library unseen, eyeing the bright pink box lined with cherry cordials. Yet it wasn't the chocolates that distracted you; it was the guards. Normally they never emerged outside their shift hours, but the hot night drove them above stairs. Quietly, munching on your chocolate, you watched as the squat men shuffled away.

Biting your lip, you suckled the smears of dark chocolate off your fingers as you hurried along the hallway. Carefully, you pried the door open, willing the squeak away. The staircase of crumbling stone was dimly lit, and the smell of mould and dust loitered in the air, tugging at your nose. Crouching down on the steps, you surveyed the open recess of the room. A frown tugged at the corners of your lips. It was empty save for an out-of-place Ikea desk next to one of the walls. Then something under the white neon lights caught your attention. Moving down the stairs, your eyes adjusted to the almost blinding light. No wonder the guards sort to escape the intense heat given off by the strips of bulbs that hung above you.

Your eyes flickered back to the strange glass ornament in the middle of the floor. For a moment, you thought your eyes were playing tricks. In the centre of the orb sat a naked man, skin almost translucent in the light. Only his ebony black hair seemed to show that he was there. Moving forward, you could not help but let out a horrified gasp. The man was almost painfully thin and painfully naked; you thanked all the gods that he was crossed-legged.

'Hello? Are you ok……' your voice stuck in your throat as the man's head snapped up to meet her gaze, his steely silver eyes piercing through you, drawing you in like a magnet.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Even behind the thick glass of his prison, Morpheus felt a sharp sting pierce his soul. His eyes greedily watched as a shiver ran through her body as the invisible thread between them bound them.

A fire had been lit inside him, and hunger he had never felt before clawed up from within him. His gaze had her transfixed; their connection fizzled, desperate to touch. Morpheus always believed that love always ended in pain. Experience had given him definitive proof; Nada, Goodrich, Eric, and Susana all ended in betrayal or anguish. It was messy. Humans were proof. Their love was not real, a fleeting respite from the loneliness, a belief they clung to. Real love was rare. Soulmates were extraordinary magic that the creator bestowed onto humanity at the beginning. It was the only pure magic left in the world. It was strange magic that none of the endless cared to fathom. Why would they? Soulmates were gifts to humans, not the endless, yet there she was—his soulmate.

His silver eyes watched as she moved hypnotised across the short distance. Even through the thick glass, the hum was violent, deafening, and maddening. Lifting his hand, he placed it over the glass beckoning to her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Your body felt free, impossible light as it surged forward towards the man. You weren't sure he was real; he was pale and perfect like he had been chiselled out of a piece of alabaster marble. A painful jolt passed through your open palm every step, yet it spurred your movement until your hands met, the glass separating them. It was almost too hot to hold your hand in place, but your body refused to flinch.

His eyes burnt into yours, engraving themselves onto the back of your mind. The swirling silver spheres were the last thing you saw before your body crumpled to the ground.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The soft mumble of voices was what broke through your unconsciousness, and for a few seconds, your body felt light and free before the heaviness sunk into your bones. The searing pain surged across your left palm and arm until it finally rested in your heart.

'What happened?' Your voice was weak and raspy.

'You were electrocuted, sweetie; you were told never to go down into the basement.' Your mother whispered. 'The burn… is only small. Not worry.’ Her voice cracked a little as her gaze rested on the tightly bandaged hand.

'I….The glass. There was a man.' Your voice sounded so strange to you, so rough and weak.

'There was no man, sweetie. You touched one of the exposed cables; we are lucky Alex found you.’ T

'But there was a man…I…’ you tried.

‘Shhhhh sweetie, we will be home soon. Rest. ’ Your eyes felt too heavy to fight against the command, but they stayed open just long enough to see the look of guilt past your parent's faces and the worry that set deeply in Alex Burgess’s eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After that, you saw your parents less and less. They never did return to the Burgess Manor, and neither did you. All mention of the man in the sphere was forbidden. You had skin graft after skin graft, but nothing could cover the red mark on your hand. A reminder of the man in the sphere. As if you could ever forget. He scared you, the silent creature. In her mind, he was always watching, never speaking, but his eyes seemed to devour you, drawing you in. You wonder if that is how sharks get their prey. They wait for a careless swimmer, too mesmerised by the eyes to notice the teeth before it is too late. You wonder if he has cursed you. Then you wonder if it is too late to save yourself. But you know, it's too late anyway.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The travel back to the Burgess estate passed quickly. It was almost a relief to see the ominous grey house standing proudly against the green lawns. It was hard to believe ten years had passed already; everything still looked the same, apart from Paul. He stooped a little more now, and his hair, you think, is much greyer than you remember.

'I’m glad to see you again, but you have come at a rather bad time; Alex has had one of his nasty turns.' Paul started.

'I didn't want to see him. I want to see you.’

There was a flash of understanding over his face as he took your arm, leading you away from the house, across the lawn and into the maze that hung off the side of the house, not stopping till only the top of the manor could be seen.

'It's about the man in the basement…’ you began.

'Dear child…’ Paul sighed, interrupting you, but you remained strong in your goal.

'I am not a child anymore. You can't explain it or ignore my questions anymore. I know what I saw…what gave me this.’ You rolled up your sleeve to reveal the angry raised burn that decorated your hand. ‘You can't keep him chained down there anymore.'

'I know…I know… but I can't. Alex… is delicate; you don’t know the power of that thing' he sighed, sitting on the little bench he had walked you to.

'I know exactly. This mark is proof of that. I dream of him; he haunts me. No matter what I do, I still feel that burn through my veins. I cannot get rid of it. …It…it hurts. And I can’t… won't bare it anymore.’ Your bite out the last part as you look down at the man you once tenderly regarded as an Uncle.

He gazed up at you with weary eyes. Only now did you see how old he looked, the worry lines that wreaked his beautifully dark skin.

'You know, in the beginning, I feared him getting out, but now, after all this time, is there anything that he could have done worse than all this?' Paul shook his head as they watched the birds glide across the sky. ‘We should have done more for you, helped you somehow, but Alex was so scared….’

‘What's done  is done; just please help me  now.’

Paul said nothing, but you saw the slight nod of his head.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'You know she came by the house today. You remember her, don't you? She has grown into a rather pretty young woman. You can have her; all you need to do is promise.' Alex Burgess was an older man now, made feeble by time and despair.

Often, the man would talk to Morpheus about the future Queen of the Dreaming, forcing pictures of her in front of him like a cruel taunt. Endless questions about the mark, Morpheus’s mark on her skin. Promising to give him her name, not that it mattered, she was HIS Queen, or she would be soon.

The more time passed, the more arrogant his pleas became. The mere fact that he thought he had permission to speak of her insulted Morpheus; the pathetic man thought he could use his future Queen as a bargaining chip. It was an offence the human could ill afford. The King of Dreaming would bide his time and have his revenge on the Burgess before he claimed his future bride and Queen.

 Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

News of Alex Burgess's sleeping sickness came not long after you visited the manor, and the world seemed to fall into some sort of madness. Mass murders, strange weather, people who had been asleep for decades suddenly waking up.

You nibbled your bottom lip. Maybe asking Paul to release his captive was a selfish thing to do. People had died, and for what? That feeling clawing up from within you was still there. Your tanned palm was unchanged; the burn remains like a brand of ownership. It seemed you were still damned, and now the world was in utter chaos. With silent tears rolling down your face, you laid back against the mountain of the pillow and willed yourself away to the only place you found peace, your dream.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You still dreamt of the silver-eyed man, but the fever and pain seizing your soul were gone. This dream was one of your favourites. It was comfortable and snug. Where nothing mattered because nothing happened, it was just you and your dream. Till you heard the voice. Dreams were always silent, or at least that was how you remembered them. But the low, velvety voice was clear, invading the silence. So deep and rich, it had to be a dream.

It floated around you till it you. Faceless arms stretched around your waist, pulling you against a hard body. Lips ghosted across the nape of your neck and drifted across the plains of your shoulder, working their way back toward your throat.

'My Queen.' The thick voice growled.

The lips were small but soft, worshipping a spot at the base of your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the familiar mop of black hair that haunted your dreams. A wanton moan escaped your lips as your eyes fluttered shut, knees weak as their teeth scrapped just in the right place.

'Soon, my love, soon. After I complete my unfinished business, I will come for you.'

You woke with a start, a desperate wetness gathering between your plush thighs, the voice echoing across your mind sending shivers of desire across your body as you remembered the gruff voice. You had dreamed about his lips, face and boy before, but never had he spoken.

Wearily, you ran your hand over your neck, freezing as you stared down in disbelief at the angry purple hickey that stained your skin.

Anyone for a smut-heavy part two?

[angel-of-the-moons]

I think Khonshu would benefit a lot from being tied up and given an hours-long edging session tbh (the incredulous logistics of an ancient deity as demanding as him actually staying bound and rendered immobile aside, of course). See if he’s still crabby and snippy after he has to beg for mercy from his puny li’l human lover who hardly ever has the opportunity to give him a taste of his own medicine.🤭

A Promise Kept

Khonshu x Fem!Moon Knight!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, Teasing, Dom(?) Reader, Sub(?) Khonshu, Edging, Verbal Binding, Grinding, Handjob, Blowjob, Thigh-Fucking

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Yeah, this is basically a part 2 to my other Moon Knight!Reader fic. The Dusty Bird Man gets his 👀 But the answer to that is also yes

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

It had been almost two months since your confusing and arousing encounter with your god, Khonshu.

Two months since that night on the couch, and the bastard hasn't even so much as hinted that he cared--or even remembered--what happened that night. But you knew he felt it, you could tell he thought about it; in the subtle way his hand would press into the small of your back before battle. In the way you could feel his eyeless gaze linger on your body as you danced between your foes in a bloody concert and blur of white.

You could feel it on you even when it appeared you were alone in your camps, or hotel rooms in your travel; the way eyes unseen slowly raked your form, leaving cold prickling bumps in its wake.

Despite the fact you knew of his newfound attraction to you--or perhaps more accurately, your body--he had not voiced it. And most likely never would have, had you not.

He would have let his fascination and arousal fester within him, locked it away into his own imagination to entertain him on silent, windless nights.

But, that didn't need to happen. Not now.

You couldn't take the tension anymore, the ache between your legs that refused to be satiated by means of your own, none o f your vibrators or silicone toys enough to ease the burning need your depths craved to be filled. Nothing could compare or come close to how electrifying it felt to have his hands on you, leaving you wondering how it would feel if you took it just a bit further...

And thus was how your bargain with you benefactor started. You played him at his own game; talked in the same labyrinthine patterns of honor he reveled in. No mortal bindings could keep him restrained or bound.

Nothing but his words and promise to let you entertain yourself kept him in line. His pride would not allow him to break carnal oath. Like a demon at a crossroads, Khonshu struck a bargain with you. Your pleasure for his, yet he was not allowed to touch you. And if he did, you would stop entirely and never venture into this territory again. The premise of such a situation had his ancient blood singing at the prospect.

But he had no idea you could be this maddening.

The way you were on your knees before him, skin bare, save for the silvery-white cloak he'd granted you enshrouding you with his power; wearing him on your bare skin in such a way that he had never thought to see any of his chosen, let alone you. The holy article flowed and hung like silk over your bare shoulders, down your back, covering your head and much of your face, concealing the mischievous glint you help in your eyes as your tongue lazily running up and down his thick shaft, your diminutive fingers tracing every thumping vein beneath the searing, velvety skin.

It was a worship he would surely have enjoyed, had he not made a binding promise not to touch you, to push and press you into the position that he wanted; to take you in the way he knew without a doubt you wanted him to.

But your own pride and ego could sometimes match his own, and he knew you would not abandon this game just to know what it felt like to have his entirety deep within the hottest, wettest recesses of your body that his divine ichor may burn forever inside of you at the mere memory of it.

He growled, a deep, menacing tone that would terrify any other mortal away from the path of teasing and testing the patience of a god this way; to try and push him past his breaking point. And, infuriatingly--pleasurably--you did not relent in your pace, one of your hands pumping his shaft as he sat before you, perched on the ruins deep in the desert, the carnage of the battle you fought still littering one of his ancient, ruined temples while your other hand crept up his thigh so achingly slow until your fingers curled and cupped the large testes that hung beneath his cock, heavy with his godly seed.

You palmed them, your fingers teasing and pressing in such an erotic way it had every nerve in his body tingling while you sucked the tip of his cock past your swollen lips, your tongue tracing the slit and tasting the ambrosial fluid dripping from it, humming appreciatively at the taste of him; pumping the rest of his length lazily in your fist.

Khonshu growled again, his hips bucking slightly to try and force himself just a bit father past your soft lips, to feel more of your tongue trace the underside of his shaft.

He felt so enraged he nearly fisted your hair as you pulled back, a heavy trail of saliva connecting your tongue to his cock as you leaned away, finally looking up at him with sadistic mirth in your eyes.

"Giving in already?" You jabbed playfully, your tone almost innocent as your tongue ran along the shape and curve of your slick lips. "And here I thought the God of the Night Sky would be able to control himself better than some horny teenager."

His chest rattled with a dismissive huff as he felt his outrage simmer low in his belly, mixing with the strange pleasure that he felt at you denying him as he looked down at you. "A test," Khonshu sneered. "I will not give in like you think I will."

You slowly trailed a finger up from the underside of his cock all the way to his tip, swirling another bead of his precum around the crown almost lazily, smirking at how he twitched and the massive girth jerked in your palm, veins thumping beneath your soft skin. "Oh, c'mon... and you called me pathetic? It's only been an hour. You've been squirming this whole time, old man."

His fists clenched so hard he could feel his tendons strain with his effort to reign in his self control, to pull and stretch it to its absolute limit as your haughty voice teased and poked at him like a fool poking a tiger with a stick.

He dropped back against the crumbling stone, forcing his tense shoulders to drop as he looked at the night sky--his night sky. His moon shining down on the sands of Egypt while the two of you engaged in your little rendezvous.

"Guess you can teach old birds new tricks." You murmur with a giggle, sliding your tongue around his flushed head and pulling him into your mouth, soaking and coating his tip with your saliva before pulling back, reveling in how his ashen abs flexed taut at the loss of heat, at how his voice nearly trembled with frustration.

His cock ached and twitched, throbbing and swelling as you hang your tongue out of your mouth, dripping heavy globs of your spit onto his length, using your soft yet calloused fingers to spread it and pump him harshly, clenching your legs together at the heady groan that slithered out from within him.

His head was still turned to the sky, beak pointed at the stars like a bony compass as you knew he was still trying to ignore how you were teasing him. Your cunt throbbed painfully, drooling onto the sands below, coating your thighs in a hot sticky mess that you refused to tend to just yet in favor of aggravating the creature that was basically your boss.

You swore he almost snapped again, feeling his thighs flex beneath your palms as you released his cock, using his legs as support as you shuffled closer.

His head snapped down to look at you, holding back the urge to thrust towards your missing touch; until he felt the soft and heavy weight of your breasts pressed around his dick. Khonshu growled approvingly as you used your hands to press the mounds of flesh tighter around him, arching and pulling your body in a way that stroked him.

It was not the wet, tight heat that he wanted... but it was very, very close to it.

He hadn't anticipated you to do this, shuddering and feeling his heart sing in his chest at the assault of pleasure you were attacking him with; his hands gripping the edges of his crumbling, makeshift throne as you chuckled, grinning widely up at him as you dipped your head down, licking around the head of his cock each time you rolled downwards, swiping away each fresh bead of his precum that he dribbled out for you, letting some of it roll down his throbbing shaft to drip onto your breasts as you worked him over.

Khonshu's cock was so hard you could swear the damn thing could probably fuck a hole into a steel wall if he really wanted to. Your cunt pulsed and clenched around nothing at the thought of what it could do to you if he fucked you, instead.

But no, that would happen later. Maybe. If he obeyed the rules of your bargain, that is. You could do whatever you wanted to him, make him cum at your own leisure to get back at how he treated you before.

And oh, how you were enjoying this game. You almost couldn't believe it, the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you sliced down the interlopers that were raiding his temple to sell the artifacts on the black market; the tension after that came to a head when he began to mock you in such a way, circling you in a predatory manner, jokingly talking about how you got distracted, slipping in the sand and almost toppling over as a shotgun round blasted you in the chest.

You would have yelled at him like you normally did had his hand not slowly crept up the curve of your spine, his fingers pressing in ever so slightly and leaving a blazing trail that burned through your linen trappings and armor like they weren't even there; cold sweat trailing down opposite, battling the warring hormones raging in your blood.

It was then that you couldn't take it anymore--the adrenaline colliding with your repressed arousal is what led to this boiling point.

Khonshu hissed from an unseen mouth, his fingers crumbling the stone beneath his unearthly grip like dry, stale bread as you continued to fuck him with your tits yourself.

You bite your lip as you felt him twitch in between your tits, the soft squealching of skin on skin only aided by his generous precum; softly glowing against your skin in a transparent sheen as the entire length of him ached for that blissful release.

You hum as you continued to work yourself up and down in an almost lazy rhythm; a wicked thought creeping up in your mind.

Your clit throbbed and your folds dripped with neglected need. Gods, you needed something to offset the ache or you might break the rules of your own game just to feel something...

Gleeful joy thrummed within you as Khonshu groaned loudly when you pulled away again, deep chunks falling away from his throne while you licked your lips.

"Why did you--"

"Ah-ah," You giggle, standing up, your breasts glistening with his divine fluid, nipples pebbled in the warm desert air. He looked down to see how slick your thighs were, and some part of him felt smug; knowing this was just as much torture for you as it was him. He was almost impressed with your restraint to avoid pleasuring yourself. He figured you would be so cocky as to make him watch you touch yourself while denying him his own coital release--

His thoughts came to a screening halt as he watched you move, picking up your cloak and turning around, draping it across one of his thighs as you inched backwards between his legs.

You grabbed his cock in your small and soft hand, lifting one of your legs briefly to slip him between your slick, hot thighs. For a scant moment, his heart hammered within his chest when he assumed you gave up, wanting to take him within you finally.

But that wasn't what you had planned. Khonshu tipped his head back with a low huff, shuddering when he felt your clit throb against his shaft, your sweet nectar dribbling around him lewdly as you squeezed your thighs together.

The hem of your hood concealed your eyes once again from his view as you looked over your shoulder at him, but he knew all too well what your wicked grin meant.

Khonshu once more resisted the urge to just thrust against you as you braced yourself with your hands on his thighs, your ass pressing flush against his groin before you rocked your hips forward, a relieved moan sighing out of your lungs at the blissful drag of his searing skin on your aching sex; his veins adding delicious friction to your swollen bundle of nerves.

"Fuuuuuuck, that's so much better..." You groan loudly, perhaps putting just a bit too much emphasis on your voice just to egg him on. You briefly look over yourself at him again as you grinded down with his cock between your legs; "What's the matter, old man? Nothing to say now?"

Khonshu grunted loudly as he flexed his hands to relieve the tension aching in his joints, feeling his cock slip between your legs, pleasuring you as you essentially used him to masturbate yourself.

Oh, how he wanted to scratch that itch, to relieve himself of that tight, boiling pleasure that rolled around in his belly that he hadn't indulged in... in millennia. A carnal dance he hadn't performed in recent memory, but still looked back on with recorded, expert skill.

Your moans only pushed him even further, the small huffs and puffs; the whimpers and murmurs that babbled from your lips as you continued to grind down on him.

Your body wept around him, the slick noises adding adequate lubrication to give the most pleasurable glide as his cock disappeared between your thighs only to stand out prominently from between them when your ass and back were pressed flush against him once again.

He knew that if he so much as leaned in to your space, he would have broken his word and lost. His pride stabbed him too greatly in his psyche to allow him to fail at this; regardless if he craved you to cant your hips at just the right angle to let him fill you to the brim, to let you ride him until you both crumble into sweet oblivion.

But of course, true to your own word and devious machinations... you didn't. You just continued to grind and slide yourself up and down the throbbing length of his shaft, his tip leaking viscously down your thighs.

He felt a wonderful stab, his sack drawing tight when you whimpered loudly, his name finally tumbling from your lips in a breathy whisper.

Draped in his cloak, his magic; his blessing like a veil had him growling. You looked perfect like this, naked, needy and draped in holy linen as though it were the finest gossamer veil, your body dripping from pleasure that you were using him to give yourself...

You were beautiful, he supposed, bathed in the light of his moon.

And he felt his climax finally beginning to crest, the soft fat that hugged around your concealed muscles squeezing his cock, the wet slide of your clit against the veins that thumped hard beneath his skin has his heart skipping a beat.

Khonshu hissed, not wishing to give you the satisfaction of hearing him announce his impending release; instead grunting, letting you set the pace (as frustrating as that was to him in the moment) and leaning back, and allowing him to enjoy the view of you that he had from behind as you bounced in his lap.

He reclined, his palms itching to grip your hips and slam himself upwards to meet your rolling hips as their tempo increased in rapidity. He wanted to press his thumbs into the dimples at the base of your spine, bend you forward and arch your spine...

The first second as he came almost blinded him, his head dropping back as he groaned deeply in relief; his hot seed spurting forth as you continued to grind and stroke him against yourself, moaning appreciatively as the divine sap coated your skin, the luminescent fluid glittering on your skin like liquid moonlight, illuminating you as he almost entirely painted your skin with ghostly, ethereal light.

"Oh, fuck, Khonshu--" You hiccuped, the sight of it as he just kept cumming on your thighs sending you careening over that edge; coming undone around his cock with a joyful sob as your orgasm tore through your body like ripples on the surface of a still pond after dropping a stone in it.

Your body slowed, panting as the haze lifted from your brain, the fog clearing as your mind cleared. You reach up and laugh, looking down at the glowing mess he'd made of your thighs (and impressively enough, part of your belly) as your hand stroked the smooth, bleached bone of his beak as you felt his heart beat agaisnt your back through his broad chest.

"Mmmm... that was... nice." You commented contentedly, letting yourself relax and grow limp in his lap, your eyes closing as you tip your head back against his chest.

His warm hands slipped around your body, trailing down your belly and to your thighs, his fingers dipping into his seed to spread it around his bare digits.

"Wait, what are you--"

You were interrupted when he lifted a hand and slipped his cum-coated fingers into your mouth, his flavor invading your senses in every way possible, almost making you instantly black out again as a violent aftershock ripped through you the moment his hot ambrosia trickled down your throat.

"You forget, little dove." Khonshu chuckled darkly. "That our bargain was for you to have your fun. And you already have."

Your eyes grow wide as his fingers continue to stroke your tongue, his free hand wrapping around your thigh to draped your leg over his, spreading you open for him as he lined his cock up against your fluttering entrance. You practically sobbed around his fingers as your body burned with renewed desire; stinging almost painfully with delicious overstimulation.

"Now..." He spreads more of his seed over your clit, tapping it softly, the sensation enough to cause your blood to boil and another orgasm to sweep through your very pores like a tsunami.

"Allow me to demonstrate why I am also a god of fertility."

[corruptedcaps]

The Backseat

Gabby stood on the curb, nervously adjusting her glasses as she waited for the car that would take her to the date of a lifetime. It was an unexpected turn of events for the young, unassuming woman who had always considered herself more bookish than beautiful. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her slightly outdated plaid shirt, and she couldn't help but wonder why Alexander, the most sought-after guy at college, had chosen her.

As she pondered this mystery, her thoughts drifted to Cordelia, the stunning but unkind queen bee of the campus who had recently dumped Alexander and rather publicly at that. Gabby couldn't fathom how she, with her plain looks and love for obscure trivia, could capture the attention of someone like him or why he would want to be seen with someone so different to his ex. Yet, there she was, awaiting a date that defied all expectations. As the sleek car pulled up, Gabby's heart raced.

Gabby hesitated for a moment before entering the luxurious car with its enticing red leather seats. The scent of wealth surrounded her as she settled into the plush interior, taking in the opulence that seemed worlds away from her usual surroundings. To her surprise, Alexander was conspicuously absent, leaving her alone with the extravagant ambiance.

The driver, a polished and discreet figure, turned to her with a courteous nod. "Miss Gabby, Mr. Alexander sends his regards and apologizes for not being able to pick you up personally. He's attending to some urgent matters but wanted to ensure you had a comfortable journey."

Excitement and nerves mingled within Gabby as the sleek car smoothly glided through the city streets. The realization that she was in Alexander's personal chauffeured vehicle heightened the surreal nature of the evening. The hum of the engine and the subdued elegance of the car cocooned her in an atmosphere of privilege.

As the car glided through the city's labyrinth of lights, a strange sense of calm began to settle over Gabby. The rhythmic purr of the engine and the opulent surroundings seemed to cast a spell, transforming her nervous energy into a quiet confidence. Adjusting her posture, she straightened her back, crossing her legs with an unexpected grace. The red leather seats cradled her newfound poise.

As she peered out the tinted windows at the pedestrians and passersby, a subtle shift occurred within Gabby. The usual self-doubt gave way to a fleeting sense of superiority. The city, once a bustling canvas of lives, now appeared as a backdrop to her own elevated experience. Imagining herself as a character in a grand narrative, she found herself attributing a certain insignificance to those outside the cocoon of the luxury car.

As the car continued its journey, a subtle metamorphosis unfolded within Gabby, unnoticed by her as the luxurious ambiance enveloped her senses. The clarity of her skin became apparent as any blemishes faded away, and a healthy tan gently kissed her complexion. Her once unruly hair straightened into a silky cascade, framing her face with a newfound luster. Unbeknownst to her, her lips plumped up, acquiring a more pronounced and pouty allure.

Simultaneously, a mysterious force seemed to enhance her physical presence. Gabby's chest subtly pushed forward, and beneath her modest attire, her breasts doubled in size. Amidst the shifting scenery outside the tinted windows, Gabby remained blissfully unaware of the changes unfolding within her.

As the journey progressed, an unseen influence seeped into Gabby's mind, weaving a subtle tapestry of change. The kindness that once defined her nature gradually gave way to a burgeoning selfishness, a newfound sense of entitlement that whispered in the recesses of her thoughts. Timidness, too, crumbled under the weight of an overconfidence that burgeoned within her, transforming into a vanity she had never known.

As she continued to gaze out of the tinted windows, a disdainful sneer curled her now-perfect lips as her eyes passed over those who dwelled in a reality less opulent than her own. The once empathetic observer transformed into a figure of condescension, viewing the people outside with contempt for their perceived inadequacies.

Gabby, now a stark departure from her former self, spoke in a cold, commanding voice that resonated within the luxurious confines of the car. "Driver, I need to make a stop. I don’t know what I was thinking wearing this hideous outfit. Alexander deserves better. Pull up to this boutique."

The driver, ever obedient, responded with a deferential "Yes, of course, Miss," his tone reflecting the shift in power dynamics. As the sleek vehicle smoothly changed course toward the designated boutique, Gabby reveled in the authority she now wielded over the chauffeur.

Alexander, adorned in anticipation, paced impatiently outside the grand entrance of his family's opulent mansion. The weight of his expectations pressed upon him as he waited for Gabby to arrive, hoping that his orchestrated plan would unfold seamlessly. He had paid a fortune on reupholstering his car with the magic material that would mould Gabby into his perfect girlfriend. A girlfriend who would show that bitch Cordelia that she had made a big mistake dumping him.

His mother, an embodiment of beauty with piercing blue eyes and an air of old money, opened the door to the palatial residence behind him.

In a cool, measured tone, she inquired, "Are you sure this new girlfriend of yours will be coming, dear?" Her gaze held a hint of skepticism as she sipped her cocktail, questioning the legitimacy of Alexander's proclaimed companion for the evening. Ignoring his mother's probing words, Alexander's focus remained fixated on the entrance, a mix of anxiety and anticipation etched across his features.

Thankfully for Alexander he didn’t have to wait much longer as his tinted car glided to a halt in front of the grand mansion, and his anticipation reached its peak. Unable to discern the occupant within, he watched with bated breath as the chauffeur swiftly emerged and made his way to the door, opening it with practiced efficiency. Alexander's jaw dropped in astonishment as Gabby, clad in a sleek black dress, held her hand out awaiting Alexander’s touch.

Alexander quickly broke himself of his trance and took her delicate soft hand in his and she stepped out with an air of confidence even Cordelia couldn’t match. He drank in her appearance and in his mind he whispered to himself that the upholstery had been worth every penny.

Her demeanor had undergone a complete metamorphosis, and she approached Alexander as if she glided on air, addressing him with a coldness that hadn't existed in the Gabby he asked out only a day ago. "Sorry I was late, dear. Your idiotic driver took a wrong turn. You should fire him," she declared, looking over at the driver with disgust, almost challenging him to refute her lie.

The driver said nothing but Alexander’s mother was not similarly tight lipped. She remarked with a raised eyebrow, "George has been with the family for decades, and you want us to fire him?" After a beat, she added with a hint of pride, "Alexander, your girlfriend is cutthroat. She'll fit right in with us. George you heard the lady, leave immediately and don’t return."

George, the loyal chauffeur, stood in shocked silence for a moment, processing the unexpected turn of events. With a nod, he quietly turned away, leaving the grand entrance behind, his departure punctuating the abrupt shift in the evening's dynamics.

A triumphant smile played on Gabby's lips as she reveled in her bitchy victory. She didn’t need to lie or even get George fired but it made her pussy so wet to do both. The air crackled with tension as George retreated down the hill, leaving only the echo of his departure.

Alexander's mother, having delivered her decree, turned to the couple with a subtle nod. "I'll see you inside, dears," she said, her tone betraying a mixture of amusement and curiosity. With that, she reentered the grand mansion, leaving Alexander and the transformed Gabby alone on the threshold.

"My God, Gabby, you look amazing, and that was simply amazing," Alexander exclaimed in genuine admiration. However, Gabby's demeanor quickly turned sour as her face contorted with disgust at the use of her name.

"Ugh, you know how I hate that name, darling. It's so childish and common," she retorted with a dismissive tone. Alexander, taken aback by the unexpected response, quickly apologized, attempting to navigate the nuances of the newly crafted persona.

"Sorry, Gabriella," he corrected himself, the name rolling off his tongue with a touch of hesitation. To this, Gabby's expression softened, and she responded with a self-satisfied smirk, "Mmm, good boy, time for your reward." She said leaning in for a deep and passionate kiss. Any lingering part of her that was Gabby melted away as she was held in Alexander’s strong arms.

In fact her mind was awash with thoughts of expensive clothes, luxury vacations, and walking the campus with a clique of hanger ons hoping to remain on the good side of the infamous Gabriella. But one thought over powered all others as she broke away from her kiss.

“Darling do we need to go into the party immediately?” She asked Alexander, her eyes big and bright.

“No why did you forget something in the car?” He asked not clued in as she dragged him over to the open car.

“You could say that.” She said with a wicked grin as she pushed him inside and crawled onto top of him as she closed the door behind.

The End

[jasminewalkerauthor]

Trope chats: Curses

Curses, a literary device steeped in mysticism and consequences, have woven a captivating thread through the fabric of storytelling across cultures and epochs. This essay delves into the evolution of curses in literature, exploring their multifaceted appeal, potential pitfalls, societal influence, and the lasting impact they wield on the human imagination.

The roots of curses in literature trace back to ancient myths and epics, where gods and mortals alike invoked divine wrath upon their adversaries. From the epic of Gilgamesh to Greek tragedies like Oedipus Rex, curses were early tools used by storytellers to explore themes of fate, morality, and the consequences of human actions.

Greek Tragedy:

In Greek tragedies, curses often served as inexorable forces, shaping the destinies of characters. Oedipus' tragic fate, a result of a familial curse, exemplifies the enduring power of curses as narrative devices that drive the plot and illuminate moral quandaries.

Shakespearean Drama:

William Shakespeare's plays, such as "Macbeth" and "Hamlet," are replete with curses that foreshadow doom and evoke a sense of cosmic justice. The witches' curse in "Macbeth" and Hamlet's quest for revenge both showcase the enduring use of curses in exploring the darker recesses of the human psyche.

Folklore and Fairy Tales:

Folklore and fairy tales further expanded the use of curses as cautionary elements. From Sleeping Beauty to Rumpelstiltskin, curses became symbolic representations of moral lessons, emphasizing the consequences of transgressions.

The enduring appeal of curses in literature lies in their ability to add layers of complexity to narratives, evoking suspense, tragedy, and moral introspection.

Dramatic Tension:

Curses introduce a palpable sense of tension and impending doom, propelling the narrative forward. Whether through a witch's hex or a divine malediction, the anticipation of the curse's fulfillment engages readers and viewers alike.

Moral Dilemmas:

Curses often serve as conduits for exploring profound moral dilemmas. Characters grappling with the consequences of curses navigate the intricacies of right and wrong, free will, and the inexorable pull of destiny.

Symbolism and Allegory:

Curses, laden with symbolism, often serve as allegorical devices reflecting societal fears, taboos, or ethical quandaries. They become potent metaphors for the unseen forces shaping human existence.

While curses enrich narratives, they can pose challenges, such as the risk of becoming clichéd or contributing to one-dimensional characterizations.

Clichéd Tropes:

Overuse of curses without thoughtful development can lead to clichéd storytelling, diluting the impact and diminishing the novelty of the narrative device.

Stereotyping:

Curses sometimes perpetuate stereotypes, especially when tied to cultural or ethnic backgrounds. Care must be taken to avoid reinforcing harmful clichés and biases.

Curses in literature extend beyond mere storytelling; they shape and are shaped by societal attitudes, reflecting cultural fears, aspirations, and ethical considerations.

Cultural Perspectives:

The portrayal of curses often reflects cultural beliefs and societal values. Whether seen as divine retribution or the consequences of moral transgressions, curses mirror the cultural lens through which stories are told.

Societal Reflection:

Curses can serve as a mirror reflecting societal anxieties, offering a lens through which to explore collective fears, morality, and the intricate dance between fate and free will.

In conclusion, the use of curses in literature is a timeless and dynamic exploration of the human condition. From ancient myths to contemporary novels, curses have provided storytellers with a potent tool to weave tales of tragedy, morality, and destiny. The enduring appeal of curses lies in their ability to engage readers emotionally, prompt moral introspection, and reflect the cultural undercurrents that shape the narratives we create. As literature evolves, the power and symbolism of curses continue to resonate, echoing through the corridors of human imagination and inviting readers to ponder the profound mysteries of fate and consequence.

[hotwingg]

In the recesses of my mind, she gleams,

A radiant vision, the stuff of dreams.

I'm joyous and mournful, a tangled knot,

For she's both my solace and my long-shot.

I love that I can weave fantasies with grace,

Imagining walks, her laughter in pace.

But it's mere illusion, a mirage in the air,

For reality's distance, I'm all too aware.

I dream of building pillow forts with delight,

In our laughter-filled haven, throughout the night.

Yet, it's just a picture painted in my mind,

A fleeting glimpse of what I wish to find.

We could be nerds, sharing shows and delight,

Discussing each plot twist, deep into the night.

But it's a solitary conversation, just me in my head,

In this imagined world, where our banter is spread.

I dream of a picnic on a grassy hill,

Chasing her laughter, feeling time stand still.

But it's a reverie, a scene I've devised,

In the theater of my mind, where hope thrives.

I imagine surprising her with sweets she adores,

Her smile, my reward, as she explores.

But it's a solitary gesture, a gesture unseen,

In this imaginary world where she reigns as queen.

Or perhaps we'd wander through an arcade's glow,

Winning tickets, our excitement aglow.

But it's a whimsical notion, a flight of fancy,

In the realm of imagination, where we dance free.

Yet, amidst the sadness, a flicker of light,

For her presence in my mind, ever bright.

Though she's distant, in my thoughts she'll stay,

A beacon of hope, guiding my hearts way.

[myresilas]

"You'll go to Hell for what your dirty mind is thinking."

It’s the battle of the human psyche. Sexuality, a delicate tapestry of human expression and intimacy, easily marred by the callous hands of violation. The breach of one's sexuality is not solely physical; it seeps into the very essence of one's being, leaving behind a murky residue of anguish and unrest. A violation not just of the body, but of the spirit, scars formed from wounds unseen. The insidious nature of such an act lies in its ability to diminish the luminous spark of desire, tarnishing the purity of affection with a despairing hue. Like a fragile vessel, the sanctity of one's desires is shattered, leaving behind remnants of trust and hope unintentionally shattered.

The human condition reflects the burden of concealed desires that society deems impure. It is the silent struggles of morality and temptation that carve the intricate roadmap of our consciousness. In the labyrinth of human consciousness, lurk the forbidden thoughts that society condemns, like shadowy figures dancing in the recesses of the mind. Despite society's attempts to suppress and judge these thoughts, they persist, embellished with the very fabric of human existence. The burden of these concealed desires weighs heavy, like an anchor in the tumultuous sea of conventional expectations.

Within the depths of our unguarded thoughts, lies the fragility of innocence, at the mercy of judgment. In the heart of human yearning, innocence dances on the edge of violation, vulnerable and exposed. Each secret desire that flickers in the clandestine corridors of the mind stands as a testament to the precariousness of purity. The unspoken urges and obscene fantasies, delicately entwined within our consciousness, yearn for freedom yet fear condemnation. It is in this delicate balance that the essence of innocence is perpetually endangered, susceptible to the weight of societal scrutiny and the harshness of moral decree.

[gretavanlace]

Sugar (Part 14)

Josh Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, dirty talk, oral sex (fem rec), masturbation, etc

*Here’s a little something from Josh’s POV for my lovelies. Jakey had his turn, so it was only fair. Xoxo

He could have given you what you wanted. Josh knew that, and you would have seen it too, if only you had looked long enough, thought hard enough.

It was absurd really, the idea that he might be so impossibly soft; weak as a southern debutante draped across a fainting couch calling out deliriously for smelling salts. That he was incapable of throwing you around a bit. Unable to toss out a degrading name or two, a vulgar order, a slip of his finger where it didn’t belong.

It was never about that, and there was the truth of it all. Jake had always been the protector, intense in temperament and fiercely loyal, he was the one who would step in with his mouth or his fists to secure the safety of those he loved. Josh, the eldest, even if only by a few short minutes, had always been the problem solver. He was the more contemplative of the two, thoughtful and observant, empathetic almost to a fault.

Yes, if there was a puzzle that needed to be fit together, a tangle in need of unraveling, Josh was the one who would sit quietly on the sidelines and figure out a way. He ran along ahead of those he cherished, unseen as he cleared paths through landmines they hadn’t even noticed up ahead.

You are the loveliest landmine of all.

He knows his twin better than he knows himself. Can feel his emotions from miles away, anticipate his thoughts and actions…he understands the way his heart and mind works as if he built him from the ground up himself. Jake is an antique pocket watch and Josh knows every gear and mechanism that makes him tick.

Josh understands you almost as well…if Jake is the other half of his soul, you are his soul mate, so didn’t it always make sense anyway? Right from the start?

When Jake looks at you…

How his gaze trails over your face when you tell a story. The way his eyes light up when you speak directly to him, a nearly childlike wonder dancing there. It doesn’t take a twin to see he adores you; but it does take a twin to feel how deeply his love runs…and Josh certainly feels it. Jake is a river when it comes to you. Calm and still on the surface, a glassy facade that lies and claims ambivalence. Just below, where only his brother can glimpse, the waters rage. Undertows and desperate currents. Rolling, rocky tides that call your name.

For your part, Josh knows you deny yourself what you see as betrayal. He knows you’ve taken whatever affection you hold for his other half and locked it up tight, way down deep in the recesses of your heart. He doubts that even you understand…but he knows.

He sees that you’re a little lighter when Jake is around, how a gentle tension relaxes out of your shoulders. You laugh a bit easier, smile more often. You send electricity into the air when he speaks your name. You’re never more yourself than when you are with both of them, and it baffles him that you appear genuinely blind to it all.

Does it bother Josh? Strangely, almost the opposite. It feels natural…you love him, wouldn’t it be stranger still if you didn’t harbor at least something for Jake? They had always felt more the same than not. If you love Josh, you love Jake…that is how the math has added up in his head his entire life.

So he turns the situation over in his mind for ages. Twists it this way and that like a rubik's cube. Circles around and studies you both, like a predator mapping out the hunt, searching and searching for a way to clear a path.

He loves you more than anything in this world, and to know that there is a place in your heart that longs for something…that will never do. And just a blink below you in his esteem rests his twin, who pines for you painfully. Josh can feel the ache like a physical pang hammering away at his own heart.

You will have what you want. Both you and Jake. Like he always has before, Josh will find a way.

A light in the dark shines one night in bed. Your bodies knotted together as you catch your breath with endearing little puffs of air and soft laughter. He pets the hair away from your dewey forehead and tells you how much he loves you.

“I know that, you know.” you smile. “And I love you, too. But you don’t always have to be so careful with me, baby. I’m not gonna break.”

Someone else might have gotten their feelings hurt, maybe taken it as criticism come to spoil the afterglow, but Josh has an unrivaled grasp on the human condition. He understands that we are all layered and nuanced in the most intricate of ways. It’s fascinating, really…and rarely meant to be hurtful.

You open up and share with him the details of what you want, and he gives you a hint of a taste…pulls your hair a bit, moves you around with a little more aggression…but he holds back. He has finally sussed out the path.

He doesn’t really want that anyway, he’d much rather coddle and cherish you like the piece of fine art you are in his eyes. So, while a plan finally begins to take shape, that’s exactly what he does. He treats you gently, carefully, allowing the root of desire to grow within you.

When he tiptoes into the subject with Jake, the shift in the air is palpable. He can almost taste the uneasy, frantic need emanating into the atmosphere around his twin. Jake is being handed an opportunity that he can’t quite grasp or believe. He resembles a cornered mouse with a ravenous snake bearing down on him – waiting for the hammer to drop, for the rug to be ripped out from under his feet.

They talk it through, with Jake clearing his throat every few seconds, and running his palms down his thighs, continuously smoothing out invisible wrinkles until Josh leans over and covers his hand with his own. “Relax, Jake…it’s only me.”

With a centering draw of oxygen pulled deep into his lungs, Jake calms and promises to think it over.

Josh has little doubt that he’ll think of much else, but he also has little doubt that he will have to be the one to bring it up again. Jake isn’t going to just waltz in and revisit the subject of sleeping with his brother’s girl.

So, that’s what Josh does. He brings it up again.

Which leads to his brother nodding and disappearing into the house and Josh driving away into the night to spend a few quiet hours in a diner nursing coffee and watching a sad looking waitress with unnaturally red hair bus and serve tables. Occasionally she holds up the coffee pot labeled ‘decaf’, in question, and Josh nods. Such a common, meaningless, interaction…but in those little moments they feel oddly connected in the quiet of the restaurant. Two strangers sharing a seemingly ordinary night.

For a split second Josh wonders what would happen if he told her why he was there. “I’ve cleared out of my place for the night so my twin brother can fuck my girl. It’s not as crazy as it sounds…except yes it is.” The thought alone makes him laugh out loud and the waitress casts a suspicious glance in his direction before apparently deciding he’s harmless after all.

He orders a slice of apple pie with a shy thank you, and then picks aimlessly at it until it feels safe to head back to the house without feeling intrusive.

You’re sleeping with the softest hint of a smile on your lips when he finds you relaxed in peaceful oblivion. He catches the scent of a shower in the air, but nothing else…though he isn’t even sure if the smell of sex would have killed him or simply rolled off his back. He is in uncharted waters, learning to swim. You all are.

When you wake in the morning, Jake has gone. For a moment, you wonder if it was all a dream, but when your thighs brush together, the dull ache between them proves otherwise. You remember lingering in a hot shower after, attempting to process, and sharing a small blunt with Jake in bed before dozing off.

Josh’s side of the bed is empty, and when you sweep your hand across it, longing to feel him, it is cold to the touch. ‘Didn’t he come home last night?’ you worry…but it’s short lived.

“Morning.” his familiar voice floats over from the chair in the corner of the bedroom. You curl around in his direction, snuggling into the sheets.

Butterflies drum about in his stomach with iron wings for a few reasons. One, you’ve always had that effect on Josh. You light him up from the inside out every single time you walk into a room. The sound of your voice is a soothing song, he can’t sleep without thinking about the way you sound when you say I love you.

Two, he doesn’t know what to expect. There is an elephant in the room looming heavily and he hasn’t the first clue how to approach it.

Opting for the observation flitting about most prevalently in his mind, he throws you a soft smile. “You look pretty.”

This is when you’re most beautiful to him; not a drop of make-up in sight, hair a halo of pillow tossed tangles, sleepy, heavy-lidded eyes.

“So do you.” you smile back, stretching your arms up towards the ceiling with a breathy groan.

He takes a sip of his coffee and then nods over at the nightstand so you’ll notice the mug of chamomile waiting there for you. “It’ll get cold, love.”

“Thank you, baby.” you sit up and sip, smiling at the pinch of cinnamon and splash of rum to make it ‘stick to your bones’, just the way you like it…then wrap your hands around the cup, warming them.

Always the first to break the silence, his question comes softly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, blinking down at your tea to avoid the intensity of his stare. “Are you?”

“Ah c’mon, mama, you know me…” he flashes you a heart-stopping grin, “right as rain.”

You watch him wordlessly, waiting for him to fill the returned quiet with sound.

True to form, he speaks up. “Seriously though, are you alright? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

He doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, and instantly, he regrets speaking the words into existence, wishes he could take them back, wishes he hadn’t even thought them. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out. Please don’t ever tell him I asked you that. Last night, when I told him to be careful with you, he looked like I’d stabbed him right through the heart.”

There it is. Jake might as well be in the room with the two of you for as palpable as his presence is. And here is Josh, asking you not to relay this conversation back to his brother later…as if already it’s no longer just the two of you. As if Jake has already stepped up beside his twin, filling a void you weren’t even aware existed.

Here he is, asking you to forget what he said because it would hurt Jake to hear it…ever his brother’s keeper.

“I know how you meant it.” you soothe before he has a chance to get too lost in his head about it. “And no, baby…he didn’t.”

“Did he…” he searches for the right way to voice his thoughts. “Did he give you what you wanted?” An anxious cloud casts over his expression, but in the strangest way…as if he’s upset by the possibility of Jake disappointing you.

"He did." you can't help the wistful smile that plays on your lips and you hate yourself a little for it.

Out of left field, he smiles back "Good. You deserve that. I'm sorry I can't be the one to give it to you."

But there is something else there too, a sparkle in his eye that looks almost…gratified? Like something has worked in his favor…something has gone his way.

Deciding to ignore it – you never could quite figure him out anyway - you hold your arms out and wait until he crawls onto the bed. He rests his coffee and your tea on the nightstand and pulls you into his arms. "You know you’re everything to me, Josh. Everything."

He hums softly to you, stroking your hair. The love this man makes you feel with the smallest of gestures is indescribable…but is it just him this morning? Because you feel different…you want to describe it as whole, but that seems a cruel and shameful thought.

“You’re thinking too much.” He points out, softly stroking his thumb over your forehead to ward away anything but calm.

“I’m an intellectual, Joshua.” You tease, hiding behind gentle humor. “Can’t help it.”

He ignores your half-hearted joke and tilts his head, regarding you curiously "I know how Jake can be. I've overheard more than my fair share over the years. I hope it wasn't too much. I was worried.”

A stab of jealousy sears through your heart. I’ve overheard my fair share over the years. The thought of Jake, with some nameless girl, doing the things he did to you, saying the things he said to you, touching her, kissing her, wanting her…

“Look at you.” Josh’s tone is teasing, he’s seen right through you. “You’d better be glad I don’t share those possessive tendencies of yours, little miss, or I think we’d be having a very different conversation right now.”

“I’m not possessive.” You argue pointlessly, it’s obvious he already has you pinned.

“Jealous, territorial,” he waves a sweeping hand in the air. “Call it what you will, mama.”

He wants to set your mind at ease, wants to tell you that you have nothing to feel hurt over. That none that came before you could so much as peek over the edge of the pedestal Jake has placed you on. Instead, he chooses to keep his brother’s secret.

“I think you’re insane.” you smile, cupping his face to allow your thumbs to brush over his lips. “You both are. What if I had said no?”

A heavy roll of his eyes comes just before a dismissive laugh. “Wasn’t worried about you saying no, love. Not even a little bit.”

“Just because I chose him as my hall pass one night when I was high? That’s an awful lot of eggs to put in one drug-laden basket, baby.”

When his eyes lock with yours, they level you with the truth you see in them. He knows more than he’s ever let on. “No, not just because of that night. I think you know that.”

“Oh.” Articulacy is a skill you are no longer in possession of.

“Yeah…oh.” he smiles down at you and drops a light kiss on your forehead. “You still haven’t answered my question though. Was it too much? Was he still…I don’t know…kind about it?”

First pass, kind seems an absurd choice of a word, but once it settles, it fits just right. He was kind about it. His touch was careful when it needed to be, his words soft when you needed the balance. It dawns on you only now how closely he must have been watching you, how carefully he had to have been monitoring your every move.

“He was kind, Josh.” you lift your head and peck light kisses upon his cheeks and chin. “He took good care of me.”

“What did he do to you that I don’t?” he asks softly, reaching down to wrap your thigh around his waist.

“No,” you protest, running your fingers through his curls. “Now you’re just asking for trouble.”

A surprised laugh lights up his pretty face. “I arranged for my twin brother to fuck you last night, and now I’m asking for trouble? C’mon on, mama.”

You might have laughed along with him if the way he just worded it wasn’t playing over and over in your head like an obscene broken record.

Not much goes unnoticed by Josh when it comes to you, and he falls silent with a brand new heat flashing in his eyes. “You like that, sweet girl? That I let him come up here and fuck you in our bed?”

Your entire body is tensed in effort to control your breathing. “I like hearing you say it. It sounds…wrong.”

“Who says?” he whispers, sucking open mouthed kisses against your neck.

“Probably pretty much everyone.” you giggle with a tiny squeal when he bites into your skin.

“I don’t give a shit. Do you?”

A hum is all you can manage as he begins mouthing his way down your chest.

“Did he make you cum?” he murmurs, nipping into your tightened nipple, fingers ghosting between your legs, curling over your clit slowly.

“Yes.” you confess. This should feel awkward. You should be walking on eggshells. Instead, you’re soaked and dripping all over the sheets and his teasing fingers.

“I’m sure you made quite an impression.” he continues to lick and bite at your breasts, speaking around them, watching your face intently. “You’re so pretty when you cum…so fucking beautiful. Bet he’s thinking about it right now. The way you look, the way you sound.”

“Josh, baby, please…” you need more, his fingers are moving much too slowly, and he knows it. “Please, I missed you.”

“Yeah?” he licks his way downward until the tip of his tongue is causing your stomach to cave in with every wet kiss. “Did you miss me when you had my brother between these pretty legs of yours?”

“So much…” you breathe, spreading your thighs further, begging him with your body.

“It turns me on.” he whispers into your inner thigh. “That there’s this part of you I don’t see. That you want things I can’t give you. Makes me feel like I don’t deserve you, and something about that…” he trails off with a low growl and sucks a mark into your hip as if branding you.

You bite down on your lip to stifle a moan as the grip you have on his hair tightens.

“Don’t do that, sweet girl.” he scolds quietly. “Let me hear you, it’s just us.”

“Josh, come on.” Shamelessly, you slide your hands down and attempt to force his mouth to where you so badly need it.

Your little display prompts a soft chuckle “What is it, mama?” he nuzzles the tip of his nose over your clit and then kisses it lightly. When your hips jerk, he laps over the swollen bud, smiling to himself when you whimper with relief. “Oh, that’s what my girl wants, isn’t it?”

You lift up and press yourself against his tongue, rocking back and forth on it with a quick, frantic nod.

He pulls back and licks at an excruciatingly slow clip while you chase him around with your hips, desperately seeking more until he finally drags the flat of his tongue over you perfectly. “Like that? Is that what you need?”

How you love these moments with him. The feverish want, his devotion to you, the security in the knowledge he will take care of you and make you shake apart beneath him.

Reaching down, he grinds the heel of his hand against you with just enough pressure to make you whine. “I can’t wait until you let go on my tongue, in my mouth…can’t wait to taste it.” he moans as though remembering a decadent meal, and then rests his chin on your thigh, gazing up at you.

His stare makes you shiver and smile down at him, temporarily forgetting the frenzied ache he has created between your legs. “You’re beautiful, Josh.”

He reignites it quickly with a flash of a wink. “I’m nothing compared to this angel I’ve got laid out so pretty in my bed.”

He is so wrong. In the warm, golden morning light, he glows. Dust motes dance around him in the sun streaming through the window, creating a glittering crown. His eyes, full of adoration and desire, lock in on your own and steal the air from your lungs. He grins upon hearing your airy gasp, and bats his lashes, making you laugh.

He waits a moment and then begins placing kisses along your hips before sweeping them down over your clit, pecking it as if it were your cheek.

“Did he have a taste of this pretty little sweetheart right here?” he questions, letting his breath fall hot over you. “Hmm? Did he kiss her and treat her right?”

You shake your head and will the needy tears welling in your eyes to go away.

“Well that wasn’t very nice at all, was it, mama?” He suckles your clit delicately and then draws back, speaking against your warm, wet skin. “You love it so much, and you taste so good. He’s an idiot.”

"Please..." your voice quivers with need.

"Please what, love?" He's going to make you ask for it. "What do you want?"

You curl your hands around the back of his head and attempt to pull his mouth to you. He turns and nuzzles his cheek against you instead, soaking it in the process, much to your embarrassment.

"You're so wet, sweet girl." he purrs, nipping at your thigh. "I bet I'll have you there in no time, just a few licks, a little suck or two on your pretty clit…would you like that? You must have missed it last night."

Your fingers twist into his hair and then quickly release and fist the sheets instead— you don't want to pull too hard out of frustration and accidentally hurt him.

"I need it baby," you whine softly, "Please, can I have it?"

“Of course you can, my love…” he hums. “You can have anything you want. You know that, don’t you, baby?”

You claw at the sheets and writhe continuously, you know what he wants to hear. “I know. ‘Cause I’m your girl.”

“That’s right.” he rewards you with a slow lick “‘Cause you're my girl.”

“More.” you beg as your body begins to throb with nearly painful need from head to toe. “Please baby…I need more.”

He nods his head, sending his tongue slipping up and down your clit gently "Keep going. Beg pretty for me." His voice is low in his throat, gravely, sexy as hell. "It's fucking hot."

You fuck up into his mouth harder and pant his name until he looks up into your eyes and replaces his mouth with his thumb on your clit "Right in my mouth, mama. When you’re ready, be a good girl and give it to me."

Before you can answer, he sucks you back in as a groan of pleasure rolls up out of his chest. It's then that you notice him grinding his clothed cock into the mattress.

"Does that feel good?" you ask, aching with lust and your impending orgasm.

"Mmm-hmm," he groans, vibrating a hum into your cunt.

He looks fucking intoxicating. Face flushed pink and stunning… beautiful lips wrapped around your swollen clit, eyes focused unwaveringly on your face, fucking himself against the bed, seemingly unbothered by the possibility of cumming in his pants.

"Come up here, baby." You breathe, hips thrashing wildly when he spreads you apart in response, your clit now completely exposed and on display between the V of his fingers.

"Come on, Josh, I want to cum with you inside me."

"Not this time." His breathing has picked up, cock rolling against the bed with a touch more urgency.

"Please, baby. Don't make me beg anymore." you sound pathetic and spoiled, and he adores every second of it.

In lieu of a verbal response, he raises his hand and slips his pinky into your mouth and then reaches down and inches it into you carefully.

In spite of how wet and worked up you are, it stings enough to make you wince.

Immediately, he retreats and laps his tongue where the tip of his finger has just been, soothingly. He has proven his point, you are still much too sore from Jake's merciless cock pounding and stretching you…and as much as you want him inside you, it isn’t going to happen. Perhaps his brother might fuck you through it. Might brush your tears away, call you a crybaby and tell you to just take it, and perhaps you’d love it. But Josh would never, and you love that too.

"Come on, love," he coaxes, flickering his expert tongue over you faster in tight circles. "I wanna taste it."

You moan, frantically breathing his name and praise that makes no sense, squirming and trembling under his kiss, fucking yourself against his mouth harder.

"Cum with me..." you pant, fighting hard to form the words. You're skating right along that blissful edge. Staring into the glittering void of release. His soft, wet mouth carrying you closer and closer.

He nods and you’re gone, falling apart into pieces that he holds together in his gentle hands. Everything else that has ever existed or will ever exist disappears in that moment, and you want to live and die here, in this secret place where it is only you and your beautiful Josh. Except there is someone missing now, and you can’t stay…not without him.

Josh makes it there too. Driven to his own end by the sounds you can't seem to quiet. Soft moans and gasps, hitches of breath, his name over and over. The way you sound, the way you taste, the way you feel…you are everything. You are a haunting and gorgeous universe that he wants to float endlessly across, completely surrounded by you forever.

Together, and reluctantly, you find your way back.

He looks up at you with a relaxed half smile "Hi."

Your heart stutters. Jake had greeted you the exact same way last night after you had fought your way back to him through a euphoric haze.

It reminds you of the time you found Josh passed out on the couch after a long night of Sam's shitty bartending. He was curled into a small ball with his right hand tucked beneath his chin, left curled loosely (and strangely) around his right wrist. Heading outside for some fresh air and quiet after a chaotic evening with the Kiszka boys, you’d stumbled upon Jake sleeping on a chaise lounge, positioned exactly the same.

Twin moments, even apart. Two souls so deeply connected they often merge into one.

Suddenly, it all makes a little more sense, and you wonder how you didn’t see it before. How right it could all be. How the three of you have likely been traveling down this road all along.

And as you curl into Josh, breathing to the drum of his heart, you remember something his mother once told you. You revisit her words about Josh and his intuitive nature, about the almost sixth sense he’s always had for the needs of others…

About how he always seems to find a way.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @gardenofgreta @greta-van-chaos @theweightofstardust @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @paintmyhouse @dvrkblooms @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @kdarling1 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @loofypoofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @greta-flanveet-admin @avagvf @alisonwonderland29 @agirlwithmanytastes @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @joshkiszkas @gretasmokerising @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @tripthelightfandomtastic @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @dakotadovato @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet

[bracketsoffear]

Cypher (Valorant) "Cypher is an extremely skilled surveillance specialist and information broker, capable of sniffing out any secrets the enemy could be hiding. He has a penchant for constantly gathering data and information on both his enemies AND allies at all times, to the point where he can make casual reference to the more classified or fabricated details of some of his teammates' backgrounds, as well as pull out everyone's personal passwords at the drop of a hat. His official description even declares that "No secret is safe. No maneuver goes unseen. Cypher is always watching", several of his voicelines place emphasis on vision, eyes, blindness, or some derivative thereof (particularly in relation to his spycams), and one of his in-game abilities involves him performing neural theft on dead enemies to recover intel on the opposing team. Which isn't blatantly Eye-related as far as I know, but does illustrate the levels he is willing to go to in order to gather information -- not even the things tucked into the recesses of your mind are safe.

However, that's not all: whilst Cypher is very much fixated on amassing knowledge about the people around him, he is also desperate to keep his own secrets under lock and key. His personal file in the Protocol's database is missing, he constantly covers up every inch of skin, and where Cypher knows basically everything there is to know about his teammates, his teammates barely know anything about him, which has caused people to distrust him on more than one occasion. This secrecy is partly for practical reasons, as his being compromised could easily lead to a massive security breach, but also for personal reasons as well: while he is on a mission to capture Fade, she uses her fear-based powers to manifest the deepest, darkest nightmares of all the agents present. Cypher's fear is represented by being tied to a chair and surrounded by cameras, while a figure comes up from behind and pulls off his mask. Additionally, the blackmail dossier he'd recieved from Fade some time prior to this mission taunts him for his constant desire to run and hide when faced with the prospect of anything about him being known, as well as how protective he is of his secrets to the point of alienating everyone around him including his loved ones.

All this effectively makes Cypher an avatar that both spreads the paranoia of being watched and having your secrets known while at the same time suffering from it. Which, yeah, seems about right."

Columbo (Columbo) "A shrewd but inelegant blue-collar homicide detective whose trademarks include his shambling manner, rumpled beige raincoat, cigar and off-putting, relentless investigative approach. Columbo was the master of perp sweating. Though he generally settles on his horse from the outset, he never lets on, instead worming his way into their confidence via fawning adulation, begging their assistance as he "solves" the case. Usually he forces them to weave a huge web of lies until he can finally pull the thread — justified because he's always right. Without letting on that he suspects the perp, he'd have long, seemingly innocuous conversations with the murderer who would get more and more frustrated as they tried to get this annoying man to go away, and thus already be off-balance when the topic turned to holes in their cover-up. Columbo's favorite move was seeming to leave once the suspect thought they'd thrown him off the scent, then turning around and adding "Just one more thing," knocking them on their heels. He's overly nice to people in a bloodhound sort of way; he convinces people that he's just a country bumpkin more interested in whatever 'hat' the villain wears than solving the crime, only to reveal in the end a cold detachment and clinical mind that the bumpkin persona allowed free rein. He plays with the feelings of the criminals, making them like him (more often than not) or at least pity him and drop their guard, or he pushes them subtly and continuously to the point where they break. He attributes his success to merely working harder, thinking longer, and looking closer than anyone else would. However, Columbo has solved every case put before him onscreen (he sometimes claims that he only solves about a third total, but this could well be part of the humility act) and hasn't gotten his man only once — in which case the perp was dying anyway. In true classic mystery fashion, each episode wraps up with the Lieutenant confronting his prey with his train of deduction, culminating in the vital clue; the perp may not confess, but they know, and the viewer knows, they have been beaten. He also possesses an encyclopedic knowledge on some subjects, which he usually hides, and has explained to colleagues that his wife believes there is "something wrong" with him."

[silverflame2724]

Alternate universe where Su She admires and wishes to support Wei Wuxian for saving her life 2 times (Aquatic Abysses and Xuanwu Cave) in addition tobe convinced that he hates Lan Wangji and Jin Zixun too

I actually quite like this prompt so forgive me for taking so long to write it! Hope you enjoy!

____________________________

Su Minshan thought that this was the end. That his arrogance that he thought he could match up to Lan-we-gongzi would be his downfall.

Never would he have thought that Wei Wuxian, whose was thought to be the most arrogant of all, would disregard his own safety to help someone like him!

But Wei Wuxian was known more for his speed than strength and was soon weighed down by Su Minshan.

Su Minshan thought that Wei Wuxian would do the obvious thing and let him go to save himself. As he had seen many others do.

But no.

Wei Wuxian did not do the smart thing and let him go. He weaved through the relentless attacks of the waterborne abyss, holding him even tighter than before.

In the end though, they had to rely on Lan-er-gongzi’s arm strength to pull them out. Wei Wuxian teased the young master, only to receive the expected biting sarcasm as before. Su Minshan might have missed it if he weren’t so close, but Wei Wuxian’s hand trembled with an unseen hurt.

Su Minshan narrowed his eyes at this. He would make sure to repay his savior, Wei Wuxian. Not now, but perhaps when he has the necessary power and resources. Or, at a good time.

He found an opportunity soon enough. Jin Zixuan was famously known for disrespecting Wei Wuxian’s Shijie. While Su Minshan did not want to draw a sect heir’s ire, if he could get revenge for his saviour somehow, wouldn’t Wei Wuxian look upon him with favor?

So he put his plan into motion in the coming few days.

.

.

The common people were rather grateful to him and the others that helped contained the Waterborne Abyss so it was easy to buy a bunch of fish at a cheap price.

He planned to donate the fish to the Cloud Recesses’ kitchens - he was not naive - wasting food was just wrong - only asking for the scraps of the fish - namely the guts. Of course, to not implicate himself, he had left the fish in special storage containers after gutting the fish. Soon after, Su Minshan waited until the afternoon, made sure his savior was locked up in the Library Pavilion to complete his copying punishment and smeared most of the fish guts all over Jin Zixuan’s room.

The reason he waited until Wei Wuxian was in the Library Pavilion was because he knew people would be quick to blame his savior for the incident. After all, Jin Zixuan had recentlymade a snide remark about Jiang Yanli recently and Su Minshan had watched Wei Wuxian tremble with rage, being barely held back by his shidis. Wei Wuxian had ample motive to carry out this revenge and Su Minshan wished not to implicate him.

Jin Zixuan soon arrived in his room and nearly retched at the smell. Su Minshan grinned. 

Jin Zixuan had raged for a while, thinking it was Wei Wuxian, but when questioned, Wei Wuxian had been in the library completing his punishment. There was not enough time for him to do that to Jin Zixuan and no one had seen him anywhere near Jin Zixuan’s room.

Wei Wuxian was let go and Su Minshan sighed in relief. Revenge complete.

...................................

Wei Wuxian was evidently a lot smarter than people thought and quickly found out that it was Su Minshan who had done that. Turns out he hadn’t been as sneaky as he had thought.

When asked why, Su Minshan merely smiled. “Wei-gongzi, you rescued me, remember? This is what I should do to repay you.”

“Ah...that--” Wei Wuxian looked sheepish. “Thank you.....umm....”

“Su She, Su Minshan. I know we never got introduced to each other.”

“Then.. Su-xiong. Thank you, really.” He gave Su Minshan a bright smile. “I really appreciate it.”

Su Minshan felt elated being recognized like this. “Can....Can we be friends?”

Wei Wuxian grinned. “Of course! Call me Wei-xiong or Wei Wuxian, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Okay, Wei Wuxian.”

After an invitation to join Wei Wuxian and his friends was offered, Su Minshan agreed and parted soon after. He had classes to get to. But when he turned around, he was met with a glare from Lan-er-gongzi. Which was odd considering he hadn’t done anything.

But, as Su Minshan found out, Lan-er-gongzi was jealous. Jealous of the closeness between them, of the casual, affectionate touches Wei Wuxian gave everyone but him.

Hmph. If he was so jealous, he shouldn’t have hurt Wei Wuxian’s feelings.

.................................

It was regrettable, but the time the guest disciples were here came to an end. Wei Wuxian promised to write letters to him and Su Minshan was elated at that. 

However, he had to breathe a sigh of relief at the same time. He had had a tough time keeping Wei Wuxian from punching Jin Zixuan and getting sent home early, but thanks to Su She’s interference, it didn’t end up like that. He even spent a lot of time distracting Wei Wuxian from mischief that the Jiang clan always seemed to draw him into.

But, thanks to that, Wei Wuxian and him had become close. 

And perhaps, because of that closeness, Su Minshan despised Lan Wangji. That man had finally had the balls to approach Wei Wuxian after the other had left him alone and only had the harshest things to say. Watching Wei Wuxian flinch imperceptibly had made him shake with anger.

Su Minshan took great joy in making sure Wei Wuxian hardly ever crossed paths with Lan Wangji and seeing Lan Wangji’s distraught face from afar. Eventually, Wei Wuxian avoided Lan Wangji on his own and Su Minshan was satisfied seeing Wei Wuxian finally start to dislike the Second Jade.

Childishly, he wanted to stick his tongue out at the man.

...........................................................

However, tragedy struck. The Cloud Recesses burned and they barely had time to recover before being forced into an indoctrination. As usual, Wei Wuxian took care of everyone and did his best to make sure everyone's spirits were up, even Lan Wangji's. Su Minshan might have disliked Lan Wangji for his treatment of Wei Wuxian, but after what had happened, Su Minshan didn't block Wei Wuxian from assisting Lan Wangji. Especially since Lan Wangji's leg was broken during the Wen invasion.

.

.

Wen Chao is a terrible, good-for-nothing and Su Minshan wants nothing more than to crush him. But as weakened as he was and how surrounded by Wens they were, there was not much he could do. However.....when push came to shove and a girl - Luo Qingyang, if he recalled correctly - was to be bled to force out whatever beast was in the cave, Wei Wuxian, as always, came up with a great solution and held Wen Chao at sword point, effectively stopping the Wens' movement. Not even a few minutes later, a huge murderous turtle moved from underneath Wei Wuxian, distracting everyone. This was Su Minshan's chance!

Wen Zhuliu had been a deterrent to all. The Core-Melting hand had been a big reason for everyone's hesitance to rebel. If he was gone.....

Su Minshan sent a strong kick towards Wen Zhuliu's back and quickly hid amongst the panic. He watched in satisfaction as Wen Zhuliu was snapped up in the turtle's jaws and quickly swallowed down.

There. He won't bother anyone ever again.

..................................

He didn't want to. Wei Wuxian had volunteered to stay behind and distract the monster to allow everyone to escape. Su Minshan wanted to stay behind but Wei Wuxian grinned and pushed him out.

"Don't worry. I'll be right behind you. Thanks for worrying though, Minshan."

Su Minshan nodded and reluctantly started to leave with the others. He turned around to say goodbye and saw the turtle snap at Wei Wuxian.

"Wei-xiong, watch out!"

Wei Wuxian turned too late. However....Lan Wangji had pushed him out of the way and gotten captured by the turtle instead. He didn't see what happened next as he was pulled underwater and through the exit.

.........................................

He didn't see Wei Wuxian when they exited the cave. He heard, of course, how they killed the Xuanwu of Slaughter. But didn't see him. He didn't see Wei Wuxian at all until he came back, cloaked in darkness.

He pushed everyone away and his sunlight-like smile was replaced by a manic grin. Su Minshan of course knew what might have happened. He had heard of the burning of Lotus Pier, of the loss of their disciples. And, of course, Wei Wuxian being captured by Wen Chao. There were rumors and whispers from the Wen guards that Wen Chao tossed Wei Wuxian into the Burial Mounds.

Most brushed that off, saying it was impossible for anyone to survive it. But not Su Minshan. He knew that that had probably happened. What with Wei Wuxian controlling resentful energy, his uncharacteristic attitude towards the Wens, towards his friends.

No one gets out of the Burial Mounds alive. And, perhaps, in a way, that is true. For the Wei Wuxian they all knew - the sunshine-bright boy - was gone.

But what Wei Wuxian needed was not judgement, like that bastard Jin Zixun. It wasn't pity (or whatever Lan Wangji was attempting to do). It was support. And if Su Minshan could provide that for him, he who remembered him and saved him over and over again. Su Minshan would be satisfied with that.

...................................

"Wei-xiong."

"Hm? Minshan? What's wrong? Is everything okay?" Wei Wuxian asked.

Su Minshan shook his head. "I'm fine." He paused. "Well, as fine as anyone could be with the war going on. But I'm worried about you."

"Me? I'm fine, there's nothing wrong." Wei Wuxian put his shields up, eyes shifty and nervous.

"Wei-xiong.....we're friends, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then, you should know that I support you, right?"

"But doesn't GusuLan have rules against demonic cultivation?"

"Sure they do. But you're not evil. Those rules are bullshit sometimes. Like they think that just by following the "orthodox" path, you can avoid being evil. But if that were true, the Wens wouldn't have done all of this."

Wei Wuxian gave a small chuckle. "That's true enough."

"Now, Wei-xiong, I heard from many Wen guards that you were tossed in the Burial Mounds." Wei Wuxian paled. "Now while most refuse to believe that. I believe that that had happened. How else would you have such mastery over it? You love to boast about your cultivation. Why would you risk tainting it with demonic cultivation? Something must have forced you to use it."

"You're quite smart." Wei Wuxian whispered after some time.

"Heh. One of my best strengths." Su Minshan felt happy at the praise. "But most people are idiots."

Wei Wuxian laughed again. "You're the best. Thank you."

"No problem. You've always saved me. I would be an idiot to not help you in return. If you can't accept my help, think of it as a debt I want to pay back to you."

"Alright." Wei Wuxian smiled, not as bright as before, but still there. "Alright."

________________________________

Lol. Anon, you asked for me to have a Su Minshan that wishes to support Wei Wuxian but I took it as Su Minshan actively supporting Wei Wuxian from the shadows. Let me know if this is fine or if you'd like me to change it!

[lostheartfics]

I want to post more on here too. So here’s a wip for WIP Wednesday before Wednesday could end!!

This is a sneak peek for the new chapter of my fic “if i knew it all then would i do it again” (nhs time travel au)

(As always, subject to change in final posting)

~*~*~*~

“I just wanted to have a taste of Gusu’s infamous Emperor’s Smile! How was I to know how seriously they took their rules?” Wei Wuxian whined.

“Well, they carved all four-thousand of them on the walls of the Recesses. You would think they were pretty serious.” Nie Huaisang said with a snort.

“Three thousand.” Jiang Cheng said.

Nie Huaisang blinked, tilting his head at him. “Hm?”

Jiang Cheng frowned. “There’s three thousand rules, not four thousand.”

The pause didn’t last too long, but it was enough for Jiang Cheng to notice the almost unseen twitch in Nie Huaisang’s eyebrow at the correction. But the Nie continued to smile—that irritating and disingenuous smile—as if nothing were amiss.

“…right.” Nie Huaisang conceded with a soft chuckle. “Same difference.”

Strange. It was all strange.

“Whatever. He’s still a total stick in the mud.” Wei Wuxian huffed, slouching back in his seat with an exaggerated pout.

There was a sudden creak on the floorboards, and they all turned to the direction of the sound. There was a person standing in the doorway, their face a reflection of cool jade, dressed head-to-toe in crisp white robes and a silk ribbon tied across his forehead.

Wei Wuxian visibly winced.

Speak of the devil.

Lan Wangji lingered at the doorway, hesitant, looking just about ready to spin on his heel and walk back to where he came.

“Han—hi, Wangji-xiong.” Nie Huaisang greeted.

‘What happened to ‘Lan Zhan’, huh?’ Jiang Cheng thought sarcastically, suppressing the weird burst of rage simmering inside his chest. His scowl deepened at the feeling.

Seriously, what the fuck has gotten into him?

[cringecomp2014]

ah yes. the mid-week slump. no, no - not your average wednesday. this is the SERIAL midweek slump. that special time between episode drops for the hottest new show on the air (or at least your dashboard) where everyone is getting antsy and devils find work for idle hands.

many, understimulated due to a lack of content and desperate for interaction, decide to lash out, launching countless desperate attacks with whatever goofy metatextual macgyver shit they can manage to slap together.

"this is my take. nobody has ever said or thought this before - nobody on the world. probably on account of it being fucking stupid" they boldly proclaim. "look upon my takes, ye mighty, and despair. you agree, yes? you agree. tell me you agree. tell me you agree right now or else. if i see even one 'not so sure about this one chief' in my mentions i am coming to your house and eating your fucking children."

these brave crusaders prepare themselves for a fight unending against an enemy unseen: "honestly, you don't even need to respond to me directly. you could post a screenshot in a private discord server and i'd find it. i'm kinda freaky like that."

yet others fearfully retreat into the dark annuls and of their minds to contemplate worst-case scenarios: "what if, next episode, literally everyone dies" they say, "what if, suddenly, everyone is skeletons".

within the dim grottos and thorny recesses in which they dwell, these grim would-be oracles find meaning in the shifting of leaves that aren't there and reverberating drip-drip-drop echoes of water that isn't running: "there was an episode earlier this season where they implied that people have bones. yknow what else has bones? skeletons. it's going to be the fucking skeletons, gang. it's skeletons all the way down."

[fiixer]

“All right, all right, it’s not that big a deal.“ / from aiden.

Just business - that is all it was.

So long as two people exist in the world, someone will want someone else wiped out of existence, promising some twisted form of job security for those dealing in death.  Human life comes with a price tag, and with the zeros promised on the Vigilante's tag, it was a matter of fortune that Jordi had gotten to it first.  By rumor alone it had caught attention.  Someone undoubtedly blabbed where they shouldn't have, started a rumor and forced it down the grapevine.  By the time Jordi had made the warning call, that rumor had already gained traction, and a few frequent flyers within his circle claimed they'd found The Fox's trail, but Jordi knew they were merely blowing smoke.  That trail was long gone.  He had seen to that personally, as he had sealed the official deal.  The contract was his. The Fox was his mark to find, and Jordi always got his mark.  When the crosshairs closed on his target, they no longer had a face, a name, a connection.  They were, plain and simple, just another paycheck to collect.  And as far as anyone would know, Aiden Pearce had become nothing more than cash in his pocket.

The pouring rain had been a fitting backdrop for the storm raging unseen to the rest of the world as he stood atop that lighthouse.  It was a scene he had played countless times before with the difference lying only in the face staring back at him, teetering on the border of incredulous as those green eyes settled on the muzzle of his gun.  In the end, by technicality, Jordi had fulfilled his contract; pulled the trigger resting heavily against his finger, and the infamous Vigilante fell to the grates beneath their feet.  If this had been a normal job, or if Jordi's aim was worse, the fulfillment would have rang true and neither would have returned to the safe house.  Aiden would've been left to rot, and Jordi would've been riding pretty somewhere exotic.  Alas, here they are now, after Jordi had hauled the six-foot-two sack of rocks out of the elements and into some semblance of security, an unnecessary effort by all accounts though even that thought was not enough to sway the decision.

An actual sack of rocks would have been better, he thinks. Rocks don't talk. Rocks don't spew dumb crap that literally no one bought into, nor do they brush off necessary aid. In that respect, a rock might have been smarter, but them's the breaks.

"Huh, you're right!  I mean, what's one extra hole, right? "  The bed is suited for the cramped space it occupies, allowing barely the room required for two as Jordi chose a perch near the edge.  He pauses only to roll his sleeves up his forearms, safely out of range in case blood began to flow again.  His jacket, now draped haphazardly over a rail, already suffered that fate, and he's unwilling to allow for a repeat performance while he shoulders the monumental task of caring for the wound he'd caused.  And a monumental task it was.  Does he need to?  In theory, the answer is a resounding no, yet still he has no intention of returning to his own haven that night, or those to follow.  Jordi gives little thought as to the reason why, but it's set in mind that when Aiden recovered further, here he would stay. 

Jordi Chin is a number of things, of which gentle is not, yet the same hands that pulled the trigger smooth over bare skin, flit along the jagged outline.  The bullet itself was out, though neither have the resources available to check for splintered pieces, and now it is all management.  Again his traitorous mind returns to wondering why that management was on his plate.  In the quiet before Aiden woke, and even on the trek to that particular container, Jordi had wrestled with the thought, done his damnedest to shove it to the furthest recesses, and still it surfaced with a vengeance.  Why was he staying?  Why had he bothered?  Why had he risked his professional reputation for this man?  At the forefront of the questions list, those three were tied, and the answer he tried to conjure became little more that static.  It felt so close, too, as if it were right at the tip of his tongue, waiting for him the right prompt to drag it out into the light for him to properly analyze.  However, there's a part of him that, despite the lack of familiarity, has adamantly decided that it's better he leave it alone.  It's better if he just does this, what he feels he needs to, and moves on.  And, as always, he's inclined to believe he's correct on that matter.

"Ooooh, but it looks like you've got two; one in front, one in back. Entry and exit - remember how that works? Yeah, you remember, and I'm sure you know that that could be a teensy bit of a problem you can't handle by yourself." A single lackluster cleaning could mean infection which meant bigger issues than he could help solve, especially now with everything so fresh and Aiden's body fumbling into recovery mode. " I swear, sometimes it's like you've got one fuckin' brain cell floatin' around up there."

The turmoil burning in his own head adds a touch of venom he hadn't intended but could do little about now that the words left his lips.  He doesn't look to Aiden's face, focused instead on the exit wound, on the trail creeping over skin before the gauze in Jordi's hand catches it.  Truthfully, he's willing to bet Aiden's commentary is nothing but a ruse of sorts.  Jordi's face is likely the last one he wanted to see after everything that happened.  Too bad, so sad.  As luck would have it, his was the only one willing to stick around and help. When he speaks again, it's calmer, the edge smoothed as his focus shifts from his own annoyance to cleaning the wound itself with all the care he shouldn't show.  "Do us both a favor, shut up, sit still, and let me do this. I'll make it quick."

@bairgan // Supernatural — Pilot  {Sentence Starters}

[red-documents-redo]

Smile Geist origin:

Done. Let's reimagine the tale with the town of Blackwater:

In the desolate enclave of Blackwater, a malevolent specter lurked in the shadows—the Smile Geist. A manifestation of the darkest recesses of the human psyche, he reveled in causing people to spiral into fits of uncontrollable rage, a puppet master manipulating the strings of their sanity.

The Smile Geist found delight in the twisted euphoria born from the chaos of frenzied anger. His very essence thrived on the intoxicating energy that surged through the veins of those driven to the brink of madness, like a maleficent dance orchestrated by his unseen hand.

Blackwater, once a tranquil haven, now echoed with the sinister rhymes of the Smile Geist. He spoke only in verses, his words weaving through the air like a macabre melody that burrowed into the minds of his unsuspecting victims. A chilling sensation accompanied each rhyme, a prelude to the descent into the abyss of rage that awaited those who dared to listen.

The Smile Geist's influence spread like a contagion, infecting the townsfolk with an insatiable desire to unleash violence upon one another. The very thought of beating someone to a bloody pulp became an irresistible temptation, a dark compulsion whispered into their minds by the grinning phantom.

As the moon cast its pale glow upon Blackwater, the Smile Geist reveled in the malevolent carnival he had created. His spectral form, adorned with a perpetual grin, became synonymous with the haunting descent into madness that gripped the town.

Desperation festered among the residents, yet a foreboding reluctance held them back from banishing the Smile Geist. The ancient verses and forgotten incantations whispered by the elders seemed too perilous, as if unleashing a force more sinister than the one they sought to expel.

And so, the Smile Geist continued his spectral reign, his haunting rhymes etching a dark legacy into the very fabric of Blackwater. A town where the smile was not a symbol of joy but an ominous harbinger of the twisted entity that lingered in the shadows, forever known as the Smile Geist.

[goldenfreddys]

september ‘04, cont.— she drives at 90 by the barbies and kens.

From what Jeremy could see from the large glass doors of the entrance, the parking lot appeared to be empty, save for a beat-up muscle car one could assume belonged to Mike.

The sun was just clearing the treeline, illuminating the city’s endless blur of sagging chain link fences, cracked pavement and auto garages in warm, muted tones. There were a lot of trees, he thought, interspersed with residential lots in a way that made him feel as though trapped in a perpetual suburb. Moving here was a mistake. He'd been trying to stifle that particular train of thought, but by now, it had risen to the top of his mind and solidified into a thick, greasy layer.

He pulled out his phone.

WHERE R U … NADS BBY

Jeremy pressed his lips together and waited for a reply. Knowing Nadia, she halfway woke up to turn off her alarm, and forgetting why she set it, went right back to sleep. Still, a sliver of doubt stirred in his chest— what if something happened? What if she got in a car accident?

The door rattled a little as he tried to open it, but didn't budge. It was locked.

A surge of panic shot through him.

Was there a side door? He swore there must’ve been a side door, though he couldn’t remember where. The front entrance would probably be locked until the pizzeria opened at nine.

He would know if Nadia wasn’t doing good- they’ve been best friends for years. She would’ve told him if she wasn’t okay. Right? She’d been staying up late, a lot. Just restless, she said. Although, sometimes girls said things like that when they wanted you to clue in on something. Was she fine? Or was she quote-unquote ‘fine’? And was she quote-unquote ‘fine’ as in ‘I’m mad at you’ or quote-unquote ‘fine’ as in ‘I will be committing suicide this weekend’? His lungs felt tight.

There was a small shuffle from the prize corner.

Jeremy turned to see the animatronic marionette out of its box, staring at him from a distance. It quirked its head to the side.

“I’m sorry.” He said, “I’ve got that uh, panic disorder swag. It’s part of my primal charisma.”

The Marionette continued staring for a moment, before turning and drifting towards the main hallway. It paused by the entrance of the hall and looked back at him.

“Do you… Do you want me to…?”

It motioned limply for him to follow.

“Okay.”

Unlike the other animatronics, the puppet seemed to be carried around by unseen wires, though he wasn't sure exactly how that worked. It all seemed a bit too advanced for a mid-sized business during an economic recession.

Jeremy could hear muffled voices at the end of the hall, from the security office.

“I swear-”

“Come on, doll, it's not that hard to get someone to cover for me.”

“On such short notice? It kind of is. Let's see; Chucky is allergic to social interaction with other human beings,”

“That's true.”

“And Sean is gonna throw an absolute fit if he has to do an actual job.”

“I know, but-”

“Look, I'll figure it out. But you owe me big time, Mikey…”

Jeremy glanced around before approaching the entrance of the office, noticing the Marionette had gone without a trace when he wasn't looking.

Mike was sitting on the desk as a heavyset man with dark skin fussed over a copy of the weekly schedule. He looked well-groomed in the way people with a better salary generally do.

The two looked at him.

“What's up?” Mike asked.

“The entrance was locked.”

“You can open it from the inside. You don't need a key, there's a knob below the handle.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Jeremy gave Mike a visibly trembling thumbs up.

The better-paid man—Eugene S.—glanced at Mike and remarked, “Is he good?”

“He told me nothing happened during his shift, so yeah. I think he's probably just on drugs.”

“Well, tell him not to do drugs on company property. We’ve got policies about that.”

They continued squabbling as if they had forgotten Jeremy was still in the room at all. His cell phone buzzed.

Nadia had replied:

FUCK SRY TT IM OMW

Jeremy took a breath, “I’m gonna go, now. Also um, FYI, I'm not a druggie. Just neurotic, which is- which is something you can’t legally fire me for… I’m pretty sure.”

He gave them a half-hearted wave before quickly turning and making his way back down to the entrance. A feeling of intense embarrassment gripped him as he walked, eyes on the glossy checkered flooring. The collar of his button-up was kind of tight. His new work shoes weren’t broken in, yet. The whole building had a sort of grating electric hum. He knew instinctively that if anything stopped him on the way out, he would surely have to rip his own skin off then and there.

Nadia affectionately coined the phrase ‘bitch-mode in overdrive’ to describe this particular state.

At the very least, there was a knob underneath the handle of the entrance that unlocked the door. Crisp morning air filled his lungs. Sunlight and birdsong. The low rumble of Nadia’s black sedan.

A song from Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge was, as always, blasting from her stereo as he got in. She grabbed the back of his head and pressed a too-forceful kiss to his cheek, tumbling out apologies that he could only faintly hear over the music.

Jeremy cracked a small smile as the bassline thrummed in his bones.

[wormdebut]

He was six, the first time Eddie realized something wasn’t right. He was six years old when his Mom had sternly told him not to tell his school teachers about why he had a bruise on his on his wrist.

She hadn’t meant to, of course. Eddie had just been babbling about Ms. Nantauk’s first grade class and how he made a new friend, Gunner, and they played together and recess, and ate lunch together, and Gunner brought Eddie a rubber ducky from his house, and and and…his mom had gripped his wrist a little too hard to get him to snap out of his thoughts. She needed to do that sometimes, he understood. He was too unruly.

She had told him that if anybody asked him about the light red smattering around his wrist to tell them he had carried to many grocery bags, this confused Eddie. He knew, he knew, she didn’t mean to do it, so why was his mom so worried? He was small, Edison Munson, six going on twenty, really. But on the bus that brisk Tuesday morning, he considers that the other kids had scapes on their knees and bruises on their shins from rough housing at recess, but Eddie’s bruises that he occasionally had, not so often from his mom, but quite a few in the shape of palms from his father, maybe the other kids at school didn’t get those kinds of bruises.

Eddie was thirteen when everything came crashing down.

His uncle Wayne, was going to marry Miss Amanda. He didn’t really know Miss Amanda, he hardly even knew his uncle, but he did know that he loved him. Wayne never made Eddie feel unwanted, or unseen. He had grown used to it, of course he had. He had known for a while that Amelia and Richard Munson did not want him. Amelia could hardly take care of herself, and Richard, well, he just wanted a friend, not a son. When he was 10 and Richard had taught him how to hotwire a car, Eddie realized again that normal kids don’t go through this type of lesson.

The common nagging of normal children don’t go through this, triggered in his brain again, when Miss Amanda threw him a little baggy, “Edison, get rid of this right now!” His uncle had his dad backed into a corner, and Eddie couldn’t help the dark chuckle that escaped his lips as he looked at the bag in his hands. God, he wished it could’ve been flour or sugar, but no. As sweet as he assumed the substance was it was neither, it was Dick Munsons nasty heroin habit, sitting there right in his thirteen year old sons hands. His mom and had ducked out years ago, leaving a 9 year old Eddie with an addict, thief of a shell of a father, and honestly? Eddie was surprised he had managed to keep it all under wraps for as long as he had. But it was there, in his Uncles small trailer, that the broken record of this isn’t normal, this isn’t what you deserve kept running over and over again in his mind.

Eddie had buried the drugs in the woods behind Wayne’s house, and Miss Amanda had up and left that night. Wayne didn’t get his wedding, but he did get Eddie.