#'Allow me to cut through those words!' ...*crickets*

[hajihiko]

do you think hajime has ever genuinely, unironically said "allow me to cut through those words!" to anyone ever?

god I hope so. I hope he said it in Peko's trial and everyone just stared at him like dude.

[r3starttt]

KISS ME

PAIRING: Jackson! ellie x reader

CW: request. outbreak | tlou universe.

SUMMARY: Ellie takes care of you after patrol.

DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MP PALESTINE LINKS | DAILY CLICK

TAGLIST | - ellie taglist: @ilovetaylorrr @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages

The night sky stretches above you, a deep canvas of blue-black, with only a few stubborn stars daring to puncture its vastness. The moon, however, shone with an almost ethereal glow, casting a silvery light that softened the edges of the night. It illuminated your path home. Yet, its light did little to ease the weariness clinging to your body. Every muscle ached, each movement sending a fresh wave of pain through your tired limbs.

The ground beneath your feet felt distant, as if you were walking on shattered glass, each step a jagged reminder of the day’s relentless toll. It felt as though the very bones in your feet might shatter with the weight of the exhaustion that clung to you, heavy and unyielding.

From the moment you left the safety of yours and Ellie's shared walls, it was a relentless march through the wilderness, every mile weighing down on you like a stone.

The hours went by in a haze of heat and sweat, the sun’s unforgiving rays beating down on you until you felt as though your very essence was melting away. The memory of that heat still lingered, a phantom pain that sapped what little strength you had left.

Your legs had carried you far beyond what should have been your limit. Every patrol was a test, pushing you to the edge, but it was always the final stretch—the steps that brought you back home—that hurt the most. The pain of a long day wasn’t truly felt until you stood on the threshold of safety, when the body, sensing the nearness of rest, began to unravel, finally allowed to release.

The night was quiet, the crickets were quieter tonight, their usual chorus subdued, as if they, too, were tired. Instead, the usual symphony had been replaced by the distant air, a murmur of voices- the sound of the town coming alive in the evening.

People greeted the returning patrols, their voices carrying a mix of relief and fatigue, like echoes of a world that still held onto some semblance of normalcy. Your own group had been particularly weary tonight, the day’s struggles etched into the lines of their faces as they shared tired smiles and half-hearted jokes. Last voices you heard were tinged with exhaustion, drifted to you, words that blended together in a chorus of shared fatigue.

But the sounds of the night could not drown out the ghosts that clung to your mind—the groans and cries of the infected, the hollow echoes of what once were human beings. Their twisted forms a grim reminder of what awaited those who let their guard down.

A smear of dried blood clung to your cheek, the crimson stark against your sweat-streaked skin. Every inch of you was covered in the grime of the day, the sun having left its mark in the form of a relentless burn that sapped your energy and left you feeling hollowed out.

The bruises and cuts scattered across your body throbbed with a dull ache, a heavy weight that seemed to settle in your stomach, twisting it into tight knots. It felt like you’d been running on empty, forcing yourself through sheer willpower, and now that you were so close to rest, the pain was finally catching up to you.

Your fingers brushed against the rough wood of Ellie’s porch door, the familiar texture grounding you for just a moment before it was pulled open. The door swung inward with surprising ease, and there she was—Ellie. The first thing you saw was her eyes, green orbs filled with worry as they drank in the sight of you. She had been waiting, her anxiety palpable in the way her fingers fidgeted nervously, tangling together as if she could knit away her fear.

Without a word, she reached for you, guiding you inside with a gentle hand on your arm. You stumbled through the doorway, the weight of your body dragging you down, but before you could even think to shrug it off, Ellie was there, the moth tattoo peeking out from beneath her sleeve as she motioned for you to turn around. Your body moved on autopilot, dragging itself to obay her command, sluggishly.

Ellie had barely waited for you to move before she was easing the heavy backpack from your shoulders, her fingers deftly undoing the straps as if they were second nature. Too enveloped in the warmth, in the soft glow of the Christmas lights adorning the room and adding to the feeling of safety that she always manages to create around you- barely registering the weight of your backpack being lifted from your shoulders.

“Hey, you okay?” Her voice was soft, a quiet melody tinged with concern, though you could only manage a nod, your throat too tight to form words. The day had stolen your voice, leaving you with nothing but the heaviness in your chest. But Ellie’s voice wrapped around you like a blanket, soothing in its familiarity.

The space enlightened in a gentle, golden hue. It felt like a safe haven, a sanctuary where the world outside could not reach you.

You stumbled toward the couch, your hands fumbling with the laces of your boots. On your ears echoed the faint rustle of fabric as Ellie hung up your—her—jacket on the hook by the door, the simple act somehow grounding you even further.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she murmured, her gaze lifting to meet yours, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. Despite the exhaustion pulling at your very soul, you found comfort in that smile, in the way she always knew how to take care of you when you couldn’t take care of yourself.

Yet the calm faded with a frustrated groan that escaped your lips as you encountered a stubborn knot, the simple task suddenly insurmountable in your current state. Ellie noticed immediately, her eyes softening with sympathy as she was already there, kneeling down in front of you, "Stop, you’re gonna make it worse,” she chided gently, her hands brushing yours aside with that lopsided smile you knew so well.

“Let me,” her whisper insisting once again, preventing you from even thinking on fighting her back. Ellie's tone low and husky, a sound that always sent a shiver down your spine. Her fingers worked deftly at the knot, untying it with ease, her touch careful and deliberate. As she did, she glanced up, her voice dropping to a softer, more husky tone, as if trying to coax a response out of you. “Did you hear what I said?”

You managed a half-hearted reply, more of a mumble than anything else. “Get me cleaned, yes.” her fingers finally loosening the stubborn knot, helping you out of your boots. It felt as if the weight of the day begin to lift, replaced by the comfort of knowing that you had her with you, in this very moment to finally provide you safeness.

She would never say it, but you could see the relief in her expression, the way her worry eased just a fraction realizing the same thing. After a long day, she had you there, safe.

"Come on," you groaned, tilting your head back as you sighed deeply. Inside your mind, you counted down from five before finally taking her hand and standing up.

The stiffness in your feet began to ease as you pressed your feet against the cold, hard concrete floor. Its coolness and firmness, in contrast to the warm flesh, added just enough pressure to make you feel better.

Ellie led you into the bathroom—it was only a few steps, really. Her hand was a steadying presence, her fingers resting gently on your opposite arm with each step you took. The small space was dimly lit, a single candle flickering and casting soft, dancing shadows on the walls. Ellie’s bathroom was simple but functional—a small tub, a sink, and a water system. A barrel of water sat near the ceiling, connected to a series of tubes that fed into the showerhead, sink, and toilet. It wasn’t much, but it worked, and in this world, that was everything.

The absence of her touch contrasted with the tender atmosphere. From your viewpoint, you could see her hair, messily tidied into a bun, with a few baby hairs and stray strands adorning her neck and the area behind her ears. You wanted to kiss them.

She knelt by the tub, her movements loud as she filled a bucket with water. The sound of the water splashing into the bucket was soothing, a gentle reminder that you were finally safe—finally home.

Ellie set the bucket down next to the tub and looked up at you, only then realizing you were already looking back. It was quiet, aside from the sound of the water, but everything felt blurry in her presence.

You shifted slightly, resting the back of your arms and elbows against the sink to keep your composure, making enough space for both of you and allowing her to stand up.

She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, wiping away the dried blood that clung stubbornly to your skin. "Arms up," she said with quiet determination, an unspoken promise that she wouldn’t let anything else be a struggle tonight.

You nodded, too tired to do much else, and let her help you out of your clothes. Each piece of fabric that left your body and fell to the floor felt like another layer of the day’s grime and exhaustion being peeled away. By the time you stood there, bare and vulnerable, you felt lighter—still weary, but no longer weighed down.

The tub was cold and stiff, making your bones ache. But it was all easily forgotten. Ellie dipped a sponge into the bucket and began to gently cleanse your skin. She worked in silence, her touch tender and methodical as she wiped away the dirt, blood, and sweat that clung to you. The water was cool against your overheated skin, soothing the burns left by the sun and the aches buried deep in your muscles. The sponge moved across your body with a kind of reverence, as if she were handling something precious. In that moment, you were—precious to her, and safe in her care.

When the sponge had done its work, Ellie carefully poured the dirty water over you, rinsing away the last remnants of the day and ensuring your hair was thoroughly wet. The water cascaded down your body, carrying away the grime and blood, leaving you feeling half-clean—both physically and emotionally.

You let out a soft sigh, feeling as though the water was rinsing away more than just dirt. It was washing away the tension, the fear, and the exhaustion, leaving you with nothing but the comfort of being home, of being with her.

Ellie reached for the soap, lathering it between her hands before gently running them over your skin. The smell of it—something mild and earthy, a scent she had traded for a few weeks back—filled the small bathroom. The soap felt comforting against your battered skin, and Ellie’s hands moved with the kind of care that came from knowing just how fragile you felt in that moment.

She repeated those same motions later, with the soap on your body, her fingers careful not to apply too much pressure whenever there was a cut, bruise, or anything that could cause pain.

“Let me know if it hurts,” Ellie murmured, her voice a low, comforting hum that resonated in your chest. You managed a weak nod, closing your eyes as you surrendered fully to her care. The world outside ceased to exist, reduced to the sound of water splashing against porcelain and the feeling of Ellie’s hands moving over your body in a slow, rhythmic dance.

Finally, she reached up and pulled the chain that controlled the flow of water from the barrel, letting a gentle stream of water fall over you from the showerhead. It wasn’t much—she had to be careful with how much water was used—but it was enough.

"Here," she whispered, planting a kiss on your forehead as she handed you a small towel. It was barely enough to properly dry your hair, but you always managed to make it work.

Too focused on the wet sounds in your ears coming from your hair being dried, you barely noticed the commotion Ellie made while searching for a proper towel for you. She swore she had a clean one left—or maybe she had just convinced herself earlier to avoid doing laundry today. But you didn't know that, so she had to hurry.

When she finally appeared in the doorway, you tilted your chin up, meeting her hands first and then the towel she held. "Come here," she murmured. In a matter of seconds, she had the towel wrapped around your shoulders and was guiding you out of the bathroom and, much to your relief, into the very desirable bed.

She knelt in front of you again, her hands busy with the towel, drying you off with the same care she’d shown throughout. As she worked, her eyes kept flicking up to meet yours, as if she needed to reassure herself that you were really safe, here.

"Can I?" she asked, her fingers lightly grazing the skin of your thighs. Her hazel eyes, dilated pupils, focused on all the bruises, all the wounds. And again, you didn't reply verbally but simply moved the towel aside, exposing yourself before her and allowing her to reach every inch of skin that needed the tenderness of her touch.

It took some pain, hisses, and a kiss here and there. The needle was probably something no human could ever get used to, nor the sensation of the thread between your skin. But you made it work; you had to.

Ellie was gentle, helping you into a clean set of clothes—something soft and warm that smelled faintly of her. You could barely keep your eyes open by this point, the weight of the day catching up with you now that you were finally clean and comfortable.

"Hey," Ellie called softly, taking your hand and gripping it just enough to reassure you. You turned your chin up, meeting her pretty eyes and that sheepish smile. "Let's go eat, come on."

As you did every morning, you forced yourself out of bed. Just as you had done with the couch when you first came in, you took a deep breath, counted to three, and stood up.

Dinner most nights was something she threw together while you were out on patrol. Today, the aroma of a hearty stew filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of herbs.

Usually you’d joke about her cooking, mocking her “chef talents”—she wasn't the best. But tonight, the words stuck in your throat, weighed down by exhaustion and the thought of simply touching the bed again, it looked so inviting.

You slid into your seat at the table, the day's exhaustion making your limbs heavy. Ellie chuckled, her usual dorky grin present but softened by concern. "It's not fancy, but—" she said, sliding a plate in front of you. "It's edible."

She watched as you took tentative bites, her hand resting on your back, offering silent encouragement. As usual, she didn’t touch her own food until she saw you eat.

The silence between you was comfortable, the warmth of the stew seeping into your bones, grounding you after the chaos of the day. Yet, as the meal progressed, your appetite remained low. You gave small glances at Ellie, considering your usual reluctance to eat her cooking.

"I know you’re tired, but you haven't had proper food since breakfast."

You knew that if you refused again, she’d let it slide, waiting until you were sound asleep before eating anything herself just to avoid an argument.

But after all she’d done to take care of you tonight, you couldn’t bring yourself to fight her on this. "I’ll wait with you. We can eat together.” With a quiet nod, you picked up your spoon again and took another bite.

Relief. Ellie could only stare at you with relief. The adrenaline of every time you went out on patrol never really fading until next day- for her, it wasn't only the thoughts of you getting hurt, but killed, taken by anyone and being hurt. She feared humans mostly.

And then, seeing you in front of her- yes, hurt, but nothing else- it was like all the anxiety finally made any sense. What would it be if any day you didn't come back, how could she ever manage to eat dinner herself, alone.

Having you in front of her, so close. Feeling the warmth of your skin under her hoodie- the fact that you're the one on her clothes, right next to her. The fact that she's having to force you to eat. It's always a relief, to know you're here, with her, that she has you.

It wasn't until her brain finally realized it was all good that she started to eat.

You always finished first. Only waiting for your stomach to feel full enough, with a gentle move, you pushed the plate away slightly to let her know you were done. Ellie always replied with a nod and a quick glance. Her hand on your thigh as she finished the last few bites of her meal.

The usual banter and teasing were absent, replaced by a quiet understanding—a silent agreement that tonight was about more than just food or sleep. It was about taking care of each other, about finding comfort in the little things. Like—no dishes to be washed tonight. That's future you both's problem.

“Let’s get you to bed,” she whispered, her voice a soothing balm to your tired mind.

You didn’t argue, letting her lead you to the small bed you shared. The sheets cool against your skin as you slipped under them, Ellie sliding in beside you. She pulled you close, her arms wrapping around you in a comfortable and tight enough embrace that felt like the safest place in the world. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your back lulled you.

You could feel the rhythm of her breathing against your neck. It all creating the most desirable sanctuary. And after hours that felt endless, you could close your eyes, focusing on the feeling of normalcy—the simple, precious moment of being held by someone who cares deeply, knowing that no matter what tomorrow brings, you'd wake up next to her, ready to face it together.

[kitmoas]

when the veneer crumbles

the sounds of water are always relaxing

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: **18+ MINORS DNI**, SMUT, dark and demonic themes, death, possession, drowning, magic use, Mommy kink

as per usual if there is anything I missed let me know

Author's Note: I'm so sorry this one was late, had a lot of car and financial shit I needed to figure out but I finally got it finished. This was one that i always knew how i wanted it to end, even from last year when i first planned it for the Occult series, but for some reason it was REALLY hard to put my idea into words. Hopefully it's not HORRIBLE, i'm a bit rusty after taking more then a few months off. The rest of them will be better I promise lol

Kitmoas | Necrosis Kitmoas | Navigation

The crickets in the distance are a welcome change to the busy streets of the city, cars honking 

nonstop during your work day. The world you live in is hectic and out of control but the farther you walk into the almost clear empty darkness the more you can feel the control you naively gain. Stepping into the barely touched woods behind the mostly abandoned house was something that you had missed, a childhood memory that had died suddenly. 

Allowing your mind to wander to the summers that you would spend here out on the lake, jumping off the dock, and laughing with your cousins was the welcome peace you needed as you settled along the rickety wood. Even if those fun times were cut short at your aunt’s sudden death, you knew that being here gave you just a moment of your innocence back. 

Stepping onto the rickety wood carefully, you cringe internally as your arm tightens momentarily around the rolled up soft blanket. You should have known better to bring a water proof material but it was too late for that. Knees cracking slightly as you lean down, the smooth fabric flaps in the wind and you sigh softly in relief as you are able to fully settle on the dock. Deciding to stretch out was a bit of a mistake, in your time away you forgot just how soothing the sound of water lapping at the damp wood was. 

Goosebumps spread across your skin as you slowly came to consciousness, brittle wind chilling you to the bone as you rub the sleep out of your eye. The fog is dense, and confusing as it was supposed to be a clear night. Slowly sitting up, your bones crack as you stretch as much as possible without rocking the dock too much. The unstable wood is loud even with the bare minimum movement causing you to flinch as it echoes across the empty field. 

Squinting through the haze, you try to figure out if you can gauge just how late it is by the placement of the moon. The only thing you can see is a weird tunnel out in the middle of the lake, almost like a tornado of gray. Immediate fear isn’t your first thought, though you begin to question just how awake you are. 

Condensation makes the wood wet, slipping as you try to stand up but it's the glowing red orbs in the distance that makes you freeze in your half crouched position. They are captivating even from afar. The air around you is thick, filled with the now red tinted fog that almost looks like it's bleeding. Heavy and molasses-like as it lays on your skin, eyes flickering around you try to make sense of your surroundings. 

When she gets close enough to see smaller details, your brain slows almost to a complete stop. She’s entirely too breathtakingly beautiful and tragically horrific at the same time. No color to her skin, it’s almost as though she comes directly from one of the old black and white television shows your mother liked to watch. The woman is wearing tight clothing, torn and ripped sporadically. Her eyes almost seem so gray that they are an ethereal foggy green, only flashing ruby when the shrap thin lines all over her body pulsate crimson. Her hair is long and dripping with an inky hue, tangled and disheveled. Fingertips dipped in a steaming tar, dancing near her side as she stalks towards you. 

It’s when you can almost reach out and touch the figure that you finally scramble backwards, putting distance between the two of you as the flight side of your instincts kick in. You barely make it more than five steps when you’re being dragged upwards with some sort of red translucent mist. It wraps around your wrists, dragging your arms above your head as you flop about uselessly. Screams are getting caught in your throat as you have to just hang there, watching this being get closer to you. 

When the lady is directly below you, the hair on the back of your neck stands up straight and your muscles twitch from how tense they are. You want to panic, to yell, but something stops you. Tilting her head, she has to look up at you from where her magic holds you against the rough bark. Her hand comes out to touch you, but the soft feeling comes as a surprise to you. She cups your cheek, a low red spreading in her eyes as you shake under her touch. 

She smiles at you, a soft almost nurturing thing. “You’re just as pretty as I thought you would be, little lamb.” Her voice is chilling, breathy with a raspy tone to it. The older woman’s free hand caresses your stomach, an unwanted warmth sinking into your gut. 

Her nails are jagged, cracked and repulsive, as she takes her time to explore your body. It’s sudden, the vigor in which she gropes your body. Clumsy and completely all over the place, you aren’t entirely sure what she thinks she’s doing. Struggling against your restraints, the chill covers your body like ice freezing over a lake. 

It isn’t until your body takes over, fear and anger sinking into your bones, that the creature seemingly gains control of her actions and her hand becomes confident and firm. Nails pointedly scratching at your skin as fingers map out your skin, almost stabbing at each goosebump she finds. Your eyes are glued to your face as your mind struggles to catch up to what you had done, flinching as her other hand reaches up. It doesn’t strike you as you thought it would, instead she brushes the back of her knuckles against her own face, trepidation stopping your blood from rushing through your body as you finally realize that you spit at her. 

That wasn’t what you wanted to do, you knew that you needed to act smart if you were going to survive this but for some reason all your ability to think logically went out the window. You wanted her more than anything in the world right now, and you knew that you needed to try and do anything to keep her exactly where she was. 

“Do you not have control over your stupid little body, mortal?” Her voice is low, almost filled with gravel as she mumbles. Rust filled eyes not even paying you a second of attention but instead staring at the glistening saliva that drips from her fingers. 

Your head is shaking vigorously, denying inability in hopes that she doesn’t see you as foolish. The desire to be praised by her came as a surprise, but you weren’t fighting it and it seems to have worked. A smile slowly stretches across the surreal creature’s face as she blinks slowly. “It’s so funny to see such a useless being believe they are worth anything more than what I deem them to be. You think by answering my question in whatever way you think I want will make the outcome of your situation better?” 

She speaks softly, almost nurturing as she rubs her soaked fingers along your neck, smearing your own spit against you. You crane your neck as much as you can against the crimson smog wrapped there, trying to hear her voice as clearly as possible. 

“I take what I want and no smart mouthed, stupid brained little human is going to stop that. I like to have fun, and the peak is watching you bleed out for me.” The words are harsh but you can’t help but moan as your body is thrown upwards, red tendrils tightening and dragging you to hang limply from the tree branch. It’s devoid of leaves, and creaks under your weight, but it somehow makes you feel like you have a safety net. You had climbed this tree many times in the past, and even had various hanging sets from this very limb. 

Swinging freely, you try to move your body as much as possible as the urge to escape your confines sinks in. Entirely too focused, you don’t realize that her hands are moving along your ice cold skin. Groping softly, her movements are controlled and precise to make sure that you barely register it in your brain. It’s when her hands force your legs apart, maroon vapor ropes slithering around your thighs to hold them open, that you finally realize just how hard you are breathing. Your body felt slightly warm, at least in your core, and you could feel your blood rushing downwards. It was almost like your entire being was electrified and you were entirely too conscious of every single thing you felt. 

She doesn’t take her time, her eyes narrow as she focuses on mapping out your skin. The bright  ruby lines she leaves in her wake only entertain her for so long before she finally moves in between your shaking thighs. The older woman’s finger swipes through your folds, collecting the small amount of wetness she finds there. Gasping as she spreads it across your clit, a throbbing ache despite the way your body revolts. Her jaw mockingly drops when for the first time her eyes light up with amusement, giggling when your hips chase her hand. “Oh poor baby, I can’t fuck you if you’re not wet enough. It’ll hurt your small fragile little body too much and Mommy doesn’t want to hurt you.” 

Your head is shaking violently, nonsensical protests tumbling from your lips. It didn’t matter to you, regardless if it was because you wanted her or wanted the situation to be over with, you just needed her to touch you. Even though your wetness wasn’t enough for her, you did feel aroused. Maybe it was your mind tricking you into believing this was what you wanted or maybe it was the glittering crimson behind your irises, but that wasn’t a piece of information that you needed to know. 

She tuts, chastising you. “Now don’t lie to me. I know what you want even if your mind fights it, and your body hasn’t caught up, I know.” You watch as she takes a step back, letting her eyes drink in your form. Letting the back of her knuckles run down your torso, you watch as she slowly kneels on the damp dirt. Her hands are grazing over your thighs, pushing them farther open as she leans in. The grip she has on you, though gentle, is strong and you can’t kick her when you feel her mouth along your skin. 

The smoothness of her strangely sharp teeth is hot against your cooled body, but it’s the sharp pierce and spilling of your blood that leaves a weirdly chilled warmth leaking down your leg. Eyes widening you try to look past the head of dark locks to see what just happened, but it didn’t take long for your brain to catch up and the stabbing pain on your inner thigh. 

She looks up at you, sparkling light jade eyes catching the moon light, with a toothy smile and a small dribble of crimson running down her chin. “You’re a fucking vampire?” You couldn’t help the shocked yelp, body shaking with fear. 

The being doesn’t even answer you, giggling as rolls her eyes up at you. She seems so innocent in those moments but nothing gets rid of the terror emanating within your soul. Looking back at your bleeding thigh, she swipes her fingers through the thick liquid to coat them. Her nails catch on the open wound, sending another wave of searing pain through your body but she pays no attention to you. 

It almost feels like time stops as you hang there, waiting, but the moment the brunette swipes her crimson dipped thumb across your clit something in your body cracks. It’s small but you can feel the change and in your mind you start screaming at yourself. You know being vocal won’t stop this crazy woman, but you wanted to deter her by being completely unaffected. It was the last thing you had on her, to make her believe that what she was doing was just pure torture and you found absolutely no pleasure in it, but you knew that that power over her was no longer available to you. 

Never one for vanilla sex, not even in theory, you shouldn’t be that surprised that being taken by force from a demonic crazy being would be right up your alley. No one could ever keep up with you, your fantasies were just a bit too intense or a bit too dangerous, and for once everything you ever wanted was being fulfilled. This gorgeous being was forcing her fingers farther into you, your blood dripping randomly down different parts of your body. 

Despite your want for intensely kinky sex, you knew that it should be completely consensual right? It should let you know that, and you could feel your anger rising in your body as the heat zoomed between your thighs. This couldn’t be consensual, not with how it started, but if it wasn’t then why did the idea of her actually stopping tear you up on the inside? You couldn’t fathom the idea of her ice cold thumb pulling away from your throbbing clit for too long, for her touch on your body to not cause goosebumps.  

She doesn’t wait much longer, no need to attempt to please you now that she has the wetness she wants, shoving two fingers into you with almost no remorse. A shrill scream gets stuck in your throat as you choke on the force of air rushing up, the pain bringing tears to your eyes. A sign of weakness that this twisted soul revels in as she thrusts her fingers in, letting her free hand drag up crimson periodically.  

The pain was immense and you were certain that she had to be using something besides her fingers, there was no way that the small hands in between your thighs were causing this much agony. You wanted to shove against her, but the moment her teeth sink into your breast you know you’re gone. Hips jumping, trying to get her to move more as the pleasure starts to settle in your tummy, uselessly against her body. It felt so bad that the good started to come from a delirious state, and you just needed her to move. The tips of her fingers just rubbing slightly against the soft spot inside of you, the texture of her wrinkled skin felt wrong but you were starting to become obsessed. 

“Isn’t it comical? A desperate slut like you thought you had everything together, thought I was going to ruin your life by taking what was destined to be mine?” Through the heavy fog that had begun to settle in your head you tried your best to look down at her, shock painted across your face. How did she know what you were thinking? She doesn’t give you any answer, instead her thrusting gets more aggressive as the wetness between your thighs grows, and it mixes with the blood still heavily leaking from the bite marks. 

You want to moan, whimper, maybe even plead but you were no longer sure what you wanted. Logically you needed this to stop if you were to ever be okay again, but at the same time all you wanted to do was feel her mouth on your clit. You wanted her to fuck you until you were incoherent, a drooling mess. Hatred towards yourself and her fueled your motions as you tried to work to take more of her hand, stretching around her third finger as she shoves it ungracefully into you. 

Her mouth is at your knee now, glowing eyes looking up at you as she smirks. “Taking me so well for someone so against getting used.” Her arm is moving roughly, fingers curling inside you as she ghosts her teeth along your thigh. “So clean, so dry. Why don’t you make a mess for Mommy? I like my cunts all wet and messy.” 

It was then you found your power, despite the arousal burning in your belly and the way you clenched around her fingers whenever she swiped her thumb along your clit. You knew that the more you let your thoughts wonder, even if it had to be forced, that you would be able to pull yourself from the situation. Imagine yourself somewhere else and almost black out during everything, your body would be limp and pliant but not give her what she wants. The movie you would go see in a week with your best friends, or the long list of groceries that you knew you needed to get when you went back into the city. Thoughts swarmed your head as you tried your hardest to ignore the way her fingers poked and prodded, the way her thumb caressed your swollen clit just perfectly. 

Screwing your eyes shut, you make your best attempt at seeming unaffected but you don’t realize that you aren’t winning. If anything you just make it more fun for the being below you, giving her the opportunity to make you as wet as she wants. 

Being so focused on the thoughts traveling through your brain was good until you don’t feel the tugging on your wrists, persistent and firm. It’s only when you’re tumbling helplessly through the air that you realize you are no longer hanging from the tree, but instead falling face first into the freezing lake. It’s a shock, breaking the surface of the water. It knocks the breath out of your lungs and forces your throat to close, you can practically feel all your muscles seize as well. You make the mistake of opening your mouth to scream, causing a rush of dirty water to fill your lungs, and it’s only when her hand claws at the back of your head that you feel even an ounce of relief. 

She’s tearing your body out of the water, pieces of the thin ice fly around you and you can’t believe that you relax as your body collides with her. “Don’t think that you can try to outplay Mommy like that you little slut. I know what you want, you are my destiny. You were made to take me, so be a good girl and let me do what I was made to do.” Her voice is sweet, almost soft, as she speaks through her teeth directly into your ear. It shouldn’t calm your racing heart, neither should the almost warm comforting touch of her red mist along your thighs. 

You want to let yourself fall, the intense arousal is boiling in your tummy and you can feel the coil tightening with each brush of her hand along your body. It would be much easier to allow yourself to become immersed in the pleasure coursing through your body, but it wasn’t until she allowed that crimson fog to slip inside you. Despite the fact that whatever she was pushing into you was magical, you were still too tight for her liking. There was a part of you deep down that still didn’t want this and it was causing your body to react subconsciously. 

‘If the slut doesn’t want to get wet, then I’ll keep you wet myself.” Her hands scratch up your side, a nail digging into your nipple on the way up and it makes your hip buck. You feel yourself melting back into her and a moan softly slips from your parted lips. The urge to pretend that it’s from the cold is strong, but you can’t even pretend at this point like the feeling of her hands on you isn’t turning you on. 

Her hands are running along your torso, teasing your nipples and scratching up your stomach. It almost feels normal, just another hookup and it makes you forget. Losing yourself in the way that the ruby swells inside you, rubbing against the soft spot it finds and caressing your clit softly. 

The wetness between your thighs is gathering the longer she plays with you, wine stained mist thrusting lazily into you. It almost plays with you, knowing that it ruts to hard or fast that it will bring you closer to the edge, but it keeps you writhing for more with each movement. You want to beg for more, ask her to touch you with her own hands as you have begun to crave her ice touch, though there is something that is stopping you from doing that. It isn’t necessarily pride, something you lost the moment you began to get turned on by this aggressive form of twisted affection. 

It’s when her nails scratch at the back of your neck that you realize the fog that’s dragging you slowly, almost mockingly leisurely, towards the edge is growing. Almost like a ball, it feels like she’s pushing her magic abilities to stretch you to the point right before danger. You’re confused, as your wetness starts dripping down your thighs and your breath starts picking up, how much more wet could you get? 

Instant regret floods your system almost as fast as the ice cold water that rushes down your throat as she shoves your face directly into the lake. It’s not a quick dunk to shock you this time, her claw-like hand squishing your face into the almost mud like dirt at the bottom. She doesn’t stop forcing more and more into you, her magical fog swelling larger and it presses against where your torso is now pressed against the ground. Even as you struggle against her, your internal will to try and live kicking in, you can’t help the build up in your stomach. The coil tightens as her magic moves within you, moving inside you as her nails dig into her back. 

Sharp stinging pains are a contrast, an added sensation, to your panic as you begin to think maybe she is just going to keep you submerged. There’s no way she would, right? She wants to use you, there would be no reason that she would want to truly harm you. 

A deep belly chuckle is muffled through the water, barely a vibration as your arm and head flail as much as possible. You wanted out but you can’t help but moan instead of scream, the pleasure of her nails into your shoulder blades and her thigh grinding between your thighs into the swell of mist there beginning to get too overwhelming. It was no longer a fight to survive but a fight to enjoy the last moments of life. Somewhere in your mind you knew that you wouldn’t actually make it out of this alive, but for some reason you’ve decided to ignore that. 

“Such a stupid whore, letting just anyone touch your cunt.” She fists your soaked hair in your hand, and just for a fleeting moment the pain mixed with arousal takes over your fogged mind. “You don’t even know Mommy and yet here you are, taking my gorgeous gift like the good little fuck toy you are.” Her free hand abandons your back in lue of groping your ass, pushing down against it to get you to stop moving. Her thigh is pushing against your throbbing clit now, soaked in your wetness despite water lapping up as you splash about. 

You can feel your vision start to darken, the edges of the burning sensation as you try to keep your eyes open have blurred and blackened. Unsure if you are even panicking anymore, your body starts to relax and the only thing you can focus on is the fuzzy warm arousal filling each nerve in your body. The water floating around you becomes tranquil as each muscle in your body softens and you move with each thrust into you. 

A wide sinister smile stretches unnaturally along the being’s face, pulling her almost gray lips as far as they can as she stares down at your almost lifeless body. She can see the signs and for her it motivates her even more, forcing more and more of her magic into you. You were everything she could have ever wanted and she refused to let you stay in the living world, if she was destined to be stuck to this lake forever then so would you. 

Slowly you could feel all the tension in your body start to clump together in your stomach, draining from the rest of you and tightening around the scarlet orb inside you. You craved that last bit of pleasure, that last rush in your veins to end this for good. 

When it becomes almost impossible to move and you are no longer shaking from panic or exertion, but instead trembling from hanging onto the edge, she knows it’s time. Sneering down at your limp form, she uses her grip in your hair to turn your head. Slapping at your cheek until she can just barely see your fuzzy bloodshot eyes, an almost soft nurturing smile paints along her face once she sees your drunk like state. “There’s my girl. So fucked out.” Her sphere cloud inside you starts to vibrate, her cold dark eyes once more glowing a dim ruby. 

Gripping at your jaw, her claw practically breaks your neck as she forces you to keep eye contact with her. Even as your eyes slip closed, struggling to stay open as you start to dangle over the edge, you can’t help but feel drawn in to listen. “Say my name, little toy, say it and stay with me forever.” Her voice is raspy, bordering soft but she’s taunting you. “You know it, you know you do, so say it. Say it now.” Her actions become frantic, her thigh grinding more aggressively into you. She’s trying to force you into a more pathetic state, even at the edge of death she wants you to be begging for her. 

As much as you can you try to deny knowing, because how could you? You had never seen this person, if that’s what she is even considered, before this horrific situation. The attempt at trying to keep water from going down your throat had stopped, your lungs should have filled completely with liquid by now so some other power must have been keeping you alive. 

Though you couldn’t see it, the being was getting annoyed. Her eyes rolled as she realized that you were thinking again, a brain dead creature who could still think. “Say my name and you can cum for Mommy, like the pretty little whore you are.” She spits at you through her teeth, pointed and your blood drying on the dull shine. With her words she sees a change in your stature, even held under the force of her hand, eagerness. Humming slowly she allows her maroon mist to sink into each part of your body. 

Your brain was almost empty, nothing but serene thoughts going through it as you felt yourself slip into the darkness. You thought that there would be a light at the end of the time but instead you start seeing a faint rosy hue. The being above you is yelling at you and the need to give in is strong, you want to end everything on a high. You need that high. 

Her name slips into the water almost silently, your eyes slipping closed as you fall into unconsciousness, but it’s there. She hears it, muffled, “Wanda.” Usually one of her biggest fears, not one to want to go back to the damned dark world but with you she could thrive. A black magic demon who accomplished its goal? She would rule the world with a scarlet leash around your neck. A small smirk as her magic starts to die, a sure sign she’s going back to being contained. Until the end of time you will be her needy little toy, just as you were as you took your last breath. 

[slippinninque]

🐍Loan x Tommy 🍰

In which a lover comes with an apology (OC fic)

Warnings: none, fluff, short n sweet, blackman x black snakewoman, human x monster, OC fic, before work drop will edit later lol

When the diner was closed and the moon was full in the sky, Tommy went to see her.

The swamp wasn’t so terrifying now that he knew how to travel it. Or, really, now that he had protection while he moved through it.

It wasn’t anything to bring a few steaks that didn’t make the cut at the shop, throwing it into the water for the lurking gators and non-gators. Most of them were friendly from what he’s heard. The others only cared for him to hear their grumbling displeasure from the dark.

He knew he’s arrived to their meeting spot when the crickets quieted and glowing eyes began peering out at him from the bushes and murky depths below.

Those were not the eyes he was looking for, though.

Tommy shifted, turning off his boat light to allow the moonlight to glaze the water. It heightened his senses, his eyes was no match for the darkness and that was with glasses. The hair of his arms rose, August could feel an audience worth’s of eyes on him.

He called out, “You out here, Loan?”

Maybe.

The whole swamp pulsed with her voice. Around him, the creatures called and sang once again more excitedly as they knew their protector was present.

“I’m no siren or anythin’,” He said as he reached into his bag, “But I think I know to bring you out.”

Loan liked to hard to get when Tommy wasn't as punctual as he promised to be. For someone who spent so much time alone, Tommy wouldn't blame her for the attitude that comes from a broken promise.

Tommy had a trick up his sleeve though. He reached into the duffel he brought, it's ziiiiiip easing into the air like a reeling line.

Is that cake?

It took a very long time to learn how to hold in his flinches. Loan was already making herself comfortable, coiling most of her serpentine figure bulk into the boat and watching him with curious eyes. Her earlier annoyance at Tommy seemed to have taken a backseat.

“It’s a special flavor too. I got the first piece of the season for you.” When he picked up the heavy piece of cake and Loan opened her mouth wide expectedly.

Her jaw hung about five inches lower than humanly possible.The side of her jaw spreading to reveal the same obsidian -sheen scales that encased her tail, it reminded Tommy of a pair of obsidian earrings his Mama used to have.

Tommy chuckled and plopped the heavy slice onto her split tongue.

It’s sweet!

“It is. It’s pumpkin and vanilla.”

Tommy offered the parchment wrapping of the cake as well, “Are you still mad at me? The diner took a while to close up tonight, the only reason I'm so late.”

Loan balled up the wrapping and tossed it into her open mouth as she considered him. It was hard to catch her smile at first, with the way seam of Loan's mouth curled around her head.

It was there though.

“I forgive you.”

Words spoken from her very mouth was a rarity. The wildlife around them went silent in respect and Tommy could feel the truth in her words on his skin.

Tommy wasn’t much one for thinking too hard about things, but he did wonder often about the specifics of Sirens. He’s never met one before until Loan and she’s no Disney classic. First, there was no fish-tail. Her lower half was that of a constrictor’s. Where the Sachertorte brown of her skin stopped, the dark abyss of her scales began.

Tommy felt the strength Loan's tail when his boat’s engine busted on him. She towed the boat along the powerful coils of her tail as she hummed to the sound of croaking frogs.

If you stared too long at her, you will see her otherness. The slit pupil of her dark toffee eyes, just how far back her smile reached on her face. A smile he couldn't even go two days without seeing now.

The water around them spoke as she settled into the cradle of his arms, I worry when you take time. Do you not get lonely without me?

“You wouldn’t be able to imagine. You’re all I think of when I have season the chicken gizzards.”

Her laugh felt funny. Her amusement seeped into his pores, joining his.

Tommy didn't feel the water seeping into his clothes, he didn't mind the nosey creatures bumping up against partition of water for a closer look.

He only care about the gentle prick-pull of Loan's claws as she kneaded the arm across her waist. He only felt how her undulating tail pushed them lazily through the water.

Looking down at her amazing form, Tommy took a loc freed from her complicated rope of braids to hold it to the moonlight. She smelled like burning wood and deep sea, lying in his arms and gleaming like the world's first treasure. Loan could feel so light as she could slip away or weigh them both down to the sand below.

"How 'bout I stay the night with you?" Tommy spoke into the curve of her neck and shoulders to feel her shiver, "To make sure I'm truly forgiven."

The tip of her tail breeched the water and wriggled in thought, Tommy watched her battle against her sudden shyness.

This night will be cold....that's bad for you....

Tommy kicked the duffel at his feet, "That's why I brought this junk. So my lil' mortal hang ups 'bout being warm won't stop our good time."

Loan turned in arms and Tommy felt his heart hammer at her blown pupils. This sweet thing has never sang at him but Tommy would burn before he let her go.

He pressed a kisses along the invisible seam of her jaw, rubbing the neat line where scale met tender flesh at her waist. Her sigh spanned across the trees and rippled the water--something, somewhere echoed.

"I just need you to find us a nice spot like last time." He whispered, "Then I can say sorry some more...that okay?"

"That okay."

August laughed holding onto her as Loan's tail lashed, pushing them forward with a burst of speed. With one hand he steered while he other ran along vibrating scales.

Tommy felt her eagerness, her happiness of him being there. A loving sheet blanketing the parts of him that wasn't being lovingly squeezed.

There was string that could be pulled, no destiny that could be written, no fate strong enough to intervene with this truth.

This swamp had his heart forever and always.

------

Ending notes✨:just a little something rattling around in my head! Tis the season for spooky and Ive bee having hella monster fluff stories. Would y'all want them? 👀 Tell me what you think! Thank you for reading ilysm,💕✨💜💖✨💕

Taglist💕: @kindofaintrovert @blowmymbackout @kindofanenigma @harmshake

@notapradagurl7 @mcondance @miyuhpapayuh @mogul93

@ms-angiealsina @educatorsareslutstoo @mysterychick93 @sageispunk @hunnishive

@8ttached @soft-persephone @hobiesmain @thickeeparker @longpause-awkwardsmile

@megamindsecretlair

[denim-devil]

Hey if ur in the mood for walking dead requests how about one where male reader is inexperienced because of the while apocalypse thing and asks (season 9) Rick to teach him how to give a blowjob Rick agrees and it ends with Rick blowing his load on readers face #ThickDickRick

Inexperienced | R.G

Masterlist

Summary - Due to lack of experience, you search for the confidence to ask your lover to help solve your problem…

A/N - Enjoy! Whoever requested this, just know it made me super fucking feral for Rick you have no idea, this speaks authority and I’m not okay-

──────. • ☆:*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ• . ──────

*”The things I want to do to you..”*

You stilled in spot, immediately using your urgent reflexes to look around. The crickets hissed away in the tall grass, the looming tree’s closing in on the several tents scattered on the forest floor.

Heat began to rise in your cheeks once clutching onto the crackling walkie. You could hear his deep, soft chuckle, something you found even more so desirable about your lover.

“You’re speechless?”

He was right. You were and it was obvious, although temptation set in right away which stopped your tongue. You chose to move away from the crowd of people centering around the fire.

You hold the walkie close, the shuffling of your feet through the muddied puddles notified Rick of your movements. Unintentionally he allows a soft “fuck” to slip past his parted lips stopping you once more.

You were now covered by several grouped tree’s, resting your back against one of the cold trunks, you smack your lips now concentrating on the breathy male.

“I wouldn’t say speechless…” you trail off with a roll of your tongue, noticing another chuckle rumble from him, this time it was low, much like a growl.

“Yeah? I’m not so sure about that” Rick replied back smartly, the crackle of the walkie a distant thought, an ache formed between your legs, it grew bigger, harder, you craved for his attention.

The breeze was cold, colder than before. You shivered, teeth chattering, once biting your lip you hummed.

“I’m talking to you aren’t I?” You remarked with sass, using your free hand to palm your crotch through your thin pants. The need for Rick ran through your veins like fire, it ate you up from the inside out.

You could hear the clacking of his shoes, judging by the quick pace he decided to go with, you could tell he was on the move.

“You’ know, I’ve been thinkin’ about that mouth lately”

His words were like honey, soft and sweet with a sort of bitterness that had goosebumps travelling down along your spine.

“Oh really?”

Rick was silent, his breathing much heavier on the other end, you had no experience but you had wants and needs like everybody else.

“Where are you? Need’ta show you how much I’ve been cravin’ those pretty lips…”

The Walkie crackled once more before you shifted away from the trunk, walking back towards the camp knowing full well Rick wouldn’t appreciate your boldness to venture into the unknown.

“I’m heading back to camp…I’ll be waiting mister”

“Wait-“

With that you whack at the back panel allowing it to drop, cutting Rick off before peeling out the batteries, stuffing them into your pocket before smiling to yourself.

Rick’s smile grew before he too clipped the chunky, outdated walkie to his belt-holster, making his way from the half built bridge over to the camp.

──────☆──────

Rick huskily breathed once your finger tips began to tamper with the cold zipper. The conversation previously had Rick’s intentions set, he knew of your innocence, it grew on him, it had him itching to show you how, show you why.

His thumb swiped softly over your cheek bone, stroking the supple skin. His eyes were dark, lust- filled like he lost all function of his control, how could he be under control when you were so willing?

“Been waitin’ for this sweetheart, ever since I laid eyes on ya. ya know how to give it proper right?”

The question balanced on your tongue with uncertainty. How could Rick be so oblivious, you feared what he had to offer but you were so willing to learn but for some reason you shied away from the possibility.

A rose pink flush rises up from your neck, rolling onto your cheeks smoothly. Suggestively Rick cocks his tongue before flashing you an open mouthed smirk, tilting his head to side, no he wasn’t confused, he was waiting for the answer he desired to move whatever this was forward.

Running his fingers through your locks, he tugs bringing your eyes up towards his own.

“Not gonna answer me?“

His accent was thick taking away from your distractions. Shaking your head back and forth swiftly, your fingers tug down the zip forcefully before pulling away…you couldn’t do it without the knowledge right? How could you make him feel good without knowing how…

tracing the outline of his fully erect cock, you watch the man above shut his eyes, teeth sinking into your bottom lip once Rick relieves himself of another moan, greedily tugging on your hair.

“Keep goin’…”

Your finger tips dig into his waist band, looping around the fabric of both his jeans and boxers, tugging them down slightly until they loosened up enough to drop, pooling around his feet.

His cock slaps up into his stomach causing a low hollow thump to travel through him. You couldn’t help but admire how it stood tall with pride, the base as thick as the tip which blossomed with a rosey-pink glow. The tan skin hugged the tip, almost creating a hood which spread once you gave him a tug.

He felt almost too big in your hands, heavy and warm. Rick watched carefully once you began to jerk him, watching the veins and ridges crinkle along with the extra skin that sagged underneath the mushroom shaped head.

The confidence you gained had come to fruition, a deep growl forming on his tongue, his mouth now open allowing the continuous moans to escape.

“Ya pretty good at that…atta boy”

But he wouldn’t settle for your hand, no, he craved something far more intimate then your hand. Pushing his hips forwards, the tip gained a sort of slickness that had it slipping against your lips.

Settling for your eagerness, parting your lips is what drew a sharp breath out of Rick, his cock sliding in with ease. He stills, his hand splaying across the back of your skull caging you in.

Suckling on the tip, you rolled your tongue against the soft, plush-like tip, incasing it with a thick wad of spit. Rick shook with a certain need to be deeper, the shallowness wasn’t enough, he craved to watch you struggle.

He pushed an extra couple of inches in until your nose made contact with the light layer of brunette hairs covering the girthy base. The sharpness of your teeth colliding with the vein on his base drew him out of the trance.

Hissing, he bites on his tongue.

“Careful of ya teeth doll…”

Listening, you allow your mouth stretch further, wide enough for Rick to slot back in, fully this time giving your throat no time to react. Rick smirks once you gargle around him, retching at the intrusion, a thick layer of spit releasing from your throat, covering his cock entirely.

“That’s it, better, so much fuckin’ better”

You were sloppy though, with every pump and thrust of his hips, you closed of your throat which to Rick’s dismay had him cringing, he knew you had the ability to make him feel good.

But with each thrust he broke the spell your brain had on your throat, taking control once more.

“Go a litter deeper baby-“

Somehow, his words echoed, bouncing around in your head, you were getting dumb with your movements but Rick soon pulled you back into the loop with his vigorous thrusts, each one earning a gag.

Copious amounts of saliva leaked from the corners of your open mouth, jaw aching once Rick settled on the brutal pace. Tears stained your cheeks which rattled the deepest parts of him…the darkest.

Judging by the tough grip he had on the back of your head, he had set the pace, using you to get himself off all the whilst teaching you.

“Gonna fuckin’ cum”

His thighs shook, balls drawing tightly once you began pacing yourself, meeting his hips halfway, taking most of his cock entirely but not without a fight.

Throaty whines travelled down his length, lead by a couple of tugs to the back of your head. It’s all he needed to breach the coil he had been chasing to break.

“Yeah…ya want that right? Yeah ya do…”

Rick’s hips stuttered, slowing before he pulled out completely, the small bridge of saliva still connecting the two of you. Gripping your hair tight, he holds your head still forcing you to accept what he had to give.

The tip aiming at your face, his hand jerking back and forth taking him over the edge. He released over your face, eyes open just a smidgen to witness each glob land in different places, on different features.

A quiet “good boy” has your thighs clenching together, a smug smile on your face as you basked in your new glow.

His cock drew soft once again but still it kept it’s looming presence over your face. It took Rick a few seconds to compose himself but in the end he became the first to enjoy your newly perpetuated confidence.

[pollywogpenman]

Goodbyes - Stardew Valley Fanfic (Caroline x Wizard)

So, I wrote this at like 5 am after I couldn’t get the thought of these two out of my head having a very emotional and sad parting of ways. Um, enjoy I guess if you read.

The two of them were sitting outside his tower, the sun was setting in the distance and Caroline could feel the air cooling around her. She looked at him, his frame cut against the green canopy of the forest and faint pinks and blues of the sky above. He had changed his hair again, it was a silvery blue and had grown a lot longer than she remembered seeing it last time. The old iron bench they were sitting on was rough beneath her fingers, and she rubbed her thumb along a carved stardrop while focusing on a tear in her dress. 

“What is it this time Li?” He finally asked, his voice cutting through the silence. Caroline kept her eyes transfixed on the tear as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, listening to the crickets begin to chirp as the twilight descended around them. “Is it something to do with your dad?”

She knew he was now looking at her with his intense brown eyes, and that if she looked up they would glint purple like they always did stealing her breath away. She knew he was searching her face for the answer to his question. She also knew he didn’t need to ask, he would know just from the set of her shoulders that her old man had been hitting the drink too hard again and she had borne the brunt of his wrath. That something had happened, or they would be inside the tower snuggled in his bed. Caroline liked that idea a lot more than what she had to do now.

“He was doing his usual. Got in some trouble this time though.” She finally spit out, not daring to look his way in fear of his reaction. “There were some gambles made with powerful men in town and father had to find a way out of debts owed. It just so happens a daughter is a good way to pay off those debts.” As she had expected he leapt to his feet the moment the words were out of her mouth, his hands balled into fists and a look of rage tearing across his face. 

“Li you aren’t implying what I think you’re implying right?” He sputtered, starting to pace back and forth, his hands wringing together furiously as he did. She finally looked up at him, tears welling in the corners of her eyes and her bottom lip shaking. He glanced over at her and it was all the confirmation he needed, immediately kneeling down to clasp her face in shaking hands as if he were cradling fine china.  

“I am to be married, the man's son has already presented me with the mermaid pendant.” Her words were shaky but clear as he pushed their foreheads together, gently stroking her hair as she felt the tears freely melt down her face now. He moved one hand to tenderly wipe the tears from her eyes, before he pulled away slowly falling back into the dirt and grass in front of her. His face was white and he was looking at a far off point somewhere above her. “He isn’t a terrible man. I met him, once. He promised a modest future. A future where I would be provided for, and where a child would be as well.”

“I can’t accept this Caroline. I don’t, I can’t. We will figure something out. You will not be wed to some stranger, I won’t allow it. I can’t allow it.” His words cut through her. How much she would love to indulge in those feelings, those wants, to escape her role. She felt a righteous anger well up inside her, fleeting as it may be, at all things. Her future was within her grasp, and yet.

“You will not. You know it is futile, you know what my father thinks of you and my visits to this place. And besides Rasmodius, you of all people should know I can’t bear the thought of you, of all people, thinking you can control my life.” Caroline slowly rose from the bench, and this time she knelt beside him. Her smooth hands reaching for his shaking ones, the smell of his many herbs drifting into her senses as she did. “I love you. I have cherished this time with you like no other, but we both knew from the start it would come to an end. Why are you fighting now?”

Rasmodius opened his mouth, as if to speak, then closed it again. There really was nothing to say. He knew and she knew that their love was finite, a trolley heading down a linear path doomed to eventually reach its destination. Caroline had voiced her fears many times, and although it had seemed like such a distant far off future the reality had been sprung upon them now. This was the present. Oh, how she would miss this fantasy.

Caroline was still holding onto a secret however. Anxiety bubbled up into her throat like a hand around her neck as she tried to find the words. The man in front of her, the sweet, lovely man who she was leaving, had known betrayal before. He had weathered heartbreak once, and he had come out the other side looking a little worse for wear but she had loved him anyway. He had let her in despite all his misgivings, despite knowing the heartbreak he was setting himself up for, and yet these next words could bring ruin to him. She was asking so much. 

“I,” She stopped, looking at the intertwining of their fingers, how well they fit together. She pulled him to his feet and moved them back to the bench sitting much closer than she did before, her thighs pressing against his. Night was fully draping its cloak around their shoulders now, and Caroline took a moment to listen to the forest breathe around them. The little chirps of crickets, the hoot of an owl, the faint rush of wind through the trees and the gurgle of the nearby river.  All of this grounded, brought her back to the present. She felt the rough texture of his hand, the places where he may have nicked himself with a knife while collecting herbs or working on a runic carving. “I have something very important I need to tell you.”

He let out a deep breath, as if he too had been taking in the ambient sounds around them and nodded resignation in the simple gesture. A little glowing light drifted up to one of the odd plants in his garden ahead and hovered over it briefly before carrying on. Caroline realized then that she would miss this place so very much, that she already did and she hadn’t even been apart from it for a day.

“I am three weeks late. I think I… I think I may be with child.” 

Her words hung in the air. 

There was a great pause as they both gazed at the crops and then, finally, he turned towards her. She noticed he didn’t look angry, he simply for the first she could ever recall had sparkling tears trailing down his cheekbones. She was reminded of his beauty, looking upon his face at that moment.

“Will he make a good father?” He asked, slowly.

“I think so.” She replied.

“Okay.”

And with those final words uttered, he rest his head on her shoulder and they sat under the stars until eventually, inevitably, Caroline walked back into town.

[upwiththegood]

12th January Photographic quiz and ramble

Well we start where we left off last year but hey hoe there was a fire there in 2002 and the whole lot including the hall, which was now part of the hotel was demolished in a fire. Nevertheless, one has memories and various anecdotes about the old pub, it's nickname and certain occasions, Maxine Drayson's 21st to name one, as we all had to enter the hall and be introduced to her parents before being offered a glass of punch, especially concocted by her father. I seem to remember that the bowl was replenished on more than the odd occasion plus a lot of various alcoholic beverages were added to it out of site. Her parents were obviously unaware of their daughter's tastes and she being a member of that timber company just beside the bridge in Maidstone town centre. The one that used to unload the Thames barges full of timber from overseas. We, as schoolboys used to walk through the yard on our way to the weekly market, on the pretext of drawing the Archbishop's palace, as we had double art on Tuesday and Tav House, our art master gave us our freedom. I happened to launch a large plank into the river, as was my want, only to be spotted by someone in an office, who rushed out and stopped me in my tracks and said that I'd be in trouble and that he would report me to Ron Voice, our headmaster but he changed his story when I mentioned my name, as he played cricket with my father and I got away with a good telling off. Crikey, that close to the cane.

Anyroadup we exit what used to be a nice hall and turn left down the lane, opposite the local village's home ground.. The ground seemed to be tended by a large farming family, one of whom seemed to have a wonderful and eye coordination and rejoiced in hitting sixes over the pub, whereupon all the fielders would take it upon themselves to run round the back. One soon learnt to follow, as round the back was a swimming pool and quite a few of the landlord's lady friends would be there with very little on. Lots of balls were lost there.

We continue down the road until we meet a left turning and follow this onto to a well known corner, obviously named on recognition of something important. It's on the main road from Headcorn and splits to road between two villages and the farm on the south east corner, Roselands Farm, was owned by one, John Dolan, who's gatepost was wrenched out of the ground by one of our new Super Comet trucks. He was just ringing in to report the problem when the truck pulled his telephone wire down on it's way out, cutting him off in mid flow.

Just down that little lane lived one Stuart Pearson, another producer of strawberries and all manner of vegetables. It took me a long time to find out that this excellent family were indeed tenant farmers and the farm was in fact owned by Wm. Skinner at Friday Street Farm. What itis to be ignorant

I digress as we should've taken the left hand fork at the corner and headed towards the important next village, whereupon we come across another cricket pitch and follow it round to the right and head towards another locally famous corner and a pub of various names

This corner is at the foot of a famous hill in these parts, as it marks a dent in the ridge which runs through the county and allows hail storms to drop their load and escape over the ridge, so not a useful area to grow top fruit unless one has good insurance. Fred Marchant had a rather large farm on the right, as one makes one's way up the hill.HYe was having a drink in the saloon bar of the Sutton Valence Swan one night and let it slip that he'd just received a payment of £2,000 from the MOA but it had gone before he got home. So thin were the walls in those days and Mum's the word. The next hostelry up this hill is the famous Pepperbox and it's still owned or managed by the same family and another pub ravaged by fire not so long ago but a lovely pub with excellent food with excellent facilities.

Out of the pub car park and take a right upto the crossroads and right again and we follow the road until we come to another ancient and now none existent pub and the top of another famous road.

We follow this road down through a very strangely named village with another ancient pub,

recently refurbished and onto our destination hotel where a guitar virtuoso used to jam, me and my friend,

Scarface used to frequent on a regular basis if some big American cars were in the car park. He was called Scarface after he put his mother's Peugoet i305 estate into the ditch on the way to a party one Saturday night and cut his forehead on the shattered screen and the scar glowed purple in the cold and absolutely nothing to do with Al Pacino. Little Pete Hudson lost a little finger and Nigel Drayson had an half inch square cut out of his skull. Oh what fun we had

The guitarist died only recently was very famous for his initial association with a famous group and mixing it with two other famous exponents of the same instrument.

So there you have another ramble with photographs and questions to follow

Happy New Year

1)Name of hall

2)strange door handles

3)name of hotel

4)local cricket team name

5)name of lane

6)corner name

7)super comet maker

8)two villages

9)local cricket team

10)name of corner

11)pubs original old name

12)hill name

13)pepper box family

14) regular christmas feature at pub

15)crossroads area name

16)extinct pub

17)area name

18)little village name

19)refurbished pub

20)famous blues guitarist

21) his two fellow guitarists

22)the group that they were all members of originally, taking each other's place

23)the group's first hit

24)the hotel of ill repute which evidently appeared on 4 in a bed and did champagne weekends for £350

Answers on the back of a fag packet and sent to Peter Fenton, who will draw the winning entry out of his top hat sometime in the future

Good luck

[mr-styles]

Hello, I’m Harry Styles and tonight I’m going to help you drift off to sleep with some soothing words and calming music. A sleep story, just for you. With all the busyness of your day, I know how hard it can be to get to sleep. So I thank you for choosing this story, and me to help you. I wish you a wonderful night’s sleep. So make yourself comfortable. Take a deep breath in, and then out. In, and then out. And when you’re ready, close your eyes.

[Listen]

Have you ever wondered what happens when you sleep? Where you go and what you feel. The places that you seek.  When you start to drift away, your mind becomes a book that writes itself, then fades away before you wake to look.

Tonight we’re gong to think about anything you’d like. So first let’s visualise some scenes to see us through the night. Settle back and clear your mind. We’re heading somewhere special, beyond the world of consciousness, to places more celestial.

I’d like you to imagine now, you’re there beneath the stars, which, when you pause to think about it, actually you are. As you focus on the darkness, right before your eyes, fill the scene with glinting lights to emulate night skies.

Think about the things you cherish most and those you love. And then allow yourself to be embraced from up above. The power of the universe, meanders through your mind. So come with me and let’s see what the two of us can find.

Let’s travel now to moonlit valleys, blanketed with heather. The kind of landscape you and i could dream about forever. Imagine lazing on the ground, succumbing to the charms of blades of grass we now caress with fingertips and palms. A gentle scent of cedar wood is floating on the breeze, a gift from mother nature and her nearby cedar trees. We’re gazing at the night sky now, marveling at infinity. So allow your mind to wander to a peaceful new vicinity.

Picture this: a rich green forest, damp with morning dew. Inhale the morning air as we explore, just me and you. Leaves create mosaics in every shade of green, as gentle birds son mingles with the babbling of a stream.

Dappled sepia sunlight cuts through branches overhead, as dew drops fall from leaf to leaf like glistening strands of thread. The dew drops finally coalesce, forming satin beads. Occasionally they kiss our cheeks. Small pleasures, quenching needs.

Holding hands, we stroll until we chance upon a brook. It’s cool clear water, mirroring our faces as we look. The shimmering reflection shows us smiling from above. The word we think but dare not speak is l-o-v-e. Love.

Now we snuggle on a raft, and drift for endless hours. As willow trees sway in the breeze and blossoms fall in showers. Gently swaying to and fro, we look up at the sky and watch the clouds above us forming shapes as they pass by.

The wisps of cloud swirl slowly, tinged with tangerine and pink. And as they fade, the sunset gives us cause to muse and think, of places we should visit and oceans we could cross. For some who wander through this world, there’s grace in being lost.

Passing by a waterfall, our thoughts sway to and fro. And time begins to fade and blur. Beneath the moon’s pale glow, a symphony of tumbling water loves and mesmerizes. Nature’s soundtrack to our dreams, assume so many guises.

Strolling on a sidewalk now, as rain begins to fall. Its gentle pitter-patter holds us deep within its thrall. The raindrops rhythm briefly slows, then intensifies. Peaceful and benevolent. A gift from moonlit skies. The fragrance that the rain creates upon the concrete surface inspires yet relaxes, and focuses our purpose. To shift our minds to neutral and allow our thoughts to drift. And recognise the rainfall as a mesmerising gift.

Sheltering beneath a porch, we watch the rain pour down. Though now the time has come to leave this moonlit town. A gentle breeze wafts through the trees. It causes leaves to stir. And then the rain relents and fades, as time begins to blur.

We find ourselves upon a shoreline, lounging by a lake. While crickets chirp in nearby reeds, it’s hard to stay awake. The scene feels like a watercolour - soft diluted tones. As looking down we see each other. Laughing, skimming stones. The stones skip on the gleaming lake and ripples start to form. And though the sun has dipped from view, we feel content and warm. Herons drift on thermals, high above a sun bleached pier. And in the trees beyond the lake, we glimpse a passing deer.

Strands of cloud unfurl like ribbons in the orange sky. Mirrored on the lake now, like a painted butterfly. In the distance, mountains beckon, capped with pristine snow. The kind of sight that dreams evoke when hearts and minds let go.

Contemplating nothingness. A scene takes shape before us, and as it sharpens in our thoughts, we hear a distant chorus. The dampened sound of silence that only snow can bring, surrounds us with its calming vibes and touches us within.

Glistening snowflakes fall in flourish, mountain rivers freeze. The powdery slopes look beautiful and fresh snow dusts the trees. Somehow now, we’re in a cabin, taking in this view. As a fire crackles in the corner, just for me and you. We linger for a moment, or maybe it’s been hours. For when we blink and look again, our vistas waft in flowers. Another destination lulls us. Closer now it seems. Perhaps it’s real, or just another chapter in our dreams.

Drifting in and out of sleep, our thoughts take us elsewhere. To an island fringed by swaying palms. Lush beyond compare. A path winds through the mangroves towards a distant beach, that underlines the turquoise ocean, now within our reach.

Eventually, we feel the powdery sand right beneath our feet. The sun above now blessing us with gentle, soothing heat. We hear the lilting sound of surf breaking up ahead. While spiral shells and pearly shards determine where we tread.

Finally, a lapping wave engulfs our sandy feet. It seems to pause and ruminate, then gradually retreat. We dig our toes in cool, wet sand, then sit and face the sea. And let the sand wash over us. Alone, just you, and me. Staring at the nothingness that stretches on forever, our thoughts dovetail and unify in tune, two minds together. As minutes turn to hours, we drift off somewhere new. And visualize a stay away, to a door we now walk through.

Imagine now a meadow on a balmy afternoon. Birds, and bees, and rustling trees create a summer tune. Flanked by fields of sunflowers, hand in hand we walk. As the gentle sounds of nature surrounds us while we talk. The sunflowers give the scenery a warm and golden hue, while hazy sunshine softens our idyllic, rustic view. As we roam past hedgerows, a farmhouse sits alone. Its open shutters pressed against uneven walls of stone. A garden winds around the house, and daisies poke through grass. A bench that’s lived through countless summers creaks as we walk past. We wonder if the house is empty. Once loved - but no longer. The thought of passing time inspires a feeling that grows stronger.

This feeling washes over us, lost between a sigh. And as the sun begins to set, we stop and wonder why. Gravity caresses us and pulls you close to me. Then the scene begins to fade, our new reality.

Deeper, gradually deeper, we drift and now transcend to unfamiliar places too surreal to comprehend. Slowly we capitulate, as sleep begins to call. Entwined in dreams and shifting scenes, we drift and gently fall.

Friendly faces, glorious places. Things we hope to do intertwine with snapshots. Some of me, and some of you. Moonlit valleys, verdant forests, gazing at the ocean. Summer meadows, tranquil sunsets, steeped in pure emotion. The tenderness we feel when we are close, two minds as one, surrounds us and connects us, but we’ve only just begun. For now, we dream together of all that is to follow. And know that sleep will keep us safe, from now until tomorrow.

Maybe all the memories that we’ve gathered here tonight, are all dreams now remembered, or wishes in plain sight. No matter what, they’re with us now, for this night and forever. And every time we close our eyes, they’re yours and mine to treasure.

Goodnight and sleep well.

[lavendermin]

if all stars fell at once (2) | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 2.5k

genre | fluff, light angst, developing relationship, overall domestic

warnings | eventual smut

The moon was high behind the peaks of mountains; a deep navy sky clear in display of its many twinkling stars. Though the land was asleep, the crickets softly hummed their conversation and a few fireflies speckled the dark.

Perhaps it’s your high spirits at the change of routine and tender moment under falling stars, but the scenery around you has never looked more magical.

“If you continue to stare up at the sky while you walk, you’ll lose your footing and fall.”

You turned around at Xiao’s comment, face still alight with a grin you were sure made you look like a giddy child. The faint smile on his lips gave away his amusement.

“And if I do, will you be there to catch me?”

“Anywhere, anytime,” Xiao reassured, arms crossed over his chest.

Though it was a rhetorical question, the power his aura exuded as an adeptus solidified his words as not only a confirmation, but a promise.

Approaching the steps that lead further up the village to where your house was tucked away, you paused. Noticing this, Xiao looked up at you and was met with your outstretched hand— patient and waiting. His lips slightly parted in brief confusion, and the innocence his eyes held reminded you of a kitten curiously approaching something new.

Endearment. It pulled your heartstrings in the honeyed melody that had you in its audience.

There was brief hesitation. His gloved hand slowly settled into yours and he quietly allowed you to lead him up the stone steps of the winding hills. The warmth rose high on his cheeks, unnoticed by you as you led the way in your sleep-driven haze.

The exhaustion of the day seeped into your bones as you hobbled tiredly over to the familiar front door. Xiao watched attentively as you sluggishly fumbled around for a vase to hold your glaze lilies while getting ready for bed. Mortals were undeniably limited in their energy— always dependent on slumber and moments of rest to replenish and recharge their energy. However bothersome it seemed to Xiao before, seemed to have a change of heart upon seeing your switch in demeanor. It was… cute, and such thoughts filled him with the overwhelming need to just— hold you safely in his arms.

Gods… he was so touch starved and didn’t even know it. Such strange urges only served to further vex & confuse him.

Kneeling by your bedside, he pushed some hair out of your face. You were comfortably under a sea of blankets, the warmth of them quickly promising to have your wish come true. Through heavy lids, you gave him a goofy grin; mind aloof with lulls of sleep.

“Thank you for watching the stars with me.”

There you go again. Thanking him for such trivial and insignificant things. It flustered him. No— it made the fearsome Conqueror of Demons bashful.

“It’s nothing to thank me for,” Xiao uttered softly, fingers absentmindedly combing through your hair. You only hummed and relaxed into his touch in response, too tired to chide him.

“Did you mean it?” you groggily muttered from under your covers. “Wanting to get to know me more.”

Xiao nodded. “Rest now. We can talk later.”

The yaksha froze in his advances to leave, feeling the faintest tug on his sleeve.

“Stay… please, Xiao,” you begged weakly. “Just until I fall asleep.”

There was an uncharacteristic mix of fear and defeat in those words alone. It made his chest twinge with hurt. The wish you made earlier… Was sleep truly that difficult for you? He wondered what would impede your nights with restlessness. With a defeated sigh, the yaksha settled back next to you.

“Thank y–“ Xiao cut you off with a breathy chuckle, placing his hand over your eyes.

“Just sleep. I’ll stay.”

Not even two minutes had passed, yet you were already fast asleep. So, you were only keeping awake out of stubbornness… Somehow it no longer surprised him. Xiao watched as your breathing became steadier, face relaxed into your tranquil state of sleep.

Though the promise was only to stay until you were fast asleep, Xiao found himself unable to leave— unwilling to leave. To wish for enough sleep… it only left him wondering what the issue there was.

Perhaps a year ago he would have scoffed at the idea of trying to solve a human’s sleeping problem. My, how you've gotten him wrapped around your finger. Still, he sat in the dark room washed over by pale moonlight and stared absentmindedly at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts. Were you a light sleeper? Or perhaps it was insomnia, though it would contradict how fast you fell asleep. The only other possibility he could consider was an external force that came to make a ruckus at night.

Part of him was fighting to just leave. It was none of his business to be a sleep therapist.

I wish to get to know you better.

The wish he made— though he didn’t believe in mortals’ naive, wishful thinking, he truly did want to know you better. That single want was the thread that bound him to his current disposition.

Before he knew it, he had already stayed an hour. Muffled whimpering pulled him out of his thoughts as he glanced back over to you. There was a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead as you shifted around. Your brows were furrowed in discomfort and face in a frown that shifted from fear to stress.

Ah. Nightmares.

Somehow the thought had escaped him, and now he was reminded of the unpredictability of mortal dreams.

Dream eater. That’s what he once was. The memories of his past, the dreams he painfully consumed, were enough to raise bile in his throat in a suffocating feeling. He wasn’t sure how to help you. Comforting others was never his strong suit and the thought of eating your dream… It made his hand tremble. In anticipation or fear, he couldn’t say.

The hesitation was clear, seeping into his movements as his hand slowly drew closer over your head.

“It’s… okay,” he quietly reassured, awkwardly patting your head in what he attempted to be a comforting motion. “I’m right here.”

Slowly, your face eased into a more relaxed state. Your breathing returned to a steady rhythm as you settled back into a restful sleep. Perhaps the nightmare had already subsided for the time being.

Xiao hadn’t realized until now how his shoulders stiffened with lingering worry, nor how he had held his breath to see your expression change. He scoffed inwardly at himself, rising from the bed and descending back into the night to continue his eternal back-and-forth with the karmic debt that hung over his shoulders.

“I’ve long gone past the point of no return.”

——

“Emissary Ganyu, what a pleasant surprise running into you today.” You warmly greeted the busy-bee secretary of Yuehai Pavilion. Her entrance to Bubu Pharmacy was graceful, and she warmly reciprocated the greeting.

Slight embarrassment dusted her cheeks as she privately added, “P-Please, the formality is a little… You don’t have to use the titles. I’m content with just being Ganyu when we meet.” She waved a hand dismissively at herself. “But I digress, what brings you here today?”

With a tired sigh and halfhearted smile, you gestured toward the box of medicine herbalist Gui was packing for you. “Nothing severe. I just ran out of medicine for headaches and remedies for stress.”

Ganyu’s expression softened with knowing concern. “Has sleep become an issue once again?”

You nodded, handing the herbalist what you owed with a grateful ‘thank you’. “Slept rather well last night at least. I feel fine today,” you reassure with a smile.

Being alive as long as she has, Ganyu has known your family for generations and witnessed all that has traversed them for as long as she can remember. The stresses that ail you— the sources of your sleeplessness— Ganyu knew them well.

The sole remaining descendant of your family. Perhaps she saw herself in you, and that’s why she kept her promise to your grandmother of being someone you could rely on.

“That’s a relief to hear,” Ganyu sighed, expression relaxing from its worry. “I came here to drop off licensing renewals and paperwork for Baizhu. If you’re feeling up to it, we can catch up with a quick lunch.”

Ever the busy-body, you mused fondly.

“I’d like that.”

Never a dull moment with her, Ganyu was quick to get you in step with her schedule flow. Luckily, you were rested enough to keep up with her today.

You anxiously fiddled with the napkin on your lap. “Isn't this a bit… much?”

Seated within the highly-regarded Liuli Pavilion, you couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. Such enticing dishes laid out before you… smelled expensive. It wasn’t the first time you’d been brought to eat here with her, and though it was a rarity you were still never one to indulge too much in lavish luxury from the city.

“Not at all,” Ganyu wholeheartedly reassured. “It's my treat for such a rare occasion.”

“You spoil me, Gan…”

As you both idly chatted over delicately prepared meals, you couldn’t help but notice the not-so-subtle glances Ganyu would take toward your lap every now and then. With a half-hearted sigh and a growing smile that betrayed your feigned exasperation, you set down your utensils.

“Okay. Alright.” Ganyu’s eyes sparkled, already knowing you caved. “Just ask what you want.”

“The charm,” she started, eyes intently observing the small charm that dangled securely from your hip. Never one to miss something new about you. The attentiveness from the adeptal blood that flowed within her, presumably. “Where did you get it? Ah! Pardon my prying— I don’t mean to be nosy...”

With delicate fingers, you picked it up, eyes glossing over it. The beat of your heart picked up ever so slightly.

“It was a gift.”

Left next to the vase of glaze lilies, the glint of the charm catching the morning light drew your attention toward it. You delicately picked up the item, tracing the butterfly engraved on the wooden diamond with your fingertip. The piece of amber that dangled from it with an ornate tassel was warm on your palm.

A single note on a small piece of parchment laid next to it.

‘An adepti amulet to stave off evil. Should you need me, call my name.’

“Xiao…” Ganyu started, clasping your hand in hers. “He must truly consider you someone special. It’s not often he gives gifts— despite how surprisingly skilled he is in intricate crafts.”

Warm and fuzzy, your chest pounded with overwhelming emotion. A handmade amulet… It was beautiful in its simplicity, and carried meaning in its subtle details you had yet to decipher. You had to remember to thank him for it later.

“He’s a very gentle person. I’d also… like to get to know him better,” you absentmindedly mused, recalling that mysterious masked boy caught in the thundering rain all those months ago. Though reserved and self-guarded, Xiao was never anything but polite albeit a bit distanced for a while.

It seems they get along well together, Ganyu noted, gaze holding a tender fondness like one would with a sibling. Maybe this was the new walk of life you needed when all other roads were erased.

——

“Can’t I just-”

“No.”

You huffed through your nose, exasperated. “You’re being unfair.” Xiao only raised a brow in response.

“An adeptus prolonging your lifespan would be considered a divine blessing to any other mortal out there,” he countered, pushing you back into bed with a gentle nudge that you didn’t fight back. “Rest.”

Making me go to bed early is some divine blessing... Such sarcasm you would keep between yourself and your thoughts alone.

“Xiao, it’s only nine o’clock! The moon just barely appeared in the sky. And with the Lantern Rite just around the corner, I want to get as much of my part finished.” But your protests fell on deaf ears as he continued to diligently pile on any blankets he could get his hands on. With a defeated sigh, you allowed your body to sink more comfortably into the mattress. “Is something wrong?”

Your voice came quiet, the question lingering with worry as Xiao sat on the edge of the bed— his back facing you. Oftentimes it was still hard to tell what he was thinking, for there was a lot about his past that was unknown to you and it seemed to weigh heavily on his mind recently. He didn’t need to tell you for you to know there were things he wasn’t voicing— not without your encouragement and patient reassurance.

“Can I ask?” Xiao started, his voice rather quiet like he was afraid of overstepping a boundary. “Your nightmares— how often do they haunt you?”

You were taken aback. “A-Ah, you saw…?”

With a silent nod, the bed creaked as he readjusted himself to finally face you. “That night you told me to stay… You looked distressed in your sleep.”

“They only happen sometimes,” you reassured half-heartedly with a dismissive wave of your hand. The subtle, sharpened squint of his eyes told you he saw right through your downplay.

“Lies will do you no good. But in regards to them, I...”

Xiao paused, looking away briefly. The way he avoided your gaze, the jaded look in his amber eyes— there was something he was fighting with himself to say.

“I can get rid of them, if you wish it.”

You blinked, eyes widening slightly in confused curiosity. “You can… do that?”

At this point, you would take any method to end some of your daily exhaustion. But the way his hands balled into fists at his lap suggested he didn’t have a good history with it. Still, he nodded, his eyes closed as he concentrated on grounding himself— convincing himself to tell you. Now that he had propositioned it, there was no turning back. He had to explain it but the memories—the screams— they stopped the words at his throat.

His mind was going a mile a minute in a constant war, the resolve to see through what he had started diminishing. Yet all at once, it stopped and his eyes shifted down to your quiet reassurance— your hand placed atop his fist. He took a steadying breath.

“I’ve eaten dreams before,” Xiao started, eyes closed as he reminisced. “There exist several methods developed over centuries to perform it. Many are painless and safe. A nightmare or a dream—either can be eaten and it would be as if you had no recollection of it afterwards.”

“So… it wipes it from my memory?”

“In a similar concept, yes.”

You nodded slowly, brows scrunched in thought as you processed the idea.

“Do you trust me with doing this, should you have nightmares?”

All it took was a moment. You were quick to melt away his doubts with the warmth that radiated from your softening gaze. And with a gentle squeeze to his hand, you replied.

“I trust you.”

[vivacissimx]

lyanna stark, a drop of the wolf-blood, & the pragmatism underneath

the youngest we see lyanna (in my estimation), is this vision from bran

Now two children danced across the godswood, hooting at one another as they dueled with broken branches. The girl was the older and taller of the two. Arya! Bran thought eagerly, as he watched her leap up onto a rock and cut at the boy. But that couldn't be right. If the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself, and he had never worn his hair so long. And Arya never beat me playing swords, the way that girl is beating him. She slashed the boy across his thigh, so hard that his leg went out from under him and he fell into the pool and began to splash and shout. "You be quiet, stupid," the girl said, tossing her own branch aside. "It's just water. Do you want Old Nan to hear and run tell Father?" She knelt and pulled her brother from the pool

- Bran III, ADWD

but four books earlier, we see this quote from ned:

Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it

- Arya II, AGOT

so we know that that ned was close enough to lyanna to know that she enjoyed swordplay, close enough to know her desires and to know that rickard would never accept this (for whatever reason).

...but not close enough to be the one she practiced sworldplay with in secret. the picture this paints is telling. lyanna was explicitly banned from something, and chose to pursue it in a secret and harmless way, with someone she trusted.

but ned isn't privy to that information. whether because he wasn't around, or because lyanna thought he would disapprove, or because he just thought it was childish - either way, we see that lyanna is picky about who she trusts, bred out of having to be sneaky in achieving her goals under her strict father's nose. she even identifies old nan as a snitch (et tu brute?). clever kid.

lyanna has other hobbies, too. she loves flowers. she loves riding horses.

"You ride like a northman, milady," Harwin said when he'd drawn them to a halt. "Your aunt was the same. Lady Lyanna. But my father was master of horse, remember."

- Arya III, ASOS

[Brandon] loved to ride. His little sister took after him in that. A pair of centaurs, those two.

- The Turncloak, ADWD

Horses … [Domeric] was mad for horses, Lady Dustin will tell you. Not even Lord Rickard's daughter could outrace him, and that one was half a horse herself.

- Reek III, ADWD

worth mentioning, imo, that even though lyanna was an excellent rider, she couldn't beat domeric. this is paralelled with arya, who is great on horseback, but not faster than harwin the son of winterfell's master of horse. this isn't a case of 'not like other girls' syndrome, of mary sues who are magically the best there ever was. conversely, adversity doesn't scare either of them off - lyanna was clearly competitive, with domeric and likely with brandon before him, and it all added up to her being remembered as a fantastic horserider despite effectively leaving the north at 14.

so lyanna is determined. she's willful, to hear ned say it.

then, of course, we have this

"Robert will never keep to one bed," Lyanna had told him at Winterfell, on the night long ago when their father had promised her hand to the young Lord of Storm's End. "I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale." Ned had held the babe in his arms; he could scarcely deny her, nor would he lie to his sister, but he had assured her that what Robert did before their betrothal was of no matter, that he was a good man and true who would love her with all his heart.

Lyanna had only smiled. "Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature."

- Eddard IX, AGOT

this seems fairly clear cut, but let's break down this conversation:

lyanna (told the news by the authoritative father; being approached by ned, the sibling who is best friends with the guy in question; thirteen years old): he will never keep to one bed. he has a bastard already, on a common girl he cannot marry which speaks to his character

ned: it isn't robert's actions that matter, it's his feelings. *crickets on lyanna's feelings*

now lyanna is thirteen. but she already recognizes that this is a losing battle. why? because she can't change robert?

no. because she cannot change the minds of rickard, or of ned.

there is no doubt in my mind that both these men loved her. but do they listen to her? clearly not.

lyanna doesn't bother to fight this fight she cannot win. she just smiles, realizing that rickard/ned are not going to hear her out on this, and gets the last word with "love does not change a man's nature."

this isn't the divide between lyanna and robert - this is the moment of divide between lyanna and ned. they're siblings who love each other, and love is sweet, but none of that changes that ned is on rickard and robert's side. it's a rough moment for a teenage girl. she was right earlier, she must realize - benjen is the brother she can trust.

so lyanna is determined, but she is pragmatic.

the next time we see lyanna, she's kicking ass at harrenhal.

[...]they heard a roar. “That’s my father’s man you’re kicking!” howled the she-wolf…

The she-wolf laid into the squires with a tourney sword, scattering them all. The crannogman was bruised and bloodied, so she took him back to her lair to clean his cuts and bind them up with linen.

- Bran II, ASOS

here is where lyanna really shines.

she has a moral code all her own, we already know this from her assessment of robert's child that differed from how catelyn views bastards disconnected from the home.

she dislikes bullies, which is fairly common (jaime hated bullies growing up, for example) but for some reason at this very moment, she also has a tourney sword in hand - why? well, because lyanna stark takes her opportunities when she has them. barred from swordplay? that's fine, dad, but when you're not looking is another story.

she doesn't go rushing in, nor does she ignore the scene. she watches long enough to see if howland can fight them off (he can't), giving her time to identify him as a crannogman - possibly even as a highborn crannogman. and then what does she do? she weighs her options, decides that she can probably beat the bullies, and does so. then she takes care of howland reed, picking him up like she picked benjen out of the water in bran's vision.

[T]here was to be a feast in Harrenhal, to mark the opening of the tourney, and the she-wolf insisted that the lad attend. He was of high birth, with as much right to a place on the bench as any other man.

- Bran II, ASOS

she claims his rights as a highborn lord to attend. he doesn't have clothes, nor does howland insist that he can go, but lyanna makes a reasoned argument that howland has every right to attend and that surely benjen can find him some clothes!

so lyanna is determined, pragmatic, and a problem-solver.

[T]he Knight of the Laughing Tree spoke in a booming voice through his helm, saying “Teach your squires honour, and that shall be ransom enough.” Once the defeated knights chastised their squires sharply, their horses and armour were returned.

- Bran II, ASOS

here, lyanna displays a trait that sets her apart. howland memorizes the face of his bullies. he wants to "revenge" himself on them. but lyanna does not go directly for the bullies, she challenges the lords to whom the bullies squire, and commands them to chastise their squires.

lyanna understands the chivalric system she lives in, and that she will not be listened to (how? her own father and brother don't listen to her!), so she figures out another way to get justice that plays on the very ideas of might & honor that exclude the weak. she is confident in her abilities (being experienced riding at rings), gathers up all the material she needs, and takes a calculated risk.

she manipulates the system, plainly. she plays the players at their own game and wins.

and she does it for a guy she met a few days ago.

lyanna is determined, pragmatic, a problem-solver, and ascribes to a moral code that is all her own, one that rejects societal hypocrisy.

You have a wildness in you, child. 'The wolf blood,' my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch.

- Arya II, AGOT

so how do we square this away? lyanna was wolf-blooded. she was wild. she was untameable.

or was she?

any girl/woman with half a personality gets described as "spirited" or "willful" or "stubborn" in asoiaf. it's a polite of saying "hard to control." we see several times that lyanna takes a measured approach to matters. she is brave, yes, but she is also thoughtful and chooses her battles with the information she has. when she is denied something for no reason beyond her gender and status, she finds a way to pursue her interests regardless.

but robert is something lyanna can't avoid. and that had to rankle her, the betrothal she is determined to avoid, but pragmatically cannot due to her family's insistence. the marriage that goes against her moral code (i'm sure lyanna noted that robert gladly volunteered to capture the KOTLT, regardless of what punishment might be given down by a deranged aerys).

[i'm going to skip over her relationship with rhaegar, because there isn't enough/any text to analyze that explicitly deals with their dynamic post-harrenhal. speculation isn't the point of this post. suffice to say she saw in him something she did not in her family or robert.]

then aerys burns her father and brother.

could rhaegar have stopped aerys once he made up his mind? we as readers know the answer is no. grrm says so much himself, that it was aerys who kicked off the war in this interview:

The Mad King was mad. He was paranoid and violent and he was abusing his power... [Robert's Rebellion] was triggered by[...]the execution of Ned’s father and brother, it was the thing that radicalized, as we would have said in the 60s, Ned and it put him in opposition to it. Robert was just rolling for a fight and it might affect that he’d lost his girlfriend.

the absolute power of kings is continuously critiqued in the series.

so how did lyanna react? of course she grieved deeply. even if she knew that she would likely not see her family again for several years at least, for them to die in such a terrible manner is horrifying.

but lyanna has been forged into pragmatism. she looked at the squires beating up howland and saw that the issue was not the bullies, but the corrupt, lazy lords they squired for.

why would she not be able to see that aerys's abuse of power was what had killed her own family? she's realistic and she's a moral actor and she understands the social system around her. whatever her opinion on feudal lordship before, abuse of power has now killed two people she loved. only extrapolation can say how she would react, but given that we see her in similar situations - it is safe to say that the she understands the removal of aerys from power is a necessity, and that a king who is ruled by his urges is unfit.

[lyanna doesn't have the highest opinion of robert, does she? would she think him fit to be a king? doubtful.]

however, she also wants her family to be safe - a family which is now going to include her unborn baby.

[Ned] could hear her still at times. Promise me, she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned. The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sister's eyes. Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black

- Eddard I, AGOT

the promise she solicited from ned is to care for baby jon, presumably.

more importantly, in this final conversation, lyanna is putting all her trust in ned.

this moment is a tragic one, but it is also a cathartic one. whatever has happened, and there is plenty of difficulty between ned and lya at this point, they are putting that to the side and affirming what matters most: their love and loyalty to one another, not in service to house stark, or to any king or cause, but to each other as lyanna and ned.

ned didn't listen before, but he promises her now. lyanna didn't confide in him before, but she does now. yes she's on her deathbed, but this is powerful anyway. it's a healing moment for them both, one lyanna held on for even though by all means she could have trusted the kingsguard to whisk baby jon away earlier and succumbed to the pain.

lyanna doesn't spend her last moments begging for forgiveness or explaining herself. she spends her last moments trying to solve the problem of jon's safety, of her son's life. even at the end, she is determined that he will live.

she dies fearless. she smiles, maybe the same way she smiled in winterfell when ned told her robert would be a good husband and she saw the love in ned's words but not the respect. a bittersweet smile, because jon will survive but she won't see it.

"She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean."

"I was with her when she died," Ned reminded the king. "She wanted to come home, to rest beside Brandon and Father."

- Eddard I, AGOT

this is our actual introduction to lyanna, when robert and ned initially visit her in the crypts. given everything we know, it's so fitting - robert is displeased with her gravesite. he never got what he wanted (his manic pixie dream girl </3), and even in death he doesn't like her grave.

lyanna was never the person robert projected her to be. in her crypt, she's still defiant against him/what he symbolizes. her determination, her wishes, her home, they all shine through.

But there were others with faces he had never known in life, faces he had seen only in stone. The slim, sad girl who wore a crown of pale blue roses and a white gown spattered with gore could only be Lyanna. Her brother Brandon stood beside her, and their father Lord Rickard just behind.

- Theon V, ACOK

in the end, lyanna's close to her family (even by their side in theon's dreams). she's close to brandon, rickard, ned, old nan, everyone she ever knew growing up, and most importantly: to jon. it's a romantic ending for a minor character, a character grrm clearly cherished when he wrote.

the point of this post is that i want to leave behind the idea of lyanna stark as this harbinger of tragedy. the woman who ruined every man who looked into her eyes (robert, ned, rhaegar) and is now turned to stone. lyanna stark isn't written as a cautionary tale, as a romanticized medusa - instead, her memory lives on in a son who doesn't know her but still loves her, in how the people she knew remember her for what she actually loved, and even in lyanna mormont (a fitting namesake). there's defiance and meaning in that.

i could never say it better, so have hélène cixous's banger to round out my thoughts on lyanna:

You only have to look at the Medusa straight on to see her. And she’s not deadly. She’s beautiful and she’s laughing.

[thesightstoshowyou]

Timing is Everything

Jesse Cromeans x F Reader x Asa Emory (NSFW)

Summary: Trapped between a predator and a hard place.

Warnings: All the warnings! Dubcon/noncon, daddy kink, Dominant Asa, possessive Asa, creampie(s), anal play, heavy degradation, slapping, manipulation, knife use, blood, torture, “aftercare.” Safe word? What’s that?

 ~~

             When the penthouse elevator dings, you think it’s Asa. It’s after five, Asa’s typical time to return home and recharge before heading out into the night. Jesse’s been gone for days to who knows where, but this isn’t unusual.

             So, when you peek under the cabinets from your spot near the stove and see soft lights glinting off chrome, you’re surprised. He strips out of his black suit jacket, kicking off his boots as he goes. You frown at the blood that drips off the soles onto clean marble. Asa’s going to be pissed.

             But, maybe that’s the point.

             “Hey, you. Back already?” you ask casually as Jesse stalks behind the counter. He drags his fingers leisurely along the sleek granite as he strolls over to you. There’s promise in the way his hips sway as he approaches, a hint of impatience in his swagger. Immediately, you’re on edge.

             Uneasy, you meet his shadowed gaze as well as you can through the darkened eyeholes of his mask. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause, just keeps slowly pressuring you until you’re backed against the sink. You gulp when his arm slides around your waist, one huge hand grabbing a handful of your ass.

             “Asa’s not here—

             Jesse claps a hand over your mouth and shakes his head. He bends down to your level, nudges your cheek with the chilly teeth of his mask. The hand on your ass disappears, resurfaces clutching one of those heinous blades. Dried blood flecks off the handle as he twists it, brings cold steel under your chin.

             You’re afraid, yes, but not of the knife. Asa doesn’t like Jesse to touch you if he’s not there. The Collector is the sole orchestrater of your pleasure and pain, and Chromeskull is an extension of Asa’s knife. Usually, Jesse is more than happy to take instruction on how best to pull you apart and put you back together.

             Usually.

             Not tonight, apparently. The last time this had happened, you hadn’t been able to walk for a week. You wonder what Asa said to Jesse to set him off.

             “Daddy, please,” you mumble behind his hand, hoping the pet name will give him pause. Jesse’s gaze snaps back to yours. He brings the knife in front of your face and shakes it back and forth. ‘No, no, no, little girl,’ it says with its movement. You plead with your eyes and Jesse’s shoulders shake in silent laughter. He’s enjoying the way your lips tremble in trepidation.

             Jesse seizes you around the waist, tosses you over his shoulder, saunters to the bedroom. You let yourself be towed, racing mind wondering what the hell you’re going to tell Asa when he inevitably walks in on the both of you. You nearly scoff out loud; as if Asa’s going to let you speak. You’re so, so fucked.

             Literally.

             When Asa does finally return home, you don’t hear him enter. The only things you can hear are the rustling of bedsheets in your ear, the fervent slap of skin on skin, and your muffled groans and screams. Jesse has your cheek smashed into the mattress, drooling mouth stuffed with your panties, arms pinned behind your back, two, thick fingers speared into your ass, and your hips in the air as he pummels your sore cunt. No hole left unfilled.

             You’re dripping cum and your own fluids, the sheets a wet mess beneath you. Whatever Asa said to him, it really, really set him off. Deliriously, you wonder if you’ve ever seen him so pent up.

             You yelp around the underwear between your teeth when Jesse tugs his fingers from your ass. His hand flies to your hair, gripping your messy locks and turning your head the other direction so you’re looking at the bedroom doorway. Your eyes widen in horror when you see Asa leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, dark eyes intently focused on the arch of your back.

            Behind you, Jesse hisses and hilts himself, spilling another load of sticky cum into your abused cunt. You grunt and wriggle against the hand keeping your arms pinned. He’d timed that perfectly, hadn’t he?

            Deliberately, Asa pulls a pair of black, nitrile gloves from his back pocket. He snaps them on, one at a time, intertwining his fingers to achieve the snuggest fit. Your chest heaves, your limbs trembling at the methodical way he flicks open the sheath on his hip and produces a slim knife, the blade glinting maliciously in the low light.

            Jesse slips from your cunt with a sigh, releases your arms, crawls up beside you so he’s resting against the headboard. You flop over, yank the panties from your mouth, push to your knees with shaking arms, drop your chin to your chest submissively.

            What do you say? He’ll hurt you more if you talk out of turn. Fuck, this isn’t fair.

            Jesse will emerge from this ordeal unscathed. He’d never allow Asa to punish him, no, not without a bloody, vicious fight. That’s not what this twisted relationship is about, but Asa will have to punish someone.

            And that someone is you.

            A normal relationship would have a predetermined word, a phrase, a hand signal, something that would bring this nightmare to an end, but when you’re the obsession of both the Collector and Chromeskull, there is no safe word. There is pain and there is pleasure and no relief from either, ever.

            Gloved fingers brush your cheek, grip your chin and tilt your head so your eyes meet black. His face is blank, utterly expressionless, but this is when he is most dangerous. You don’t know what he’s planning. Again, you beg with your eyes, hope he’ll take pity on you. There was nothing you could do to stop Jesse, he must know this.

             Asa hums thoughtfully, pulls down your bottom lip with his thumb, “I know this wasn’t your idea, Cricket.” He shoots Jesse a petulant glare and the bed wobbles under you with what you can only assume is more unheard laugher. Your heart lifts slightly. Could you be this lucky…?

             His eyes return to yours and you blink until tears slips down your face. Instantly, your stomach plummets and you gasp in shock when he delivers a stinging slap to your cheek. You whimper, clutching your face and shuddering when he sighs heavily.

             “Unfortunately, that’s not enough to save you, silly girl. If you weren’t such a desperate whore, he wouldn’t have broken my rules, would he?” You visibly tremble, nod your head, because what else can you do now? Submit, take the punishment like an obedient pet, learn to run faster than Jesse.

             “On your back.” Instantly you fall back. You try not to glare up at Jesse when he pulls your head into his lap, fingers carding through your sweaty hair in mock sympathy.

             “Look at me.” You do, “How many times did he cum? Tell the truth, Cricket or I. Will. Hurt. You.”

             “F-Four, Sir,” you stammer, your heart fluttering in your chest like a panicked bird. Asa’s eyes flick to Jesse’s and the skull mask nods once in affirmation.

             “Four? Christ, Jesse,” Asa murmurs with a chuckle, that ominous rumble that never fails to send a thrill of fear through your bloodstream. Jesse shrugs and motions to your naked body as though that should explain everything. Asa shakes his head and addresses you, “Four cuts for the four times you let him defile my cunt. Understand? Speak.”

             “Y-Yes, Sir,” you whisper, bracing for the bite of steel. Asa spreads your thighs wide, pushes your knees to your chest. The point of the knife trails down the inside of your knee, comes to rest on the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Your gasping breaths are so loud they echo off the high ceiling. You grit your teeth, hiss when Asa drags the blade along your thigh, your dermis parting under steel and spilling crimson onto the bedsheets.

             “Count,” he orders.

             “One,” you snivel, hands fisting the sheets as blinding, brilliant agony sears through your leg. The second cut makes you groan through clenched teeth. Your muscles pull taut as you desperately try to remain still.

             “T-Two.” Asa moves to your other leg. These are going to scar so bad-no don’t think about it—

             “Three!” you scream, a high wail that Jesse immediately muffles with his fingers. One more, one more, you can do it, one—

             “F-F-Four,” you sob around the digits in your mouth. Spit drips past your lips as Jesse removes his fingers and smears the saliva across your quivering lips. The clink of a belt buckle and the drag of a zipper reaches your ears. You gasp, meet Asa’s heated gaze. His predatory gaze is fixed on the way your blood drips down your thighs and mixes with the cum leaking from your puffy slit.

             You speak without thinking, too desperate to be given a break, “P-Please—

             He’s lightning fast, shocking you with his speed more than how roughly he grips your jaw. He spits, “I don’t remember giving you permission to speak.” You scream again when he slams into your aching cunt, burying his cock into slick, cum drenched muscles. The pants that hang off his hips catch on your lacerations, agonizingly irritate your throbbing flesh

             “Anything going on in that empty head?” SLAP, “Answer me, slut.”

             “Y-Yes—

             SLAP

             “’No’ is the word you were looking for.”

             “N-No, Sir—

             SLAP

             “Shut. Up. If I wanted to hear your simpering voice, I would tell you to, ‘Speak.’ Did I say that?” Furiously you shake your head, anything to get him to stop smacking your burning cheeks. His voice drops to a low purr and he leans over you to murmur, “That’s right. I didn’t. Open your mouth.” Immediately your jaw falls open, “Jesse, give the little whore something to do with that disobedient tongue.”

            Three of Jesse’s fingers return to your mouth and languidly count your teeth. His other hand falls to his half hard cock, fist rolling up his girth until he’s fully erect. How he can have the stamina is beyond you, but that thought goes as quickly as it comes when Asa’s fingers find your swollen clit.

            You twitch and keen, bewildering pressure building in your gut with every stroke of his deft fingers. How? How does he have the uncanny ability to bring you to the edge even after everything he’s done?

            “Jesse, take your fingers out. Cricket, you are going to cum for me. Me. As it should always be. Speak.”

            “Ye-Yes, Sir, yes, yes, please, please, I want to—

            “I want to hear my name when you cum. Speak.”

            “Yes, Sir, yes, I-I will, I w-will, fuck, fuck, I-I-I—

            “Cum, now, do it, cum for me.”

            “ASA!” Despite the pain ravaging your inner thighs, you bring your hips up to meet his, muscles clenching, pressure in your belly releasing in a flurry of wet heat and rolling pleasure. Asa grunts, thrusts, exhales forcefully, buries his cock in your heat to paint your insides with his own release. Distantly, you hear Jesse hiss through his teeth, see him spill into his fist out of the corner of your eye.

            Asa’s body heat disappears from between your legs. You let them fall to the bed, boneless, useless, ready to let unconsciousness claim you then and there, but he returns a moment later with a warm, wet cloth, antibacterial ointment, gauze, and bandages. Meticulously, he cleans the wounds he inflicted, making sure the dressings are well secured before climbing into bed. You crawl into his open arms, turning away from Jesse and burying your face into the crook of Asa’s warm neck.

            Asa waits until your chest rises and falls rhythmically before signing to Jesse, ‘Four times? Seriously?’

            Jesse shrugs again, lifting his hands and signing, ‘Jealous?’ Asa snorts.

            ‘I’m not the one that’s going to be in the doghouse.’

            ‘She’ll get over it.’ Jesse motions to your bandaged thighs, ‘Those are going to scar up good and pretty.’ Asa lets a smirk pull at the corner of his mouth.

            ‘That was the intent. You timed that last one perfectly, by the way.’ Jesse’s shoulders shake again at that.

            ‘Honestly, I got lucky. I was so fucking close for a good ten minutes before you walked in. Took your sweet time.’

            ‘Had to be sure you wore her out. She doesn’t make mistakes when she’s alert.’ Asa winks and Jesse shakes his head, rolling onto his side.

            ‘Sadist.’

            ‘Pot, meet kettle.’

            ‘Touché.’

[notsowrites]

Untitled 3x01 Coda #2

I truly loved all the Forlex in the episode, and the Miluca scene was so soft - but hello?? RNM?? Where is my Malex? I demand to be fed. So I guess I will just have to write it my damn self.

----------

Alex watched as Michael's truck pulled into the junkyard, grinding to a halt next to his SUV. They hadn't spoken since he'd gotten back, and it was probably time. Especially with everything that'd happened with Forrest, the revelation about Deep Sky and his subsequent decision regarding them... it was a lot to process. He'd lit the fire pit when he's arrived, knowing it might be a while before Michael returned, and had settled into one of the chairs, enjoying the cool breeze of the night and finally allowing himself a moment to think about Forrest. 

A moment to wonder if he's made the right decision, if he should have gotten on that bus. If down the line somewhere he was going to regret the path that he'd now set himself upon. He couldn't stop thinking about Kyle's advice, about the loneliness and isolation he'd be getting himself into by allowing himself to be recruited into their ranks.

Michael looked tired, that much Alex could see even through the darkness. His curls were wild, like he'd been running his hands through them for hours, his black cowboy hat nowhere to be found, and Alex wondered what he'd missed in the 12 hours since he'd been back in town.

"Didn't expect to see you here." 

No, Alex thought, he wouldn't. It wasn't like they'd left in a great place either when he'd made the decision a year ago that he was going to clean up his father's mess so he could finally move on, move past everything regarding his fucked up family history.

"Didn't expect my night to end up here either," he replied, trying to sound friendly, and knowing he wasn't completely succeeding.

Michael stopped next to one of the empty chairs, taking in the lit fire, and nodded, his hands tightening on the metal of the back. "And where did you think you'd end up?" 

Alex shrugged, looking away. He didn't know how much he wanted to tell Michael - did he tell him he'd been thinking he could make a good go of it with Forrest? That he almost got on a bus out of town with him?

"Have you ever heard of something called Deep Sky?"

The laugh Michael let out cut right through to Alex's core. He could feel the anger, the frustration - every bit of Michael's emotions as he dropped into the chair in front of him. 

"You've got to be kidding me."

Michael pulled a flask out of his jacket pocket and took a generous sip, shaking his head. As Alex watched, he realized how good alcohol sounded right about now, and maybe that was what he needed to do, despite the beers he'd had at the Pony earlier with Kyle.

"Is that-" 

Michael narrowed his eyes at him. "It's acetone." 

After another moment, Michael stood up, tucking the flask away and pulling open the door to the trailer, disappearing inside with a slam of the metal door. Barely a moment later, it was opening again, Michael reappearing with two bottles of beer in his hand, holding one out for Alex. 

"Thanks. It's been-" he sighed, realizing it was inevitable he'd be telling Michael everything that had happened to him. "It's been a night."

"You wanna talk about it?"

This was still new territory for them. Even after all the time they'd spent together uncovering the truth about Michael's mother, Alex couldn't deny his absence over the last year had probably hurt Michael. It hadn't been that they hadn't talked, hadn't had stilted, awkward phone conversations as he'd dug into Project Shepherd and his father's involvement, reporting on anything he might think Michael found useful. But talking, really opening up to one another, was still something they didn't do.

"Do you want to hear me tell you that I almost left town with Forrest?" 

Michael shook his head. "But you're here." 

"Yeah," Alex agreed. "I'm here."

"So what happened?" Michael immediately followed up, taking a sip of his beer. 

Alex bit his lip, carefully considering his words. "There's an organization called Deep Sky - they want to recruit me. And there's a part of me - the part that has been involved in trying to figure out what Project Shepherd was doing - that wants to let them." 

"But?" Michael knew him too well. 

"But," Alex continued, "it would mean secrecy. It would mean cutting myself off from everyone." 

"Sounds like you've already made up your mind."

"That's why I'm here, I guess," Alex realized. "I haven't. And I didn't really know - I still haven't decided." 

"I'm not making that decision for you, Alex."

"I'm not-" Alex stopped, feeling himself get annoyed at Michael inferring that he was unable to make the choice himself. "I'm not asking you to."

"Then what, Alex? Why come here and tell me all of this?" 

He watched as Michael finished off the beer in his hand, dropping the bottle to the ground and taking flash back out from his jacket.The words were stuck in his throat, to tell Michael that there was a part of him that wanted to do this for him. For Michael. 

"This could be my chance to learn things my father never could.” He paused, knowing he had to answer Michael’s question too. “And because I still want you to know." 

Silence fell between them immediately, and Alex noticed the way Michael's shoulder relaxed slightly, and he fell back against his chair. 

"I came to the bus stop today," Michael said, his voice quiet, his chin tucked into his chest so he couldn't look at Alex. As if the words he was saying were something he didn't want to admit, didn't want to talk about. Alex didn't understand it - in all their years together, Michael had never held back from him. "I thought-" He cut himself off, and Alex watching him shake his head, looking away, making sure he couldn't catch Alex's gaze.

But Alex needed to know. Michael had been there? At the bus stop? Had he been so focused on Forrest that he hadn't noticed?

"I saw you," Michael continued, "-you and Forrest. So I left." 

"You could have said hi."

Michael shrugged. "You looked busy."

All those years ago, when he'd left Roswell for basic as a scared and angry seventeen year old, he's been furious that Michael had gotten himself arrest and locked up. That he'd had to leave town without saying good-bye. It had been a deep hurt that had lingered for years with him, something he couldn't understand. Why had stealing hubcaps been more important?

And what could he even say to that? That Michael had shown up in that way - was he trying to right the wrong of that day more than a decade again?

But they weren't - they weren't anything anymore. Except maybe friends.

"We broke up," Alex replies instead of telling Michael he wanted him to be there at the bus stop. Instead of admitting that Michael is the only one he's ever wanted to greet him when he's returned to Roswell. Because Michael is the only person who has ever made Roswell feel like home, like he could be happy here.

"You and-" 

Alex nodded. "That's how I found out about Deep Sky." 

Michael glared at him, processing his words. "He was using you?" 

"No!" Alex shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

Silence fell between them, the only sound crickets in the distance and the fire crackling between them in the pit. It felt nice, it felt comfortable. He wanted more of it, he wanted to do this more often. 

“If I do this,” he starts, a plan devising in his mind. “I don’t want to be cut off completely. That much isolation - it can’t be good.”

Michael nodded. “So what are you going to do?”

“If they’re as desperate to recruit me as Forrest made it sound, maybe I don’t have to.” It was possible he knew, to have his own demands for his cooperation. Especially if Deep Sky was this interested in him. Perhaps he could have communication with someone, perhaps he could negotiate his won way to not be completely cut off from everyone. “I don’t want - I don’t think-”

The words stuck in his throat. Why was it so hard to say the things he wanted? He wanted Michael to be the one he told his findings to. Anything he may come across that would help him understand his own history, his people, where he came from - Alex wanted to find those answers for him. 

"I meant what I said, you know," he continued, finding his voice finally. "About being friends."

"About starting over?"

Alex nods. Because that's always been their problem, hasn't it? He knows everything about Liz and Maria and Kyle from their birthdays to the favorite foods and drinks but he didn't know all those little thing about Michael. And it feels important somehow that he find them out. That he really learn who Michael is.

Because if there is one thing the past two years has shown him is it's not going to change anything between them. He's always going to love Michael.

He doesn't quite understand it, what it is about their connection that is so strong that even now, even after everything they've been through, that they're still drawn together. And maybe he can find answers with Deep Sky.

But what he does know is that he wants Michael to be the one at the bus stop waiting for him next time. Wants to know that Michael is there.

What he doesn't know is how long it may take for them to work their way back, but it's not something he plans on jumping into. Not with the fight with Forrest still so fresh.

But one day, maybe some day soon.

[calif0rnia-lovers]

sweet as pie.

a/n: please join me in welcoming sam wilson to the page. first story dedicated to this classic man, surely not the last.

pairing: sam wilson x black!reader

rating: 💙

main masterlist | taglist | divider © @whimsicalrogers

sum: sam is home. although times have changed, his sister’s intentions for him have not. sarah would love for her brother to settle down, and she knows the perfect person to make him do it. but when sam gets caught up with work, he misses the date sarah has set up for him.

words: 2.3K

It’s funny how the human mind works.

How easily certain moments can slip through its cracks. Names, dates, songs, conversations, faces lost to the wind, never to be remembered again. In the same turn, how those same things can be retained, recited down to the last detail in perfection.

Sam Wilson has seen enough in his lifetime--more than most men. No one could condemn him for forgetting the smallest of details from time to time. Sometimes he does. He is human. But, strangely, he can never forget a single detail when it comes to you.

Sam can still remember the first time he saw you.

The coffee-colored, cardboard box you carried in your arms--'living room' written across the front panel in your mother’s flawless penmanship. The dark curls pineappled to rest atop the crown of your head--a last-ditch attempt of fighting the Louisiana heat. The oversized Purple Rain t-shirt faded from too many runs through the wash. The round, black sunglasses sliding down the brim of your nose as you paused to take note of the boy watching you from his front window. Down to the scuffed, worn high tops that could barely pass for white.

He even remembers the soft smile you gave him once he froze--too embarrassed to move from the window after being caught watching you for the third time--before turning to lug the box up the steps of your front porch.

It was the summer of ‘94, and Sam Wilson was running late. He was expected to be at the docks assisting his father. Instead, he was peeping around his mother’s powder blue curtains, attempting to score glimpses of his new neighbors. Primarily their teenage daughter.

It’s not every day that Delacroix welcomes a new resident--let alone an entire family. Later that night, over dinner, his mother shared that you were entering your senior year--same as him.

He still remembers the knotting of his stomach. The strange and unusual experience of being tongue-tied when he’d tripped over his name--his name for god’s sake--that morning, you opened your front door to find him and Sarah on the other side. The kindness of your dark brown eyes as they met his, the soft giggle you released as you ignored his sputtering to accept the chocolate chip cookies his mother sent her children to deliver.

He also remembers the vision of you in your wedding dress. The smile he had to keep plastered on his face the night he learned his skepticism, surrounding death by broken heart, faded. You’ve never felt pain until you’ve seen the woman you love marry another man.

Sam must admit. When he returned, he expected--hoped--that those feelings would have disappeared. That they would have been erased from his life. Only, the moment he returned home, Sam discovered those feelings remained--were stronger even.

Five years later, he found you in the same house. Your parents no lived there. After their return from the blip, they packed up their things. Suddenly, tackling their bucket list was their main priority. You still had your husband’s last name but no husband. He was gone, lost to a younger woman.

Five years later, and Sam Wilson finds himself still frozen by the sight of you.

The long-sleeved maroon shirt he’s tugged on is not his number one choice. It’s all he had in his bag. The time on his watch had forced him into an ultimatum. Either run home, shower, and change into the outfit Sarah helped him pick out and risk being five hours late. Or head straight to your house, and risk being four hours and forty-five minutes late.

Sam opted for the latter.

Flowers in hand, he stands in the gateway of your backyard. His eyes admire the glow of the string lights against your skin. The yard has been transformed. Several tables and chairs, enough to host the entire neighborhood, squeezed into its space. Filled with music and laughter a few hours before the backyard is now quiet. Only the sounds of crickets, and the rustle of the trash bag in your hand, can be heard over the racing of Sam’s heart.

“Hey.” Sam takes a step forward, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Late is an understatement.” You don’t bother looking up from the plates stacked in your hands. Dumping them into the black trash bag, you move towards the next table. “You missed the entire party.”

After dumping the trash, you realize that Sam is no longer in the backyard. You find him in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” You ask, coming to a stop in the doorway.

Sam glances up from the soap-covered glass in his hands. “Helping you clean up.”

You glance around the kitchen, only to find that he’s managed to wash nearly the entire stack of dishes you’ve been dreading the entire night.

“I didn’t realize you still did stuff like this,” you tease. “What with you running off to save the world. Figured you’d just hire someone to do it for you.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I got you to keep me humble,” he winks.

Sam dries his hands with the bumblebee printed hand towel, a satisfied grin on his lips as he takes in the spotless kitchen. He’s too busy admiring his handiwork to realize you’re standing alongside him.

He turns, the snarky comment he’s prepared lost in his throat as he takes you in.

You can’t deny him a smile as you watch his eyes widen, a boyish grin brightening his face as he takes in the plate you’re holding. On it rests a single slice of homemade apple pie, topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and perfectly drizzled caramel.

“I think you’ve earned this.”

“You saved me a piece?”

“No,” you sigh, allowing your eyes to roll. “I actually saved it for me. But if I have to look at your pathetic attempt at puppy dog eyes one more second--”

“You were hoping I’d show up.” The grin on Sam’s face has morphed into a trademark smirk, the sight pulling a giggle from your lips. “You and I both know you don’t save, or share your pie with just anyone.”

Sam’s observation is spot on.

You don’t share your pie--or food, for that matter--with just anyone. In the chaos of hosting the neighborhood, you didn’t have a moment to stop and enjoy your own party. Let alone a slice of the apple pies you’d spent the previous night preparing.

Apple pies--specifically yours--were Sam Wilson’s true weakness.

The moment he sees you lugging home a bag full of granny smith and macintosh apples, he’s on full helicopter mode. You’re not sure how he knows, but he’s got a radar. One that somehow allows him to prophesize the exact moment the pies are out of the oven and set aside to cool.

He’ll show up, stopping by to say hi, or to see if you still need the drainpipe your ex-husband never got around to working on fixed, or to “pass along a message” from Sarah--as though your best friend couldn’t pick up the phone and call. Whatever the excuse Sam Wilson always manages to be the one to get the first slice of your apple pie. He’s smart enough to know that once the children of the neighborhood catch a whiff, they’ll show up on your doorstep. And as much as he loves the kids--Sam isn’t letting them steal his pie.

Sam’s words come out muffled through a mouthful of apples and crust. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Y/N. You should sell these. You'd make a killing.”

“And I’ve already told you, it’s just for fun,” you dismiss his advice, taking another spoonful of ice cream. “Besides, what do you expect me to do? Quit my good paying--although painstakingly boring--job in the hopes that enough people will like my baking to keep me afloat?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Sam nods, a smile growing as he watches your eyes roll.

It’s a conversation the two of you have had for years. Here is the rundown of how it plays out--every single time.

Sam: suggests that you finally open up the bakery you’ve been talking about since your teenage years.

You: dismiss his words of advice, reminding Sam that most teenage dreams are foolish.

Sam: ends the conversation with, “I’d show up every day for a piece.”

You: spend the rest of the night wondering if he’s right, about taking the chance, only to psych yourself out before going to bed.

“I’m just saying,” Sam sighs, sliding the plate to the side. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned. Life is going to pass you by, regardless, no matter what you do. If you give it a shot, and it fails--which is never going to happen--your life isn’t going to end.”

You glance up from the table, a tiny smile on your lips as you take in his soft smile.

“Maybe you’re right,” you shrug. “If all else fails, I’ll just tell everyone it’s the Falcon’s favorite pie--”

“You’ll have people flooding in from across the country.”

“It’s settled,” you giggle. “I’m using you in my business model.”

“Hey,” Sam chuckles. “As long as I get a cut, I’m not complaining.”

A silence falls over the tiny kitchen as your gaze drops from his.

Sam lightly raps his knuckles against the table before pushing his chair back.

“Uh—I should probably head out. You’re probably tired. I just wanted to come by and apologize...again.”

“Wow,” the light laugh you release halts Sam’s act of standing up. “The second you get what you came for you hit the ground running?”

The response is automatic. The chance to tease him is one you never pass up.

Sam’s brow raises as he takes in your smile.

“That’s not what I came for,” he admits.

“What did you come for then?”

“To ask you over to my place for breakfast tomorrow.”

The proposition hangs in the air, Sam nearly squirming in his seat as you take your time studying his gaze. You let out a sigh, your shoulders shrugging lightly, once you finally speak.

“I don’t know, Sam” You shake your head. Picking up the plate, you stand and cross the kitchen to the sink. “You just have so many responsibilities, nowadays, running around trying to save the world--”

“I’m not going anywhere tonight,” he’s quick with the reassurance. “Or any day, until we get through that date you promised me.”

You turn to face him, arms crossing over your chest as he comes to a stop before you.

“Say I show up. You have to promise me something.”

“Whatever you want.”

He knows that promise can end up being a slippery slope, depending on how hard you’re willing to make him work for it.

“If something comes up, in the future, you call me. And you tell me exactly why you can’t be here. Nobody gets to stand me up. Not the Falcon. And sure as hell, not Sam Wilson. Understood?”

Sam’s eyes drop to your interlaced fingers, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Standing on your toes, you place a kiss against his cheek. “Now, go get some sleep. You’re making me breakfast in the morning. I’m expecting waffles, bacon, freshly squeezed O.J.--the works.”

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[binniesthighs]

➵ minho, son of hades ➵

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x lee minho

Genre: fluff n’ smut

Tags: demigod au, inspired by PJO, sonofhades!minho, softdom!minho, mentions of death, blood, and the underworld, outdoor sex, unprotected sex (stay safe lovlies!), breath play, hand stuff (r receiving), marking, cockwarming at the end 

Word count: 2k

demigod skz mini-masterlist coming soon

{did you bring the mcdonalds?}

Though you had long forgotten, someone had told you once that there is always light in the darkness, you just have to be the one looking for it. But, what if it was the darkness in that light that sought you?

You had forgotten meeting him in the first place, but now he was everywhere, in the dawn and the dusk, in dark corners that you used to fear, but now welcomed. Reflected in his eyes was hellfire: he singed with burning edges but froze over with a bite. You should have been scared of him, as any sane person would. 

In those creeping tendrils of shadow, ebony wisps of smoke where the ones that entangled their fingers in yours. His hands were cold wrapped up in pale white skin that wasn’t stark, but rather mimicked the moonlight he had brought you to. 

Silver dewdrops were sprinkled at your feet where they clung to the blades of youthful spring grass. The chill of the night was just enough to make you shiver, but having gotten used to him, you could handle the cold. He tugged at your wrist, saying nothing, but twisting between the slabs of limestone and concrete. 

“Respect the dead. Just because they’re gone, it doesn’t mean that they weren’t people too.” 

His reminders would linger on your mind, much like the ways that he would tell you stories about what it was like...the underworld. Having been there so many times, you would have thought that it would have made him jaded, or broken him in some kind of way that made the pieces of him just a bit disjointed. But, it never did. 

A thin fog held over the cemetery just barely above your shins, and the humidity stuck to your bare legs. Wings flapped above to two of you: birds or bats, you couldn’t tell, but it somehow felt comforting knowing that you’re weren’t the only ones awake at this hour. Amongst the chirp the the crickets, the little string of silver and brass keys jingled at his waist. 

He had lead you deeper, nearest to the edge of the little maze of stones, to a pure, marble white gazebo cut from the smoothest white rocks. The stone itself appeared to glisten like the foamy crests of waves. In the middle, was a single large bench of the same cut. 

“Lets sit here for a while.” 

You know what that strand of skeleton keys meant, each one bearing the symbols of Hades. “Minho, I-I know what you’re going to say--” 

“--I have to go back. But, this time it won’t be for long.” 

“You can just...stay? Just for one more day?” 

An exhaustion dragged at Minho’s eyes, the kind that you had seen many times before on him. Even with wrinkles under his eyes, they were still set aflame with the same passion that each of the children of Hades held. 

“It’s important.” He simply answered, raising his freezing had to caress down your cheek. “You know that.” 

“I just wish you wouldn’t...wish you wouldn’t...” 

He had drawn you into his chest, a gesture which had felt different to you than it had with others. From a boy who walked the line of life and death so thinly, being close to him like this was your tether, your promise. His heartbeat thumped softly beside yours, and it was enough. 

He took your hands into his, “I got you something.” 

“You didn’t have to--” 

“--Take it. I want you to have it.” 

The sting of the metal necklace startles your skin. It was a simple sliver chain, but inlaid on the charm was a small garnet gem that sparkled like stars, resembling that of a pomegranate seed. 

“It’s gorgeous...”  

“-Pulled it out myself.” He swept aside your shirt collar to bring the clasps around your neck, then traced adoring fingertips over where it crowned your skin. His weary expression gave you a proud little smile. “It looks amazing on you.” 

“Why does this make it seem like you’ll be gone much longer than you say you are?” 

Minho sighed out with eyes cast to the rooftop of the gazebo. Etched into the stone was the insignia of his father: the pitchfork. You had been pretending not to look at it too. Once more, a hopeful little laugh slipped past his lips. 

“I thought that you knew that I’ll always come back to you? And they can’t harm me down there.” 

“You and I both know that’s not true.” 

“Don’t you trust me at all?” 

“Am I not allowed to worry?” 

After a moments pause, and the resounding sound of the hissing cicadas, he answered, “You are.” 

You should have been terrified of him. Even though you had forgotten meeting him, there was one thing that you had never let go of, and something that many misunderstood. In him, there was benevolence: something so deeply tranquil about the thread to be cut over life and death. You had never been fearful of him. 

The cold marble burned slightly at your thighs. 

“I miss you too when I leave. You’re the reason; you’re what keeps me coming back here so I’m never wandering. Understand?” 

The world turned a blur, and his fingers wiped at the tears cascading down your cheeks. 

“Please don’t cry.” He kissed at the salty tears in the corners of your eyes and cheeks as if he were healing the scars made by the stains. 

“I’ll miss you too. Like I always do.” 

“All the more reason for me to hurry back.” 

You scooched into his chest once more, taking a fistful of his cotton white shirt. 

“You always know what to say.” 

His hands took the sides of your face simply and carefully, hushing his lips lightly into yours like a whisper, like the way that the evening breeze got tangled in the branches of the birch trees. Soft and delicate like rose petals he kissed into your lips in the way that he would keep the shadows of the world at bay just for you. Minho wove delicious webs of want from corner to corner of your mouth. The taste of his tongue too bit like that fruit of the underworld, but to you, it had never tasted sweeter. 

With your hands weakly clinging to his shirt, he uttered, “May I have you one more time?” 

The fog had lifted over the cemetery, and you nodded right back into his lips. 

He rested his hand behind your head where he laid you down against the cool stone, the sensation giving rise to goosebumps on your skin. One by one, he laced his fingers between yours to your side while he returned back to your mouth to lend it his warmth. There was a mischievous little grin that teased from his lips to yours, then traced down your jaw to the twitching vein on your neck. With your closed eyes, all you could see was crimson and all you could feel was the way the he pulled at the skin of your neck, drawing forth those little marks he had given you dozens of before. 

Once he had finished painting your skin with his adoration, he kissed at each spot. The tingling sensation of his saliva on your neck mixed with the evening air sent shivers down your sides. 

The same cold fingers came exploring up the fabric of your shirt and swirled over your skin so lightly that you felt your whole body buckle. 

The evening’s breeze swept past you once more and his curious hands sent mewls from your mouth to mix with the symphony of the evening, but it was all for him. It only heightened once his hand had skillfully popped the button of your shorts, and his curious fingers delved inside further. He rubs at you purposefully, slowly, with fingers getting muddled in your arousal, teasing at how painfully needy you have become for him. 

“My love, there is nothing on this earth or in hell that will keep me from coming back to you. I’m just as much yours as you are mine.” 

You fight the tears that threaten your eyes, merely laughing out to avoid them. 

“You really do always know what to say.” 

“But I mean it.” He drags the pad of his fingertip over your slit. 

The marble is frigid under your bare legs and ass once he rids you of your bottoms, freeing more space for his hand to trace over the swollen skin of your sex. His lithe fingers feel intoxicating where he curves into you after wetting them with his mouth. Every electric little response from you and each half-uttered whimper and moan he lavishes in. In his obsidian eyes, you are everything that makes up the expanse between his two worlds. 

His other hand rides up your body to clasp around your neck, applying just as much pressure until your choked gasps test his own will. 

The keys on his beltloop fall to the floor with a metallic sounding clank. He sits, marveling at the vision of you before him, bathed in moonlight, and your chest throwing itself to every one of the gasps which chase the last. Minho looms over you like the shadow of coming night, and you welcome him with open arms.

Even like this, he should have terrified you, but never him, never the one who had guided you through the darkness hidden in the fissures of light. 

Minho gives himself all to you, coaxing himself into you deeply and completely: a feeling so whole that it must be impossible. Beside you, the earth resonates with cracks and fractures which send out little earthquakes amidst the slabs of concrete and little bouquets of wildflowers. A golden glow illuminates against the birches and the oaks. 

He’s lost himself in you, rolling deeply over your core as those branches bow in the wind. He’s cracked open Hell itself while he slips further into you. 

“M-minho--” 

“No.” He commands, and the golden glow illuminates his face, “Look at me.” 

He bites into your lip kisses of his own careless and breathy moans. 

“Look at me.” 

He renews his pace with the ever-growing spectral glow threatening to break the surface. The jet black strands of his hair bounce a little as he fucks you into the slab of marble, giving you no pause at all. 

“I-I’m--Minho--” 

The thin sliver chain of your necklace threads between his fingertips where briefly studies it’s shine. He’s kept the shadows away this long, now, as he finds himself near the edge too, the atmosphere turns heavy. Minho changes to lend your leaking and twitching sex the attention that it desires, and you unravel, just a little at first, then all at once. A mess of inhales and exhales flutter out of your mouth then your teeth catch your lip accidently, drawing just a little blood. Quickly, he uses his thumb to rub away the little red dot while chuckling, 

“Don’t get too carried away darling.” 

You look directly in his eyes as you shudder underneath him to plead wordlessly for what he knows you want. You can barely manage the words, but you know it’ll be all that it takes. 

“Feel you-inside...I-I want you to--” 

With one of his freezing hands, he hikes your thigh up to find his perfect angle, grazing you deep inside. White noise fills up your head when he drives one more orgasm out of you, turning you inside out into a proper, quivering mess. The marble doesn’t feel as cold anymore when he cums inside you with shaking thighs and a heaving chest. The pitchfork symbol above your heads catches your blurry vision, but so does the peaking red and yellow sun on the horizon that melts into the emerald tree line. 

Minho holds you into him for as long as he can manage. Unspoken words fill the air between you while you’re still connected as one. 

“There’s...nothing else I can do to convince you to stay longer with me?” Your fingertips find their way through his sweating scalp. 

He nods no with an type of acute sadness in his eyes while he memorizes your features for what he thinks to be the last time in a long while. 

“I can’t stay any longer. The business of the dead is much more different than the living.” 

Just past his shoulder, you discover three or four fireflies flickering like floating candles: the light in the dark: and you weren’t even looking for it at first. 

“Then at least, can I just ask until the sun rises? Will you stay?” 

He plants one last kiss upon your forehead, “Until the sun rises. 

[yeenybeanies]

Giant Cowboy Murder Mystery

forgive me it’s been almost two weeks since i posted the preview sdfjdfj but the full version Was released to the public on my patreon on time so you can’t be Too mad at me patreon will receive new chapters first!

3,790 words

mild mentions of nudity and injury

thanks for reading!

patreon | ko-fi

Cool, crisp air rustled the leaves of the tall conifer trees, and crickets sang their choruses, filling the calm evening with a natural symphony. A crackling campfire lent its rhythm, rounding out the song. It sounded peaceful. Serene. 

It smelled a lot different. A putrid stench permeated the air, filling the forest. 

A young woman ran. Ignoring her bare skin, her shrieking muscles, her burning lungs, she ran. She ducked and weaved her way through the trees, following the only thing she could really discern in the darkness: that campfire light. Its orange glow was a beacon of hope, of safety. Jaw clenched, the woman pushed her battered body further. She paid no mind to the branches and thorns that scraped her as she passed, to the stones that stabbed her feet. Her body was numb, filled with adrenaline and the need to escape.

As it came more into view, the woman realized with rising concern that the campfire was much bigger than she’d initially assumed. With some distance still to go, it looked more like a bonfire than a campfire, or maybe a forest fire. Her pace slowed some. 

No, it was too stationary, too contained to be a forest fire. Reassured, she continued her sprint. 

As she approached the treeline, the girl called breathlessly for help. She held her arms in front of her face and crashed through the underbrush, into the clearing. Her whole body shook. She doubled over, hands to her knees for support, and tried to speak, but she could only manage shaky sobs between her gasps for air. 

Instead of voices rising to meet her, the woman only heard wind and crickets and crackling. 

No, that wasn’t true. She heard another noise, like crunching and tearing. She looked towards the source of the noise, and toppled over from fright. Several yards to her right stood a massive, four-legged beast resembling a horse or a mule. It had to have been at least forty, fifty feet tall! Its head hung low at the end of a long neck, mouth to the ground to graze at the grasses. Each chomp it took left a bare patch of dirt big enough for her to curl up in. The beast paid her no mind, save for one long ear pointed in her direction, but she felt like she could no longer breathe. 

She didn’t know for how long she stared at the giant horse-thing. It felt like hours. Her lungs protested the lack of air, but she couldn’t bring herself to breathe, to move––not until something else grabbed her attention. A heavy, rhythmic thudding, something she felt more than she heard, yanked the woman’s gaze away from the beast. Eyes wide as saucers stared into the darkness between the trees across the fire. The sound grew louder, shaking the ground. From the darkness, she could make out a tall figure. It looked almost human in shape, save for the fact that it, much like the horse, was at least forty feet tall, and proportionally filled in. The figure pushed past the trees and stepped into the clearing, taking on orange tones from the fire’s light. It––he––was a man. A giant man. 

A giant man and his giant horse. 

It was too much. Like a switch had been flipped, the woman found her breath and her voice. She screamed. The shrill noise startled both the horse and the man, the former joining in with an alarmed grunt of its own. The man looked down sharply, his eyes landing on her. The lower half of his face was covered with a scarf, and he wore what looked like an appropriately-sized cowboy hat. As a matter of fact, his whole outfit gave her the impression that he was some sort of giant rancher or cowpoke, from his hat to his spurr-toting boots. 

For a long moment, the two stared at each other, neither moving nor making any noise over the night symphony. The woman felt herself start to shake, though not from the cold. The fire provided ample warmth to keep the chill away, even in her naked state. No, she was shaking, quaking, out of pure terror. With him staring her down, she felt even smaller, even more exposed. 

Wordlessly, the giant man took a step forward. His boot hit the ground with a heavy thud, sending a jolt through the woman’s body. Flight mode activated, she scrambled to her feet and rushed back into the forest, back the way she came. 

The giant hesitated when the human bolted. Of all the things he expected to see tonight, a naked human woman was not one of them. His mind swirled with questions: what was she doing here? How did she get here? Why was she naked? What had caused all of those cuts and bruises on her? 

Whatever the answers, clearly she was distressed and in need of help. 

He breathed a sigh and continued forward, keeping his pace slow and eyes sharp. She’d probably never seen a giant before, or so he assumed, hence her reaction towards him. He pondered over the idea of calling out to her, but he decided that his voice might scare her more. 

Humans: anxious little creatures. 

Carefully, he followed after her, making sure to mind where he stepped.

The woman ran as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her. Everything hurt, but she couldn’t stop––not with that giant on her tail. She could hear his footsteps crashing behind her, threatening to stomp on her. Were it not for the tight-knit trees, she was sure he would have caught up to her already. 

Which way was she going? She didn’t know. It was too dark to see much beyond the ground and the trees right in front of her. All she needed was to get away, maybe find somewhere to hide and wait for the giant to pass her. 

Then what? 

Would she have to spend the night in these woods? Alone? Naked? There was a giant man and a giant horse-mule thing; were there other giant animals? Where the hell was she? 

Her racing thoughts came to an abrupt halt when her foot caught on a root. The woman cried out in pain and fell bodily to the forest floor. She bit her lip and brought her knee up to her chest, hands cradling her now injured foot. Already it was starting to warm and swell. She didn’t have time to dwell on it, though; those thundering footsteps still followed behind her, getting closer and closer. The woman clenched her jaw and pushed herself up to her knees. She figured she wasn’t going to be able to run much further, so the next best option was to hide. That was a part of her skeleton of a plan. Getting hurt was just a bumpy start. Forcing herself to stay quiet, despite the throbbing pain in her foot, the woman crawled her way around the large, protruding roots of one of the trees. She found a hollow to sequester herself into and curled herself into a ball, hands over her head. 

The giant’s footsteps grew louder until they were practically on top of her. The woman squeezed her eyes shut and sent a silent prayer to anyone that would listen. 

Above and oblivious to her, the giant man scanned the dark floor as best he could in the moonlight. He should have brought a lantern with him, but he hadn’t thought to do so in the moment. It was such a bizarre situation. 

What was he going to do with her if he found her? Cover her up, surely. That would be step one. But after that . . .? He figured he could take her back to the cabin, but then she’d be surrounded by even more giants. If she reacted so poorly to just one, six more would surely send her into shock, or worse. 

The giant sighed heavily and shook his head. 

* * *

“Look who it is! Mr. Elijah Love! Where the fuck were you?” 

The jovial voice made the giant’s nose crinkle. Slowly, Eli lifted his head, tired eyes meeting the owner of said voice. Though the other giant wore a blue scarf over the lower half of his face, like everyone else on the farm, he knew he was grinning. He could hear it. 

“Shit, you look like you were up all night. Did you get more bags under your eyes?” 

“Not now, Smart.” He answered with a hint of warning in his tone, a signal that he was not in any mood for his fellow giant’s teasing. Unfortunately, Smart rarely minded any signals or warnings. Eli rolled his eyes and dismounted his horse. 

“If not now, then when?” Smart continued. His voice was already grating; the grin did not make it any better. 

Eli shook his head and ignored Smart. Reins in hand, he led his horse towards the barn. Once he saw to her needs, he could retire to his quarters. The prospect of much-needed rest sounded great in his mind, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get anything meaningful. The human still raced through his mind. He lamented that he hadn’t been able to find her; she’d clearly been in distress. Over what, he had no idea. What could possibly land a human naked in the middle of a forest? Surely it couldn’t have been good. The poor girl had been hysterical. She’d called for help. 

And she hadn’t expected a giant to answer her call. 

Eli mulled over last night’s events as he entered the barn. With muscle memory guiding him, he started to remove his horse’s tack. 

“Miss Blueberry Pie!” Called another voice. Eli sucked in a surprised breath, mind snapping back into the present. A young giant approached from the other end of the barn. His boots were covered in muck and soiled bedding. His face scarf nearly matched his bright red air in color. He stopped before the horse with treats in one hand. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d––oh! H-hello, Mr. Love.” As if just noticing Eli, the young giant stiffened, cheeks going red. 

“Gaffin,” Eli greeted. He took no offense to the oversight; it was well-known on the farm that Gaffin liked the animals more than his fellow giants. He’d probably sleep in the stables with the horses if he was allowed to. “We got in late. Is Pie’s stall still clean?” 

“Yes sir! Cleaned it out and gave it fresh bedding this morning. No one’s been in there since.” Once the horse had finished her treats, Gaffin started to rub her ears, much to her delight. She lowered her head and closed her eyes, a low rumble in her chest. 

Eli nodded. He hauled the saddle from Pie’s back and carried it over to a rack. “Would you take her from here?” 

“Sure thing! It’d be my pleasure, Mr. Love.” His eyes lit up with excitement. Normally, Eli would have been reluctant to hand Pie to someone else, since she was both his responsibility and his beloved steed, but Gaffin would often insist on overseeing care of all of the horses, and he did a damn good job attending to them. Pie was in good hands. Eli gave Gaffin another nod and exited the barn. 

* * * 

“Love.” 

The sharp voice unceremoniously yanked the giant from his snooze, making him flinch. He blinked his eyes to clear the sleep and looked up towards it. Standing over him was another giant, their dark eyes staring down at him from between their wide-brimmed hat and their yellow face scarf. They gave him an expectant look, one brow raised and arms crossed over their chest. 

Eli groaned softly in a stretch and pushed himself up to sit. “Slayne. What is it?”

“You sure you’re good for a night patrol? Smart said you looked exhausted,” they said. Their expectant look shifted into something more concerned.  

“Smart says a lot of shit,” Eli said tersely. “I’m fine.”

“Are you? It’s almost sundown and you’re still here.” They tilt their head towards the window, to the reddening sky beyond.

Eli cursed under his breath and lept up to his feet. Had he been asleep that long? He certainly didn’t feel very rested. His thoughts and dreams had been plagued with that woman, still lost somewhere in the forest…

“I’m fine,” he repeated. The giant pulled his scarf up over his nose and grabbed his hat from his bed post, then his gun belt. He pulled his boots on and brushed past Slayne, heading for the door. 

“Elijah,” they said, using that same sharp tone. It made him pause and glance over his shoulder. “You’re not fine. But we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” 

Ugh. He wasn’t looking forward to that. How was he supposed to explain to her what kind of a night he’d had? He hardly understood it himself. Nevertheless, he offered a shrug and pushed through the door. 

As expected, Blueberry Pie was out in the pasture, happily grazing away. Eli called her over with a loud whistle and led her to the barn to get saddled up, then, after getting a few more treats from Gaffin, headed off towards the farm’s perimeter. 

* * *

Eli was no stranger to the night shift. Most of the time, he prefered it. Save for the occasional pest trying to get at the livestock, nights out in the pasture were quiet. None of the other giants could pester him out here. It was peaceful. 

Usually. 

Tonight was an exception. Tonight, Eli couldn’t seem to relax. He was antsy, on edge. His horse felt it too. Blueberry Pie was normally a very placid horse, but tonight, her ears swiveled to and fro at every noise, and frequently flicked back towards him. He could feel her tension just as much as she could feel his. 

And the night was dragging on. 

Eli rubbed at his brow and stifled another yawn––his third in the past half hour. His body felt tired, and his mind even moreso. The moons in the sky told him that it was only around midnight; he still had several hours to go before the suns came up, and plenty of perimeter to cover in that time. Eli gave Pie a firm pat on the neck and nudged her ribs, encouraging her to trot on. 

They were near the clearing where the woman had appeared last night. A foul smell hit his senses, making the giant grimace. He’d noticed it the night before, too. It smelled rotten, like a dead animal. He’d made a mental note to investigate it, but the woman had pulled his attention away from it. 

The campfire he’d used last night came into view through the trees. It was a common stopping point for Eli on these night patrols. He’d often rest here for a little bit before continuing on his way. Tonight, though, he didn’t feel too interested in stopping to rest. Despite the heaviness he felt, his anxiousness kept him moving. Eli eased Pie to a stop and dismounted.

Almost as soon as his boots hit the dust, a shrill scream pierced the air. Both giant and horse startled, the latter whinnying in her own alarm. Eli felt his blood chill. That was the same scream from last night––the woman’s scream. 

Eli ran. He dashed into the forest, running towards where he thought the scream had come from. Another cry made him pause and readjust his route. With each stride, her distressed cries grew louder––as well as a rough scraping sound. Just beyond a wall of trees was a massive, dead oak. Scrabbling at its trunk was a huge, bear-like beast that stood nearly twenty feet in height. Its claws dug into the bark, clawing and reaching for something higher up. What it was, Eli didn’t yet see, but he could hear the woman still screaming nearby. He pulled one of his pistols and shouldered his way through the trees. The bear rounded on him, snarling. It was not something he wanted to fight; what it lacked in height––compared to him––it made up for in bulk.  The giant fired a warning shot into the air and yelled, cracking the beast’s aggressive facade. It too, apparently, didn’t care to have this fight. Whatever meal it sought up in the trees wasn’t worth it. It turned tail and ran off, vanishing into the forest. 

Once he was sure it was gone, Eli holstered his weapon. He kicked himself mentally for not shooting the damn thing. It was his and the other ranchers’ job to make sure that titanofauna didn’t come too near the property and the surrounding area. He’d have to hunt the bear down later. 

Right now, he had another priority. A few feet above the gouges in the bark, a shape trembled in the moonlight. It was the woman. She shook like a leaf in a windstorm, and her breaths came in uneven gasps. 

She was terrified. Not just of the bear, but of Eli. 

Slowly, the giant knelt down before the tree. He studied her for a long moment. She was still naked, the poor soul, and she’d acquired many new cuts and bruises. Her legs and arms in particular were a ragged mess. Eli pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her, but the woman shrank away as best she could. 

“Here,” he said, trying to keep his voice low. He gave the handkerchief a little shake. “Cover yourself.” 

The woman stared at him, eyes wide as the moons themselves. Save for her shaking, she didn’t move. Eli frowned. He lifted the handkerchief and dropped it over her, making her cry out in alarm. It was comically large compared to her, like a bed sheet. She struggled under the fabric for a minute, limbs flailing, until she managed to get her head out. Her hair stuck out at odd angles, making her look feral––or more feral than she already looked. 

“You should drink something too,” Eli said. He pulled his canteen from his belt and removed the cap, then held it to the woman so that water pooled at the lip. Again, she shrank away. Eli sighed. “I don’t wanna dump this on you too. I suggest you just drink.” 

Much to his surprise, the woman complied. She dipped her hands into the pooling water and pulled a handful to herself. Her first drink was tentative, but her next two were more eager. Eli figured it had been a while since she’d last had water, and he could guess food as well. She took two more handfuls of water before she backed off again. Some of the water had dripped down her chin and neck, washing away some of the dirt. 

“Alright.” Eli capped and stowed the canteen. “Don’t suppose you want to tell me what’s going on?” 

The woman stared at him. She looked marginally calmer, but fear and distrust still painted her demeanor. 

“Got a name?” 

Silence. 

Under his mask, Eli pressed his lips together. He didn’t blame her for being afraid of him, but it made it a lot more difficult to help her. 

“Okay,” he said with another sigh. “Come on out of the tree. I’ll get you somewhere safe.” He raised his hand, palm up, to her level. She yelped and tried to retreat further, but the giant handkerchief got tangled under her and threw her balance. The woman fell from her branch, dropping nearly five feet, directly into Eli’s palms. Her sudden weight startled the giant. She wasn’t heavy, but having her in his hands reminded him of the fact that, in his forty years, he had never actually held a human before. 

The woman lied in his hold for a few stunned moments, then bolted upright with realization. She glanced at the fingers and flesh around her, then up to the masked giant’s face, and screamed. He flinched, eyes closing and brows furrowed. For such a small body, this human had a set of lungs in her. He felt her lurch, which made him curl his hands around her. That, in turn, made her struggle more.

“Miss––I’m trying to help–––” Abruptly, her scream faded, fizzled out like the cries of a dying elk. Eli opened one eye, and then the other, to see her body limp in his hold. A pang of alarm struck him. “Miss? Hey–––” He opened his hands to see her better. He hadn’t squeezed her at all––or so he thought. Gingerly he prodded her side with a thumb. When she didn’t react, he gathered her in one hand, and gently rested two fingers to her chest. He dared not even breathe, not until he could feel the faint, fluttering beat under the cloth and flesh. Her heart was still ticking. She was still breathing. She was just unconscious, likely having fainted from shock. Eli released his breath and let his shoulders relax a little with relief. 

Though she didn’t seem too keen on going with him, Eli couldn’t just leave her here. That wasn’t an option. Carefully he wrapped the handkerchief around her so that it was a bit more secure, and so that it might keep her restrained, should she wake up violently. He brought her nearer to his chest and stood up. 

The breeze picked up, carrying with it another wave of the vile smell. Eli grimaced and fought off the urge to gag. He really needed to find out what the hell was causing that stink. It was probably what attracted the bear.  

But that would have to wait another day. Tonight, he needed to focus on getting this mysterious woman to safety. 

Keeping her cradled to his chest, Eli returned to where he’d left his horse. Blueberry Pie lifted her head, her ears angled towards him as he emerged from the treeline, and grunted in greeting. He returned the greeting with a pat to her forehead and a soft hello. She leaned in towards the bundled handkerchief, nostrils flared, and gave the woman a curious sniff.

“Easy, Pie,” he chided gently. “She’s not a treat. We ought to get her back to the farm.” He patted the horse’s neck affectionately, then rounded to her side and pulled himself up into the saddle. Having only one free hand made it a little bit more difficult, but, once he was settled, he took the reins and gave Pie a nudge to start walking. 

There was still some perimeter left to patrol, but he had a feeling the woman wouldn’t be waking up for a while yet. He’d keep her safe with him until they reached the farm, and then he’d figure out what to do with her. 

[sleepyowlwrites]

find the word tag CCXXXXIX

Timespace, you missed a perfect opportunity to tag-back my tag-back! I'd be disappointed if I wasn't distracted by the (honestly not that exciting) ncis episode happening atm. anyway I'm stealing the tag. back. because I am sneaky like that.

true (youth story d01 - I wrote this scene pretty early on, but I still like it quite a lot)

His hands found his hair but Bell didn’t let them do more damage. R fought against her with all his strength, but she didn’t let go. Bell was not a physically strong person, but she could do this much easily. No wonder he couldn’t make the simple decision to acknowledge his faults. He mumbled this to the air between their bodies, eyes on the ground.

“You acknowledged them,” Bell told him gently. “You have admitted them to yourself. This is not as hard as the next part.”

R was shaking. It was cold outside. That made sense. But he didn’t really feel cold. He felt afraid. “I have to acknowledge them to the person who bore them for me.” He whispered it, like it won’t sting as much if the words were quiet.

His heart thumped just as painfully against his ribs anyway.

“Yes.” Bell said, so he knows it was really true.

bitter (ghost story - I'm never going to finish this and I've made my peace with that)

“Did you tell Ben I’m not dead?”

“I told him,” Violet promised. “But they won’t let him out of the house. They still think somebody took you.”

“Somebody did,” Ryland said bitterly. “And I let him.”

“It’s not a ‘he’,” Violet reminded him. “It’s just a void.”

Ryland huffed and his clouds shrank. “Doesn’t it have enough of me yet?”

“You know Ben has to decide that.”

wild (chasing the wind, 2016 - as per usual, these are lyrics, but never mind)

Those were the days when we let our spirits free

Wild and uncontrollable, we'd play tag with the sea

And sunsets on the sand every day just like a dream

Do you remember?

How we dreamed of warm Septembers

When the crickets kept us company

Singing lonely songs of lonely souls

Not worth remembering

Do you remember sitting side by side with me

Catching our breath from chasing the wind

fresh (summon story d0)

"Anyone would kill a riven on sight, including you," Erin scoffed. "They don't have consciences. You do. That's the difference."

The griess nodded slowly. "I accept that. Release me?" It crawled backward until it settled completely within the summoning array. Erin salted her dagger and cut through the outside circle. Flames devoured the rest of the array in short order.

"So that's why you don't hate us," Wryn's voice sounded behind her, like glass on stone.

Erin spat on the freshly seared earth. "You still don't know me, Wryn."

"I can wait." Wryn's tone was neutral and calm again. Human.

Deceptive.

second (summon story d0)

"We have to start doing cases with harder rituals eventually."

"No we don’t," Zan hissed back at her. "Plenty of summoners only do the easier bounties. We’re all inexperienced, actually, and I'd like to stave off my first death for as long as possible."

“Sometimes we don’t get what we want, and this bounty offers us enough coin to allow us to stop renting rooms in the Dusk. I’m the leader, I say we take it. Wryn, what do you say?”

Wryn cocked their head to the side, blinking golden eyes that morphed into crimson before they swung their arm up and sliced across Zan's throat.

Zan choked on the blood spilling down over his chest as he fell to the floor. His body spasmed for several seconds while he stared up at Wryn in shock. He was dying.

he's fine. dying is a hazard of being a summoner. sure, sometimes it's permanent, but not this time. uh, and @spacetimewraithwrites you understand the assignment, right? one, twelve, five, seven, twenty. BONUS: sixteen, hundred. @ambiguouspuzuma @jaxwolffwrites @caitwritesstuff @dustylovelyrun @ettawritesnstudies OR ANYBODY or nobody