#writing tonight

[eternal-dragon-of-time]

ELEVENTH HOUR OF NIGHT, HALF WRITTEN ON PHONE, NO BETA. I FINALLY WROTE A THING AND FINISHED IT.

Hero/Drakath, Enemies to Lovers, Slowburn, NO established relationship yet, and I inserted so many headcanons about Drakath in this one enjoy.

Drakath wasn’t a stranger to finding the Hero tied up in odd situations, it could be said to be the cornerstone of their relationship. Granted he was a little more used to causing the situation and grandstanding before they somehow wormed their way out of it, but the point was that nothing should be able to surprise him when they were involved.

Except here they were. Passed out on the floor of Crownsreach’s library, book in hand as if they were mid page. Their body sprawled out on their back, taking up all available space between the bookshelves and looking like a corpse. The scene would’ve been horrifically morbid except that the Hero was gently snoring, sleeping as though they weren’t splayed out like a dead man.

Stepping forward after kicking Hero’s slightly twitching leg out of the way, Drakath scanned the bookshelves for any threats, just because the Hero seemed to be asleep didn’t mean that they weren’t attacked. They were an idiot, but they were smart enough to not fall asleep alone in a mortal enemy's home. The idea that anything managed to incapacitate the Hero here itched at him, if the threat could take out them, as reluctant as he was to admit it it could probably do the same to him.

Slowly reaching down Drakath pulled the book Hero was holding out of their hand. Carefully turning to the page they were reading he groaned.

“You’re kidding.” He said looking down at their sleeping form, “I really give you too much credit.” Kicking them in the side, they rolled over but didn’t wake.

The page detailed a sleep spell, one that was trapped to go off on an unexpecting reader. The Hero must’ve been researching something to do with Malgor and the Queen and pulled this book off the shelf. The idiot flipped to the page and cast the spell on themselves accidentally. The Hero would snooze for another four hours or so, but otherwise the spell was harmless. A dirty trick for a malicious caster to incapacitate a victim nonlethally.

As much as Drakath wanted to turn and leave them there, his mutually beneficial agreement tied his hands. The library was a long procrastinated project, its pest control floated around with no one eager to take on the job. Chances were some slinking horror still crawled around in the walls and Incarnation of Time or not the Hero wasn’t able to defend themself in this state, it would be more of a headache cleaning up the aftermath mess than it would be to just pick them up and drop them somewhere relatively safe.

Safe.

In Crownsreach.

Where no one could see that he was doing it.

Drakath contemplated his options. 

If he took them to the guest rooms the same problems as the library arrived, his militia hadn’t cleared them out yet and -victims- test guests had been eaten or worse. The barracks were shot down immediately, it was too public. He’d rather die than have anyone see him doing this, gossip flew too freely and the sight of their Champion of Chaos carrying the sleeping Hero would reach Xing and Xang within minutes. Really there was only one option that would guarantee privacy but…

Some part of him, a part that he had thought he had murdered and left dead in a ditch somewhere in his cold heart spoke up. It was the same nagging that forced him to ‘sit up straight’ and ‘stay princely’ and demanded 'that he keep promises and remain at a certain level of royal decorum’. The same bullshit that his reflection cared about. And it balked at the idea of taking a sleeping acquaintance to his private room.

Which was stupid. The Hero meant nothing to him really, they were a mortal enemy he had entered into a mutually beneficial agreement with that just happened to mean that he shared his library, house, and now his private quarters with on occasion. There was no deeper meaning to that. For the Mother’s sake he didn’t even use his room anymore, once he strained his chaos magic hard enough he stopped needing most mortal needs like sleep. So long as he kept an eye on the time the Hero wouldn’t even know that they had slept there.

And it was the only option. Stealth was paramount, if he took them out of Crownsreach someone from the other members of the alliance would see the awkward situation and that would be far worse. Not only would the leaders of Good and Evil immediately assume the worst, he would be leaving the Hero to try and explain in the aftermath. Not that he really cared about them being uncomfortable but it was something that they would nag him about later. 

He could make someone else deal with this, but the idea made Drakath feel… odd. In a way that he didn’t care to dissect right now. Xing and Xang were the people he picked to make situations worse, so it was useless to ask them for help, and the rest of the militia was inconsistent at best. Cemaros was loyal but blabbed and had no concept of tactfully never speaking to him about things. Ultimately the thought of the Hero being so vulnerable while he wasn’t there to keep an eye on them… It was easy to justify why it had to be him.

So really, his bedroom was the only option.

Heaving them up into his arms was simple, despite the sheer force they threw around like nothing the Hero barely weighed anything to him. With one arm around the shoulders and another under the knees it was more difficult fighting off the rising heat in his face as the bastard started curling into his hold.

“You are such an idiot,” he huffed. “And also the luckiest being on Lore, Xing and Xang would’ve loved to make fun of you for this and now I can’t tell them.”  Now the fact that the Hero was a clingy sleeper would have to join in with the other stupid things about the Hero only he knew, which was a list which was starting to grow at an alarming rate.

They looked… peaceful like this, it was an unfamiliar expression to him. He had gotten so used to their anger, smugness, and recently begrudging looks that Drakath realized he had never seen them ever just rest. Even in the downtime between world threatening catastrophes they were always chewing away at something. He wondered when they last got an opportunity to sleep like this, as if the world didn't rest on their shoulders.

He was stalling with behavior bordering on dangerous. He needed to get them to bed and out of his hands before he started thinking other sappy thoughts, them and their dumb face were doing some form of damage to him he was sure. Spreading his wings to weave a teleportation spell he resolved to break some monsters apart up in the northern lands later, the mind numbing repetitive task in the freezing cold would do wonders to clear his mind. As the magic rose and whisked the two of them off into the depths of Crownsreach a traitorous part of him wondered what quip the Hero would have to say about that.

Landing on his feet on the soft flooring of his private room Drakath breathed a sigh of relief at the silence that greeted them. Xing and Xang had a sixth sense for when he was in a compromising position, and however irrational it would seem he would never put it past them to somehow have figured out what was happening and hide out in his room to attempt to embarrass him. Which was fairly light retribution after what he did to them to be fair, but he didn't have to like it.

His room was sparse and dusty. When he was orchestrating the thirteen lords he hadn't been interested in living, working himself to the bone with no rest or need of a room, and ironically now that he was trying a little harder to live 'normally' his body didn't need sleep. So his room remained mostly unused except to store what little personal items he had. It did have a huge ornate bed in the center of the room for the sake of appearance though, just because he didn't need it and no one would see it didn't mean he would let people think he wasn't in possession of the absolute best after all.

Striding over to the bed Drakath dropped the Hero on it with a pomf and a flurry of dust. There, mutually beneficial agreement appeased, quest turned in, duty done, he could wash his hands of them and stop thinking about it. All he had to do now was keep an eye on the time and drop them back off in the library before they woke up and nobody would know of this but him. He should probably get back to work now, he had been looking to do some research of his own on the Loremasters in Crownsreach after all.

Noting the Hero's grasping hands he idly pulled a pillow over to them to clutch onto for as if for dear life. He felt jealous for a moment, looking at them resting in the absurdly expensive bed he never got an opportunity to use. 

He could stay here for a moment probably. Crownsreach wouldn't fall apart if he were absent for a bit. Taking a seat at the foot of the bed he was struck by the wave of sheer exhaustion that hit him. Falling onto his back a very tired part of him wished that he were the one that was struck by that sleep spell. By the Avatars it was just so much, one thing after another and then tomorrow there was going to be more. Between managing the militia, the Queen and now Malgor he felt spent in a way he had never let himself feel while in front of that stupid gate. He hadn't felt like this since… he was in charge of his old bandit group.

For just a moment, on this massive comfortable bed with another body breathing a few feet away, Drakath felt human again, human enough to try and rest. Closing his eyes he rationalized. It's just closing my eyes. A breath in and out. Just for a few minutes before I get back to work. The Hero's steady breathing felt incredibly in sync as he started to fade.

Xing and Xang found the two of them six hours later after an incident nearly destroyed the lower wings of the castle. Still sleeping.

[melodicwriter]

When you finally get to the scene you’ve been waiting to write

[ayatou]

the strawhats & their dreams

[the-apocrypha]

"We'll fix it in post" is a phrase from the film industry, but it is inherently funnier when it's spoken by a writer because--tragic--you are also the post-production team.

[phantomrose96]

The Ship of Theseus is a story of a ship which, over time, has part after part replaced. By the end, 100% of the original ship's pieces have been replaced. The paradox begs the question of whether it is still the same ship.

The Ship of Theseus is a story of a ship which has its pieces replaced one after another. By the end, every single piece of the original ship has changed. The paradox asks if this is the same ship.

The Ship of Theseus tells the allegory of a ship whose crew are replaced one at a time. Eventually every single crewmate has been swapped for a new one. No one left knows what the carved initials in the mast mean. The paradox wonders whether the ship is still the same ship.

The Ship of Theseus refers to a company which has experienced complete turnover and rebranding. The query wishes to know if it is still the same company. The debtors are asking.

The Ship of Theseus is about a family. The original constituents are dead now, replaced by younger generations which have dispersed, found love, married and gained new names. No one is Theseus anymore. No one remembers the bones. But the genes never forget. Who is the family now?

The Ship of Theseus is you, shed of all the cells which first made you. They're stardust again. You'll be stardust many times over. Who are you?

The Ship of Theseus is me. All my words have changed. Who do I get to be now?

[oflights]

helpful sites for writers

i have a little collection of websites i tend to use for coming up with ideas, naming people or places, keeping clear visuals or logistics, writing basics about places i've never been to, and so on. i tend to do a lot of research, but sometimes you just need quick references, right? so i thought i'd share some of them!

Behind the Name; good for name meanings but also just random name ideas, regardless of meanings.

Fantasy Name Generator; this link goes to the town name generator, which i use most, but there are lots of silly/fun/good inspo generators on there!

Age Calculator; for remembering how old characters are in Y month in Z year. i use this constantly.

Height Comparison; i love this for the height visuals; does character A come up to character B's shoulder? are they a head taller? what does that look like, height-wise? the chart feature is great!

Child Development Guide; what can a (neurotypical, average) 5-year-old do at that age? this is a super handy quickguide for that, with the obviously huge caveat that children develop at different paces and this is not comprehensive or accurate for every child ever. i like it as a starting point, though!

Weather Spark; good for average temperatures and weather checking!

Green's Dictionary of Slang; good for looking up "would x say this?" or "what does this phrase mean in this context?" i love the timeline because it shows when the phrase was historically in use. this is english only, though; i dig a little harder for resources like this in other languages.

[ohproserpine]

for valentine's day, i thought i'd buy a gun.

synopsis: you make your husband mad on purpose tags: fem! reader, married couple, blood&injuries, demi alastor, suggestive/steamy, just a short kinda bad drabble to break my writer's block, ooc-ish alastor, soft alastor at first, vox mentioned don't like? don't interact.

"Cher!"

Alastor greeted you with a smile, his lips curved into a charming yet slightly crooked grin that softened the rugged edges of his appearance.

Leaning against the door frame, he looked every bit the rogue hunter returning from a hunt. His once-neat attire bore tears, burns, and scratches, with both knees of his pants ripped and scuffed thin. His monocle hung loosely on his chest, the glass broken and shards glinting in the light. Tousled strands of crimson hair fell haphazardly across his forehead, framing his rugged features, while a trickle of blood from the cut on his lips dripped down his chin, staining his deathly pale skin.

"Christ!" You jolted off the hotel bed, propelled into action by concern, your heart racing with worry. You began running around, collecting towels, extra clothes, and a first aid kit in a frantic rush.

Alastor moved into the room and stood in the very center, observing your frenzied activity with an amused smirk.

Finally, with all your materials in hand, you rushed to your husband's side, your footsteps echoing against the cold carpet.

"What happened to you?" you asked, filled with concern as you assessed his injuries, your eyes scanning his form for any more signs of distress.

"Just a little scuffle on the hunt, my doe," he replied with a cheer in his tone, spinning his staff in his hand. "Came across a feisty, moronic beast. But nothing I couldn't handle."

"A scuffle?" Disbelief colored your voice as you got on your tiptoes, straining to reach up and dab at the blood on his chin with a damp towel.

Alastor grinned down at you, his eyes tracing your features with tenderness. Always such a pretty view, but seeing you so domestic and sweet for him made him begin to feel hot below the collar. Leaning down, he reached out to sweep a stray strand of hair from your eyes, his long, sharp claws grazing against your skin.

"That can wait," his voice crackled with low static as he pulled you flush against him, chest against chest. "I've missed you dearly."

“Good heavens, Alastor, you’re insatiable,” you chided him playfully with a swat, though the warmth in your tone betrayed your affection. Your fingers lightly brushed against the rough fabric of his torn shirt as you urged him to let you continue tending to his injuries. "Let me fix you up first."

Alastor's ears twitched back as he rolled his eyes at you, but his grip remained firm as he pulled you closer and closer until you were practically dragged towards the bed, falling into his lap with a gentle thud.

"Love," you began to protest, but before you could continue, he silenced you with a deep kiss pressed upon your lips, a low chuckle vibrating against your own, melting any further protest.

He drew back briefly, only to dive back in, his lips tracing a delicate path along your neck. With a familiarity born of passion, his hands roamed, each touch igniting a cascade of sensations that threatened to consume you both.

"Al," you whimpered, unable to resist the intoxicating allure of his touch. As his lips began to trail up your jawline, you found yourself melting into his arms, the tension of the earlier encounter gradually dissipating in the heat of the moment.

He let out a dark chuckle, the sound echoing in the room, as he threw off his ruined coat and loosened the tie around his neck. Gripping onto your hips with a firm hold, he all but threw you off his lap and onto the bed.

The smug bastard. He knew all too well that his affections could smooth over any trouble he found himself in.

"Alastor," you murmured, your senses cutting through the haze of desire, "We really should attend to your wounds first."

Alastor began to move towards you, his claws digging through and tearing the mattress beneath him. "In due time, my heart."

"I am serious," you insisted, ignoring the wide smile you received in return. Alastor merely hummed, a low, melodic sound, as he moved to press himself against you, encasing you in an embrace that felt simultaneously comforting and confining.

You leveled him with a glare. Gritting your teeth, you continued, "What did you even do? I know damn well you didn't get these," you gestured to the charred edges of his shirt, "from an animal."

"Well, dearest, it was from an overlord meeting. You understand how tense politics can become," Alastor countered with a laugh.

"Bushwa," you scowled, jabbing your finger into his chest. "I know a lie when I see one."

"Rather accusatory," Alastor hummed, his tone dismissive.

"Well, I apologize for worrying about my husband, who looks to be on the verge of collapse any moment now," you snapped, frustration seeping into your voice.

"So enough of this," you scolded, your expression hardening. "What did you do?"

"What was necessary," Alastor scoffed, a mirthless chuckle following.

"I'd say he deserved it. You should have seen the way he looks at you," he continued, his voice low and tinged with a hint of warning, the air around him crackling with static.

"Who?" you asked, leaning down to meet his gaze. "There are plenty of people. Plenty of looks."

"Don't act as if you don't notice that pompous television bastard hanging around the hotel nowadays," Alastor's voice crackled with dark intensity, the radio static grew stronger, prickling against your skin and nearly making his words incoherent.

So this is what it's about?

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at Alastor's jealousy, though a small part of you felt a flicker of flattery at his protectiveness.

Your husband's irritation simmered beneath the surface, evident in the subtle set of his jaw and the way his normally smug gaze turned icy. But a mischievous spark ignited within you, tempting you to push his buttons just a bit further, to dance dangerously close to the edge of his patience.

"Are you talking about Vox?" you asked with a smirk playing at your lips. Tilting your head coyly, you met Alastor's gaze with a glint of mischief in your eyes. Your voice was laced with honeyed sarcasm, dripping like molten gold from your lips.

His expression darkened at the mention, a flicker of raw anger crossing his features before he regained his composure.

"You know well who I'm talking about," Alastor's grin was uncanny, his voice carrying the same tone you'd heard the night he faced death. "Don't toy with me."

Despite the seriousness of his tone, you couldn't resist the urge to tease him further. A playful smile danced on your lips as you reached out, gripping onto his tie and pulling him closer, closing the distance between you with a pull.

“What if I found him charming?” you breathed out against his lips, your voice a tantalizing whisper as you ran your hands up the fabric of his undershirt. Your touch was featherlight, fingers smoothing down the wrinkles of his torn button-up with a teasing caress. “I might have let him have me right then and there.”

A sudden sharp pierce of a distorted screech, like a radio malfunctioning, cut through the air, shattering the moment. Claws flying up to grip your face, Alastor broke the kiss and stared down at you with glowing blood-red eyes, their intensity piercing through you. Your breath caught in your chest at the sight, your heart pounding in your ears as you were overcome by a mixture of fear and anticipation.

Alastor called out your name. It was the first time you had heard him utter it in a while. Throughout the years, he had always addressed you by endearing nicknames, leaving you half-convinced that he had forgotten your actual name.

But as the sound of fell from his lips, despite the danger, you found yourself yearning to hear it once more, to feel the weight of your name on his tongue.

"My sweet," Alastor tutted, a screech of radio feedback following him as he cupped your neck in one hand, guiding your gaze back to him. His touch was possessive, firm, and demanding, akin to the control of a puppeteer manipulating his marionette.

"Never utter such words again," he growled softly, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. His grip tightened ever so slightly, sharpened claws a warning of the consequences should you dare to defy him. "No one else shall lay claim to you."

With a defiant tilt of your chin, you met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down in the face of his dominance. "And what if I refuse?" you challenged, your voice steady despite the fear that coiled in your belly.

Alastor's lips curled into a manic grin, his canines shining beneath the lights of the room, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he leaned in closer.

"Then you shall suffer the consequences."

[everysongineverykey]

ok alphys was a character ahead of her time and too good for this damn fandom honestly. she isn't some evil gaslighting lying cringey manipulator who only exists as comic relief for the love of god look at her with eyes less poisoned by cynicism and irony. she is a love letter to... well, a lot of things. a love letter to "cringey" people, to video game fans, to people who try to drown their sadness in fiction. she's so achingly relatable to so many of us that it really feels like toby knows his demographic like the back of his hand. we've all met someone like alphys. maybe we are that someone- awkward, nerdy, can't get over their past mistakes, terrible at phone calls, far more eloquent online than in person, only wants to make people like them to distract them from the fact that they don't like themself. normally, this character archetype is the butt of a great deal of jokes- just a gross nerd who needs to touch grass. but alphys is different. she is, as i said, a love letter. she is one of the best-developed and most complex characters in the game. her nerdiness isn't "fixed" or mocked, it's celebrated. her unabashed love for her interests and her 100% attitude is a big reason why undyne loves her. games, especially in 2015 and before, are not often so genuinely kind to characters like alphys! and in deltarune, too- alphys is still a nerd, despite not being nearly as traumatized as her undertale counterpart. her rambling about shows she loves is a constant across all universes, a fundamental and important and good part of who she is.

and i just think that's very kind, and very important.

[seawaveleo]

enjoying season 10 immensely

[slavicviking]

let me paint you a picture

Vecna is dead. The Upside Down is gone. A thing of the past, really. Except... it's not, of course it's not. Enough time goes by for things to start settling down. But. There's always a but.

Steve disappears and no one notices. But not because no one cared. It's not the case of Steve the Rich Jock. Of Steve the Friendless. Of Steve with Big House and No Parents.

No one notices because no one remembers him ever existing.

Robin feels like a part of her is missing, like there's an itch she can't quite scratch. Her shifts at the bookstore that she owns seem dull and her eyes keep sliding over to the doors like she's waiting for someone to enter. Her flat feels cold. There's an empty room across the hall.

There's a guy Eddie's kissing in the back alley and it makes him feel nothing at all. There's an S tattoed on his hip. He doesn't remember getting it. He must've been drunk. Or high. He keeps wondering why he stayed so close to Hawkins despite all the trouble it brought him. Must've been Wayne, even though his uncle has more than once declared himself ready to move on.

Dustin mourns an older brother he never had. He stylizes his hair but can't remember where he learnt it from when Suzie asks. The Scoops Troops has always been three people; him, and Erica, and Robin, but no, that doesn't sound right. How would they get past that one guard? And those demodogs in '84? Jonathan? Nancy? They were busy with Will, weren't they?

Nancy hates pools. She can't remember why. There was a party of some sort and Barb...Barb got sucked into the Hell that lives and breathes under Hawkins. But...why would they go to a party in the first place? It makes no sense.

And so on, and so on.

Until, one day, Eddie and Robin stumble upon an abondanoed car in the middle of a forgotten road by the forrest. Keys still inside. And a bat full of nails on the driver's seat.

[unpretty]

How To RSS: 2023 Edition

An updated version of the guide I keep rewriting even though no one asked.

What is RSS?

Really Simple Syndication. Websites generate feeds, you plug the feeds into your feed reader of choice, you get updates as they happen instead of manually checking bookmarks. If you are using an actual podcasting app instead of spotify, you're already using RSS, because that's how podcasts work. In the same way that you can follow someone's blog and have everything they post appear on your dash instead of manually checking their blogs, RSS lets you build a dash for the entire rest of the internet. Assuming they have an RSS feed. You'd be surprised how many of them do and will learn to be annoyed at any that don't.

Picking an RSS Reader

For the purposes of this post I'm assuming you'll be using inoreader.com, because it's what I use and it has a free option and I'm lazy. Inoreader also has Android and iOS apps, so if you interact with the internet entirely through your phone you can still do all this. The only limitations of a free Inoreader account is that there are ads, and you're limited to 150 feeds. That's still a lot of feeds imho. There are a ton of alternatives and you can look into them if you want but I'm not worrying about that here.

It is unbelievably easy to change your mind later and switch to a different RSS reader without losing anything. Do not get hung up with decision paralysis trying to pick The Perfect App like it's a commitment. You can port everything you do in Inoreader to any other app or website in minutes. It's fine.

Subscribing to the Internet

If I weren't lazy I'd go make a new Inoreader account to walk you through that process but here we are, with me not doing that. Once you make an account, it's probably going to suggest some things for you to follow. You can do that if you want, but the real things you care about are the search bar at the top left and the 'add new' button at the bottom of where all your feeds will go.

For most websites, Inoreader can actually automatically detect any RSS feeds, so you don't have to go hunting them down. I'm going to use my own website for this because fuck you that's why.

If you're using the Android or iOS apps, search is hidden under the 'discover' menu item. When you click on the feed, you'll be subscribed! You can also click the 'add new' button, which will give you a bunch of options, but the one you want is 'Feed'.

A lot of the options listed there are locked behind a pro account, I don't know if they even show up if you're on free and I'm not checking. Once you click 'feed' it just takes you to another search bar, so you honestly might as well just use the search bar up top tbqh. 'Add new' is more useful for creating folders to organize all your stuff.

Mastodon, Cohost, and Tumblr accounts all generate RSS feeds automatically, just enter the URL of whoever you want to follow and the feed will get detected. But on Tumblr specifically, username.tumblr.com/rss will give you a feed of everything, while username.tumblr.com/tagged/fanfic/rss (for instance) will get you a feed of nothing but posts tagged 'fanfic'. This is actually a very useful way of following blogs that post way too goddamn much about things you don't care about.

If Inoreader is having trouble detecting a feed, try searching the website for an icon that looks like this:

That's usually where the feed is hiding. Just copy the URL and paste it into Inoreader to subscribe.

Okay But Now What

NOW YOU WAIT

Or don't, there's probably already recent articles your reader has now been populated with.

I don't remember what the default settings are, mine are currently set to only ever show me unread posts in 'magazine view' which is like a list with a little preview I can scroll through, sorted by oldest first. Clicking on an article opens it up in a reader view.

Personally I'm partial to scrolling through and only opening up things that look interesting to me. If I realize it's actually too long for me to read right that minute, I'll hit the 'read later button' to save it. Once I've scrolled through the whole list, I hit the 'mark all as read' button. But that's just how I do things, I'm an inbox zero kinda bitch.

If you really want to make it feel like Tumblr, you'll have to set it to expanded view and newest first.

In this mode scrolling past articles will mark them as read, but if you set it to still show you articles you've already read that probably doesn't matter as much.

By default most RSS feeds will contain previews of articles rather than the full thing in order to prevent scraping, but here's a fun thing: Inoreader has a 'full article' button that will automatically pull through the article text, and which bypasses a surprising number of paywalls.

A major use case for my RSS reader is webcomics. While a lot of them don't actually display the full image inline, and the full article button doesn't really work with these, it's still nice to get the update notification and opening a new tab to read a comic is not that big a deal imho. Keeping up with webcomics this way is so much easier I can't imagine going back to bookmarks.

There are certain YouTube channels I subscribe to via RSS because I don't want to miss any episodes. You can subscribe to podcasts in Inoreader if you want to. Substack has RSS options for every newsletter that's hosted there. Most news websites have had RSS since forever and every Twitter account you ever followed for news was probably actually just reposting from their RSS reader.

Import and Export

Once you have one RSS reader set up, it becomes super easy to try out every RSS reader you can possibly think of because they all use .OPML files. Except maybe Feedly? Seems like they have a special import option for Feedly. Just another reason to not use Feedly, The RSS Reader For Bootlickers. Anyway Inoreader keeps all that under preferences, in Import, Export, Backup.

The full archive is nice to have, but the OPML file is what you want for quick and easy trying out of different readers. Export the file, import it in whatever alternate reader you want to try, and you will automatically be subscribed to all your feeds. It takes, like. Five minutes. I try out new RSS readers all the time to see if I'll like them. Once you switch to RSS you will marvel that you ever used the internet any other way, and also that everyone else has been putting up with websites and apps that use stupid bullshit to keep them from leaving.

[eternal-dragon-of-time]

This is an incredibly amount of Magius angst. Happy New Years to the most cringe fail enemies to lovers warrior ever.

At the end of the final confrontation of the Thirteen Lords of Chaos saga, the Hero and Drakath return to Lore with independent plans to defeat the Queen of Monsters. Magius has different desires in their head.

Hero!OC/Drakath, Enemies, Descriptions of Violence.

Maybe it’s hatred, maybe it’s desperation, maybe it’s love.

“Get back up.”

Drakath craned his neck to look at them from where he lay on the darkened ground, confusion cutting through his rage for a moment. Thin wisps steamed off of him from where the Queen of Monster’s magic restored him for the last time, fading quickly with the rest of her influence. She had escaped then, and left the two alone to fight it out in the Realm of Chaos. Reason demanded that the hero of Lore return to save their home, but all Magius could think of was this golden opportunity. 

The blood still stained their lips from where their lip was split open by a wayward strike, Magius relished in it, the reminder of the near miss keeping their heart pumping and mind sharp. Exhaustion tugged at them and their sword hand had gone numb sometime ago after one too many bone rattling clashes, their legs ached, their grip on their swords slackened. It had been many hours of clawing for victory and hedonist that they were; they enjoyed this too. “We aren’t done”

“So it's like that then,” Drakath spat, attempting to heave himself off the ground only to fall back after his arms trembled. Wounds knit back together or not, the fighting took its toll on him as well. “You’re so desperate for a victory you’d kill me just to pretend you’ve won?”

Was that it? The drive to continue the fight burned fiercely in Magius’ chest beyond all reason. Anger at the Queen for winning was somewhere in there, but the thought was ephemeral at the moment. All thinking was beyond them really, and the introspection dropped abruptly as Drakath finally managed to stand.

“It’s not about winning.” They said simply, “I haven’t beaten you. I think that's what matters to me.” Maybe it was the chaos that drove them. The last remnants of that mania searing their muscle under their skin and causing them to well and truly lose it. It’s okay then, because Drakath did that to them and so it was revenge. Tilting their head to the side they flashed the skin of their neck to him. They didn’t want to talk right now, Magius wanted to keep fighting.

“Time doesn’t work naturally here, you understand that, right? Every moment here could be months, years for Lore. You’re giving up the entirety of Lore to the Queen for nothing.” Disbelief tinged everything Drakath said, as if he couldn’t fathom that Magius would want to keep going, that he was getting another chance to put them into the ground. They understood what he was saying perfectly, and they ignored it. Even as he tested their resolve to stay, Magius could see he was making subtle movements to shift into a combat stance, and the allure was too much to bear. 

“If this battle takes forever, then everything will have been worth it.” Magius felt the words roll off of their tongue from a distance. Somewhere behind themself as they casually dropped all pretense of heroism. They watched from this out of body position as they took off their facemask, taking one slow gasp for air before launching themselves forward. Joy and fury matched in their heart with equal measure as everything came back together in preparation for the battle ahead. Hyperaware, Magius saw Drakath blink in surprise as they moved in for the attack, an ancient ache burning in their chest as he responded in kind.

Magius was happy.

Their cheeks hurt from smiling, even as their limbs ached and they lost track of time. The blade in their hands sang as they swung it with reckless abandon. Everything they desired was held in this moment. Their hate bloomed into hope, into contentment. The realm of chaos raged around them as they danced. Their partner driving them onto the defense as their battleground crumbled under the force of their battle. 

They were made for combat first and foremost. It was an unspoken truth that lived within them. Before they knew how to talk or comfort, they knew the feel of a blade in their hand. Magius knew that they weren’t going to make it to the end, they weren’t built for saving the world, for protecting the weak or any of the things that drove their friends. They were made for violence, and this was where they belonged. Clashing their sword with Drakath’s, they parried the blow and struck, once, twice, three times as thank you for the indulgence. I love you I love you I love you. Shoving him back across the barren earth that remained on their little plane of existence, Magius whooped as they flung themselves back into the bloodbath.

It was right. It was like his body was made for their blade. If the entire world was just this, just the two of them fighting for nothing at the end of the world, they would be happy. Drakath grabbed their sword hand and forced them to drop the blade, squeezing until it made a sickening crunch before flinging them onto the ground. Desperately rolling away before he could continue, they brought themselves back up to a standing position. Magius embraced this pain as much as they embraced inflicting it. In this moment it was an ecstasy beyond understanding. Finally, they were getting what they wanted.

They thought they were exhausted when they started this final confrontation, but after many hours, months, years, they were reaching depths beyond possibility. Sometime ago their right hand had gone numb to all feeling and Magius knew implicitly that some of their inner workings had gone lopsided, their insistence on fighting through the wounds Drakath inflicted damaging them further. And yet every time Magius felt that they were on the verge of collapse, some hidden wellspring surged within them. Some hidden quality of the realm of chaos allowing for them to battle forever.

Drakath was in similar shape. Without the constant assistance of the Queen of Monsters healing his wounds, Magius had finally left their mark. Panting hard, he paused his assault to lean on his blade, even the eye on his chest closing for a moment as the disengagement allowed for a moment of peace. Magius took the moment to check their wrist, wincing at how it ached when they attempted to flex their fingers. It wasn’t the first time they had been disarmed here, but it seemed like they weren’t going to be using their sword at all anymore. They would have to continue with just their fists. Before they could lunge forward again with their hands clenched, Drakath raised his arm to slow them and sighed, clearly exasperated.

“What are you doing?” He asked, and Magius felt a deep fear. “What are we doing? What is going to be achieved by doing this?” The longer they stood there the longer Magius’ body had to realize that it couldn’t keep going, they were going to lose their moment!

“I’m going to kill you.” Magius said, temper flaring up, the anger would help them keep on their feet.

“No. You’re not. Neither of us have come close to finishing this fight. If you wanted me dead you would be trying harder” Drakath’s frustration was evident. Magius blinked, straightening up in surprise. He wasn’t making any sense, so they shook their head in a futile attempt to think clearly through the muddy waters of their tired brain. They were fighting for pleasure, and nothing would please them more than victory… Right? They liked the idea of winning so badly, but would they really have been satisfied with killing him? “So what is this pointless fight for? Some sick death wish? Why not just let me-” he paused for an uncomfortable moment and then awkwardly gestured to them. Magius swayed for a moment before picking up on the implication.

“I don’t want to die!” Magius stopped themselves. Didn’t they? If they had dragged out the fight for so long without winning, weren’t they asking for it? They could see it, they guessed, them being okay with dying here if they had genuinely been bested. But that would end Magius' and Drakath’s moment together, and that hurt in a funny way. No, it wasn’t about the outcome at all. They bounced on their feet impatiently as they tried to think harder about what they were doing. “That’s not what this is about. It’s about you.”

Magius took a small amount of satisfaction from the way Drakath’s face twisted. It was his fault; it was always his fault. Something about him, something he did to them, had driven Magius beyond all reason and now they finally got to reap the rewards of his efforts. Sudden inspiration pierced through their foggy battle lusted brain, and casting out their arms as if to present their all to him, they continued, “You and I were made for this, and I need to reach this completion. To fight you, learn you, the end of the fight is unnecessary to me.” A heat rose to their cheeks, that was deeply personal to admit. It was a weight off their shoulders to finally cast off the disguise of heroism they threw over their obsession, but one that was quickly replaced by the crushing guilt. They had lied to themself, their friends and their allies, and if they somehow returned to those friends, Magius would continue to lie about their desire for the rest of their days. Instead, they choose to only confide in the man who made everyone's lives hell.

Drakath seemed to oscillate between being disturbed and being… excited? Magius waited with bated breath. Surely he would continue the fight, right? Drakath had to have felt this as well, because why else would he have spent his attention on them? Making Magius feel this way? He smiled slowly. To anyone else it would’ve seemed sickening, but to Magius it just heightened their excitement.

“You really should’ve stopped at some point.” His words were slow and cutting. “When you’re dying alone and empty here, keep thinking of me, alright?”

And then he was gone. Having used the time they were talking to recover enough to use his wings to take off towards the gate. 

Falling forward onto their hands and knees, Magius threw up, blood coming up with whatever was left in their stomach. Literally spilling their guts out to go along with their stupid confession. Idiot! Dumbass! Of course he wouldn’t feel the same. They hated each other! That wellspring they had used to continue fighting completely evaporated within them, their arms giving out beneath them. Magius narrowly avoided falling into their sick by rolling onto their side, their vision threatening to give out as their body struggled not to shut down.

They had given up their pride, their chance at redemption, their oaths, their body, everything for a scrap of attention. A pitiful laugh crawled out of their throat along with a little more blood. They really were pathetic weren’t they?

It wasn’t a testament to their will that they began to crawl towards the gate with their one working arm. Just a realization that their last remnants could be good for something. Magius may have been scattered to the wind, but they were still a weapon. They could keep going if Lore needed to use them.

[melodicwriter]

[stevebabey]

Steve hates to ask this of Eddie.

Really, it’s a last resort sort of thing. Robin’s gone for the week, some trip upstate with her family. And it’s fine, they’re close but Steve’s a big boy. He can handle a week without his best friend.

But, well, it’s just unfortunate for it to creep up on Steve when Robin’s gone. It being… shit, how did Robin explain it? She was so much better at keeping track of all those things than he was, all the terms filed away nicely in her head to be recalled as needed. Steve’s much messier— in his head, in his life.

Touch aversion, that’s what she called it. A by-product of the severe lack of touch in his childhood she had said; not enough hugs, hand holding, the works and now Steve’s grown to find it too strange. Something prickles under his skin, pulls in his gut all the wrong way, when someone’s too touchy-feely with him. Robin’s said it’s normal, and he believes her.

It just makes it harder when this comes by. That completely strange backward want that carves into his chest, creating a chasm that just aches. Suddenly, Steve wants to be touched, needs to be touched — like something behind his ribs is just begging for comfort in the form of touch, any way he can have it. Like some young part of him can still remember the hunger he had for it and it comes back in full force, a tender wound between his lungs.

It doesn’t happen that often — though, it’s more frequent than ever recently — but usually, Robin’s here. She can almost always tell before Steve works up the courage to ask. Twitchy fingers give him away. He hovers closer than normal, shoulders brushing more often.

She always gives him a smile, softer than her usual snark and says, “C’mere, dingus.” and stands on her tip-toes to envelope him in a hug. Steve can’t help but sink into it, gripping her close around the waist for as long as he needs until the hole in his chest feels a step closer to patching up.

Robin also tells him he can have as many hugs as he’d like but Steve is firm with himself; he only needs one, then he’ll be back to fine.

It what’s he needs now. One really fucking good hug. Still, he hates to ask, least of all from Eddie, because, well— okay, Steve has no reason to assume Eddie wouldn’t give him a hug.

He’s seen Eddie’s hugs before. Like everything he does, Eddie puts his everything into it- he hugs Robin til she wheezes, loves to lift Nancy off the ground, and the hug he gives Dustin is sweetest of all, a hand on the back of the littler’s head while he does some strange little sway. Dustin always laughs, playfully shoving him away by the end but Steve knows he loves them, that it helps in more than one way.

Steve is glad that Dustin has someone, besides his Mom of course, who can hug him, because Steve can’t give that to him. Maybe one day, but for now, hugs from Steve are a rarity — few and far in between. Maybe, he thinks, he doesn’t want to ask Eddie specifically because of that niggling feeling that comes up around Eddie, all gooey and soft. A feeling the swings too close to a crush that Steve has no fucking clue what to do about.

So, he hates to ask. Really. On the drive over to Eddie’s, a hangout organised before Steve started to feel the lack of touch creep in, he runs through any other options. Wait til Robin gets back? Steve’s not sure he’ll make it another 4 days. When left alone, it seems to consume him and make everything harder, everything heavier to deal with.

He’s still tossing it when he climbs the steps to Eddie’s trailer. Steve decides that he’ll see how it goes, see if there’s an opening to ask…semi-naturally or something. He’s not gonna spring it on the guy.

Eddie is wonderful company as always, devilish grins and god-awful comments about the film he picked. Steve feeds off it, drinking in the infectious energy. He tries to let it be enough; their shoulders pressed together, Eddie’s knee knocking his when he laughs, the way Eddie leans into his space to whisper even though it’s just them here tonight. Steve wants it to be enough. But even then, he can see the way his hands twitch in his lap, desperate for more.

Steve closes his eyes. Curls his hands up so tightly his nails bite into the skin. He tries to use it to wane off the feeling, the ache that sings out for Eddie beside him and it nearly works. Until—

“Steve? Y’okay?” Eddie’s voice pipes up, making Steve open his eyes in an instant.

“Hm?” Steve hums, hoping that his casualness will be enough for Eddie to skip over his peculiar behaviour. He blinks, tilting his head just a bit to show he was confused why Eddie was asking.

Eddie chuckles lightly, gesturing towards Steve’s lap, where his hands sit still clenched, white knuckled with his self-restraint. “You seem a bit stiff, that’s all.” Eddie rechecks. “You good?”

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it, forcing his hands to unclench in his lap. “I-“ he begins, then stops, unsure of what he was going to say. He did say he would look for an opening tonight. The way Eddie’s regarding him, open faced with his concern, is as good as he might get.

“This might sound a bit weird,” Steve starts, defensiveness already tingeing the words, his shoulders curling in just a bit. Eddie could say no. He’s allowed to say no. Steve really doesn’t want him to. “Like, if you think it’s weird, that’s totally fine and we can just, like, forget I said anything and—”

“Steve.” Eddie cuts him off, a linger of an amused smile on his lips. “I don’t think I’m going to find anything you say weird, sweetheart. Shoot. What’s on your mind? What troubles the great mind of Steve Harrington?”

God, it’s like a whole bunch of words designed to set Steve’s head spinning. ‘The great mind of Steve Harrington’ makes him want to scoff. ‘Sweetheart’ makes him want to swoon. He can’t decide which one he wants to do more.

“Can I-” Steve stammers, the words halting automatically. It’s too much of a habit to swallow them down. Coercing them out takes more work. He stares up at the ceiling as he grits his teeth, releases a harsh sigh, pulling himself together. “Can I… have a hug?”

There a moment of silence and Steve holds his breath.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, and Steve takes his eyes off the ceiling to see just what that Oh means. Eddie’s smiling, a soft one gracing his pretty mouth, and Steve thinks, maybe, one day he’ll have the courage to ask for a kiss as well. Relief moves sluggishly through his veins— Eddie’s smiling, this is good.

“Well, of course,” Eddie grins widely and opens his arms, inviting Steve in. Steve hesitates for only a moment before he leans in gratefully, his arms tucking around Eddie’s midriff tightly. Eddie’s arms curl around Steve’s neck, pulling him in close. It’s the easiest thing in the world, sinking into it, so much that Steve tries his best not to immediately slump against Eddie. It feels a bit too pathetic, so Steve reels himself in. He can’t make his arms relax, trying too hard to take only what he needs and not a moment more.

“C’mon, Stevie.” Eddie’s voice teases beside his ear, his breath warm. “You call that a hug?”

He squeezes Steve a little tighter, pulling him even closer and Steve can’t help the way he melts into it— he slumps, leaning against Eddie properly and burying his quiet whine of relief into the juncture between Eddie's neck and shoulder.

“There we go,” Eddie murmurs comfortingly.

Eddie takes him wholly, gives a damn good Munson hug, all warmth and comfort. He smells like, well, Eddie — a lingering scent of weed, something musky, something Eddie. His arms around Steve’s neck shuffle and Steve worries he’s trying to pull away so soon, only for one of his hands to tangle in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. He combs through, light fingernails scratching at Steve’s scalp and shit, Steve really can’t control the noise of contentment that slips out his throat.

“Can’t believe you got so worked up just to ask for a hug,” Eddie tsks, tone coloured in disbelief. Steve makes a noise of protest, trying for a moment to wind it all back in but, like Eddie can sense it, he’s squeezing him tighter again. He begins to rock them, a soft sway side to side that lets Steve lean on him even more. He hums a tune Steve doesn’t know, low and soft.

“M’sorry,” Steve mumbles in reply, though he’s not entirely sure what he’s apologising for. For having to ask, for taking so much, for enjoying Eddie’s arms around him just a little too much.

“What the fuck for?” Eddie laughs lightly, one of his hands beginning to drum against the divots of Steve’s spin. It feels like he’s tapping pure delirium with each fingertip, shivers that make Steve’s chest glow terribly warm. It feels good, so good to be held and honestly, Steve could stay here all night if Eddie let him. Knowing Eddie, he would, because he’s that fucking nice.

That knowledge alone forces Steve to sit himself up, extracting him limbs even though so much of him mourns the warmth, the touch, that goes with it. He wants the touch but he’s had enough. Some scorned part of him burns bitterly to think Eddie would give him more just to be nice. Steve doesn’t want that— Steve wants Eddie to touch him because he wants to.

“Sorry, man, I just, uh, get like that sometimes.” Steve feels the need to explain, bringing a hand up to rub at one of his eyes. He does it half so can hide his embarrassed expression from Eddie— who’s looking at him so gently and still so so close.

“Just, aha—“ Christ, it wasn’t this awkward telling Robin. Steve’s hand moves to rub the back of his neck. “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile since,” He gnaws on his bottom lip, something alike to humiliation curling in his gut. “Since I’ve had some touch. Usually, Robin’s around but y’know.”

He waves a hand, huffing another awkward laugh. Eddie hasn’t moved much, just listening intently, his brows ever so slightly inching closer together. He looks outright concerned at Steve’s next words.

“It’s okay, I’ve— I’ll be good now.” Steve nods along, like the motion will help him convince himself as well as Eddie. He’ll be okay now. Usually, one hug is all it takes. He ignores the surging tidal-wave want that is still going, still aching to be held by Eddie again. It would be selfish to ask for more. Eddie didn’t invite him around to hug— it’s weird, and Steve shouldn’t- can’t ask for more.

“Sooooo,” Eddie draws out the word, an impish smile beginning to play at the corners of his lips. He opens his arms wide again. “You don’t want another hug?”

In his lap, Steve’s fingers twitch. Eddie’s eyes dart to them for a second, before fixing back on Steve. He does, he really fucking does want another hug. He can’t. He’s had enough, really, it would greedy to have more.

Steve shakes his head, forces himself to huff another laugh that accidentally comes out as a strained sigh. He smiles weakly, “No, no, I’m good, dude. It’s… I’m okay, swear.”

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s convinced him. Eddie studies his face, his mischief slipping away as he deliberates Steve’s words. His eyes narrow, arms dropping just an inch before he smiles brightly and says, “Okay, can I have a hug then?”

Which, okay, right, Steve didn’t think of that. People don’t ask him for hugs. He blinks, a bit dumbly. Eddie is waiting, face eager and for a second there’s an expression of almost smugness on his face — like he’s about to get exactly what he wants. Because he knows Steve would never be rude and say no.

“I mean,” Steve breathes, voice a bit tighter than he’s expecting. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah, you can have a hug.”

“Great!” Eddie replies and he wastes no time. He’s all up in Steve’s space, arms around Steve’s waist this time. The motion takes Steve by surprise, enough that because he’s not expecting it Eddie’s weight pushes him back so he’s lying on the couch.

If Eddie cares, he pays no mind, his head curling up into the crook of Steve’s neck as he hugs him closer. His hair gets in Steve’s mouth, making him splutter for a second, but Eddie just grins, wriggling closer until they’re pressed firmly against each other. Steve would go as far as to say this is closer to cuddling than a hug, with Eddie squishing him from above, his arms around Steve’s middle.

“Just so you know,” Eddie’s voice rumbles from where their chests are touching, his breath sweeping across Steve’s neck. Steve shivers without meaning to, feels Eddie’s responding grin even as he continues. “All hugs requested by me are automatically 10 minutes long. Hope you’re okay with that, sweetheart.”

Steve isn’t stupid — he knows Eddie is doing it for him, doing it because he could see right through Steve’s stupid facade, had peered his yawning hunger for touch right in the face and hadn’t blanched. Instead of feeling tricked or fooled, Steve just feels…warm. Comfortable. He works his arms around Eddie’s neck til their more comfortable and find the courage in him scrape his fingers through Eddie’s hair— like he had done to Steve. Eddie’s sighs sweetly and Steve thinks he could listen to that noise forever.

“I’m… I’m okay with that.” Steve murmurs lowly, yet he knows Eddie can hear him. Eddie noses closer, a borderline nuzzle against his neck, and further down, one his hands starts to stroke softly up and down Steve’s ribs.

Steve can’t help the way it makes him freeze, the breath in his lungs holding tight as he tries to relax, tries to ignore the prickly feeling under his skin. It’s a lot. A lot of touch that Steve just isn’t used to just yet, even if he desperately craves it.

“Relax,” Eddie whispers into his skin, a soft instruction paired with the motion, one soothing stroke up and down his ribs. Steve pushes the breath in his lungs out, forces the tension out of his body, trusts that Eddie wouldn’t be offering— wouldn’t tell him to relax if he wasn’t allowed to.

“That’s it.” Eddie praises, feeling the body beneath him settle and sink a little lower into the couch. “Now, watch the movie.” Eddie instructs, jutting at the still playing screen with his chin. Steve laughs a bit, but obeys, turning his head to see what part they’d gotten up to. They’d missed a big chunk in their hug. Steve nearly apologises for it, the words on the tip of his tongue, before he decides Eddie might smack him for it.

So, he doesn’t. He watches the film, let’s the gentle touch of Eddie on his skin relax him til sleepiness starts to fill each of his limbs, heavy like lead. Eddie’s hand stops moving eventually, when his breath gets heavier, lulled by Steve’s scratch in his hair. A snore starts up, loud and quite frankly, annoying, and yet, Steve finds that with Eddie’s arms around him, he has no trouble finding sleep.

It’s the first time in years Steve’s fallen asleep in someone else’s arms. And even if he doesn't know it yet, it’s certainly not the last.

now with a part two!

[diorchids]

stepbrother!luke in the car !

“it’s too tight in here!” you yell as you settle on to your step brother's lap in the packed car, dress riding up as you try and get comfortable.

“shut your mouth and sit still, stop whining about everything.” luke groaned while his hands rested on your waist, holding you there as you protested. your parents ignored the both of you, your daily banter becoming normal. you shifted your hands while his hands were still planted tightly on your waist. he loved the feeling of wrapping his hands around your waist, having you under him, controlling your every move, and keeping you in place.

luke loved this. sure, it was perverse to think of his sister like this, but what’s wrong with it? you obviously don’t mind, you entertain it, even.

your dress was ridden up to your hips as you sat on him, strained cock pushing against his slacks as you grumbled.

luke’s disgusting, holding you down on him as he mindlessly rubs against you. he grinds his bulge up against your cunt as you try not to drool and cry out, digging your fingers into his thighs as you stupidly move your hips back and forth on your brothers disgusting cock.

he smirks as he quietly rubs his cock up against your sweet cunt while your mother drives. he slides a hand into your dress, groping your breast as he steals kisses and whispers perverse things into your ear.

“y-you’re a perv, you know that, right?” you whisper as you quietly moan and let your mouth fall open. luke’s hand slides down to your sensitive cunt, his fingers finding their way beneath your underwear. he rubs your clit in slow circles, making you moan softly and wiggle on his lap. “might let dad know—” your parents still oblivious to what you and your step brother are doing, chatting and humming to the music playing, “might let him know you like this, don’t you?” he asks, whispering.

“n-no, luke, don’ tell…”

luke whispers dirty words into your ear as he continues to rub your swollen nub. he ignores your protests, knowing that you secretly love the illicit thrill of getting caught by your mother.

“no—no more, luke…” you whisper before your parents get out the car, going inside the house, completely ignoring their children still in the car. “gotta get inside, c’mon…” your desperate attempts at stopping his fingers rubbing your soaked cunt.

luke continues to tease your sensitive parts, his fingers moving faster as he watches you squirm in his lap. your protests just turn him on more. “you're so fucking hot when you're trying to resist me. gonna fuck you so good.”

at first, you entertained it. this was fun, sure, but he was serious.

he unzips his slacks underneath you, strained cock pushing against his boxers before he pulls it out, hissing when the cold air hits his wet, fat tip.

luke wraps your hand around his cock and begins to thrust into it, making you gasp as he fucks you hand. “bet you want me to slip my cock inside you right now. wouldn’t that be fun?” you didn’t answer.

he takes that as a yes and wastes no time. he pulls your panties aside and thrusts his cock deep into your wet hole. he moans as he buries himself inside you, his hands grabbing onto your hips as he begins to thrust inside. “fuck,”

luke thrusts upwards as he watches you bite your lip and close your eyes in pleasure. he whispers in your ear. “god, you're so fuckin’ wet. you love this, don't you?”

he ends up cumming inside your tight hole, thick ropes rushing deep inside of you as he holds you in place, making you take it all as you moan and cry out.

maybe he’ll come into your room while you’re sleep, or maybe when you’re showering, he’ll hop inside for a bit.

[becca-e-barnes]

It might be toxic of me but I really love when men let their jealous, protective side out during sex 🤤

I love the thought of Bucky cradling his girl's face in one hand while he holds himself up with his other, driving his cock in and out of her while whispering the filthiest thing in her ear.

"Shit, you were made for this, weren't you baby? Made to take my load." He's so lost in the way you whine, telling him he's right and he knows it when he feels the way your body clenches and flutters around him.

"Can't believe a pretty little thing like you is all mine. You know you are. You're my girl. Nothing else could even make me feel close to how you do." His dick slides into you, as deep as it can possibly go before he draws back again. His rhythm is manageable but you're pretty aware that your fingernails are digging into the broad expanse of his shoulders and back. It's not like you can be held responsible for that though.

"It's like you were made for me. Sweet and tight and wet and so fucking pretty. You're a dream come true." His self control never lasts too long and you feel the strain on it already. He wants to take you. He wants you squealing and whimpering and screaming his name so all your neighbours know who he is. He wants to make sure you go to work in the morning in a daze, unable to think of anything but the earth shattering orgasms he's dragged from your body. He wants to flood your body with his cum, filling you to the brim, claiming absolutely all of you.

"You're my pretty girl, aren't you?" He asks, using the hand on your face to guide you so your eyes meet his.

"All yours. Don't want anyone else." Your legs tighten around his waist, keeping him close in a way that feels desperately romantic. His skin on yours feels perfect and you find you just don't want to separate, not even for a second. Feeling consumed by him doesn't concern you, instead it's comforting. It's lovely to be his; to be wanted and needed by him and to know he's yours in entirely the same way.