#& maybe the more i do it the more ill be able to flesh out the dreams i only remember a tiny bit from into their own thing

[moveslikekeithrichards]

my latest project [which i started years ago & am now getting back to] is writing out dreams ive had as [very] short stories, which is good for me bc i kinda lack the imagination to create a compelling plot on my own & the stamina to write anything longer, but it also means i have to Remember Dreams

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

uh oh! worlds stupidest little guy used the wrong lotion and now everything smells like my childhood bathroom and the year is 2016 and its february which means its almost valentines day which is perhaps the most accursed date on the calendar and the year is 2016 and your least favorite little guy is in full blown survival panic mode!

[honey-tongued-devil]

↞[arcane preference] founding out you were injured in crossfire↠

Since I've created a Bluesky profile and wrote my thesis on Arcane, I'll be posting both old and new drawings there as soon as the time comes. I'm taking advantage of this little space to promote my other social account. honey-tongued.bsky.social Also, I've received both comments and requests, but Tumblr decided I couldn’t post for a week (my internet connection is terrible). I want to let you know that I appreciate them, and I'll get to everything as soon as I can. So, feel free to leave comments, feedback, or requests!

Jayce: 

- This is the worst news he could receive: he's a scholar, he has no idea how to handle these situations, and, most of all, he's forced to confront his pride.  

- Not only was he unable to protect you now, but what if it happens again? Even if he's there, he wouldn't know what to do.  

- What if there's a next time? What if it doesn't turn out as well next time?  

- His self-sabotage leads him to distance himself from you for a few days, not because he doesn't want to be near you while you're hurting, but because he's ashamed of not being able to protect the person he loves.  

- On the bright side, for even just a second, he remembers the original purpose of his research: making the city safe, helping people.  

- But on the negative side, with no one to blame, more than ever, the people of Zaun appear to him as beasts, second-class humans who can't be redeemed in any way.  

- When he finally gathers the courage to see you again, he tries to make amends for everything: for not protecting you, for not being able to, for allowing someone to hurt you, and for not being there during your recovery.  

- He'll literally do anything to be forgiven: every morning you'll find breakfast in bed, if it's cold at night he'll prepare a warmer for your feet, and despite his squeamishness, he'll personally tend to your wounds, even if it makes him feel queasy.

Viktor:

- He tries to help you in every way possible, even ignoring his own pain.  

- He feels sadness, regrets that you went out alone and ended up in such a situation. He can't help but imagine the fear you must have felt, the confusion, and the loneliness when the guards intervened, and you woke up alone in the hospital.  

- He may be a scholar, but first and foremost he's a man with a moral code, and secondly, he's from Zaun: if he has any work, appointments, or lectures, he'll skip them all, maybe muttering a few insults in his thick accent at the most insistent people, and make up for it at night.  

- Plans, ideas, codes, anything – but he won't leave you alone unless you ask him to.  

- He takes care of you meticulously, respecting schedules, bringing you meals in bed, changing your bandages until your skin heals, and you're able to stand on your own again.  

- He doesn't mind helping you – as a chronically ill person who refuses others' help, he's learned to do everything on his own, and he's almost happy that his skills can be useful to someone else.

Ekko:

- Is it something totally normal in the lanes? Yes.  

- Does this stop Ekko from panicking? No.  

- He's the one who finds you and brings you to the others, but he doesn't want, nor can he afford, to be seen panicking. So, he swallows his despair and tries to act as normal as possible while ten other people rush to help you.  

- His face remains expressionless as the most skilled remove debris, clean the wound, stitch your torn flesh, and bandage you, but his foot keeps tapping the floor with force and speed, revealing his anxiety.  

- When the others insist that it's best you stay in the makeshift infirmary, he tries not to protest, but suddenly every moment of the day becomes an excuse to pass by: to bring you stolen sweets from Piltover, to tell you about some expedition, maybe even steal a kiss or fall asleep leaning against your mattress.  

- It's an overwhelming fear, but the fear of losing you makes him unable to think rationally, and all he feels is how much he misses you, even while you're right there with him.

Vander:

- A crossfire from the other side of the river was already a big enough provocation to alert him and prepare to defend the city or, if absolutely necessary, to strike back.  

- But you, as an accidental victim, are a huge problem.  

- He doesn’t have the heart to pull away from you, and when he does, he can’t help but feel frustrated, angry at himself, knowing he hasn’t been able to keep his city under control like he promised—to you, to Piltover, to everyone.  

- He’ll ask for your forgiveness by kissing the scarred skin every day, even if you insist it’s not his fault, and if you remember even one of the faces, he’ll go and handle the problem.  

- Not with violence, unless necessary, but it’s not about personal justice; rather, it’s about protecting the other citizens of the alleys too.  

- Even after you’ve healed, he’ll insist it’s absolutely necessary to carry you everywhere you need to go, claiming a very good doctor told him so.  

- And the memory of the scar will be tiny compared to all the marks Vander has left on you.  

Silco:

- Private justice is absolutely the first option, even though you were an accidental victim.  

- He’ll call all his goons and associates for a meeting while you’re still bedridden, to see if they’ve heard, seen, or been involved in any armed conflict, and if he doesn’t get a face or a name from them, he’ll turn to the brothel, the house of all information,  

- Until he finds who hurt you and makes sure they can’t do it again.  

- Silco isn’t fazed by blood or open wounds, but despite having enough experience to handle it himself, at least on the first day, he’ll take you to Singed to make sure you’re in the best condition.  

- In the following days, he’ll take care of you himself, but he has pride, a façade, and little emotional communication skills, so he won’t openly show how worried he is, relying entirely on the fact that you don’t know about the murder of your assailant and remember nothing of the visit to Singed.  

- But the only reason you heal so well and so quickly is that, even if he doesn’t know how to express it, all the love he feels is poured into the care he gives you.  

Jinx:

- Flashbacks. So many. Too many.  

- At some point, she’ll even convince herself that she’s the one who shot you, leading to a complete breakdown.  

- She punches her head, scratches herself without realizing it, her nose bleeds, and her eyes are bloodshot.  

- It takes her a while to convince herself that she wasn’t the one who shot you, even though the hallucinations overlap images of you with memories of her armed, creating waking nightmares that feel increasingly real.  

- As much as she’d like to ask her father for help, even just to give you a cleaner room, she feels responsible and is too scared that if she stays away from you, you’ll forget her. That’s why she sets up a little space for you and takes care of you herself, though not always painlessly.  

- She’s pulled bullets out of her own body more times than not after missions; what might seem like dangerous, delicate work to someone else is almost routine for her by now.  

- Once she has a suspicion of who might have done it, she’ll make sure they learn their lesson. 

 

Vi:

- Anger.  

- Why were you out alone? Why didn’t you leave as soon as you saw the crowd getting too big? Why were you in that area?  

- But her anger is just panic pouring out like a flood, the fear of not being able to protect the one she loves twists her stomach, making her feel like she might throw up, like she’s dying inside.  

- None of those questions mean she blames you, but she doesn’t know how to feel, what to think, or even what to do.  

- She’ll do everything to help you—bandaging you, cleaning your wounds, staying silent and giving her full attention to make up for not being there when you needed her, even though that’s not true.  

- And when the scar forms, she’ll kiss it every single day, every single night, like a little ritual between the two of you.  

Caitlyn:

- Safety first.  

- She’ll be the one to assess how bad the injury is, and if there are any foreign objects in your body, there’s a good chance she’ll try to handle it herself, even though at first it might seem a bit barbaric.  

- She’ll give you the guest room and call the family doctor to make sure you’re okay, that you don’t need anything else, and she’ll take care of what’s necessary, even teasing you a bit to hide her worry.  

- "A bullet in the leg from being caught in crossfire? Very vintage, I must say."  

- What you won’t know is that she’ll quietly increase security, not in an oppressive way, but just enough to make both you and the other citizens feel safer.  

- Her family won’t get involved directly, but they won’t stop her either. Sometimes Cassandra herself will make sure her daughter finds the tray to bring up to you, though she’ll never be too open about it.  

- The perfect rehabilitation? Long walks in the villa’s garden, so you can stop for some cookies or tea when you get tired.  

Mel:

- Flashbacks, but less personal than Jinx’s.  

- Her mother would call her weak if she knew how it kills her to see someone barely scratched by crossfire, and that realization soon turns into frustration, which then becomes anger.  

- She tries to stay calm, but her voice sounds like she’s scolding you, and then like she’s scolding the servants, or anyone else who crosses her path.  

- Two hours of lecture if you’re lucky—why you shouldn’t go out without a guard, why you shouldn’t put yourself in dangerous situations, why the enforcers are utterly useless and can’t find anyone responsible, even though the fight was so intense.  

- She’ll focus entirely on the bureaucratic side because little Mel was never taught how to deal with strong emotions, and she’s definitely feeling them now but can’t afford that vulnerability, even though she knows you’re safe.  

- She won’t take care of you herself, but she’ll always stay in the room. Not because she doesn’t want to, to be clear, but because she wants you to have the best care possible and prefers to leave it to a top professional rather than her inexperienced hands.  

- In return, she’ll triple the amount of affection and caresses—more to calm herself than you, but you won’t be the one to complain.  

Sevika:

- She needs a moment.  

- She knows she has to report to Silco that there was a firefight, that someone is threatening the people, but part of her just wants to grab those responsible and crush their heads with her bare hands, doing both you and her boss a favor. Yet, another part of her doesn’t want to leave you alone or take you with her.  

- She knows how to handle these things; she’s lost an arm, and Silco’s goons often come back in worse shape, which is why she’ll take care of you herself, in complete silence.  

- She’ll wait until you’re asleep to place a water bottle, a glass, some painkillers, and some bread on the nightstand next to your bed. And when she’s sure you’re fully asleep, she’ll leave a soft kiss on your forehead before putting on her cloak and heading out to the Last Drop.  

- There, she’ll release her anger in a brawl or two, talk to her boss, and search for the reason why she feels so awful at the bottom of her third glass of whiskey.  

[fckmebarnes]

imagine lawyer bucky having you under his desk sucking his cock and playing with his cock while he has meeting or important phone calls

note; this turned out way longer than i expected it too!!! i’ve been thinking of lawyer!bucky a lot and i need him more in my life so…maybe ill add him to my universe <3

minors dni! 18+ smut. cockwarming, bucky fucks you while on a call, he ties ur wrists, he’s just kinky ok. i need him

i’ve been thinking about this lately :(

you keep his cock warm with your mouth - he knows this and you know this. it’s what you’re best at when you come with him at work.

he doesn’t normally bring you along - you’re a distraction. he knows it and you know it. you use it to your advantage to get what you want.

and you always get what you want.

that’s how you’re in this position now, knees against the shaggy tan carpet, hunched over bucky’s lap. you’re completely naked, except the underwear he made you keep on just so the toy he pushed snug in your cunt that morning while you were asleep - stays in.

his desk shielded you, no one would know you were under there. the wooden oak desk was one of bucky’s prized possessions after he opened his firm.

“it was my fathers,” you remembered him telling you, watching as he trailed one of his flesh fingers down the dark oak. you knew it was important to him, and it made you feel special he allowed you this close to it.

your mouth, however, was preoccupied with bucky’s cock shoved down your throat. he was on a business call? you heard his voice try to not grunt with great effort as your tongue moved on its own accord. it traced the small outlines of the veins of his dick, making him grip your hair harshly.

he leaned back in his chair just enough to see your eyes looking up up him with the most innocent face he had ever seen your face adorn.

he wanted to ruin it.

he took his metal hand and brought it up to his faces, resting his pointer finger against his pink plush lips.

“shhh..” you only groaned in response as you felt his hips buck up, his metal hand flying for your hair and digging his fingers deep. he tugged onto you, the tip of his cock hitting the back your throat as he cleared his.

“gentlemen, i know we have to come to some type of settlement, surely?” his voice was i wavered, as if he wasn’t fucking the shit out of your mouth at the same exact time.

you heard some response above you, meaning the phone was just above your head. you felt your cunt throb at the thought of them being able to hear you get throat fucked.

“o can’t do another trial. i’d have to file an adjournment request for it and i just don’t have the time.” he looked down at you as he said that, his hands being very full at the moment.

your hands were gripping his clothes thighs. he only wanted to pull himself out through the zipper of his slacks. he had some class.

grunting at a particular harsh thrust, he leaned over to mute the call before pulling you out from under the desk, ultimately emptying your mouth of his cock.

you whines in response, and he just chuckled as he bent you over the desk, slapping your ass harshly with his right hand. his metal one snaked up your spine, fluttering touches against your skin making you break out in goosebumps and soft whine escaped your lips.

“i’m going to unmute this call, and when i do - my cock is going to be buried deep in this sweet pussy,” he paused, his metal hand finding the nape of your neck as your elbows dig into the cool wooden oak, your hips pressing against the edge surely to leave a mark.

but you didn’t care. you wanted to remember this moment.

the one where he had his legs in between yours to knock them spread wider, your cunt glistening and soaked just from being his desk pet and sucking his cock alone. he knew how needy you got, he knew you would keep begging and begging under you couldn’t take it anymore.

and he loved it.

he undid his belt fully now, pushing his slacks and boxers down as your back was arched perfectly for him. he took his shit jacket off the back of his chair and folded it up enough to create a cushion before positioning it under your head as a pillow.

“hands behind your back, princess.” his voice was low making your shiver, and you heard the metal clink behind you.

fuck.

he grabbed your wrists as soon as you laid your head down on the make shift jacket pillow and sighed as he tightened the belt comfortably around your wrists.

“you look so pretty like this, baby. spread open wide for me while on a call. you love this, don’t you?” you nodded, biting your lip before being brought back to the moment when you heard bucky’s name being called from the speaker across the desk from your face.

“james? you there?“ he leaned over, the tip of his cock pushing into your cunt as he leaned over the entirety of you to unmute the call. this had him bottom out fully into you.

“still here, sorry about that. look, tell you what - i’ll withdraw my motion,” he stood back up enough to pull his cock out of your cunt all the way, admiring the way you looked bent over and bare for him. “if you get your client to at least send his discovery.” he pushed back in easily, your slick collected at the base of his cock as he pumped in and out of you with ease.

you listen to the men grovel to each other again as bucky out the call back on mute and grilled your hips harshly before slamming into you.

“such a good girl, you know that? staying quiet while my dick is deep inside your pussy. you’re fucking soaked, you know that?” he grinned as you let out a moan, his cock twitching at the sound.

“you sound so good baby, keep making those pretty noises. it’s music to my fucking ears.” he groaned as you moaned again, his metal hand wrapping around your waist to find your clit and pressing his thumb firmly.

“bucky,” you whined gently, biting your lip and looking at him with the most innocent and naive eyes you could give him.

“awe, what is it, doll? you want me to touch your swollen clit?” you nodded as he started slow circles, his cock still deep inside of you and stretching you out so much you were borderline cock drunk.

“please i..” you let out a moan as he pushed harder, your cunt pulsing around his cock with each stroke.

“beg for it.” his voice was deep and direct, sending a tingle right to your core. he felt it as soon as you clenched around him, tears pricking your eyes as the men continued to bicker.

“please bucky, please fuck me..! i need it so bad i..” you felt his right hand push your face further into the suit jacket as he moaned your name, feeling his cock twitch as your cunt pulsed. his thumb went in fast circles, making your toes curl and your stomach tighten.

“go on baby,” he groaned as he heard his name again and unmuted the call. “i don’t know, honestly. i can have my legal assistant take a look at my calendar.” he muted again before continuing his assault on your clit.

“cum for me, show me how much you want it. how much you need my cock.” you moaned loudly, biting your lip and felt a heat rise to your cheeks. your eyes kept trained on bucky’s his chest heaving and those stupid dog tags peaking through his unbuttoned dress shirt clinking against his chest.

you couldn’t speak as soon as you felt your orgasm hit, your cunt clenching his cock and your fingernails digging into your pals as your body went limp a giant the desk. it felt like heavy, the sound of his balls slapping against your skin mixed with each others fluids.

his moans as he kissed up your back and leant over your body with his as you felt his cock twitch and instantly filled to the brim. his lips kissed the shell of your ear with the breathy moan.

“you’re so good to me, baby.” he whispers gently against your ear, his breathing slowing as he sat up and leaned back.

he pulled his cock from your drippy cunt just enough to see his cum spilling out of you. he chuckled before leaning over and undoing the belt from your wrists

he rubbed them with his cool metal hand before pulling you up and into his lap, taking his suit jacket with him and you bottoming out on his cock once again.

“keep my cock warm while i settle this case, okay baby?”

[meanbossart]

i just need to take a second to gush about how much i love durge drow and astarion, they feel so fleshed out and perfectly written together in their fucked up wretched ways. They really inspire me to write more for my own tavs, hopefully one day ill be able to say im as happy with my own work as i get when seeing yours. I have to ask though, do you have any tips on drawing head shapes and faces? or maybe about wrinkles? i find i really struggle with that stuff when drawing and i adore how expressive and grungey all your art looks!

First of all thank you so much, I love hearing what people think of the two of them together 😭

Honestly you've hit on something that's quite near and dear to my heart, I love developing and figuring how to draw and stylize different faces to get the most unique, interesting looking results - everything about the details is highly rewarding to me. What does x type of nose look like from this angle? In this style? How can this eyeshape best translate to my art? How different does a face look when its making this expression? What does that MOUTH DO? etc etc.

In fact you kind of inspired me to put a little tutorial/guide together the last hour lmao and what a blessing it is that the two current subjects of this blog serve as great models here, being that their faces are basically polar opposites!

When it comes to heads, you've probably heard it a dozen times before that you want to think of them in terms of geometry and facets; my process to drawing them is pretty conventional so I won't spend too much time on it, but it goes something like this:

Obviously I don't do every single one of these steps most of the time, which is just something that comes from practice/developing muscle memory, but it is helpful to start off this way for two main reasons:

By making these guide lines and splitting a head into pieces like this, you'll have an easier time seeing and understanding it as a multidimensional object, and in turn, facilitate It for you when you venture out into doing wacky angles and lighting.

Making different headshapes starts HERE. notice how Astarion's "face" slate is narrower and longer, how my durge's jaw pieces sit lower on the head, how all of the same pieces came together in the same way but we ended up with one real pointy elf and a real brick of a drow - making characters look different successfully begins very early in the sketching process.

The next thing you want to do branches out into every day life: start noticing yours and other people's facial features. How does an upturned nose look from a high angle? How does the size of someone's cheekbones affect what they look like when they smile? How about when the light hits them a certain way? Does someone's lip shape changes when they pout? When they laugh? How does a person's hairline change the shape of their face? You do NOT need to creepily sketch every stranger you see on the bus, but get into the habit of actually noticing what people look like when you talk to them - when you look at pictures, when you watch movies - make a mental list of interesting ways mouths, noses, and eyes can come together in a variety of different proportions to make completely distinct looking mugs, and how they change depending on how you are looking at them.

Light and shadow play a HUGE role in how faces look, too, basically as crucial as actual bone structure does. As you see up there I tried to rough out how natural, head on, and underhead light would look on these two very different looking guys, and while we can see definite patterns, there are small differences that come to be because of the sizes and shapes of their features.

Here is a very, very basic look at how some of these features come to look the way they do, how they interact with one another, and how they compare between a blocky, rather conventionally "masculine" head and one that's much softer and slimmer.

Note please that it is not one or two characteristics that give a chaarcter their "look"; you can reduce a face to eyes, mouth, and nose through stylization and still have them be recognizable, but if you want to do more than that, you have to consider the whole package! Chin, cheeks, brows, direction of the jaw, slope and size of the forehead, depth of eyes, ridge of the nose, etc - I know this is probably far more than you bargained for, but if you start making note of a FEW of these things now and slowly add on, this will eventually become second nature to you.

Similarly, understanding how these characteristics come together will help you with rendering light and shadow in a realistic way, and predicting what their facial expressions may look like - if no two people are alike, neither are their smiles. :)

Lastly, remember that I'm no expert - I have developed my own methods and semiotics and yours may look slightly (or vastly) different, and that's fine! I hope only that by sharing this it has given you a base to work off of.

Anyways, I HOPE this has been helpful and not just the unsolicited ramblings of a face pervert.

[jolalibrary]

17. tangerine dreams

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seventeen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 4.1k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. flirting. too idiots who clearly want to have a future together. a little anxious rainy. an: i love them i love them.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

You didn't mean to, but your finger presses the screen again.

It illuminates, unveiling the time and how another three minutes have ticked on by. A sigh quickly escapes, nostrils flaring from your exhale as you shake your head at how time passes slowly, as though shuffling its feet to become a bit later.

It shouldn’t bother you, should be able to quiet the irrational from spreading into faux reality.

Because things happen, days get away—

His work could be insane, Luca could be ill; he could have written the message out and not clicked send. All things which are plausible, possible. All good enough reasons to not have woken to a good morning text or have heard from him by lunch.

Yet, you stare at the unread message.

Unread messages.

It’s irrational. Baseless. Yet the worries mount like they’re pressing down on your bones and making your head swim in a sea of doubt as they remain unanswered, unread, unnoticed.

Your eyes blur around the way your messages are sitting there, unable to be retracted. All plural in nature. The words ‘sent’ sitting under them, as memories swirl from the conversation the two of you shared after you’d slipped into bed.

It had been warm, usual, no sign of anything changing—but he had been quiet. Less talkative. You had needed to prod him a few times by name for him to hum, and come back to you.

And now, you’ve woken and it's hard not to believe everything feels different. From your home feeling unfamiliar to the quietness you’ve been plunged in.

Maybe, it had been too much too soon. Maybe you'd overstayed your welcome and he was attempting to retract his three words and his promises and his—

Shaking your head, you rub your eyes with the base of your palms. A scream burning on your tongue. Because he isn't them, he's Frankie.

Good, kind.

And you wish he were here. A thing you can’t say. Not again. It had already slipped out last night, through the cracks of comfort; murmuring itself past your lips before he wished you goodnight. It had slipped out, escaping—

Home is you, Frankie.

You can’t remember his reply. Can’t remember if he thought it was cute or sweet, or if he was horrified and filled with dread.

A thing which tangles up inside of you, becomes matted, and clogged. Not able to be broken apart when you step under the water from your shower. Finding yourself shattering instead, breaking, soap lathering and washing away, repeating, as you conjure all the things you could have said that may have upset him. The jokes, the quietness last night; the flirting and the fact you spoke to his ex. It builds, morphing, twisting, doing so until your skin prunes and no more tears are blurring with droplets.

It forces an opening, one where unruly thoughts can break through, prizing itself open as your finger presses the screen again.

Because it’s always this way. Interested, until they’re not. In love, until they aren’t. Staring as the black screen goes dull again. Memories of past relationships where messages went unanswered for days, leading only to painful goodbyes, flashed through your mind.

Fingers pinching the backs of your forearm, almost bruising, doing so until your eyes stop springing fresh pain and the towel becomes another heavy thing constricting you.

Fool. You think it—digging it into flesh. Again. And again as you dress, as you hang your towel. Burying your nails so deep you could rationalise it as the reason tears drop down your cheek as you wander into your almost finished office, crouching in the centre, readying for a sob to escape, to leave—

“Rainy?”

The slam of your front door ripples through the house, hearing it a clatter of keys, wallet, hat—more thuds than placed—as your fingers brush away your sobs, wipe them as though they never existed, standing up from your crouched position to face him. To stand two strides from him.

Frankie's usually warm eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, but you spot them softening as they meet yours, tinged with concern, love.

And he’s holding his phone up, a crack right down the screen—little lines running from it, fractured so similarly to how you must appear right on the inside.

“I broke my phone, well Luca broke my phone, but—”

You exhale—both in relief, in thankfulness, and also because it allows you to fill your lungs. To calm yourself. To banish the shadows away to find the strength for yourself to walk across to him.

Because a past version of you would have shrunk more in yourself. Taking the warning, the fear, and used it to build walls that would keep him out. But you're not that person, not now.

Not just because of him, but because of you. The choices, the decisions, the little things that led you down a path to not needing, but finding him all the same.

“—we was having a morning. Slept through my alarm, and then drop off, and then Harold—”

His words halt with an oof as your head presses itself into his chest, and you inhale. The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, which lets your heart rate calm before his fingers tease the back of your neck. Rooting you, helping you unknot the last ropes of worry and panic.

“I love you,” you whisper, right against his heart, feeling his fingers slide around the side of your neck, hooking under your chin.

And you repeat it. Softer, swathed in a sigh—relief.

Feeling his face burying itself in the top of your head, a kiss given, one pressing to your forehead when you lift, to your nose, and then your lips.

Biting your lip, fingers sliding over his chin, his jaw—tentatively brushing the wiry hair and the soft dimple that begins to appear—as he asks, you okay?

Nodding, swallowing. Burning the panic that had been bubbling in you all morning.

“Just worried you’d had enough of me.”

He whispers your name—each letter, each syllable—before following it with never, I've missed you so much.

And you believe him. You believe him.

How’s my lover?

Still getting used to this new phone. But, outside of that, my son told me that I look old because my hair has grey bits in it, and then I got to work and gave myself a splinter.

I meant Harry, but that’s a lot baby, I’m sorry.

You’re awful to me.

Would me offering to suck your splinter out help?

You fancy using your key tonight?

Starting to think you hate being by yourself.

I appreciate you giving me time with Luca, but I miss you. A lot.

Is there pizza and uno?

I can promise you one of those things.

Tssst. Only one?

Was thinking Chinese and uno?

Sold.

Unlike days ago, alone, wishing for his voice, this morning you’re woken by fingers on your ankles, lips on your lower spine. All soft strokes, interchanging with drags.

“Need you to get up so I can show you something.”

Groaning, lashes fluttering on your cheek, turning your head on the pillow, you find his skin glossed in sweat, wearing the tell-tale signs that he’s been up for a while.

“Frankie…”

“Shh. Surprise time,” he whispers.

Body crawling up the bed as you turn in his sheets, both hands taking either side of his cheek, bringing his mouth to yours. It’s intimate, intense—right. You taste coffee on his tongue, hoping your own breath doesn’t taste half as bad as you can imagine the morning could be.

Whispering, urging you to come on, to get up, even as he lowers his body on top of yours. As he tries to move the duvet and slots your knee over his jean-covered hip.

“Making it really hard to get up.”

“You’re not making it hard for me to get up.”

Laughing, head tipping back as his grinning mouth trails kisses up your neck. Feeling his other palm slide up your stomach, right under the t-shirt you’d stolen from him.

“You know I’ve seen your cock before, if that’s the impressive thing you’re showing me.”

Snorting, he hovers his face over yours, finger tapping the tip of your nose.

Twenty minutes later, your fingers are knotting through his as he leads you through his house. The morning air is crisp, the sun filtering through the trees as he leads you out of the back door. Half-dragged, and still a little sleepy, Frankie’s hand is warm and steady around yours, leading you outside.

“C’mon, just a bit further,” he coaxes gently, voice a soothing balm against the early morning chill.

You squint against the light, noticing the faint scent of paint lingering in the air. Frankie finally stops, his hand releasing yours as he rubs the back of his neck, and you see it.

The table. The one from a yard sale a few weeks ago—as your eyes flick to his, fingers teasing through his curls, a habit you’ve come to adore.

“I um… tried to strip it back, see what shade it was first,” he began, his voice tinged with nerves. “But I know you love this colour, so I thought—”

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight. The garden table, the one you’d both made an entire fake scenario around weeks ago, joked that you’d serve him lemonade and bake him cookies. And now, it’s here, a beautiful, vibrant shade of butterscotch, all freshly painted and gleaming in the morning light.

Emotion wells up, your chest tightening as you realise the effort and thought he’d put into it.

“I—I love it, Frankie,” you manage to say, voice choking up. “I… you went and got it?”

Glancing at the ground, arms folding across his chest as he nods. “Right after I dropped you to meet your friend.”

His hand scratches at his arm, pausing mid-scratch, eyes widening into a joyful smile as though all your words dawn on him. “You like it?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “You… god, I don’t deserve you.”

His grin widens, before he pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms, kissing your cheek, the gesture tender, reassuring.

“You did this.” Your fingers slide up his cheek, not forcing the tears back like you’d usually, kissing him. “You bought us furniture?”

“Yeah,” he says, as if it’s nothing, finger-swiping your tear away as his breath warm against your skin. “Told you, it’s you and I”

You nod, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you. “You and me, technically.”

He kisses a laugh to your lips.

Me and Benny have decided that yoga would kill you and Will.

You enjoy your class?

I did. I think Benny is still working out what he feels. At one point he asked me to put him out of his misery.

Did you?

Yes, I’ve committed murder.

Well, wouldn’t be the first time. You in that lace set the other week—still think I died there and you brought me back.

Mouth-to-mouth really is something special, isn't it? Oh, Benny’s decided that in your next training session, you’re doing yoga.

Baby, I’ve seen you, I don’t think I can do that.

Oh, you can't.

Did you tell him that?

Yeah. He's still laughing.

The music, which has been blasting from your phone for the last ten minutes in the background, suddenly dies on your phone. Glancing over, suds sliding down your arm, you see his face and name light up the screen, bringing an automatic smile to your face.

“Hey, handsome—” you greet, your voice filled with warmth.

“I’d like it on the record,” he says, the rumble of his engine coming through the call, accompanied by the click of a turn signal, “yoga isn’t for me.”

A grin spreads across your face as you drop the plate back into the water, splashing yourself in the process. “He made you do it, didn’t he?”

“He fucking made us do it,” he replies, the exasperation in his voice tinged with humour.

You dry your hands on your jeans and pick up your phone, sliding into one of the chairs in the kitchen. “I owe him ten dollars now,” you say, your tone playful.

“He said.”

Laughing softly, you bite the nail on your thumb, a habit he has begun teasing you about. You listen as he starts recounting the names he was subjected to in the yoga class, his deep voice filling the silence of the room. Names such as Goddess Squat, Cat and Cow, Table and others fall like a list, listening, occasionally helping when he struggles with the name.

“—Baby, I don’t know how you do it,” he says, a mix of admiration and incredulity in his voice.

You pull a knee up to your chest, resting your chin on it as you smile, the affection in your eyes carrying through your voice. “Practice.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t know if I’ll be doing it again,” he admits, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

“I told him you’d struggle with it.”

“Struggle? Baby, struggle is a nice word for what Will and I looked like.” Sniggering, all attempts at burying it in your hand fail as you pretend to clear your throat. “I heard that.”

“Not sure what you mean, Butterscotch.” He grumbles something as your elbows come to rest on either side of your phone. “You want me to massage you, baby?”

“Fuck… don’t do this to me, Rainy. I’m driving.”

Smirking, biting the nail on your index. “I’d warm lotion in my hands, press my palms to your back—”

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby.”

“I’d have to be naked, obviously.”

You press your thighs together when you hear him groan through the phone.

I need you to be free Saturday.

You need me?

Always. But I specifically need you to be free on Saturday.

Leave it with me. Can I know what I’m required for?

No.

Ominous.

It’s a surprise. A birthday surprise. Do you trust me?

I wondered when that would come back around.

I take that as a yes?

Of course. Just checked, I’m all yours.

Harry be okay?

He said he can ask his nephew to help out.

Is he doing okay?

He’s currently making puns about a new product, so I’m going to assume yes.

The car hums softly as you drive.

The late morning sun casts a golden glow across the dashboard. Frankie is sitting beside you, a puzzled smile playing on his lips as he glances periodically at you, trying to decipher your secret—whatever it is up your sleeve.

He interchanges between resting his hand on your thigh, fingers tapping a light rhythm that matches the song playing on the radio or re-picking a new station.

“Alright, Rainy,” he says, a heavy curiosity in his voice. “Are you ever going to tell me where we're going?”

You glance at him, heart fluttering at the sight of his easy grin and the way the sunlight highlights the flecks of gold in his eyes and the little flecks of silver coming through in his curls.

“Not yet,” you reply, a playful lilt in your tone. “You'll just have to be patient a little longer.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head. “You know I'm not good at that.”

“Oh, I know. But trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

The landscape outside the car window begins to change, the city giving way to rolling hills and lush greenery. As the song changes, you steal another look at him, watching him mouthing the lyrics to the song playing before his expression shifts from curiosity to realisation as you near your destination.

Finally, you turned onto a narrow road that winds through a grove of trees, the sunlight dappling the ground in patterns of light and shadow.

And, Frankie’s eyes widen. A spark of recognition ignited in them.

“Is this—?”

You smirk, unable to contain your excitement—stomach doing flips as you slowly begin to nod. “I thought maybe it was about time you introduced me, even in passing, to your first love.”

He’s leaning forward, seatbelt tense against his chest, hand on your dusty dash as the sun streams in and highlights the way his fingers go white from the pressure.

Picking a spot in the gravel, you put it into a park, killing the engine, staring off at the open field—where two helicopters are parked. Nervousness rolls, balling up as you give him a moment, staring ahead, resisting the urge to glance over and see his reaction. See if you've gone too far. Remembering the way Benny's brows had lifted when you'd asked when you'd told him your plan.

Maybe it hadn't been surprise at the kindness, but surprise at the audacity, at the balls—

It's then you feel his hand on your leg, squeezing. Dragging your eyes to him to find his smile so far into his cheeks, making you wonder if you could get lost in his dimples. His eyes are nothing but softness, so full of affection and nostalgia, you think your chest inflates with love.

“Rainy...

It leaves his lips all thick with emotion, as you squeeze his hand on top of your thigh. “Come on, handsome.”

Exiting, walking to the front of the car, you extend your hand, able to breathe a little easier when he slides his fingers within yours.

“Meet Robert—Robbie,” you say quickly, watching Frankie shake his hand—brows knitted together in confusion he tries to hide over the rest of his face. “He’s a friend of Benny’s—and he has a helicopter.”

Frankie’s head turns to you, eyes still a little wide.

“Now, it’s up to you. It’s your birthday gift. But, if you want to go up in it, you can, Robbie can be your co-pilot—I showed him a photo of your old license and Benny helped fill in some things for you. But, if you want to stay on the ground, show me around the cockpit,” you smirk, leaning into him. “I’ve packed us a picnic. It’s in the back of my car.”

He whispers your name.

Not your nickname, your real name. It's all soft, flowy—so gentle as it passes his lips and kisses the air as he stares at the helicopter ready.

Moving closer, hand sliding along his lower back, you stare at his eyes as they move to yours, dropping your voice, “I know you haven’t flown since… then. I don’t think it’s a waste if you want to stay on the ground. But, if you do, I’ll suspend my belief that I’m not going to feel some kind of way about being so high up.”

“You scared of heights?”

“I’m not the biggest fan of being in the air in a small metal contraption?”

Snorting, rolling his jaw, he frowns, before his face smooths out and he cups your face, his eyes searching yours. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Warmth spreads over your cheeks, feeling the heat of his gaze. “I just wanted to do something special for you.”

He kisses you then, slow and sweet—the kind of kiss which makes time stand still. Almost forgetting everything, the wind, the sound of it dancing through the leaves as your arm slides around his neck, hips moving closer to his when his hand finds a home there.

It’s only when he finally pulls away, his forehead resting against yours, and you feel his breath mingling with yours, do you think about poor Robbie who has thankfully walked back to a hanger.

Frankie looks past you, something unreadable stretching out across his face. Assessing, almost calculating—a face you’re coming to know well. Spotting the slight narrowing of one eye, the way his teeth bite the inside of his lower lip and his nostrils flare.

“Can I show you around?”

Offering your hand, he takes it, sliding his fingers slowly between yours, knitting your palms together. With a playful grin, he guides you around the helicopter. At first quietly, before he points, clears his throat and begins explaining something.

From then on, it’s hard for him to be quiet. Each part is shown, the door opening and shifting you in front so you can clear, as his voice rings with the passion and precision of someone who has spent countless hours in a cockpit like this one. His fingers trace the curves of the fuselage, his eyes sparkling as he describes the functions of the rotor blades, the tail boom, and then back to the cockpit instruments.

You listen, captivated. Not only by his knowledge but by the joy that radiates from him as he speaks—even if you struggle to follow. Even if your nod feels hollow and you’re lost in watching him talk so enthusiastically about something that you’re so new to.

Then, your stomach grumbles. Eyes widen, his voice trailing off as he stares at you, before slowly grinning.

“Shit.”

“You hungry?”

Face scrunching, wearing a face nothing short of apologetic, you bury your head into his chest. “I was so nervous I didn’t want to eat before the drive.”

He kisses your head, burying an, “Oh, Rainy” against your hair before he moves an arm around you.

“You say you packed a picnic?” You nod. “Alright, well I could eat.”

“Are you just saying that? Because I feel like we’ve barely touched the cockpit.”

Smirking, kissing your forehead again. “Let’s eat.”

Taking charge of spreading out the blanket, choosing a spot right near the helicopter—Frankie quickly catches up with Robert. Doing a little half-run back to you as you set out the plates, the glasses.

“You tell on me that I touched his leaver?”

“Yeah. I said, my girlfriend—who you told not to touch anything—touched everything. Practically licked your leaver.”

Heat flushes your cheeks at the word girlfriend. Even if you've been it for so long, it still makes joy bloom across your face, your skin and makes your ears warm as blood rushes to them. So much so, that you dip your chin, digging into the basket for the sandwiches from the place he likes, and the snacks you’d managed to make.

“You should be careful saying that sentence to anyone not on this airfield.”

There’s a pause, and then he laughs.

Joining you, sinking to his knees first before sitting more comfortably when you hand him a foil-wrapped sandwich.

It isn’t until you take a bite of your own, do you feel your muscles relax. Your body sag, falling into its natural place as the conversation, as it always does, flows easily. Your mind calming, relaxing from all the worries last night of possible annoyance, maybe even anger—hurt and all others.

Instead, it’s all punctuated by laughter, by smiles, and the occasional brush of his hand against yours.

“Happy birthday,” you say, pressing it to his lips.

His thick fingers, glide over your neck, around the side, remaining at the back as he swallows. Before there’s a thank you against your lips, against your cheek, before your fingers find a grape, and pop it against his mouth.

Chewing, he smirks, you slide to sit beside him as you grab another chip from the open bag.

It's quiet, but comfortable as the two of you eat the food, the sun cresting in the sky, as Frankie slowly leans back on his elbows, looking thoughtful.

“You know,” he begins, a mischievous glint in his eyes, his gaze locking onto yours. “Would you like to see the sky?”

Your heart skips a beat, excitement and nerves mingling in your chest. “Really? You’d take me up?”

He sat up, his expression earnest. “If… If you trust me. I know it’s been a while so, can understand if you’d rather not.”

“Frankie,” you whisper, kneeling, sliding across the blanket to him as you clutch his face, “There’s no one I trust more than you—well, other than Luca. The kid really cannot lie.”

Grinning, feeling it against your hand, your palm. Finger stroking at the dimple that appears as you stare at him.

“I know it’s safe—I know I’m safe with you. But, I know this is a big deal. I know you had to walk away from things, so if you’re sure, then I am. I just don’t want to put you off.”

Frankie’s face lit up with a smile that made your heart soar higher than any helicopter ever could. “If anything, I think you being there is just what I need.”

You’re both quick to begin putting away the picnic, him taking it back to the car before you find yourself seated behind him. Headset on, belt done and checked by Robbie—watching Frankie sitting in the cockpit, finger switching controls and dials flicked.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice coming through your ear, your hands gripping your thighs as you smile.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’m ready, baby. You and me.”

His laugh, crackly through the microphone, ripples out. “You sure? Not you and I?”

And you roll your eyes, just as the blades go quicker overhead, and you brace a little more for leaving the ground.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[nightlyrequiem]

Crawl to Me

The world ended long ago. Now belonging to the undead that roam it, feeding on the last surviving people. You've learned to avoid the rotters. You have a past with one and like when she was alive, she's not willing to let you escape so easily.

New Part Every Thursday

Masterlist AO3

A/N- I was actually working on an apocalyptic fic in June, but I genuinely couldn't figure out how to progress the story in an interesting way. I still want to write one though because I'm a slut for apocalypse stories. This ones kind of lengthy. Like 2800 words

Tags/Warnings: Undead Valeria, No Use of the Word 'Zombie', Apocalypse, Gore, Stalking, WLW, Implied But Also In Your Face Toxic Relationship

The world ended eight months ago. A disease thawed from the melting glaciers and ravaged through the living population faster than it could control. Hospitals were overrun and the government declared a state of emergency. You weren't to leave your homes for anything. Rations were to be dropped off by authorized personal. They followed all the proper protocols and procedures, and it wasn't enough.

"Do you think this is expired?" A woman asks. She's rooting through a pile of canned food while you and a man keep a watch out. The infected are more active at night. A quick acting evolutionary behavior to avoid the scorching heat of the Mexican sun, to preserve the decaying host for longer.

"No." The man replies, voice deep and buttery. "Canned food can last for years past it's expiry date."

Something moves outside, kickstarting your heart. Some infected still wander out during the day. Your hands are sweating, making it hard to hold the gun. Valeria tried to teach you how to hold a gun once. You were never comfortable around them though. You peer outside, ears too sensitive in the unnatural quiet. A thin stray dog runs past the window. Clumps of fur missing from mange. You relax. Rotters will attack and eat any animal they catch but so far, you haven't seen any animals actually get infected with the disease. You shudder at the idea of running from a pack of infected strays. Their frothing jaws hung open, breath sour with illness. Sinking their teeth into the soft flesh of your thigh.

"Hurry it up, Grace." The man growls. He was a military officer; despite that he has no patience. You don't care for him. He reminds you of Valeria.

Grace shoves cans into her duffel bags. Filling them so much that she struggles with the zipper.

"If you want this to be faster then maybe you should be doing this, Rojan." She growls. Hoisting the heavy bags up and adjusting them on her shoulders. Rojan doesn't reply. Just stares out the window stoically. On the other side of the small supermarket, another man looks through magazines instead of being useful. Holding them up in the sparse light to leer at the women on the pages.

You and your small group move on. Exiting the store. The sun is hot and unforgiving. The ground beneath your feet is dry and cracked. Only the toughest of weeds able to grow from the pavement.

"What are we going to do for shelter?" Grace asks. Walking alongside Rojan. You lag behind, at the tail end of the group just behind the man who was looking at magazines instead of finding food. He turns and glances at you. Sizing you up. Both you and Grace have made it very clear you're not interested. Though there's a lack of women around and he hasn't quite given up yet.

He slows his pace to walk beside you. Hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. It makes you sweat just looking at him.

"We might have to sleep outside tonight." He says. You wish he wouldn't talk to you.

"No we won't." You reply with disinterest. "Rojan would never make us camp outside." It's just simply too dangerous.

"Well," He starts. "If we do you and I could share a spot to keep warm."

You roll your eyes. It gets absurdly cold at night but even then, you'd rather kiss a rotter than cuddle up to him. "Pass, Arthur." 

Arthur doesn't seem perturbed by your prickly nature.

"It's not like you'd lose anything by being with me for a night." He argues. Up ahead, Grace and Rojan are deep in conversation, heads close together. You wish you could join them instead of being stuck with Arthur.

"I'm a lesbian." You grit out. Even if you weren't, you still wouldn't touch Arthur.

He pauses and you start relaxing, assuming he's going to back off. "Why does that matter?" He asks. "I'm not asking for a relationship; you don't have to be attracted to me to sleep with me."

"Arthur!" Grace barks, turning her head to scowl at him. He looks up at her. "Cut that shit out, she's not interested. I'm not interested, nobody here is interested."

Arthur considers her and moves away from you silently. You give Grace a thankful nod.

Night begins to fall. Your legs ache with each step as you walk, the bag on your back feels like it gained ten extra pounds. Finally, Rojan slows to a stop outside of a small house. The windows have been broken but boards fill in the empty space. The screen door swings in the slight wind, creaking as it does. Weeds and tall grass have dominated the small front yard and somewhere hidden within, flies buzz loudly. Congregating over something dead.

"We'll stay here for the night." Rojan says. He looks at each of you. Pointing at you and Arthur. "Help me make sure it's clear." 

You slowly creep inside. The interior is just as rundown as the outside. A dank, musty smell coats the damp-stained walls and fungus pops up from dark corners. You walk by the living room and startle. In the corner, facing the wall is a rotter. It's back turned to you. The skin is flayed and painful looking. Deep gashes litter it's skin. It's stationary. Unmoving apart from a slight sway. 

You don't know if you should risk making noise shooting it. You look to the front of you as Rojan disappears around the corner. You frown and look back at the rotter. A bullet would be loud and might wake and draw any dormant rotters in the area. You slowly holster your gun and unsheathe your hunting knife. Approaching the rotter like a predator. Remembering what Rojan taught you. Sweep out the legs - which won't be hard considering how emaciated they look - and quickly stab into the temple. You take another step, and the floor loudly creaks under your weight. You and the rotter both go still. The lax swaying coming to an abrupt halt.

You wait, heart beating in your ears. The seconds feel long but the rotter never turns, and you resume your creeping. You come right up behind it and recoil at the smell. Unwashed body mixed with overripe fruit, sickly and decaying. You shake your head and build up your courage. Finally, you kick out it's legs and ignore the very human grunt. Grabbing one side of it's head, you stab your knife into the soft spot in it's temple, cutting of the beginning of a shrill squeal. It drops, becoming dead weight in your arms. You lower it to the grown and let it drop.

The small home is cleared just in time for the sun to begin setting. The group sits in the living room. Silent and eating. Even Arthur is keeping his mouth shut. As the sky darkens, the sound of shuffling gets louder. The rotters have awoken. A few of them call out eerie pleas for help. That's what disturbs you the most; the mimicking. Back at the start you had mistakenly opened your door, assuming the woman crying for help on the other side was human. She wasn't. You had been tackled to the floor trying to fight her off. A lucky shove sent her flying into the table, snapping her neck and stunning her enough for you to bash her head in. You don't respond to calls for help anymore.

You have first watch. Your eyes droop and you fight hard to keep them open. Grace's soft snoring does nothing to help you. You're leaning against the wall. Your name gets called, startling you awake. Your heart throbs in your chest as you listen, ears ringing from the silence. Were you hallucinating? It doesn't come again. A few footsteps sound close to the boarded-up window. Maybe one of the rotters said something that sounded like your name. That's what you decide but it freaks you out enough to keep you awake.

Your group moves on promptly at sunrise. Most of the rotters having hidden themselves in shadows and buildings to hibernate for the day. It's another scorcher. Sweat wets your brow as you walk, legs aching from fatigue. Your tired stumbling reminds you of the rotters.

"Water." Arthur says. Rojan reaches into the side of his pack for the communal water bottle without stopping and holds it out behind him. Arhtur takes it and you watch him carefully from the corner of your eye to make sure he isn't taking too much. Water is a valuable commodity. Getting drinkable water is a hassle. If you can't find any bottled water stashed somewhere, you have to boil some from rivers. You lag behind a little. Overheating and exhausted from having to stay up all night.

You halt as you hear movement beside you. Your group progresses on, leaving you behind as you stare into the shadowy alley. Not a brick is out of place. You hurry your steps and catch up with your group. You're just tired and paranoid.

You sit with your back to your front door as Valeria pounds on it. Shaking the weak wood with every hit.

"Open the fucking door!" She yells. You put your head down and cover your ears, every single limb fizzling with nervous energy. You and Valeria have had a... tumultuous relationship. On and off, fighting, making up. You finally called it off for good and denied her when she tried to win you back. Valeria's never been able to leave you alone though.

She hits the door again.

"Please, mi vida, open the door." Her voice softens. It's forced. 

"Go away, Valeria!" You yell back, worried she'll break down the door. You don't know what she'll do if she makes it inside and that scares you.

"For fuck's sake!" She snarls, dropping the nice act. "I'm going to fucking kill you if you don't open this door!"

You shut your eyes and count. Trying to calm yourself down.

The faded red door and empty flowerpots are uncomfortably familiar. You feel an overwhelming sense of foreboding. Unfortunately for you, Rojan deems it suitable. He and Grace clear it and you and Arthur enter once they confirm it's empty. You cast a glance at the decayed woman on the floor, head mashed to a pulp. You're disturbed to find chunks missing from her. The other's congregate in the living room but you wander down the hall and take a left. Pushing open the closed door. The bedroom is full of dirt and dust. The curtains nothing but moth-eaten tatters now. You wander to the nightstand and lower yourself down to your knees, the carpet damp and spongy. You reach under and pull out a box, running your fingers over the gold trim. Clearing dust off the lid. You open it and pull things out. Birthday cards, baby teeth. Polaroids. You and Valeria smile up from the picture tauntingly. She has a firm grip on your waist, keeping you pressed against her.

Flowers get shoved in your face, startling you out of your skin. You stare at Valeria like a deer in headlights. Behind her lurks two dangerous looking men. Protection or intimidation? You can guess which.

"I'm sorry." Valeria murmurs, forcing you to take the flowers. "I know you're upset but I also know you're not done with me. Just stop with this little angry act and take me back."

"What? No." You frown. "Valeria, we are not good together."

Valeria ignores your words and grabs your arms gently. "I love you." She says, looking at you intensely. "I love you so much that it makes me sick. It makes me angry. You did this to me, and I wouldn't have it any other way. We are it for each other, why can't you understand that?"

You put the picture back down and hide it under a few others. Ones without Valeria in them. It's all history and at the end of the world, history means nothing. You join the others as they finish up their meal of canned sausage. You don't ask for any, no longer having an appetite. You're still exhausted though. Settling yourself on your couch. It's filthy but you still gleam a small sense of comfort from it. It doesn't take you long to drift off. Lulled by the quiet chattering of your companions.

You aren't sure what woke you first. The shattering of glass, or Grace's panicked curse. Nobody remains a heavy sleeper when there's a constant threat outside. The whole group is startled awake. It doesn't take long for the rushed steps of the rotters to be heard. You freeze. Watching as Grace shoots one but gets tackled by another. Filthy teeth sink into her throat. Both Arthur and Rojan aim and take down a few. One of the rotters slinks in-between them and heads right towards you. You're horrified to see Valeria's face glaring back at you. She barrels right into you, crushing you under her weight and pinning you down to the couch. You feel bile stinging your throat.

You slam into the floor as Valeria slams the door shut in your face. Your body is already on overdrive and in your adrenaline induced haze you decide Valeria did that on purpose. It doesn't help that she immediately crowds you. Her warm hands latching onto you, her smell overwhelming you.

"Get off!" You hiss, kicking at her.

"I'm sorry." She growls. Maneuvering you onto your back. You can't move, you can't leave. You're trapped in this stressful situation. A claustrophobic panic kicks in. "I didn't mean to hurt you, but you can't run out every time you argue - stop struggling!" Valeria says with anger.

"You're hurting me right now!" You try to wrench yourself away from her but only end up pulling a muscle.

"You cannot leave me." She replies, sounding hurt and desperate. Her tone scares you more than anything. "I'm sorry, just stop struggling and we can talk, please."

The sound of flesh tearing is seared into your memory. The screaming stopped after only a few seconds, but you think you'll remember it for the rest of your left. Valeria keeps you crushed under her firmly. The reek of decay permeates through the air. It's so thick you worry you'll get infected just breathing in. Through a gap in her limbs, you watch the rotters in a frenzy. Ripping your group apart like animals. Something cold caresses the side of your neck, startling you. It's Valeria running her fingers along your neck. She says your name. Voice distorted and growly. It sounds like it hurts to speak.

A salty tear rolls down your cheek as you stare blankly at the massacre. Grace's head bobs slightly as a rotter feeds on her intestines. Her eyes stare back at you lifelessly.

The wood trembles.

"Open the fucking door!"

You raise your head from your hands and look at the wall, you don't know what to do. The pounding stops. Valeria's voice is muffled but clearly aggressive as she speaks to someone.

"You're sick." She exclaims, disgusted... and afraid. "Fuck. Open the door." She repeats. Valeria doesn't sound angry anymore, she sounds urgent. "Open the door, someone sick is staring me down, open the door now." 

You've never heard her sound frightened before. This disease is frightening though. You haven't seen one of the sick in person before but just the symptoms were enough to scare you.

A bite or bodily fluid was all it took. Doctors said incubation was from anywhere between an hour to three days. It started with a fever, intense mood swings, violent behavior, thirst and hunger. Sores sprouted up on the body. Eventually they would pustulate and then rot. Then the virus made it's way through the brainstem and effectively killed the frontal lobe while triggering the amygdala. Turning the host into an animal. Valeria calls your name.

"Please open this door, I know you're mad at me, but you can't leave me out here with that thing." 

You're very tempted to open the door but you can't move. You're frozen to the spot.

"Get back!" Valeria snaps. Startling you. "Take another step and I'll shoot you."

The infected care not for the threat of a gun. Shots are fired, loud and earsplitting. Something hard thumps to the ground and Valeria screams.

You feel sick.

"I know you're mad at me, please open this door." She whispers into your hair. Every second you wait for her to bite. To tear into your vulnerable flesh, but she doesn't. "I didn't mean to hurt you, please open this door." Valeria brushes her face against your cheek. Something wet transferring onto yours. "I'm sorry, it makes me sick. I love you." Valeria tightens her grip on you. Shielding you from the horror in the living room. After being infected and dying she tracked you down. She got rid of the only people you had left. There is nowhere you could hide that she wouldn't find you. Dead or alive, she's yours.

[semisgroupie]

I SEE A REFLECTION OF MY SINS IN YOU

priest!getou suguru x fem. reader

wc: 2.6k

warnings: HEAVILY sacrilegious, blasphemy, use of a Bible verse during sex, unprotected sex, creampie, piercings (pierced getou makes the brain go brr), light choking, oral sex (m!receiving), spit, mention of having sex in a church

synopsis: who said priests can’t have a little fun? just make sure they repent on sunday

Maybe everyone was right. Maybe priests were one of the biggest hypocrites of them all.

They’re the people that everyone sees as the closest beings to god, the people that could save you from the fiery depths of hell, the people that could save your soul from eternal damnation and the people that are trusted among all. But maybe, just maybe, that’s not the truth. Maybe we should rip them down from that pedestal they’re atop of, maybe we should expose them for their sins and make them worry about the consequences of their actions.

Or maybe, we should let them continue to sin. At the end of the day, they are still going to church on Sunday, they are still repenting for their sins. Continue to let them be sinners especially when you benefit from it the most.

You have never been the sweet church girl your parents tried to raise you to be. Being innocent and complacent never appealed to you but when you were under your parents roof, you followed whatever rule book they laid out for you. There were moments where you disobeyed but only with minor things, sneaking out once they were asleep, coming back home past curfew reeking of alcohol and weed, making out with your boyfriend at the time in the church’s parking lot during Bible study.

Then once you moved out to college you were free to do whatever you wanted, and you did whatever your heart desired. Even to this day you still do as your heart desires. Which has led you to your current relationship, fuck buddy situationship, with the priest at your local church.

Suguru had joined the church almost a year ago due to the former priest falling ill. He immediately caught your attention and you immediately caught his. During his sermons, his eyes would scan the crowd until he could see you. Whenever you would visit him after mass for extra guidance, he was never able to hide the way his hungry eyes roamed your body, drinking in all of your curves like they were the last thing he would see.

After a month of being at the church, he couldn’t take it anymore. His fist was no longer satisfactory, he needed to feel your flesh against his, he needed his cock to delve into the warmth of your mouth and cunt, he needed you to be his salvation. So one Sunday morning, as he was picking up and organizing the Bible’s for morning mass he saw you standing at the entrance. A warm smile hiding devious intent graced his face as it did yours. You begged him for a quick confession, you needed to absolve yourself of the sins that plagued your mind and soul. He obliged, of course, what kind of priest would he be if he didn’t? He listened to your confession with open ears and by the time you were done, his cock ached and throbbed underneath his cassock. He couldn’t let you go away without doing something so he did something completely unorthodox and confessed to you, confessed how you’ve plagued his mind every night while he pumped his cock, how he so desperately wanted to bend you over one of the pews and fuck you senseless until you cried out his name like a prayer.

You took his words as some twisted sign from God. Then after mass you stood behind to fulfill both of your desires. He pulled you into the confessional booth and made you ride him while you recited some of the Bible verses he brought up during mass. The whole experience made you both crave more so you established a plan and schedule for regular hookups.

Today was the day that you two were supposed to meet up. You sat on the queen sized bed of the motel you two frequently went to and awaited his arrival. That’s how it would always go since today he had to conduct Bible study. Some time passed and you finally saw the door knob turn, he opened it and looked at you with a soft smile. “You look as beautiful as always, dear.” Your eyes scanned his body, he was wearing black slacks with a black button up and right at his neck was his clerical collar, you rolled your eyes at the sight of it as he closed the door and moved closer to you.

“If you keep wearing that to our little meetings then word will spread, Father. Imagine how bad it’ll be, the young priest that everyone has grown to love is the biggest sinner of them all.” You both knew nothing would happen. The motel was a few miles away from town and was just used as a rest stop for anyone on a road trip or truckers that needed somewhere to sleep for the night. Even the woman at the front desk didn’t care, as long as money would enter her pocket, she could care less about what happened behind the closed doors of her motel rooms. He chuckled at your words as he moved closer to you and took your chin between his thumb and index finger, “then I’ll just tell them you’re a temptress. You and I both know they’ll believe anything I say, my word is as good as God’s.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes again so instead you drop your head a little to take his thumb into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it before releasing it with a soft pop.

He groaned and felt his cock throb in his pants and leaned down to press his lips against yours in a lust-filled kiss. You lifted your hands to grab at his shirt as his tongue slipped into your mouth, the cool metal that decorated his tongue grazed against yours and made you moan against his lips. When you first found out about his many piercings, you were surprised to say the least. He was able to cover the ear piercings with his hair and somehow hid his tongue piercing from everyone and the piercings that surprised you the most were the four barbells that were tucked away in his pants.

His hands moved underneath your top and pulled it off of you rather roughly. You decided not to wear a bra and he immediately dove down to take your sensitive nipples into his mouth, he groaned as the taste of your skin hit his tongue and looked up at you as you began to thread your fingers through his dark locks. He released the bud from his mouth and dragged his tongue to the other before latching onto it to give it the same treatment. His cock throbbed and ached for release and soon he would grant himself the serenity, he just wanted to hear more beautiful sounds fall from your lips. You moaned his name and after a few moments he released your nipple and stood up.

“You have such a beautiful mouth, makes the most beautiful sounds. Now I want you to put it to work, okay?” He undressed himself, first his shirt, then his pants and briefs until you could finally see his rock hard cock.

It sprung out of its confines and slapped against his toned stomach and the silver piercings caught your eye. You licked your lips at the sight before sticking your tongue out to run it along the underside of his cock, feeling the metal that decorated it. Once you reached the head of his cock you wrapped your lips around it, suckling on it for a few moments before opening your mouth to take more of his cock in your mouth. He groaned and rolled his head back, “God granted me the gift of your sinful mouth and body. Oh how lucky am I.” He placed one hand on top of your head to guide your movements, moving you along his cock and trying to restrain himself from forcing you to take him entirely down your throat. Patience was a virtue he held dear, until he met you. He let you continue to take your time for a few more moments before shoving his cock down your throat, using both of his hands to keep you in place.

“That’s much better, a mouth like yours needs to be purged forcefully. Taking my time won’t do you any justice.” You felt his piercings along your tongue as he started thrusting into your mouth. The tip of his cock nestled in the back of your throat and his balls slapped against your chin with each thrust. You felt the burning ache between your thighs and you had to satiate yourself before you grow mad. So, you snaked one hand down and started to rub your clit, your moans vibrated along his cock and it made him twitch in your mouth. He bit his lip as he pulled out of your mouth completely, only a few strings of saliva connect you to the tip of his cock. He shuddered as the cold air hit his cock, since it was no longer basked in the warmth of your mouth and it craved more, he craved more.

“So, what are your plans now? Want to watch me pant and pleasure myself like a heathen? Or do you finally want to fuck me?” You bit your lip as your hand continued to rub quick circles along the swollen bundle of nerves, a low moan left your lips and his cock twitched again. He leaned down and hooked his hand under your arm, tugging you up from your position and pushing you on the bed so you’re bent over it. His hands moved along your plush thighs and moved up to push your flimsy skirt up, giving him a better view of your soaked panties. “You drive me crazy when you wear these little skirts to mass, always distracting me whenever you cross your legs. I remember the first time you surprised me by not wearing panties underneath, I almost choked on my spit when I saw this needy cunt, glistening under the lord’s light.” He hooked his lithe fingers underneath the waistband of your panties and pulled them down, tossing them to the side since they were no longer needed.

Your need grew with each passing second and you could feel yourself clench around nothing. You let out a low wanton whine, you were waiting for this all week and now that he was finally behind you, you couldn’t wait any longer. “Suguru, please — fuck!” Your whines were quickly replaced with a loud moan, he pushed himself into you so suddenly, your legs shook and your hands flew to the sheets, gripping them tightly in your fists. “No need to whine or complain, I was giving you what you wanted. I need this just as bad as you do, my sweet temptress.” He gripped your hips tight enough to bruise the skin and started to thrust, each drag of his cock along your walls was beyond blissful. His piercings rubbing along your walls made your toes curl. He first started off with slow thrusts despite his abrupt entrance inside you then began to thrust faster and harder.

Low grunts and groans left his lips while whines, mewls and cries left yours. It felt like angels were singing in his ears each time you cried out his name. He moved one hand up from your hips and brought it to your neck. He wrapped his hand around it and brought you up, making his cock hit even deeper. His mouth was pressed right against the shell of your ear, his breath fanning your skin before he started to speak. “You know, this reminds me of one of the verses we went over today in Bible study. Mind if I recite it to you?” You nodded dumbly at his words and he knew you couldn’t comprehend whatever he told you. “It's from the epistle of James, ‘But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed. Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin: and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death.’ We have been tempted by each other and now engage in a constant ritual of sin, if God were to strike us dead right now, I’d die the most blissful death known to man. I think it's pretty ironic, I am a man who has devoted himself to God and I have planned to live a life free of sin, yet here I am, committing some of the worst sins known to man. I should be leading you away from temptation yet here I am, pushing you headfirst into the fiery depths.”

He snaps his hips into yours harder, almost animalistically and drags his tongue along the side of your neck. You bring one of your hands up and wrap it around his wrist, holding onto him as best as you can as he continues to fuck you senseless. Choked out gasps and moans leave you and you grip his wrist tighter and you edge closer and closer to an orgasm. “Gonna cum!” You gasped out and he moved his hand from the front of your throat to the back of your neck to push you down against the bed. Your cheek pressed against the soft fabric as he drills into you mercilessly. “Oh god! Oh fuck!” You babble out and tremble underneath him more, making him chuckle. “You should never use the Lord’s name in vain, especially during a time like this. But, I’ll just make sure you repent later during your confession. I think 10 hail mary’s while I’m edging you will do just fine, I’ll make sure you don’t cum until you say your last one. But for now, cum. Make a mess all over my cock and I’ll give you my own blessing and coat your insides in cum.”

He snaked his other hand down to rub your clit, finally sending you over the edge into your own paradise. A cry of his name paired with thank you’s left your lips as he fucked you through your orgasm. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and threatened to spill and with a few more heavy thrusts from him, they finally ran. He continued to snap his hips into yours, greedily chasing his own release until he finally came inside of you. His cock twitched as heavy spurts of cum flooded your cunt. If you weren’t on birth control then you were sure that you would’ve been bearing his child. He released his grip on the back of your neck and leaned down to pepper kisses along your spine and shoulder blades as he came down from his high.

Heavy breaths left the both of you and he slowly pulled out to drop on the bed beside you. He opened his arms to let you cuddle close to him and he wrapped his arms around you. You both basked in the comfortable silence before he finally spoke, “I know it’ll sound cheesy but I am thankful that God put us in each other’s paths. You’ve made priesthood much more enjoyable.” You smile at his words and press a few kisses along his chest before lifting yourself up to press your lips against his. “It is cheesy but I am thankful as well. It’s not everyday where you get the chance to fuck the hot priest.” You laughed as he shook his head and pinched your side. You swatted his hand away and rested your chin on his chest, taking a strand of his hair between your fingers to twirl it. He watched you with a smile on his face while his fingers danced along your skin.

You were both convinced that in some twisted way, you were meant to be together like this, you were both meant to indulge in sin and then use prayers to cleanse your souls. It was in your nature to sin and why go against nature and God’s wishes?

taglist: @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @hellsingalucard18 @suyacho @cherrykamado @satmitsuplanet @benkeibear @watyousayin

[syntheticavenger]

Fatal Diagnosis - Two

I hope you enjoy the little twist I've placed in the first chapter. We'll be getting a visit from three others throughout this mini series starting with Part Three.

Series Masterlist

Recommended Listening: Disease by Lady Gaga

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mentions of religion, mentions of death, language.

Words: 1.5K

Demon Doctor! Steve Rogers x Angel Nurse! Female Reader

Summary | Despite your best efforts, some of your patients that you care for start to pass away under mysterious circumstances. The intimidating doctor with the soothing bedside manner seems to always be one step ahead of you.

Mr. Hillman is fast asleep, unaware of you standing at his bedside. You can tell someone has been in this room – despite everything being where you left it.

You can still smell the burned flesh when you reached the door.

And it wasn’t just his door.

Whatever lurks inside these halls is testing you. It’s suffocating when you enter the recovery wing, the sense that something is watching you under the bright lights and sanitized spaces not lost on you as you go through your rounds. It hides in every corner, through the corner of your eye, heavy on your chest and heart, almost waiting to pounce.

Your patient will be discharged today, looking at his chart in relief that he was able to pull through, saying a quick prayer in thanks before you feel a dark presence that makes you go still, your feet braced on the floor.

Footsteps pause at the door and for a moment, your eyes darken, ready to protect Mr. Hillman when the footsteps continue on. Still, you watch the door for a moment, a whispery voice breaking you out of your concentration.

“Angel,” Mr. Hillman says sleepily before he slips back into a deep sleep.

“Rest up,” you reply softly. “They won’t succeed.”

When your hand reaches for the door, you take one look back at him, committing him to memory. He’d been at death’s door with his illness and his daughter will be happy to know her father has pulled through.

A miracle, really.

-

Darcy inspects her painted nails, ignoring you when you sit next to her to finish his discharge paperwork. She’s been immersed in this podcast, the host still talking as she lowers the volume for a moment.

“Dr. Rogers was looking for you,” Darcy says after a moment, holding up her index finger to the light. “Does this look crooked to you? I swear I didn’t file it right.”

“Did he say what he wanted?”

“Nope,” she says with a loud pop of her mouth. “Man of little words around me. He was going into check on Miss Farmer, I think.”

“Why? She was stable this morning, wasn’t she?”

Darcy shrugs, inspecting another nail.

“Darcy, she’s your patient.”

“She’s fine. I’m just telling you where he went. Maybe he’s checking on her because she’s,” Darcy pauses, holding her hands out near her chest. “You saw her. Melons.”

You want to say something to her about her comment but Dr. Rogers comes into view, his eyes trained on you when you straighten your shoulders. He’s dressed in his usual white shirt and black slacks, his white coat immaculate.

“Good morning,” he says warmly, flashing you and Darcy a smile. “I hope you were able to sleep well last night. You were here late, weren’t you?”

“A little but I had some last-minute things to do,” you say in reply, seeing him nod in agreement.

“How is Miss Farmer?” Darcy asks him, trying to hide a smile.

“She’s your patient, Darcy. How would I know?” Dr. Rogers snaps.

Darcy’s smile fades at his biting remark, getting to her feet as she locks her computer.

“Say no more.”

She leaves you and Dr. Rogers alone, your eyes going back to your monitor to finish the paperwork.

“Do you know anything about Latin?” Dr. Rogers asks, leaning over the counter. “I came across a phrase last night and I was a little confused by it.”

“What phrase?”

Pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket, he slides it over to you.

Non Mortem Timemus, Sed Cogitationem Mortis.

You read it silently, aware of how he’s staring, waiting for you to translate. You won’t do it, knowing that you’ve seen this phrase before and reciting it out loud would bring about something you won’t want.

“Confused by what, Dr. Rogers?” you ask, seeing him look down at the paper.

“It’s a death quote,” he says, pointing to the word ‘mortem’. “Almost a warning if I didn’t know better.”

“A warning for what?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. The quote mentions death, doesn’t it? Some people think I’m the Grim Reaper around here,” he says with a wry smile as you look down at your keyboard. “I hear you all talk.”

“I don’t think that,” you reply quickly. “How could I? You’re a doctor, you’re here to save people.”

“You’ve been a lucky charm in this place. I don’t think we’ve lost anyone in at least a week.”

He’s never talked to you this much before, let alone maintain this much eye contact. You force yourself to look up from your monitor, dipping your chin in response.

“Bedside manner, I guess. I learned from the best.”

“Who is that?”

“My mentor,” you answer him. “She was a wonderful teacher.”

He tilts his head to the side at your response, amused in a way that you are reminiscing that seems almost condescending, the way he nods along.

“What was her name?”

Why he’s suddenly so invested, you aren’t sure. 

“Dr. Maria.”

“Did she have a last name?”

“She does, yes,” you answer him quietly. Something about this question puts your defenses up, in a way that you’re unsure of where it came from.

Dr. Rogers flashes you a quick grin, cold and unfeeling before he moves away from the counter.

“It was nice chatting with you. I need to go check on Darcy and make sure she’s not on an extended break.”

-

Darcy knocks on the door, opening it slightly to find her patient still in bed. The once vivacious woman can barely lift her head as Darcy moves closer. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish, a flutter of something in her mouth before Darcy blinks and it’s gone as if she hallucinated.

“Miss Farmer?” she asks, equipment all around her beeping quickly. “What’s happening?”

The woman’s head falls back on the pillow, losing consciousness as Darcy hits a button for assistance, an alert sounding out on the machine.

“Fuck…. Fuck… fuck,” Darcy whispers to herself, beginning CPR. “Don’t die on me.”

The door opens as a team comes in, Darcy continuing, so focused that she doesn’t see Dr. Rogers enter the room. An eerie silence comes over the room, Dr. Rogers’ voice commanding her to stop.

“No,” Darcy says. “I need to keep trying!”

“She’s dead,” Dr. Rogers says calmly. “You did everything you could.”

Darcy watches as he calls her time of death, turning on her heels to collect herself outside.

“What a shame,” Dr. Rogers says, holding his hand up as a team of nurses stops in their tracks. “No need. I’ve got this covered.”

Standing near the door as they leave, you see him lean over, Miss Farmer’s chest rising and falling slowly.

On cue, a Code Blue alert gets attention, rushing out of the room almost too eager for your liking, leaving you alone with Darcy’s patient.

-

Dr. Rogers inhales deeply, smiling to himself as he calls another time of death, reinvigorated by his recent meal. It’s almost too easy, these poor souls that have no idea they will never leave this place.

He remembers Miss Farmer and Darcy, getting a notification that makes his eyes darken. Darcy’s excited text means that Miss Farmer has survived, her vitals stable once more. 

He knows it’s you.

There was never any doubt in his mind, but his irritation grows at the thought that he could have had another meal if you had no interfered. He’ll deal with Darcy, bringing her back from the brink of death.

That will put you in your place.

It’s laughable for the moment, missing another meal and having another lined up.

He can’t wait to see you cry when your peer isn’t there to feed you lines about his supposed nature.

-

“She made it through,” Dr. Rogers says, your head lifting at his greeting.

He seems relieved but once again, something is off, the way he seems to be slightly annoyed. You want to chalk it up to his relentless morning but he stands over Darcy’s patient for a moment, as if he can’t believe she’s alive.

“She did. Darcy took a break. I still think she’s in shock from what happened. We almost lost her.”

“I know, I was ready to call time of death,” he agrees.

You stand, looking over at Miss Farmer as she sleeps, perspiration dotting her forehead as Dr. Rogers looks over again.

“That would have been unfortunate. But she pulled through, Dr. Rogers. That is a miracle.”

“So it is. Perhaps you’re the blessing.”

Walking toward the door, you pause when you get near him.

“I found these,” you say, opening your hand as you drop something in his hand.

Three moths fall into his hand, still moving as you stare up at him.

“Can’t imagine where they came from. You know what they’re called, right?” you ask, seeing him look down at his open palm.

“Enlighten me.”

“Acherontia Lachesis. You don’t find them here very often, if at all.”

“Acherontia Lachesis,” he repeats. “A type of moth, I’m guessing.”

“Death’s head hawkmoth, to be exact. I found them in her mouth.”

His hands close over the moths, your own hand reaching out to touch his own, ignoring the searing pain of touching his cold hand.

“I have no idea where they came from, but I have an idea,” you continue.

“We’ll have Dr. Banner call the exterminator.”

“Thank you, Dr. Rogers, I appreciate that.”

Lifting your hand from his, you look back at Miss Farmer for a moment.

“She’ll make a full recovery.”

“You seem convinced. Let’s hope so.”

You give him a smile, your eyes hovering at her empty glass on the table.

“Just a feeling. Have a good night, Dr. Rogers.”

-

Darcy cracks open a can of soda, filling out reports when the lights flicker. She’s on graveyards this week, annoyed that she tried to be nice to MJ and now she had to change her entire schedule. Her podcast skips as she pauses it, noticing the WiFi has gone out. 

“Damn technology,” she mutters, standing up to inspect the connection, only to see Dr. Rogers standing at the counter.

Jumping back, she laughs nervously, her hand flying to her chest.

“You scared me! God,” she mutters, trying to breathe. “I think I almost died.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing your rounds?”

The lights flicker back on, her podcast at full blast as he shakes his head in disapproval. A flash of light catches his eye as his focuses on her necklace.

“I’m going,” she counters, grabbing her pen and clipboard. “Just needed a break.”

“A break,” he repeats, his eyes going black rapidly before changing back as he follows behind her. “I don’t think you’ve worked a whole shift since I got here.”

When she whirls around, he’s closer than she expected, her eyes narrowing at him.

“Why are you always on me? No one else, just you. Some of these other nurses may suck up to you because they think you’re hot but I’m not one of them.”

“I expect professionalism from you. Decorum, even.”

“You get what you get with me,” Darcy shoots back. “Is that a problem?”

“Yes,” he snaps. “It is.”

Darcy fingers her necklace, Dr. Rogers glaring in response as she raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he snaps. “Get back to work.”

[lalalian]

anti shifters are actually worse than yall think

‘you’re mentally ill’ ’get help’ and then they try to explain why they’re being a whole ass bully with ‘but im just trying to help’

so if you think we’re mentally ill, why treat us like bugs… you wouldn’t tell a depressed person that they’re a weak ass piece of shit for being depressed, would you? you wouldn’t dox a person with dementia, would you? So are you trying to help, or are you trying to feel superior to us?

I’m gonna be honest, I wouldn’t harass a person who believed the earth was flat. I absolutely don’t believe the earth is flat; why? Not only bc it’s not destroying their lives, but because there are so many different tests to prove the earth isn’t fucking flat.

You can’t prove shifting isn’t real just as much as we can’t prove that it is real. I can’t bring a piece of a different dimension back to this reality, sorry!

‘but if shifting was real, wouldn’t this be a big breakthrough in science?’

TW: mention of babies undergoing surgery without anesthesia

…Humans discovered that babies could experience pain in the mid 1980s. The 20th century. Babies underwent surgery without anesthesia. Only muscle relaxants were provided to prevent them from thrashing around while they’re literally being cut open.

If someone were to say in the 1970s "babies literally can experience pain…"

"but wouldn’t that be a huge scientific breakthrough….?"

Did we have the same advanced technology in the 20th century as we do in the 21st century? No. We didn’t even think we would be able see to our fucking bones without hacking our flesh open until 1895. We didn’t have the same technology then. We won’t have the same kind of technology 100s of years from now.

Nobody is forcing you to believe in shifting. YOU are the one commenting, hating, dehumanizing people. Just because we can’t prove something with the technology we have now, doesn’t mean we won’t in the future.

Just because shifters believe in shifting doesn't mean we're a cult. There is no cult leader. People come and go from the shifting community like water and without shame. Nobody is shamed, doxxed, or outcasted by giving up shifting. Nobody has to pay to shift. People who haven't shifted aren't shamed. People who have shifted aren't better than those who have not, and instead of acting like they're better than anyone else, most just provide tips or post storytimes. Shifters aren't forcibly isolated from the outside world, and the vast majority of shifters have non-shifter friends (including me). Questions about shifting and the logistics of shifting are more than welcomed by the shifting community; people want to learn more about shifting. Nobody has unrelenting, unconditional loyalty to 'the leader'. Literally if a shifter is a piece of shit, they're called out on their bullshit. Shifting is not a means to better 'the leader', which, again, there is no leader. Who tf would even be the leader of the shifting community anyway...

ugh it makes me so angry when ppl call shifting a cult. literally, i saw one girl put up a chart on tiktok that LITERALLY CONTRADICTS HER CLAIM that shifting is a cult. but non-shifters in the comments were eating it up... did nobody look at the chart.........????????????????????

We do not have the means to prove shifting as of right now, well maybe besides for bringing back skills-- but yk besides that (even then I’m sure people would think we’re lying)

[sinfulforrest]

A Home drabble! Its about 1.4k words, and is about Home loving the taste of you! Contains slight elements of dubcon, some soft vore, eggpreg and a lot of tongue action!

[Home's appearance can be found here!]

Home likes to taste you, to feel you out with the long tongue that it gave its shell. Your skin always set its taste buds alight; it could taste your very emotions if it lapped at your skin for long enough, something that it liked to remind you of every now and again if you hid your feelings from it.

It’d just pull you into its lap if it sensed that you were feeling off, and it would slowly lick up from your shoulders and right up to your cheek, the pressure of its tongue deepening as it travelled further up you, and would pinpoint exactly what emotion you were feeling.

God knows how Home could do that; maybe it could pick up on your hormones or something, you wouldn’t put it past being able to do that.

The thick saliva residue used to make you feel ill, but you’ve grown used to it by now. You know better than to wipe its claim and scent off of you, so you’d smile along with it whilst cupping its unblinking face in your hands and pressing soft kisses along its sharp skeletal jawline. It would purr in satisfaction, nuzzling the top of your head and holding you tightly to it. You’d feel its body rippling and would pray that its shell won’t collapse in on itself and burst, becoming that ungodly, writhing fleshy mess that still makes you feel scared when you have to look at it.

Home found itself loving the taste of your body more appealing than the emotional aspect of it all, however, and would frequently salivate thinking about the rich and salty taste of your skin when it would make love to you. To Home, that taste couldn’t be beat- it was something that it could truly describe as divine.

One day, it decided to pluck up the courage to ask you something that had been plaguing its mind.

“Little love,” it rasps, “do you know how much I want to devour your precious form?”

The question stunned you, and immediately you started to panic- this was going to be it, wasn’t it? It’d finally had enough of playing with you and it was going to assimilate you-

“Hush, small one. Shhh...don’t be scared. You’re not going to go anywhere, you’re safe here in me.” Home whispers, holding you close. You realise that you’re shaking, and Home gently strokes your hair as it tries to calm you down.

“You promise?” You barely manage to whimper, looking up at its ever smiling face. It nuzzles your forehead.

“I promise. You’re perfectly safe, little love.”

You shakily exhale, forcing out a weak sounding laugh. Thank God you weren’t going to end up like others you’d seen.

“...I am being serious though. I want to truly taste you. Can I?” it whispers, slowly backing you against one of the fleshy walls that made up Home’s true form. You felt absolutely miniscule under its ever unblinking stare, and you didn't want to find out what would happen if you rejected its advances.

“O-Of course you can, Home. Here, let me just...” you begin to stammer, moving the collar of your shirt, but one of Home’s bony hands gently grasps your wrist.

“No. Not like usual. I want to taste you.” It grins, placing its other hand on your hip. The flesh you’re pressed up against shudders before it gives way, and Home pushes you into the unknown. You helplessly fall backwards, landing on a soft, quivering, slick appendage and are surrounded by darkness. The only light is from the entrance of this cavity, and it allows you to see the silhouettes of giant teeth surrounding you.

Your hands and feet start sinking into the warm wet flesh, anchoring you on what you now realise is a giant tongue. Saliva drips onto you in thick globs, dissolving your clothing from your body. Dammit, now you’d have to look through the assimilation pile again for some clothes that were left behind...

The tongue shudders and the tip starts swiping over your body, teasing you with its rough taste buds. It’s specifically rubbing right between your legs and there’s nothing you can do to stop it from teasing your crotch. All you can do is groan in pleasure as you sink further into the flesh, barely being able to buck your hips against the tongue to get that sweet, sweet friction to help ease that throbbing feeling from between your legs.

“Fuck...Home, c-calm down..!” you whine, drooling helplessly as the tongue picks up the pace. You hear Home chuckle from outside the maw.

“But you taste so good, little love. I really could just eat you up...” it giggles. You feel yourself getting moved further within the mouth cavity, but your hands and legs are still firmly stuck in the flesh. Panic rises up in your gut amongst your growing arousal. It gets to the point where eventually your head is laying on nothing, and you are dangerously close to being lost within this cavity forever.

“H-Home, you’re being a bit- ah...a bit risky here..!” you shout as best as you can, trying not to show your fear. The cavity shudders open and suddenly becomes lighter, before turning pitch black.

“I know I am,” it whispers into your thoughts. “But you’re safe. You’re very, very safe, and we’re going to make love here.” it ends with a giggle, and the tongue relents its assault on you before a familiar girthy tentacle bullies its way into your aching hole.

“Fuck-! What are you doing!?” You moan, feeling Home’s thin hands grasping the exposed area of your thighs. You can barely see anything- only the faint glow of its hypnotic bulbs on its chest and its eyes are visible. The sensory deprevation sends a jolt of excitement through you, however.

“Being one with you, and tasting you. Like we usually do.” Home sighs, picking up the pace. The only noises you can hear are the soft whimpers of Home, the slick plapping noises that are made when your hole greedily swallows its tentacle, and throaty, deep growls coming from the depths of the throat that your head dangles over.

Home looms over you now, resting its head by your heaving chest as its tongue curls around your nipples greedily and its tentacle continues pounding inside you. Home moves one of its hands down to your sweet spot, its lithe fingers finally being the push that shoves you over the edge into orgasmic bliss. You cry out, milking the tentacle with all you'd got.

“That’s it love, let it all out...you taste so good, you’re so, so good..!” Home whines. It holds you with an iron grip with its other hand as you tremble and shake under its worship of you. The flesh around your hands slacken and your arms, like they’re on autopilot, wrap themselves around Home, gripping onto it, stroking its soft hair, touching as much of it as you possibly can.

With one final whine, Home releases into you, burying its tentacle right into your fluttering hole. You feel a mixture of slime ooze out of you, and some of Home’s eggs being thrust within you as it keeps you plugged up. You chuckle breathlessly, stroking its hair as it continues dumping its load into you.

“S-sorry...y’felt so good...” it whines into your chest, still thrusting into you. It would be a pain to push these eggs out later, but you were honestly too fucked out to care.

“It’s ok Home, it’s...ok,” you sigh, trembling as its tongue laps against your skin, consuming your sweat and essence. “Maybe we could get out of here now though? I’d like to lay with you and get clean...” you smile. Home moves, probably to look up at you, and you feel its long hair brush against you in what you assume is a nod.

The maw opens, and you’re greeted with the soft light of your shared room once again as the tongue extends out from the wall. Home removes itself from you, slime and small eggs oozing from your hole, and it gently picks you up from the flesh that releases your flushed and tired body.

“You taste absolutely incredible though, my love. I don’t think I could ever get enough of you and your taste.” Home sighs, carrying you in a bridal carry to the ‘bathroom’.

You nuzzle against its warm skin, praying that it’ll never get bored with you.

(More Home posts can be found on its masterlist!)

[ar-cadez]

Negaverse Megavolt concept!

Design notes and personality rant stuff under the cut. Warning. It's long and unreadable.

The purse thing is a generator (Ill probably design it as a prop at some point considering It does NOT look like one but portable generators are hard for me to draw for some reason)

I swapped which eye has the white in it (even though I usually draw it on the wrong side anyway bc idk my lefts from rights..)

I wanted to make the darks very prominent bc the yellows are very prominent in the original

I went with blues bc it's the only other colour usually associated with lightning and electricity.

The teal parts of his outfit are lights! They glow when he's fully charged and fade out when he's out of power.

You can't see it in this pose but his hands have outlets on the back that work the same as megavolt's chest outlet. He can power weapons with them and charge himself without the pain of straight up shocking himself

I wanted to make his hair look like it's thinning out bc of age and repeated electrical damage but I wasn't sure how to do that so it's not really present. Did give him some white hair though.

His glasses are prescription! Can't see nothin without em..

Okay now some personality stuff!

Megavolt is the hardest villain to swap bc his personality is "insane guy with memory issues but is smart" and it's kinda hard to flip that around without just making him boring? Removing his intelligence when it comes to electricity would also negate his whole gimmick which makes things worse. but I do have a few ideas. It's ironic I struggle with him so much considering he's literally my favourite character...

He was popular in high school. He was friends with negaduck and they were both pretty well liked jock types before negaduck started doing major crimes (though I imagine he was always a delinquent of sorts. Just didn't start destroying the city till he graduated) clash reunion is a whole beast on it's own bc megavolt has the most in depth backstory which means a lot of reworking for a personality swap au.

His interests, like dw's megavolt, lie in magnesium, electronics, and engineering. The difference is, despite being Intruiged by these subjects, he didn't go out of his way to learn about the. He was more focused on his peers approval back then. Not to mention the fact that negaduck was an extremely toxic friend and would absolutely make fun of him constantly for it. (He doesn't even actually care, he's just an asshole.)

Eventually after gaining his abilities he began to study electricity and start inventing things. Only.. He's pretty bad at it. Things tend to backfire on him. Quackerjack has a lot more experience than him when it comes to engineering and he tries to help him out but the guy's kinda cursed. I haven't really decided if it's more dt17 gyro where everything he makes ends up turning against him or guy am I from the Netflix green eggs and ham show where everything he makes just kinda explodes. Maybe a bit of both. Either way it's very over the top and is more trouble than it's worth, but that doesn't stop him! (Oh God someone stop him)

I didn't wanna just take away his mental issues completely because the opposite of that is literally nothing. It adds.. Nothing. It just gives him less to work with. And it's already hard enough to do this guy. (Plus it kinda implies mentally ill people can't be heroes and that's.. Mm....) So instead I decided to change how he reacts to it.

He still has memory issues along with other physical and mental symptoms of electrical injury, he just really likes to pretend he doesn't. He completely ignores his deteriorating mental, physical, and emotional health <33

I wanna flesh him out more but I'd only be able to do that if I write with him and I'm fantastic at procrastinating my writing projects <33

[serctcnia]

To Be Soft

Content: Angst | Alcohol use | AFAB tiefling reader | She/they pronouns

Word Count: 686

A/N: I finally got around to writing this based on the prompt I wrote in December! It's also not fully fleshed out but I wanted to post it anyway because Rolan <3. Gonna just say it's writing practice.

"Come to gawk, have you? The great Rolan besotted and wallowing in his self-pity." He sat his tankard down, wine sloshing out onto the counter and his robes. "Hells!" 

She sat on the stool beside him and reached for a rag on the counter in front of her. It was damp enough to possibly get the stain out without using prestidigitation so she handed it to him. "I've not come to gawk, I've come because I'm worried about you. You've done nothing but drink and yell at the children."

Taking the rag, he dabbed at the red splotch lazily until the rag was stained red. A groan of agitation fell from his lips as he realised it was useless to try to get it out. He tossed it back across the counter and looked at the woman beside him. "Don't you start too, ___. The hero has already tried to 'make me feel better,'" He rolled his eyes, pulling a half-empty bottle of wine toward him. "My entire family is missing because of our involvement at the grove, taken to gods knows where, so I believe I will sit here and drink." 

Scooting her stool closer to his, she put her hand atop his to gently pull the bottle toward her. "I know they are, Rolan, I’m sorry. But drinking isn’t going to make them come back any quicker. It’s only going to give you a migraine in the morning.” Rolan spread his fingers across the length of the glass, allowing her fingers to slip between his. His face grew red, then he felt a swell of anger. "They were - are - my responsibility and I will do everything in my power to retrieve them from - from wherever they are. If you had used an inkling of the power you have to fight their captors, Cal and Lia may be sitting here with us. Pardon me if I don’t take advice from a washed-up sorceress such as yourself."

He jerked the bottle from her, almost topping her from her seat, and brought it to his mouth. The more he drank, the more it began to sour on his lips. Fuck. He thought. Maybe she was right. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more, I really am. I should have fought harder.” She said as she moved her seat back. “But I miss them too, you know? I know how it is to lose your family so I thought we could talk as friends.”

He drank her in as she spoke. The curvature of her horns, the colour of her eyes in the candlelight, the small imperfections of her face, and the frown that curled on her lips. A frown he had caused. He was in the presence of a goddess, yet he spoke ill of her to her face. 

“Is that what we are? Friends?” 

“What? Of course we’re friends.”

Sliding the empty wine bottle to the side, he cast his gaze to the countertop. “That’s not what I want.” He wanted more. He wanted to be able to cry upon her shoulder, feel the softness of her lips against his temple as wept. He wanted her.

Her tail drooped, the end beginning to curl around her ankle. "Oh,” She paused, attempting to mask the hurt in her voice. “Very well. I’ll leave you be then, but please drink something other than wine. If you want to - nevermind. I’ll be in my room.”

As she stood to leave, she felt an unfamiliar sensation. Rolan had unravelled her tail from her ankle and began snaking his around her own. When their tails could no longer intertwine, he tugged her closer toward him with soft, almost imperceivable, purrs. Now standing at his hip, the tip of his tail brushed against hers in small circles, then up and down. 

"Don't go," He slurred. "Please." 

Despite her rapidly beating heart, she sat down and began to mimic the motions of his tail. Small circles, hearts, up and down, repeat. She could tell it was getting to him as she watched the lines of his eyes soften. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

[paingoes]

Rubies

Ungrateful

(Content: living weapon whumpee, illness, self loathing, conditioning, past abuse, implied child abuse, caretaker new master?)

He was starting to even out. Delta no longer felt the need to sleep all day, nor did he feel like he might lapse back into sickness. Apollo and Kitty gave him the space he needed, but he still saw them often enough. Their conversations were very limited. Delta still had trouble forcing himself to speak, so scared of triggering the wrong reaction. But so far they had been nothing but patient. This too felt strange and new.

When all their exchanges had been through a screen, it had been much easier to manage. They existed to him mostly in concept alone. Even when they’d sent videos, they still felt fictitious. He had understood them more as characters from a book than he did as real people. 

That same attitude was not sustainable in a three dimensional space. Those two were flesh and blood. Even with the new collar, Delta’s idle mode powers were higher than they had been in years. As ever, it was concerned with forms. It felt out the shape of the space around him with small pulses throughout the day. He could feel their hearts beating in their chest, the minutiae of their movements. 

Real people presented complications that fictional ones did not. A very, very old voice in his head already dictated how he was meant to feel about them.

They risked everything for you and you didn’t even say thank you. All you’ve done is hide out in your room and ignore them when they speak to you. You are ungrateful. You are disrespectful. It is an unacceptable way to act around your superiors. You should be on your knees. You should be begging for forgiveness for what you’ve done.

He did not know whose voice it was, but it sounded ancient. It sounded like it had come all the way from genesis. He wondered whether it had been there all along. Maybe he just hadn’t been able to make it out clearly before. Right now, without work to distract him, it had grown impossibly loud.

Ungrateful, venomous thing. Did you forget what you are? Did you forget who you belong to? Don’t you dare try to speak. You are an object. I don’t ever want to see you acting like that again. You are not a person. Get down. You do not exist for any reason but to serve your superiors’ needs. You will speak when you are spoken to and nothing more. You will obey their orders and do nothing else. If you forget your place, I will happily remind you of it.

Delta pulled the pillow over his head. The barrage was more or less continuous. Something about being in a new environment must have triggered it. He had already internalized most of what the voice said a long time ago. He knew that. But the constant reminders of his own ingratitude still made him feel awful. He knew it wasn’t right for him to be hiding out like this. He was scared and he was exhausted, but it wasn’t an excuse. He’d been trained better than that. He exhaled, rising up from the bed. He’d put it off long enough.

He found Apollo first. He’d been standing in the side room right by the kitchen. It had been his mother’s studio at one point, now it was just a space with good lighting and a usable surface. He’d been trying to clean it out when Delta walked in.

“Oh! Hi!” Apollo was pleasantly surprised to see him emerge from his room. The soft fabric of his poncho swayed around him when he moved. Little glimpses of golden jewelry were just visible in between the curls of his red hair. He gazed warmly at Delta, his eyes betraying nothing.

This was so fucking difficult. The easygoing way they acted around him only made him feel worse about his own indiscretions. It would have been better if they were angry; he’d have known what to do with that. The procedure was mostly the same, though.

Delta knelt down on the floor in front of him, ignoring the protest from his ribs. He bowed his head, stealing only a small glance upwards. Apollo’s expression was marked with concern. That was fine. It didn’t deter him.

“Thank you.” Delta’s voice was soft, but it was still the clearest Apollo had ever heard him speak aloud. “I didn’t say it yet. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

Less was more. He wasn’t going to start rambling, even if he thought he was capable of it. He’d only say more if Apollo wanted him to, if he gave him permission to. Otherwise, he hoped his body language would speak for itself. 

Apollo looked really, really upset. He crossed the distance between them. Delta cringed back at the rapid movement, sure he was about to be hurt. But Apollo knelt down, pretty abruptly interrupting what Delta had been trying to convey. He reflexively flinched as Apollo took his shoulders, shaking him gently, “It’s okay. Of course. You don’t have to do that. I’m glad you’re okay, alright? But you don’t have to. It’s not like that.”

Delta stared back at him unblinkingly. Apollo seemed to gather himself, releasing his grip. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have touched you. You can stand up though. Don’t mention it.”

He offered a hand for Delta to rise. Though confused and self-conscious, he accepted. 

===========

He tried again with Kitty. She didn’t return to the house until later in the night. Delta waited until Apollo had gone to bed, not wanting to upset him any further. Kitty was collapsed against the couch as if she’d been running around all day. Her ears perked up as Delta approached.

“Hey! You’re awake!” She smiled cheerfully, kind of goofily. 

Delta wrung his hands, more nervous on this attempt than he had been for the previous. He knelt. The carpet of the living room was much softer than the hardwood of the study. Kitty tilted her head in confusion.

“Thank you for saving me.” His voice sank a little as the shame seeped into his words, “I’ve been acting ungrateful. I’m so sorry. Thank you.”

“Aw. It’s no problem, bud.” Kitty frowned a little as she leaned forward. “Do you wanna sit on the couch?”

Delta hesitated. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been allowed furniture in general; he’d had his own room. It was specifically that he was not allowed on furniture with other people. It gave the wrong idea; he was never supposed to be at their level.

“No, miss,” he responded. It was too much for one night.

“Okay.” Kitty shrugged. “Floor time, then.”

She slid down onto the carpet with him. He blinked in surprise. Very casually, she switched on the screen on the far wall, untangling her controller from beneath it.

“You wanna play?” She asked.

“Um. No, miss.” He shook his head.

“K.” She said. 

He watched as the screen came to life. Kitty’s tail swished from side to side as she focused in. It was a hypnotic movement. Hesitant and careful, in anticipation of being reprimanded for it, Delta unfolded himself into a more comfortable position. Kitty did not object.

He pulled his knees up to his chest. After a few minutes had passed, he’d gotten absorbed in the bright colors and motion of the game, almost forgetting where he was. He was kind of susceptible to things like that. He blinked back to reality, stealing a sidelong glance at Kitty. She was just as engrossed, not half as tense.

“Do you want me to stay here?” He asked. Like she might’ve forgotten he was there, like it wouldn’t go well once she noticed. 

“Do you want to?” Her voice was a bit hopeful, in ways he did not pick up on and was not yet capable of understanding.

He nodded mutely as he leaned back against the couch. He watched her play in silence, slowly adjusting to the presence of another body beside him. 

…….

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper

[rahuratna]

Womanhood; Loss

TW: mentions of serious illness and surgery.

Today is Women's Day in my country. Yes, it's a celebration of women. It's also a day for us to pause and reflect on the rampant gender-based violence that plagues our society. It's a day to highlight the achievements of women, but also a day to remember what we achieved in spite of the challenges we face.

It's a day for us to receive colourful and creative cards and messages, maybe even flowers, but also a day for us to wonder whether today will be free of violence, of having to justify our most basic wishes and desires, of having to explain, for the hundredth time, our choices to people who refuse to understand them.

Will I catch a break today? I hope I do.

What makes me a woman? I've thought about that a lot too. I've lost my breasts due to a double mastectomy (with subsequent reconstruction). I've probably lost my ability to have children due to chemotherapy. Many tell me that those things are simply symbolic of being a woman, and they're right. These things don't define my identity. They don't define who I am.

So why? Why was it still so hard for me to deal with losing them? Why did I actually feel like less of a woman when I did not have them? Why was it depressing, soul crushing, even, to lose two mounds flesh and the ability to procreate (which I wasn't that keen on in the first place).

I'd like to step back from the torrent of emotions I felt at that stage, to paddle myself to the safe bank of detachment and watch things unfold from there. I could nod sagely to myself and say, well this is a product of society's conditioning. The media and centuries of literature and art are responsible for the way I feel right now, as if I've been robbed of something, when really, I haven't.

But I can't paddle myself to safety. I can't reach that safe area. I have to stand in the strongest part of the current, feel myself battered, torn, flung in one direction, then the next. I can't run away from the loss and pain I feel.

I began to recognise, after a while, what it was I was truly mourning. I was mourning my loss of choice. My loss of agency. Why had I lost this basic autonomy, to choose to have a child if I wanted to, to choose to pillow a lover's head against the real flesh of my breasts, to go to sleep at night with a feeling of peace, as I once did, without the spectre of my illness hanging over me, something that could return at any time and rob me of even more?

And I'm not alone. There are countless people who feel the same.

I am a woman. I am a human being. I have been lost, many, many times. I have dragged myself out of a darkness that threatens to consume everything I was, everything I am. I will continue to do so. I will scream it to the world, through the clothes I choose to wear, the food I choose to eat, the way I choose to wear my hair, the way I choose to work and support myself, the way I choose to create and disseminate my ideas to the world.

I am still able to write and express my thoughts.

Maybe next, I'll write an ode to my breasts, those small, pliant growths that budded so beautifully during my teenage years, that brought me so many awakenings, and betrayed me with a genetic defect they had no control over. I cut them away, so readily, but I can think of them fondly now. This too, is my choice.

I am still me. I have had much taken away, but I am still here, and I will leave my mark on the world.

[liloinkoink]

In lamplight what powers if any does Ren retain after getting his more human form back? Also in leaflight what powers if any does Martyn retain after getting his more human form back.

Along with those questions how impulsive would those to be when it comes to using the powers, for example would Ren here movement in a bush and instantly set it on fire?

-Lamplight x Leaflight Anon

i've been going back and forth a bit with ren and his powers post getting his body back! in my original plan, he had absolutely none of his fire powers, as he wasn't a fire god originally. over the last year, ive been tempted to let him keep some of it, though i havent entirely decided. i just rlly enjoy the idea of his hair bursting into flames when he's flustered LMAO

if i let him keep his fire, whatever fire powers he gets will have to start from or originate from him. so he wont be able to set independent fires across the room or burn a bush he's not touching. which, to be fair, he cant do that now, either

maybe he could send out a wave of fire from his hands? that would be fun. ill have to think about it!

oh, and of course, he still has his enchanting ability! and being a god means he'll heal from any injuries, no matter how severe

martyn, meanwhile, is pretty much unchanged power-wise from plant form. he's very much still Made Of Plant. he can still grow vines and still needs water and sunlight and soil. he's never really going to be flesh and blood again... or, never going to be flesh, anyway, because he still bleeds golden blood like any other god does

some fun facts abt martyn and how he experiences the world, tho, bc im not sure if ive ever explained these: anything martyn grows needs to come from him somehow. he cant just make other plants around him grow, they have to be martyns own. either he grows them directly off his body, or he puts roots in the ground and sprouts them from somewhere that's connected to him under the dirt. he could probably parasytize antoher plant, but since he can grow Everything, he doesnt have much of a need to. if you cut part of a plant away from him it immediately shrivels away and dies, his plants bleed gold like he does, and he can feel touch and pain through his plants

as for impulsiveness...

ren is very measured with his powers. bc martyn is a deadzone, ren cant offer martyn any kind of protective blessing to avoid burning him, so not burning martyn or setting any part of martyn on fire is something ren has to choose actively. if anything, his power would be weaker once his body is back--just look at some of the stuff he says abt his physical state in somniphobia!

he knows how destructive his power is and watches out for it

martyn, i think... honestly, he would hear movement in a bush and attack it on purpose, not instinctively. martyn loves violence and also has the world's most pathetic and most dognappable paladin. hes gonna be jumpy about hearing stuff nearby