#HURRAH

[marieslovee]

Whenever she texts me I be like “YIPPIEE ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ ♡!!”

[privacy-party]

drew kyle from the new special who gave him that gun bro!!!!

unblurred bg under cut

[anteroom-of-death]

Teacher's Pet part 18

Synopsis: The Doctor makes good on his thoughts. His fawn becomes trapped in them.

A/n: listen I know it's been fucking ages. Life's difficult. I'm back. Hopefully. Yall still want him? Warnings for blood and such.

You felt yourself muffle a yawn as you stumbled half-drunk with your boyfriend holding you upright. You settled on calling him your boyfriend. It felt, at least partially, correct. You didn’t really know how long that his species lived. He could have still been young by his standards. Well over two-thousand years young, but you mentally digressed.

The night air slapped you sober.

You didn’t realize how much you had drunk. Your mind was absolutely swimming. It felt like you couldn’t maintain a solid stream of thought. Moreover, it felt entirely different than your usual scatter-brained web of concepts that could be linked easily by you and you alone. Many found you off-topic or impertinent, but they didn’t get that you were being respectful and your mind was linking everything to the subject at hand that was even vaguely related.

The Doctor did, however. These thoughts soothed you. Thinking about him was becoming more important than air in your lungs. He seemed to always be exactly in your direction and understood what was going on.

You blinked as quickly as you could as you were slumped into the taxi by the Doctor. His brilliant smile beamed at you like the cat and that dammed canary. No one you had met before or since carried the gravity of his grins. His teeth always on display, even if it his mouth had been turned down and closed. Images of wolves suddenly floating in your head.

You really must have over estimated that last drink!

His fingers played with the tendrils of your hair. Smoothing it, fingering the last of your dead ends.

They felt good. You felt both emboldened by this tactile display of affection and a little embarrassed. The thoughts you always had towards him felt warranted. Always. He was always inviting them, even if he didn’t seem like it. That was something that stuck with him since the first time you walked into his classes.

Tactile and seemingly unaware that the entire way he carried on was like catnip. Or he was aware and didn’t care. You didn’t know or care.

All of time and space, countless lovers. Countless companions. Endless wanderlust…

And here he was. Some universal warrior deity. Yet, here he was settling down, taking cabs and being escorted around just because you frankly didn’t want to become a statistic. He apparently had the ability to pick up and go to whenever, wherever and not have to worry about traffic or delays.

But for you? He had tamed himself.

His universe had become small, just you, his very attractive ex-situationship in her hidden Vault, these military organizations, and that Nardole you’ve never seen.

From the complaints left by him over literally everything, (including your relationship with the Doctor!) You weren’t quite sure you wanted to meet him.

What a nerd and a narc!

Soon enough, you found yourself back in the room. All cozy and pliant. Eager to see him naked and act out all of those hidden thoughts that you couldn’t repress in the pub. Your wobbly legs betrayed you as you went to yank your shoes off and toss your purse down.

“Damn.” You giggled as you adjusted yourself and rub the bridge of your nose with the base of your palm. “Tell me to never drink that much again in public…” You shook your head.

He leaned down to your level and bit your lower lip as he pulled your top off and laying feverish new bites on where he bit you last night. Hard, sharp and definitely not helping that growing wet spot on your panties. One of those impressive, perfect hands grasped your jaw and covering virtually all of your face squeezed lightly.

You felt your mind suddenly grow very dim and yet ravenous. You needed this, you needed him.

He certainly had no troubles liberating you from your clothes. Or somehow getting his belt and pants around his knees.

“You’re really something strange, aren’t you?” He mused as he tore himself out of the flesh of your nipple. You could feel the blood start to fleck up.

Definitely would have to take even more time off work than you already were doing…

He slowly and deliberately pinned you to the ground as he managed to take both of your wrists in one of his long-fingers hands. His expression clouded by lust and one of those emotions you thought were clearly something that humans just didn’t have in them. It seemed imperious and predatory, yet all too adoring.

You were awash. Your cunt ached. Your mind felt itself retract- like you were actively getting stupid trying to make eye contact with him. You felt yourself muffle a groan as he slipped his cock in in a firm and savage thrust.

The hand at your jaw and face tightened. You could feel the corner of a nail cut into your face.

This seemed about you and also not. More about him.

All your training (for lack of a better word…) seemed to flee. Here he was, one of the last of his species, cradling your pinned body to the hull of the floor as he drilled your leaking pussy. It seemed like he was saying something in that horrific, almost song like language he used to visit Missy in her Vault.

It sent a bone-chilling shake through your system. Just like when you first heard it. Not that you could judge.

Not like you could at this moment. His grip on you increased as he fucked you harder. Each thrust came quicker and deeper. You found the pain both increasingly hard to ignore but more lovely with each savage groan he made. It was enjoyable. Too much so. Felt alien. Felt deranged.

The grip on your face tightened once more! Your tongue pinned by his thumb.

You felt yourself start to convulse as your mind went blank. Blissfully and inhumanely blank. Did you cum? Was this you cumming? You didn’t know.

You didn’t even register his teeth nearly ripping the soft area between your neck and clavicle to shreds.

How long did he go on? You could swear you heart a haunting song being sung in your mind. Time slipped further down…

Was it more of him speaking?

You finally got your mind back in pieces as he finished on your stomach. The sensation snapped you back to reality. Your heart began racing. You felt yourself start to cry.

You felt so great, yet more than a little violated. (Was this normal, you felt yourself wander in your mind, what was this?)

He seemingly realized something.

He shushed you as he collected your shaking form in his lap. You felt so tiny. Like a small dog on a rich lady’s lap. You felt your eyes try to focus on him.

“My sweet fawn. You did so well. You’re so perfect for me.” He resumed in English.

His hand wiped the tears and blood and your hair back.

Your eyes couldn’t focus completely yet.

“You are…all I need. All I want.” He reassured you as he rocked you back and forth. “Don’t worry. No one in any corner of the universe can lay a finger on you.”

This was the comfort that restored your vision entirely. You looked at him. You felt like you were some primitive human seeing a God! Scared, in full adoration, and more than a little servile. The tears began again. More shushing, more petting, more praise. You curled so deeply into his chest and wept harder. You swore you never cried so hard in your life. You felt so incredibly good, yet every part of you burned and ached.

You hiccupped and he stroked the back of your neck. It made you go slightly limp.

“Why don’t I wash you, hmm?” He offered as he pulled you up in his arms and carried you into the bathroom. He laid you down and grabbed your shower stuff.

He tested the water on him. It seemed to go on for a while.

He washed you and even did your skin care on your still limp form.

“Fawn?” He asked as you caught your body in mirror. You were pale and bruised. Scabs had started to form on you.

It was shocking.

“I…can’t work like this?” Was all you managed to choke out.

“I’ve got you. When were back in Bristol, yeah? I’ve gotten some alien technology in my TARDIS. You won’t even have a scar.” He offered, a smile creeped up his face. It seemed smug and self-serving.

You shook yourself.

You trusted him, fully without any hesitation. If he said so, he said so.

He slid your into your pajamas and slid next to you in bed. Still naked.

“Sleep.” He commanded as he wrapped his arms around you. “Tomorrow, I need your help.”

And as if by magic, you felt yourself slip into a deep sleep. You dreamed of swirling galaxies and more strange songs twisted into it.

When you woke, it was with such a fright. He wasn’t next to you, and it made you panic. He was already dressed. He was twirling some object in his hands.

“You’ve slept in. Not that I can blame you…” He snorted. “Don’t worry, I’ve taken the liberty of choosing clothes. I’ve even got breakfast!”

He offered you a cup of coffee and helped you out of bed.

It was simple, a black tank top and a pair of jeans. He offered you the sheer lace shrug you planned on using as layering if he took you out again for a night out on town.

“I’ve been meaning to give this to you.” He slid you a gold chain with a small, but heavy pendant on it. It had some small circular design on it. It swirled around itself and had some dots in places.

“I know how you enjoy jewelry.” He motioned to the tangled knot of necklaces you wore all day, every day, even in sleep.

You went to put it on. It rested as if fighting the small symbols of your faith for attention on your person. Or, perhaps, even your soul itself...

He parted them for you and made sure that his special necklace rested firmly under the hollow of your throat.

“I meant it last night. Not even the Cybermen could take you from me. The entire dark hoards of the Never Were’s and Always Was’s will not harm you so long as you’re by my side.” His tone shifted as he helped you help yourself to a bit of the porridge he had for you.

You still shook.

He let you apply your make up. You decided it was no use to try to waste all your concealer and foundation on the wounds on your neck.

He tousled your hair and smiled at you.

He helped you into your shoes and you both walked out of the door. You firmly found your nails grasping into his coats arm as you still were having trouble even standing, yet alone walking.

The lift ride down into a subterranean area, meeting all these people was quiet. Petronella and that Lethbridge-Stewart woman and more were waiting.

They all focused on you and you could feel their eyes bore into your neck and chest. You didn’t know what to feel.

You instinctively took all your cues from him.

All these soldiers and scientists did too. They all spoke of things that seemed beyond your recently tousled-haired comprehension.

When the Doctor spoke to you, and used your real name to get your opinion, you jumped. To hear your own name, especially from him now seemed foreign.

A fawn you shall be, you felt yourself say in your mind.

You made up some fake statistic about something. You had to. Your mind was flailing and you looked at your good Doctor as if that would help.

You mind felt never more silent. It felt odd.

You shook yourself once more.

You felt your mind flood back in. It was a sharp, tickling sensation. Loud, screaming and on high alert. As if it had been forced down and silenced on purpose.

You swept those thoughts aside. He needed you, and needed you to focus and help him.

Suddenly all the tawdry statistics about crime in metropolitan areas you studied for papers came rushing in. It was very good. Apparently, they were looking for what petty crimes could be aliens doing a bad job at integration and were pushing some prearranged boundaries on when they could emerge and the planet could feasibly support aliens and humans as willing co-sponsors of the planet.

They took your data and entered it in.

Success!

“She’s a whizz with those, yeah?” The Doctor pointed at hand at you and praised you openly. “Great stuff.”

It made your cheeks flush and your panties get a little wet spot on them. You felt nothing but a soothing warmth spread from your scalp to the soles of your feet.

Him and a few other scientists went to go prime something. You didn’t know what.

You went to the small area set up for self-service of tea and coffee. Petronella trailed after you. It was a hard journey, you wobbled a few times for such a short trip.

“Those are some marks?” She pried at you as she pointed towards where the Doctor had given you in the night. “Were you attacked last night when you were out?” The deep care and worry in her voice made you feel a vacant ache in your chest.

“No, no. No?” You stuttered. Your hand automatically went to the most egregious of them. Teeth marks fully imprinted as reddish-black stabbed divots.

“Then where’d you get them?” More concern in her tone.

Your eyes flashed over to the Doctor and then to the ground. You didn’t know how to respond.

She muttered a barely audible “Oh.” Her eyes gazed at you with understanding. “Did you have fun?” She asked for lack of a better way to press on. Her eyes looked back at the Doctor and back at the mess that was your neck and chest in a few quick takes. She seemed like her mind was trying to wrap itself around something.

Did you? You could hardly recall most of it.

You chalked it up to the alcohol in your system.

“Yeah.” You nodded your head. “We had fun.”

She didn’t seem to disagree. Although, a glint of something rested in the back corners of her eyes…

She trailed you back to your seat.

You let a long, shaky breath as you went to sip more coffee. You wished he was the one helping you drink. Your hands still were not exactly stable. Him doing that at breakfast was oddly fitting. Felt like it should be that way.

You gave more opinions and input. He lauded on the praise.

The wet spot was growing in size under your jeans. Your cunt was positively aching once again. Your heart raced.

It felt like he was winding you up.

Maybe he was…

[baybays-baybay]

Are you normal or do you spend hours watching clips of wrestlers so you get their personality and vibes right when writing?

[ratatatastic]

as you tell catmin is having a ball with being able to terrorise our players again and make them do the "i hope she plays hot to go" trend

[th3d0nutl0rd]

Old Man Vagina. You Agree.

I think I'm picking up what you're putting down

[parkakeet]

guess who on my fucking waterbottle

[felixfeliccis]

Finished reading dungeon meshi. I'm never gonna recover

[miyachinenreall]

ermmmm touka🐐 NOT MAKOTO YUKI her hair looks blue i swear its prupel and tge markers are bootyfart so……😔😔 SHE LOOKS SO ODD😔😔😔😔😔

[c-o-z-m-o]

☝️new pinned post in the works

[pamithebunterfly2007]

WE DID IT BUNNIESSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!

@art1c-m0nk3ys

@softpawsxd

@sweetnekoheart

@lizzietherwbychibifan

@nicky-toony27

@breezycatuwu

@prometheus2007

@zizzythehedgehog

@zikusukierz

@expandismgold

@emo-gals-4life

@chrisloch6-blog

@itsmetord

@wonderkat11

@sketchymenace

@skylarthethompson

@prometheus2007

@pixelmonkey28

@leftunknown

@manekimelikawaii

[taro-pdf]

ACHIVEMENT UNLOCKED!

ANXIETY managed with the power of INTERESTING FACTS!

[loquaciousquark]

[Fic] A Midwinter's Carol; in Prose; Being a Ghost Story of Baldur's Gate [1/1]

Rating: G Characters/Pairings: Astarion/Tav, various cameos Word Count: 10k Notes: Thanks from the very southernmost reaches of my heart must go to @eponymous-rose, who suggested the idea and then gave me Christmas Past and Present; and to @jadesabre301, who sacrificed most of her afternoon to this beta.

--

Cazador was dead: to begin with. There was no doubt whatever about that. Astarion had plunged a very beautiful knife a dozen times or more into his gut and left him in tattered shreds upon his ritually carven floor. The compulsion which had haunted the farthest reaches of his memory had vanished like mist with his master’s death.

Mind! It cannot be implied that there is a particular similarity between a vampire lord, who is un-dead, and a dead vampire, despite the mimicking shape of those descriptors. Neither bears real facility of life, true, with a beating heart and a cheek which might yet blush, but the one may wield an un-life never again to be possessed by the other, who will do little more than lie still and rot away into new earth. Cazador was a corpse, mouldering beneath the ground. In all ways he had been flung across that lofty river into the mundanity of real and final death. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing that follows will seem wondrous.

--

Links: FF.net, AO3

[kommandantpinks]

[spadethebitch]

Every time my footsteps sound like footsteps in an animated show I celebrate a little

[ananxiousgenz]

TPP HADESTOWN AU PART 4

ANOTHA ONE. i am so sorry guys, but the muse has possessed me and i literally cannot stop writing. this is no longer a flash fic. i am now a slave to the au. this time will be a direct continuation of part 3 because honestly i wanted to keep writing that but i also just wanted to post it so consider this a kind of part 2 to part 3 if that makes sense

tpp mutuals come get your juice!!! @smidgen-of-hotboy @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @waters-and-the-wilde

when he said his name, juno heard it.

ringing in the background like the hum of a crystal wine glass.

the song.

when peter nureyev said his name, the song echoed with it.

"your name has the same melody," juno breathed, eye wide and searching for some kind of answers on the face of this strange, beautiful man. how could his name have the song of spring laced through it?

nureyev shot him a sideways look and took a sip of his drink. "so. what do you do for a living, lady who's going to marry me?" he questioned, leaning back in his chair and looking juno over with a gaze he could only describe as skeptical.

"oh! well, I work here at the bar with rita. she's over there. but you've met her already so I don't know why I'm introducing her."

rita gave a friendly wave from her perch behind the bar.

"I also, um. I, uh. I sing. sometimes. not all the time. i'm not bad at it. typically when I do sing, someone will give me a couple bucks. it's nice. oh, and uh, I can play guitar too, but I haven't done it in years, and to be honest, I don't really want to-"

nureyev cut juno off, looking away disinterestedly and downing the rest of his drink. "that's nice. so you're like all the other bar workers in existence. that doesn't exactly sound like something I'd want to marry."

suddenly, the butterflies that had been gradually building in juno's stomach began to unexpectedly drop dead.

"heyyyyyyy, that's not very nice, mista nureyev. mista steel isn't like all the otha ladies you eva met! he's a very supa awesome lady who I love workin' with and-oh oh oh! mista steel! you GOTTA tell him about that song you're workin' on! it's so pretty! and important! I'm sure mista nureyev would LOVE to hear about that!" rita cried, bounding off the bar and hustling over to deliver another drink to the table.

"oh, uh, yeah! I'm working on this song to bring spring back again," juno said, feeling mildly embarrassed that rita brought it up with this man who was still basically a total stranger. "it's not done, honestly, it needs a lot of work. but, when i'm finished with it, it will hopefully fix.....everything."

"wait just a moment." nureyev's brow furrowed and juno's stomach twisted at the sight. even when he was skeptical and defensive and bone-tired, he was still so damn attractive. gods, what juno wouldn't give to just kiss him right now- focus, steel, he's trying to talk to you-

"so you say this song will bring spring back again?"

"yup! at least it should."

"that's...." nureyev placed a finger over his lips in thought. "I haven't seen a proper spring in at least a decade, maybe more. the world has been so wrong in recent years... I shudder to think where it would all end up without the return of warmer weather."

"well, that's the idea with the song. I want to fix it. all of it. when the song is done it should put the world back on track. more sunshine, springs, falls, rain and flowers. you know. all the stuff that's just sort of been missing. maybe you could help me out with it!" juno grinned a bit sheepishly.

"and why would I want to help?" his eyes were cold, almost as cold as the biting wind and frost outside, but juno thought he saw the beginning of a thaw at the edges of his facade.

"because, mista nureyev. he's real good at makin' people feel like life is worth livin' again with that music of his. also, he makes the BEST chocolate cake i've eva had! and frannie agrees with me!" rita chimed in, cleaning the bar top as best she could with her short stature.

juno snorted involuntarily, marveling at rita's ability to constantly be focused on food. "it's true, I won a local competition a few years back for that cake."

nureyev's face had half a smile on it now, and the butterflies in juno's stomach turned into a hurricane.

"so you can make people feel alive again? that's quite a gift, juno. but what else can you offer me?"

"huh?"

"say, for example, if we were to get married. who would pay for the wedding rings? times have been hard, and gold is scarce. how would you do it?"

juno thought for a moment. "the rivers. they've got plenty of gold in them, and if my song works, they'll give it all to us for wedding rings."

nureyev's eyes glinted with something juno suspected was either curiosity or suspicion.

"what about a wedding feast? or a bed? good food and better beds are hard to come by these days. what would you do about that, juno?"

"the trees would take care of the wedding feast, and the birds would take care of the bed."

"with your song." nureyev cocked an eyebrow as though it was a question.

"well, yeah, of course."

"you talk a lot about that song. why don't you sing it for me?"

a wave of panic stuttered through juno's mind. "I can't. I told you it's not finished."

"you said you wanted to take me home and marry me, is that true?

a sly smile crossed nureyev's face, and goddammit it only made juno want him even more. "yes," he breathed.

"then sing the song for me, juno."

juno hesitated, then nodded in spite of himself. he shouldn't be doing this, he knew he shouldn't be doing this, but he couldn't help it.

he was in love.

and lovers need the spring like a flower needs sunshine. so he'd sing the sunshine back for peter nureyev.

he stepped back, breathed in, and let the notes flow from him like water from a faucet. the song flooded the room, hitting the walls and rushing back to his ears in perfect harmonies, and for a moment, he was back in that wheat field with benten, strumming guitar as he danced like a pheonix rising from the ashes, spinning around and around and around like he was the center of the universe.

and then the song ended. and juno was back in a shitty roadside bar, holding a perfect dahlia in his left hand, with peter nureyev staring at him now, eyes wide and sparkling.

"that's...... you...... how did you do that?" nureyev asked quietly, standing from the table on unsteady legs and taking the dahlia to examine it with shaking hands.

"i didn't do that, the song did," juno muttered as nureyev gently touched the immaculate petals of the dahlia, still damp with dew. rita beamed at juno from the bar and gave an overenthusiastic thumbs-up. juno just rolled his eyes again.

peter nureyev looked at him then, all of the previous frostiness gone from his eyes and something like amazement and love and hope spilling through them.

juno decided that he liked it when he looked like that. it made him feel like he really could fix the whole damn world with that song of his.

nureyev seemed to come to some sort of conclusion and slipped the dahlia into the buttonhole of his traveling coat. "so, what time does your shift end, my dear juno?"

juno thought for a minute. "uhhhh, the bar closes around 10. why?"

his eyes gleamed like a pair of stars as a smile twinkled on his lips. "didn't you say you were going to marry me?"