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Joyride/Nervous Pt. 1 [Ghostface]

It's been a minute for me, sorry.

*1.75k word count*

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The thrumming of my racing heartbeat had been indistinguishable from my footfalls. Well, they were before the rain started. The soft “shh” of the late night shower was just loud enough to dull the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. The moon was hiding behind the few rainclouds, letting slip two slim beams of light - one just barely lighting up the surface of a nearby puddle of gasoline and rain. I was hiding too - trying to steady my breathing as I squatted behind some abandoned grey sedan in the parking lot of a closed cinema. He can’t hear me. He can’t see me. He can’t hear me. He can’t- “Wanna go for a ride?” His low, gravelly voice cut harshly through the static of the rainfall. He didn’t have to catch his breath.

A shriek was supposed to leave me if it wasn’t so hard to breathe - much less, scream - with a leatherbound hand gripping my throat, begging to crush my windpipes. Can he feel my pulse? A minor reprieve came when the hand shifted to take hold of my jaw, turning my head up to face him. Faceless him. His mask was a mockery. Like he knew he’d catch me terrified, slack-jawed, and paler than death in the too appropriate glow of the cowering moon. He stared - or so it felt - at me with his head cocked to his left, like he was waiting for a real response. Was that a real- Does he actually want me to answer? I continued to stay silent - positive there was no right answer. “How rude. Maybe you didn’t hear me—” 

My body was jerked upright to my feet, his hand planted firmly around my neck - my head went light from the motion, his hand like a noose - so he could speak into my ear. “— do you hear me now?” 

The mask’s gaping mouth brushed against my cheek as he shifted my head to face him. With his body shielding me from the drizzle, the water trickled down the forehead of the mask and struck between my eyes, forcing me to blink. The rain was getting heavier, louder. The clouds were shifting to expose more of the moon, casting faint light onto the mask - just barely through the mesh of the sunken, sloped eye sockets. If I really looked, maybe I could see his eyes through the mask. Or maybe it wasn’t mesh. My head was getting lighter and thinking was getting harder. I nodded once and slowly, lifting my hand to his - the one still squeezing around my neck. A glint of the second beam of moonlight caught my eye from below. Why hasn’t he stabbed me yet?  “Oh come onnn,” his voice dripped with amusement in his enunciation, his stress of each word, “Use your words, doll.” 

Doll? I certainly felt like one in the moment, virtually dangling from his hand, growing more and more useless the longer he held me. Tap. I tapped his hand. Please. I was tapping out, almost blacking out. I can’t play along if I can’t breathe. His fingers pressed into my neck, tensing at the contact - either from shock or resistance. Another tap and a tug at his glove. Please. A beat. Two beats. The pressure let up. Just a bit. Just enough. Enough for me to cough and wheeze out a pathetic little response. “Yes, I wanna go for a ride.” More words than I expected from myself. More enthusiasm than I meant to offer.

“Good. I was starting to think you don’t like me.”

.

.

.

While I had never been chased by a killer before, I was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to let you sit in the front seat - let alone drive you to the dumpsite while you’re still breathing. He had hotwired the sedan and broke the clock adjacent to the stereo. None of the stations were playing anything quite to his liking, so he took to softly singing Rooney’s “When Did Your Heart Go Missing?” between muttering to himself and fiddling with the windshield wiper switch - all while driving with one hand. The other remained attached to the hilt of his knife - an extension of his being, as far as I was concerned - the blade of which he pressed into my thigh through my damp, clinging jeans. My skin is crawling. I hope I live to take these pants off.

The rain was getting heavier. Droplets colliding with the windshield like they wanted on the ride to nowhere. Where are we going? I hadn’t really thought to ask. A part of me hoped that, if I was quiet - or boring - enough, he’d ditch me on the side of the road, alive. Well, that would be a first. I had to give him as little material as possible. And that proved more impossible - the more he drove, the higher he dragged it up my leg, the deeper he pressed it into my leg. It hadn’t broken skin yet. Not that I would have noticed. He had been letting the rain build up on the windshield and dodging imaginary obstacles to earn a reaction, get my blood rushing - the face of frozen shock focused on me more than the road. Every jerk of the car made me jump in my seat… and onto the knife. “Oh, don’t be such a backseat driver, doll.” Doll. He must think it’s a game. 

And it was. For him. It was life or death only for me. I was the only one in that car at the mercy of a known murderer. The only one sitting silent in fear. He, on the other hand, was laughing. A soft, soulful chuckle. Much more unsettling than the expected maniacal cackle. It was as if the scene tickled him inside out. As if my visible fright and discomfort brought him genuine joy. Imagine how his laughter seemed to consume the night, drowning out the downpour once he pulled over to the edge of some forest on the far outskirts of some park that should have been closed at that hour. How each pause in his laughing fit sent a shiver down my spine. How still I became when he lifted his blade away from my leg and up, up, up to my chin all while still laughing. Then he stopped. As suddenly as he began, he stopped. He didn’t even have to catch his breath. “Do you want to drive instead?”

What?

“Did you not hear me? Or are you trying to hurt my feelings?” His weight shifted in the driver’s seat, blade pressing into my neck, mask level with and close to my face. I should have felt his breath on my nose, my cheek. I wasn’t free to move. I can’t speak. I can’t-

“Geez, doll. Here I thought you were warming up to me. Did you not like my serenade?”

I can’t speak. I can’t speak. He expected an answer. I couldn’t imagine what he would do if I didn’t answer. He was growing visibly impatient - or so I could see in the dim light of the moon and a distant, dying streetlamp. “I—” Ow. “I- I don’t want to…” Fuck. I think I might bleed if I speak anymore. “... t-to—” FUCK. “—to drive.” Am I bleeding? Maybe I’m just being dramatic. 

“Good. I thought maybe you didn’t like my driving. So,” the tip of the knife dragged along my jawline, “Why were you squirming so much?” It halted. “Do I…” The dragging resumed, now up and back down the side of my face. “... make you nervous?” 

He touched the flat of the blade to my cheek, earning my full attention - not that he ever lost it. Nervous is an understatement. He reeks of blood. Blood, petrichor, and… mint? Has he been chewing gum the whole time? It doesn’t matter. It really didn’t. The smell of blood - decay, even - was written in the human code to inspire unease. I nodded curtly, terrified of nicking myself from any sudden, loose movement. The mask tilted to the left. I just realised he never had a seatbelt on. I did. He strapped me in himself. The knife fell from my face. A controlled fall, the weapon never once leaving his hold, just my view. “Wanna know something?”

Another short nod. He’s so close. Why is he so close? Why are you so close? I can smell your gum. You smell like wet dog. Why are you asking me so many questions?

His other hand entered my view, thumb and forefinger closing on a dangling zipper I hadn’t registered. What the hell is he doing? I responded. I answered. I should’ve used my words. Ziiip. It was an agonising moment. The sound of the unzip at a harsh juxtaposition with the steady roll of rain beating against the roof of the car. 

“I wanna know.” Another sound. A strange, wavering voice. My strange, wavering voice. He has no retort. He just pauses for a beat, before continuing to unzip his giant black hoodie. If I looked closely - and I did - his fingers were trembling.

“You make me nervous too, doll.” He took a breath for the first time that night. “Very nervous.”

I didn’t know the car had a sunroof until he opened the hoodie, because that was when the clouds decided to further expose us to the moon. The light spilled into the car, painting his chest a nearly true white. Oh my. No wonder he lifted me like I weigh nothing. No wonder he smelled of blood. Spotting his sculpted abdomen were bandages and patches of gauze still turning red. The others fought back. Why is he showing me this? Are you calling me weak? Are you mocking me? Further still, there were scars freckling his chest. Claw marks, bruises. There was a brilliant and startling contrast between his… his trophies and his natural skin.

“I hoped I would be healed up by now. But I got impatient.”

I nodded again - eyes never leaving his bare chest. Who put those marks there? Who fought tooth and nail and still lost? Whose legacy is now just one of too many scars on some deranged guy? “I am so sorry.” Sorry? For killing so many people? For kidnapping me? For taking so long to get to killing me? “They meant nothing to me. I just…” His voice dropped to a whisper that made something in a deep, dark part of me twist. “... needed to practise. To be perfect for you.”

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Sorry for the abrupt stop. I might build on this later. I just wanted to get out of this slump by trying something new (ie. fanfiction) lol. Please feel free to give feedback!

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Currently taking requests for one-shots to get out of my writer's block (and maybe just improve as a writer)

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Eurydice

Eurydice would not have left the underworld. If I was her lover, she would stay dead. I would look. I simply must. I would look. I look when I’m told to run. “He’s going to get us!” Who? I will turn around. I will look for the face of my killer just as I will look for the face of my lover. This is not romantic - it is self-destructive. It’s - it is - human nature. My human nature. I can no longer deny myself the expression of what I am. There is no trying to become what you are - only effort to celebrate and maintain what it is that you are. What I am is someone who must see the face of they who slays me in my last moment. What I am is someone who must see my lover that I’ve stolen from Death - even if only to - by doing so - return her to the very fate from which we flee. And still, either face - I die. I will have asked for it with my eyes. I will have jumped to follow her to the end of Death eternal. Eurydice, I would have looked, your lover was not to blame.

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It Won't Happen

And there it was. That swell that I anticipated. The fullness that overwhelmed me. There he was - the most beautiful boy I had ever known. From the inside out. Despite the stench of cigarettes nipping at his heels. The cigarettes he had quit, not for his health, but for this moment. For me. Forever flushed lips almost distract from the centrepiece of his face - his eyes. Cliche be damned, I loved his eyes. His soft blue eyes. More attentive than piercing. I just knew he could see when my goosebumps came to attention, when my heart skipped a beat before kicking at my ribs. He was a work of art. No “like” about it. Seeing him, hearing him made me feel. Comforted my disturbances. Disturbed my comfort. Evoked an emotion I can only over-illustrate and under-explain. His touch, it put me at ease. My heart forced to still to savor the moment. Savour him as he saved me. Saved me from myself - from my bothersome leg, my weakening knees. The sensation of euphoria - the need to beg for more - spreading through my skin under his touch. His fingers modestly, reservedly sought hold in the small of my back. Our first embrace. It took too long for our--

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All Tomorrows: ABF (2)

[Check out Part 1] Volcanic eruptions were a disaster of the past and, as such, there were no measures in place to protect against them. The land and people that were not destroyed by the Yellowstone “overflow” were not yet in the clear and were, instead, met with a different fate.

As it happened, while the brilliant minds that stayed on Earth focused their energies on preventing the eruption and working to create a more efficient and equitable society, they had allowed all Terran residents to forget about and, eventually, lack awareness of systems of nuclear weapons and power sources in the Earth. Some speculate that they had not been completely forgotten but were uncovered and in the process of being analyzed shortly before the eruption. Others argue that they had been repurposed for functions unknown [whether or not they were unrecorded or simply unrecognized due to time is also debated]. None of those details matter though. Return, then, to the scene. The ash and lava had settled - humanity had experienced half of its first extinction-level event in millennia. Fortunately, for a society unused to gore and true misery, bodies didn’t litter the ground - for there were no bodies to litter the ground with. Mourning simply wasn’t enough - and there simply wasn’t enough time to mourn. The window between the eruption and the activation of the nuclear weapons has been estimated to be anywhere from one week to twelve hours. Had these devices been in peak condition, there would be no story left to tell of the Terra(n)purists. But time, as it tends to do, wore these “missiles” down and reduced their effectiveness to a third of their original. Why the potency dropped as such a significant rate is also yet to be determined (though there was an era in their history when they summed it up to “divine intervention”). Instead of obliterating all life on Earth - it only mutated them. Of course, there were a number of Humans killed by launch and explosion of these rockets for cities had been erected on the land that governments used to harbour these weapons away from the innocent and the dangerous. But, again, those who weren’t killed so violently had been subjected to undergo mutations. Due to the abundance and aggression of the various chemical compounds in the air, mutations happened relatively quickly. It was like a virus. It crept into their systems. Sometimes, it would kill them immediately. Sometimes, slowly. Sometimes, never - that was when the changes would begin. As records presently state, in the beginning, the mutations were too diverse and some Humans could not be differentiated from affected wildlife - as such, their evolution - if they had one - did not mimic the majority’s. However, there were four common denominators: (1) laughter, (2) the desire to (or attempting to) manipulate fire - despite injury, (3) shoulders, and (4) patchy exoskeletons created from reactions between melanin, keratin, and uranium nitrades. 

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Totally forgot about this, oops. 

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And finally, at the old and tender age of nineteen, she realized her dad is just another man.

Maybe her fear is well-founded.

The fear that their great many similarities - overlaps - means her life has already been lived and she will be this history's next go-around.

This is a chance to take a different path - having seen the end of one and another - but who's to say which is better. Not he who has taken the beaten path. Not he who turned away from the road less taken and has not seen its destination.

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Ngl I was fucked up when I wrote this. I imagined the rest of the post and published it before actually writing it.

Tumblr post about zoloft and marijuana. I

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Tumblr post about zoloft and marijuana. I

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All Tomorrows: A Brief Fixation

Today I indulged myself by exploring the bottomless pit of my YouTube watchlist. Lo and behold, Alt Shift X’s 40 something minute video on All Tomorrows. I never began to watch it and I never heard much about “All Tomorrows” before this morning. Needless to say, it scratched the haso + worldbuilding + author + creature design + theorizing bits of my brains maybe a bit too well. So why are you here peeking into my blog? Because I’m gonna do it again. “It” being writing short space fics until I burnout or no longer receive praise.

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All Tomorrows seems to pose that all humans left Earth for Mars. However, knowing human nature, that simply wouldn’t happen. There would surely be a group of people either unwilling to leave or unable to leave - perhaps because of personal philosophies, religion, health, or finances. Regardless the reason, there will be humans left on Earth and - to deter the ones leaving from regretting their decision and to encourage their descendants to stay on Mars, misinformation was spread. “Those who stayed on Earth were racist and xenophobic cowards. They were terrified of what people Mars might be the home of. They were afraid of leaving the familiar.” They were so dubbed the Anti-Martianists or Terrapurists. The so-called Terrapurists never learned of these names and, as such, continued to call themselves Humans. 

So then there was only the poor, the sick, the scared (because it was a frightening prospect to leave a planet for one no human had set foot on in known history), the close-minded, the ignorant, the eager, the hungry, and those who had been overlooked by society. They could rebuild the world for themselves. Some geniuses had chosen to stay on Earth, that they might preserve and restore the planet before it could finish dying. To save you the tension and angst, yes. They were successful. But communications with the red planet were not - for reasons then unknown. Or so they said. It is argued that the “Overlooked” had interfered with comms, so they may enjoy the world that was made for them. That their utopia, their paradise would not be corrupted by those who had forgotten them and their ancestors (for this took a century - only a century - and as such the original pain still burned hot in the descendants). 

Unfortunately, as is a trend with Human successes, the good times did not last too long - though it did last longer than some periods - only about three centuries before what was once known as the Yellowstone volcano erupted. The aforementioned geniuses were well aware of the threat it posed and set forth to prevent it. Again, they were mostly successful, which is more than what could have been said of their distant human ancestors who would have seen fit to pray to and feed the volcano instead. The technology they conjured had slowed down the movement of the magma and the tectonic plates to a speed so slow that even their computers were unable to detect the virtually molecular levels of movement. The process to slow down and “stop” the pre-eruptive activity was a sensitive and chronologically costly matter and, once all came to a stand still, the treatment was concluded - because it would have been a waste to continue when they achieved their goal (effectively freezing the tectonic plates and magma in place). The eruption elicited a reaction not dissimilar to that of those in “Pompeii”. Volcanic eruptions were a disaster of the past and, as such, there were no measures in place to protect against them. The land and people that were not destroyed by the Yellowstone “overflow” were not yet in the clear and were, instead, met with a different fate. 

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[ @edhelwen1 ] [ @faeriereader ] I feel like you might enjoy this

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Object Permanence

The soul would live for millions of years through billions of lives and would only be mature when the world dies

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Dimensions

Our world is three dimensional - on the basis that we’re not first dimensional because we’ve determined that not only do dimensions exist but that there are only two others that we know we are “greater than” because we’ve likened them to concepts in our three dimensional world. Dimensions seem to be directions of movement and yet the diagonal does not count as a fourth as it does not count as a third in the second dimension. Our concept of time in this dimension is linear. Should, in this dimension, time not be the basis of a fourth dimension, could time therefore be considered three dimensional or must time be of the fourth dimension because we cannot manipulate time in its perceived linearity and yet we can manipulate what we believe to be of the first dimension. Where are the first and second dimensions? Are they within the third, are they separate, or were they stages in our world or dimension’s development?

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I wanna lay super still on the ground to trick corvids into thinking I'm dead so I can catch them and whisk them away to my home where I will feed them and love them and befriend them

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Gotta write this down before I forget I had an Idea:

Lucifer's (the Morning Star, day bringer) twin isn't Jesus but another, lesser angel: Noctifer (the Evening Star, night bringer)

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Please make a post about the story of the RMS Carpathia, because it's something that's almost beyond belief and more people should know about it.

Carpathia received Titanic’s distress signal at 12:20am, April 15th, 1912. She was 58 miles away, a distance that absolutely could not be covered in less than four hours.

(Californian’s exact position at the time is…controversial. She was close enough to have helped. By all accounts she was close enough to see Titanic’s distress rockets. It’s uncertain to this day why her crew did not respond, or how many might not have been lost if she had been there. This is not the place for what-ifs. This is about what was done.)

Carpathia’s Captain Rostron had, yes, rolled out of bed instantly when woken by his radio operator, ordered his ship to Titanic’s aid and confirmed the signal before he was fully dressed. The man had never in his life responded to an emergency call. His goal tonight was to make sure nobody who heard that fact would ever believe it.

All of Carpathia’s lifeboats were swung out ready for deployment. Oil was set up to be poured off the side of the ship in case the sea turned choppy; oil would coat and calm the water near Carpathia if that happened, making it safer for lifeboats to draw up alongside her. He ordered lights to be rigged along the side of the ship so survivors could see it better, and had nets and ladders rigged along her sides ready to be dropped when they arrived, in order to let as many survivors as possible climb aboard at once.

I don’t know if his making provisions for there still being survivors in the water was optimism or not. I think he knew they were never going to get there in time for that. I think he did it anyway because, god, you have to hope.

Carpathia had three dining rooms, which were immediately converted into triage and first aid stations. Each had a doctor assigned to it. Hot soup, coffee, and tea were prepared in bulk in each dining room, and blankets and warm clothes were collected to be ready to hand out. By this time, many of the passengers were awake–prepping a ship for disaster relief isn’t quiet–and all of them stepped up to help, many donating their own clothes and blankets.

And then he did something I tend to refer to as diverting all power from life support.

Here’s the thing about steamships: They run on steam. Shocking, I know; but that steam powers everything on the ship, and right now, Carpathia needed power. So Rostron turned off hot water and central heating, which bled valuable steam power, to everywhere but the dining rooms–which, of course, were being used to make hot drinks and receive survivors. He woke up all the engineers, all the stokers and firemen, diverted all that steam back into the engines, and asked his ship to go as fast as she possibly could. And when she’d done that, he asked her to go faster.

I need you to understand that you simply can’t push a ship very far past its top speed. Pushing that much sheer tonnage through the water becomes harder with each extra knot past the speed it was designed for. Pushing a ship past its rated speed is not only reckless–it’s difficult to maneuver–but it puts an incredible amount of strain on the engines. Ships are not designed to exceed their top speed by even one knot. They can’t do it. It can’t be done.

Carpathia’s absolute do-or-die, the-engines-can’t-take-this-forever top speed was fourteen knots. Dodging icebergs, in the dark and the cold, surrounded by mist, she sustained a speed of almost seventeen and a half.

No one would have asked this of them. It wasn’t expected. They were almost sixty miles away, with icebergs in their path. They had a responsibility to respond; they did not have a responsibility to do the impossible and do it well. No one would have faulted them for taking more time to confirm the severity of the issue. No one would have blamed them for a slow and cautious approach. No one but themselves.

They damn near broke the laws of physics, galloping north headlong into the dark in the desperate hope that if they could shave an hour, half an hour, five minutes off their arrival time, maybe for one more person those five minutes would make the difference. I say: three people had died by the time they were lifted from the lifeboats. For all we know, in another hour it might have been more. I say they made all the difference in the world.

This ship and her crew received a message from a location they could not hope to reach in under four hours. Just barely over three hours later, they arrived at Titanic’s last known coordinates. Half an hour after that, at 4am, they would finally find the first of the lifeboats. it would take until 8:30 in the morning for the last survivor to be brought onboard. Passengers from Carpathia universally gave up their berths, staterooms, and clothing to the survivors, assisting the crew at every turn and sitting with the sobbing rescuees to offer whatever comfort they could.

In total, 705 people of Titanic’s original 2208 were brought onto Carpathia alive. No other ship would find survivors.

At 12:20am April 15th, 1912, there was a miracle on the North Atlantic. And it happened because a group of humans, some of them strangers, many of them only passengers on a small and unimpressive steam liner, looked at each other and decided: I cannot live with myself if I do anything less.

I think the least we can do is remember them for it.

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Halfway through an anxiety attack: "This isn't very 'easy-going stoner vibes' of me

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Humans in Space: Suggestive Sparring (5:ve)

Fighting can relieve or sexual tension between the right people. Humans are known to be especially sexual and aggressive - likely for a reason.

@faeriereader @nubigenouss

(AN: AO3 has a waiting list of 35524 people so, I’m gonna write both versions of the 5th part of this story here. One will be somewhat expected - while trying not to violate TOS and the other won’t be - that’s the plan at least. I hope you enjoy both. Thank you for your support so far.)

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I had never been quite so excited to be defeated in combat - I had actually never been excited to be defeated in combat. It would be disgraceful. And that’s what made me want it more. In Human terms, that’s taboo. No Drakean language has a word for taboo - there’s just the things that are acceptable and the things that aren’t. It would be acceptable of me to suppress my feelings - of which I felt more than one, which I was beginning to suspect was not exclusively a Human trait, but, rather, it was especially Human to express multiple emotions simultaneously. It was not acceptable of me, though, to dedicate my brainpower to research in Human anatomy and, more specifically, the compatibility between Humans and Drakeans. There was nothing to be found on the matter - much to both my chagrin and delight. Yes, I didn’t know what would happen or if it could happen. Yes, I wanted to learn first-hand. Something I was able to uncover through more observation and conversation than textbook research was that Humans, unlike Drakeans, engage in coital affairs for more reasons than reproduction. Naturally, I was terrified at the idea of violating a cultural standard on my part, but I was sure she was violating a cultural standard on her part. (That is, until I was so graciously informed of “alien-fuckers”.)

Human-Erin was on duty on the bridge while I had a free day. I spent it resting. Well, I wanted to. Human-Marcus was not fond of that. He was keen on discussing my scarring wound - insistent on probing into my relationship with Human-Erin. I would be lying had I said I did not give it much thought. And I proved to be a liar. It was neither something he needed to nor something I needed to admit. I preferred to keep my desire for Human-Erin’s warmth a private matter. Her big, brown eyes were all I saw when I closed my grey own. As per his persistent nature, Human-Marcus was relentless with his queries - even offering to regale me with accounts of his own encounters with Human-Erin. Offers that I refused. Offers he made good on despite said refusals. He told me one story of him and Human-Erin under “the bleachers”. My stomach disagreed with the story and I left our shared quarters. I felt ill on hearing him recount his “adventure” of Human-Erin and I went so far as to wonder why he would tell me that in the first place. Perhaps it was commonplace in Human culture to discuss “partners” one once had with friends who may now have the same “partner” so as to prepare them on how to treat the “partner”. However, it didn’t feel very friendly. It felt almost territorial. And considering what I knew of Human-Marcus and his property, I was likely right to feel that way. I was not right, though, to remain feeling bothered when I met with Human-Erin in the gym.

It was nothing of my concern. But wasn’t it? Why did Human-Marcus find it fitting to explain to me his past with Human-Erin? And why didn’t the tightness in my lungs go away? I had to ask her. I had, after all, asked her a question that was bearing on my mind and it had gotten me a rematch.

She stripped to her “bra” and “running shorts” again and bowed to me. She didn’t do this before and I didn’t know why she was doing it now, but I reciprocated. I had entered the gym in nothing but my uniform pants. They were sitting lower on my waist than usual, virtually settled at my hips. I was comfortable and that’s all I needed.

“Human-Erin. Before we begin, I have had a question for you all day.”

“Yes?”

“You and Human-Marcus... you had a ‘relationship’. Is that correct?” Her posture shifted, her eyes focused on the ground and she began to side-step in a circle, hands opening and closing. I followed suit, keeping my eyes on her and my hands open, tail steady and low to the ground.

“A long time ago. What about it?”

“He was telling me about your ‘escapades’ from ‘high school’-”

“Why?”

“He wanted to discuss the mark you left on me.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told him I had no interest in talking about it but he was in an especially talkative mood.”

She stopped moving and finally looked up at me. The tightness was mildly alleviated.

“I’m suddenly not in the mood to spar. Not with you, anyway.”

My ears drooped. “Why?”

“I don’t know what he said about me and I don’t want to know. As long as he told you anything about who I was in high school, I do not feel comfortable ‘sparring’ with you.”

“But-”

“But nothing.” She walked past me, her garments under her arm and a distant look on her face. I had been so patient that day. My arm stuck out and intercepted her, keeping her from the exit/entrance to the gym. “What’s the big idea?”

“I didn’t hear anything.” She looked me up and down.

“I don’t care.”

“Please. Just for one Terran minute. I promised I wouldn’t take it easy on you. Letting you leave would be just that.”

“I hate to make people liars,” she muttered. “Listen here: if I win, I leave. If you win, we can uh... keep going, if you so wish.”

“Thank you.”

“The minute begins at the first approach.” 

Human-Erin threw her clothes across the room whilst stepping backwards. When she stopped, she took no stance and made no approach. She simply circled - so I did as well. She was visibly irritated and I was well aware that Human attacks are less measured and, thus, more dangerous when they are irritated. I had considered striking just as she jumped forward, one foot leading her through the air with her arms close to her chest. To dodge this flying kick, I squatted, forcing her to go over my head and land on the mat behind me. I spun around on the heel of my left foot. I really didn’t want to win because I’d have to be on top. But I didn’t want her to leave either. There was a feeling I felt with her specifically that I desperately wanted to explore.

She landed on both feet and a hand, staring right at me. There was an unpleasant smile on her face - it was supposed to be unpleasant, but it felt like I was going to lose and it lessened that tightness in my lungs. Unfortunately for me, I had to focus on winning. I mirrored her before pouncing, knocking her onto her back. Her arms were easy to take control of where her legs would not stop moving. She kicked my abdomen until I felt forced to try and clutch the points of impact with one arm. It was then that she rolled from underneath me and pushed me onto my back as I teetered on one arm. She stood up. 

“That was only about ten seconds. Get up and fight me.”

I laid still.

“Get. Up.”

I maintained my unresponsiveness.

She set one foot on either side of me and squatted, lowering herself until she stood on her knees.

“Oh... You wanted me to force you to the ground. Is that right?”

She was totally correct, but I wanted to do some provocation of my own.

“Answer me, will ya.” Her hands walked up my chest until they fell past my shoulders, creating walls on either side of my head. Her face was parallel to mine and I didn’t believe myself to have seen someone so beautiful in frustration.

“Fine. Let’s play the quiet game. You better not scream now.” Her head dropped from my line of sight in a moment. In the next, my wound’s healing process was interrupted. The scale-bed was torn again and the raw flesh underneath was exposed. Pain and an inexplicable pleasure ripped through my body. A scream rolled from my throat and nearly burst past my teeth. Then she was kissing me again. As I bled onto the mat. I knew I was bleeding because I could taste it on her tongue.

I wasn’t able to find a reason in my mind that wasn’t heavily tied to suppressed primal urges. I don’t think she minded.

My arms encircled her waist tightly, pulling her closer to me before rolling over, releasing her once she was on her back. I caged her with my limbs and she didn’t struggle once. I didn’t say a word. I knew what the quiet game was. I held her down by her shoulders, my claws out and threatening to pierce the skin. She leaned into it, biting her lip as the skin gave away. Silence. Her hands found my neck and used it to bring my face to hers. 

“I think you wanna take this a different direction.”

“You lost.”

I initiated the kiss first, letting her hands roam my torso and lower. She learned, that day, where to find my heartbeat as she lowered my pants, her warm hands brushing my thighs and finding *me*. Her lips eventually left my mouth and wandered down to my neck. Similarly, my hand wandered down and made quick disposal of her shorts, feeling her *her* on the back of my hand. It was warmer than the rest of her and I wanted it so bad. Gripping the back of her thighs, I lifted her legs up and pushed myself only so far away from her head. I worked my head between her thighs and was face-level with her *her*. It was brown on the outside and pink on the inside, like her tongue. It was glistening in something wet. I flicked my tongue out and tasted *her*. It felt like the inside of her mouth, but warmer and sweeter. My tongue pushed into its opening, going as deep as it could, desperate to taste her core. The deeper my tongue went, the harder she breathed and the more the wet flooded my taste buds. My *me* was uncomfortably stiff. My grip was tightening on her thighs, even as my tongue left the inside of *her* for a pink button. I was as gentle as I could in sucking on it, curious to see if she would appreciate it. She eagerly whispered praises to me, her fingers tugging on my mane. Her back arched as she pushed her *her* closer to my face, offering it to me. [AN: I am so bad at this.]

“Pty... Pty, stop.” I obeyed immediately, despite my intense urge to see what would happen if I didn’t. Her *her* was pulsing slightly, the wet almost promising to drip.

“Did you not enjoy it?”

“No, god no. I want you to put it in.”

“What?”

She huffed and brought herself to her knees, gesturing for me to do the same - and I did. Her hands planted themselves on my chest once again before she shoved me away, forcing me onto my back. My belly - as well as my *me* - was fully exposed. Human-Erin crawled towards me until her *her* was aligned with my *me*.

“May I?” I nodded quickly, seeing her intentions.

She didn’t lower herself very much before I could feel her wet on the tip of me. Her star-crafted hands were on my shoulders, granting her balance as she proceeded to take me in with pain written on her face.

“This is hurting you?”

“Yeah, but I want it.”

About half of my *me* was surrounded by her pink warmth when it struck something inside of her, causing her to yelp in some sort of pain and joy. I was terrified to move, should I injure her, but I was content with lying still and watching her pleasure herself with me. I eventually worked up the courage to take hold of her hips while I watched her breasts bounce. Her head been thrown back, a string of lovely and muffled moans leaving her as she repeatedly found that spot in herself with me. A sudden surge of need overcame me alongside a shock of rapture down my *me* and I squeezed her hips, holding her still so I could drive myself upward, finding that spot with ease and then pushing into it, perhaps the rest of me would fit. 

It didn’t, but she rewarded my efforts with a short scream that she interrupted by kissing me. The pink constricted around me, making me throb once. The spot didn’t give, but her eyes locked onto mine as she did. The constrictions continued as did her moaning. Her legs betrayed her and she dropped farther onto me, creating a bump in her belly for but a moment before the rest of her collapsed with a sigh. I popped out of her, visibly on edge. Her body had never felt so hot - I was so excited to wear my new burns. 

--

[AN: I don’t think I like this, but I literally can’t go any further without risking violating TOS, I think. And I wanna get in bed before midnight. I will def be editing this one in the morning, but I did say tomorrow and this is technically tomorrow. Thank you and sorry.]