#I feel like you'd need to be some level of telepathic

[blujayonthewing]

the thing about firbolgs is that I want very badly to play in the space of 'they don't have personal names' but the actual logistics of that just frustrate me too much. at some point if you're trying to tell someone about something that happened to Your Tall Friend and The Shepherd you've just looped back around to reinventing names

[ganymedesclock]

So that #Syrin the Dread Blade tag, thats a new one. Seems like a interesting character, a sentient sword, how did Tyler happen upon them? What does the sword look like, and does it have any special magical abilities? How do they like the other members of the party? Do they actually speak or do they have a telepathic voice?

Technically it's just a tagging misconception; I haven't tagged Syrin reliably before because his nature as a sword does mean he's kind of attached to Taylor. But he is his own dude!

A short primer: magic items in this setting tend towards a level of awareness. Magic is essentially what souls are made of, ergo, if you stuff enough magic in anything, it starts to have a soul, and behaves accordingly. Entities as fully developed and chatty as Syrin are rare; far more common is that magic items tend to feel just a little bit haunted, inclined towards some things and away from others. It's a bit creepy if you're not used to it; enchantments are commonplace and widely accessible, so that 'not being used to it' is more a statement on if the individual is used to handling a particular thing.

Syrin himself is the ostensible opus of the previous Lord of Darkness, a Dark Sword that was meant to contest and cancel out the legendary sword of light wielded by the hero. Ostensibly, because for unknown reasons Syrin was left in storage the eve of the fateful battle. Being groomed exclusively for this purpose by someone he regarded as a father and then abandoned for ten years definitely wasn't traumatic or terrifying for someone with the cognitive level of a child, we promise. Especially since Syrin needs to eat.

Syrin's construction, and what leads Taylor to point out he's a bit like a 'needle', is a crystal-bladed thrusting sword with a hollow core. Despite its delicate looks, the blade is actually both quite sharp and highly durable; the thin tube at the center being essentially his mouth, by which he is supposed to drink blood. His victims', if he can get it, or, failing that, magically drawn from his host. As a result his blade itself ranges from grayish translucence to dark red if he's gorged to fullness.

From there, he has the power to generate and shape a kind of magical flesh, allowing him to weave more elaborate forms around his core body, the sword.

As you can guess, this gives Syrin a somewhat unpleasant and brutish first impression on people, as he has no verbal filters, was raised by a would-be conqueror of the world, and is dependent on blood and thus interested in more fights than not. I've described him before as like a preteen on xbox live who talks up a nasty game mostly out of loneliness and a need to be liked, where you can tell the kid themselves is not as bad as the people who taught them all those words and that they were "funny".

Deep down (and not all that deep, like I said, no filters), Syrin is a vulnerable child who was groomed to do violence and got no experience with it until strangers came to loot the dangerous ruins he was held in, at which point he did what you'd expect a strong but sheltered child to do faced with a home intruder, and killed/devoured that individual in a panic. His first kill being no glorious conflict or victory approved by his father, but essentially a desperate scramble in the dark with himself on the edge of fatal starvation messed him up even more than ten years of silence.

Enter Taylor and party, who happen to pass through those same environments. Syrin makes an attempt to body-snatch Taylor that fails due to the latter's particular properties, and Taylor, being both a good-hearted person and a stubborn busybody, feels obligated to bring this chatterbox with them and attempt to bully him into developing some sense of tact while Syrin attempts to Corrupt His New Wielder To Violence.

This doesn't work because Syrin has no real ideas how to go about corrupting someone besides loudly telling them to stab things more, while Taylor is an apprentice surgeon and mortician who is a lot more desensitized to bodies and their workings such that if they have a weapon, they'll at least consider it as a solution to most problems. So the punchline is that Syrin is more often thrown/flabbergasted by Taylor than vice versa, while the latter just sees him as a sort of annoying kid who's easily talked into almost anything as long as you compliment him first.

[joecooperzz]

freak accident (vampire!trey parker x fem!reader)

I've been working on this since July! I never thought I'd finish it, but I did. Hope it makes up for me being too busy to do Kinktober the right way. Thanks so much to @sqiblet for helping my develop Vampire!Trey and giving me some ideas that I incorporated here. 🖤

Word Count: 6,804

Content: Vampirism, biting, graphic description of blood, dubious consent, supernatural intoxication, oral (f!receiving,) vaginal fingering, praise kink, possessive behavior, overstimulation, unsafe sex

Minors (anyone 17 and under) DNI!

-

The entire time, every bit of you had been screaming that this wasn't right.

Even as you fluttered your eyelashes at the cute young bartender, making a pun about the lewd name of your drink, your senses were overwhelmed by your boyfriend. 

On the standard level, you knew that your heart belonged to Trey. Hell, you were obsessed with him in just about every way possible. You'd keep him in your apartment with you forever if you could. Alas, work and commitments got in the way, forcing you to separate every once in a while. Whenever he returned, you were always waiting for him, flippantly asking him if he needed to eat while noting the look of overwhelming desire on his face. By the time your neck was exposed, he was already jumping on you, inspiring agony and bliss in equal measure as he sunk his teeth into your skin. 

Yeah. Nobody else could make you feel like he did.

Still, you flirted with the bartender, putting on your best show. This was just a little game you were playing, after all. You even let Trey pick your outfit for the occasion, — some skimpy black dress that he had spent a good portion of his most recent paycheck on, just because he wanted to see you in it so badly. It fit like a glove, hence why it was your designated 'showing off' outfit. 

And show off, you did. 

Even when the lingering venom from Trey's repeated bites still coursed through your veins, reminding you that you would always belong to him and only him, deep down. Even when you knew he was in your head. Even as he sat next to you, the telepathic bond between the two of you telling you not to even think about it.

Even if you weren't really thinking about it, you pretended to, just for the hell of it.

That's how you ended up here.

The door to the single bathroom slams shut behind you, just before strong hands land on either side of your waist. Before you can think too hard about it, you're being hoisted up to perch on the edge of the sink. 

Trey kneels on the tiled floor. Even when he's looking up at you, he manages to make you feel small and vulnerable. 

You shiver as one of his large, freezing cold hands lands on your bare thigh. "Did you enjoy that?" he bites out, fingertips digging into your skin. 

You swallow hard. "I didn't mean…"

"Ohh. You didn't mean it, huh?" His fingers dig in harder, nails leaving behind half-moon imprints. Though you know that this will be the least of the pain that he inflicts on you tonight, your breath still hitches. "You were just testing me, weren't you?" 

His grip loosens up, leaving him to trace gentle circles on your skin. You nod, desperate for whatever response he might give you, be it positive or negative. As it stands, all you need is his attention, for him to just keep looking at you, letting you revel in the fact that you're his. 

He continues to fix you with that cold, blue glare. "Words, angel," he encourages you flatly. 

"Yes," you manage. "It was all just a test." You shift against the porcelain, feeling the first rush of heat between your legs. "I'm sorry."

He chuckles, causing you to freeze.

When you're at home on the couch, head spinning and eyes bleary as Trey pulls you closer to him, his laughter is a warm sound. When he's looking at you like this, though, all wild and hungry, the sound sends a shiver up your spine, warning of the things to come. 

"Well, baby," he says. "You might not have known it, but I was testing you, too." His hand begins to travel up your thigh, so very slow. "And you failed. Big time."

Your heart begins to speed up even more, echoing in your ears. "Sorry," you manage. "I'm so sorry. I didn't—"

"Shh." He begins to tug at your skirt, pushing it further and further up your thighs. "Save your breath, sweet thing. Apologies aren't going to get you anywhere now." He freezes, taking in the sight before him with a surprised click of his tongue. 

"Holy fuck," he mutters. "No panties."

He looks up at you as one cold finger runs teasingly over your center, already meeting a flood of wet warmth. "Who's this for, hmm?" he asks. "Me or him?"

"You," you respond quickly, the short word edged with a needy gasp. "All for you." 

He hums. "Should be." With that, his head begins to dip down, closer to where you need him. Seemingly automatically, your hands land on the back of his shaggy head, attempting to shove him down faster. 

Without even having to look, he reaches one arm out, wrapping a strong hand around your wrist. Immediately, you recognize your mistake, inspiring another rush of heat to your face… and your pussy. 

"No," he says flatly. "You don't get that yet." You feel him smile as he presses an uncharacteristically soft kiss against your thigh. "That's for good girls." 

You let out an embarrassingly high-pitched whine. "Sorry."

He laughs again, that same hard-edged, mean sound. "Not sorry enough, clearly." His hand loosens around your wrist, returning to your hip as his grip tightens on both sides. "I've gotta remind you who you belong to before I can make you feel good, yeah?" 

He plants a longer, wetter kiss against your thigh before pulling back. Though he's freezing cold, his eyes are ablaze. "Spread." 

You couldn't resist his orders if you wanted to. Luckily, that isn't an issue. 

You spread your legs, allowing for him to lunge for the meat of your inner thigh while you wait for him, wet and wanting. 

The combination of the cool air on your aching core and the threatening sharpness of his teeth against your skin leaves you throwing your head back, rattling the mirror ever-so-slightly. 

As soon as he nips at your leg, breaking the skin for the first time, you feel the distinct venomous sting that always comes with the first bite. It runs through your veins, heady and cold, dizzying. You let out a yelp. Your fingers tangle in his hair on autopilot. Luckily, despite the earlier ordeal with you pushing his head down, he doesn't stop you this time. He knows you need something to steady yourself, — deep down, he's probably happy it's him rather than the sink. 

Just as soon as his fangs have pierced the first two holes, he moves on higher up your leg to create another. You know what he's doing. He won't go too deep on a single bite, — he'll save that for when you're at home, and he needs to feed. This is a separate thing entirely. 

Small, pinprick bites come to decorate your inner thighs, one after another. With each small puncture of his fangs, small amounts of venom come to rest beneath the skin, slowly washing your body with the euphoric sensation of pure need. 

Simply put, he's infiltrating your brain, rendering you chemically dependent on him, as though he were some sort of drug. It's horrible and romantic all at once, and you swear you wouldn't have it any other way if you could. Long before he first sunk his teeth into your skin, you wanted him. And now, you have him, for however long forever is for you. For his sake, you hope it's a long, long time. 

You look down at him now. Eyes growing heavy from the venom's intoxicating effects, you lazily brush his hair back from his eyes before running your hands over his scalp. 

It doesn't escape you that he tenses slightly at your touch. Your heart sinks. You know how he is with displays of affection from you. Unless he initiates first, he vehemently believes that he doesn't deserve your tenderness. After all, in his own eyes, he is nothing more than a monster, literally draining you of life. His sense of guilt eats you up inside, especially considering that there's nothing you can do to remedy it. 

You see the way that he's looking at you now as he continues to decorate your upper thigh in small marks. There's this look in his eyes that makes you think of how he must have looked walking home from that bar nearly thirty years ago, unaware that his mortal life as he knew it would come to an end in a dark alley at the hands of some ravenous beast. Despite the fact that he's still biting you, he looks… scared. All you can see in his eyes is the lost young man that he once was. The lost young man who should be well into his fifties now, but is stuck in a twenty-something's body, depending on your blood to keep him alive. 

Perhaps it's the venom pumping through you, increasing your connection, or maybe the few drinks that you've already had, or just the fact that he looks pretty and sad and you really want him to eat you out. Whatever the case, you feel like you should be doing something other than this. Something to make him feel better. 

Before you can consider other, potentially better options, you find your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling as his name breaks up from your throat. "Trey," you whimper quietly. 

He groans against your skin, tongue flattening over the freshest bite. You let out a high-pitched cry, tugging at his hair again. "Trey," you repeat. "Come on, please…"

His bites trail upwards, closer and closer to where you need him. Each one comes with a small rush of simultaneous pain and pleasure, so fucking addictive. 

Whether or not he was really worried about the bartender, he's got you right where he wants you now. All you can think about is him. His name is the only one passing your lips, his venom lacing your blood, his mouth so close to where you need it…

"Trey," you repeat, sounding something like a broken record as you close your eyes and lean back against the mirror. "Please, please, please…"

You gasp, hand flying up to cover your mouth as sudden, harsh pain rips through you. Like an electric shock, it starts in your leg and jolts the rest of your body, inspiring a muffled scream. You feel Trey pull back, just before you hear him curse. 

"Shit." 

When you look down, he's rising up from the floor, desperately reaching for the paper towel dispenser. He rips a few off before kneeling in front of you again. Wide-eyed, you look down at his blood-smeared face as he begins to press against the fresh wound on your leg. 

"I'm so sorry," he says as he presses down harder, inspiring a sharp hiss from you. "Fuck…"

He pulls the paper towel back and actually growls. Once you get a good look at it, you understand why. 

Blood pours from the punctures his fangs have left in your skin. In comparison to the other marks, this one is much deeper, the sort of bite that he leaves behind when he feeds. By the looks and feel of it, the blood is flowing at a similar rate, too.

You watch Trey's face as he takes in the sight. You can see his mental struggle, — trying to decide whether to give into his instinct and latch on or just keep applying pressure.

"It's okay," you tell him. "You can…"

He shakes his head before you can even finish your sentence. "No," he says, standing up to grab another paper towel. He swipes it across his face, rubbing the blood off. "That'll just make it flow faster, and I don't want you passing out on me. Not here, at least." He tosses the towel into the trash can before reaching for your waist again, placing you back on the floor. "C'mon. I'm taking you home." 

As soon as your feet hit the floor, you feel yourself growing slightly woozy. You lean against him with a soft whimper, eyes squeezing closed. 

"No, no, sweetheart. Stay with me." You feel a cold hand gently pat your face, inspiring your eyes to flutter back open and focus on him. He smiles, faint remnants of blood marking his sharp teeth. "That's my girl." 

You smile back weakly as a strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you into his side. "Just lean against me," he encourages you. "I've got you, yeah?"

You hum a weak agreement as you head towards the bathroom door. 

Luckily, the two of you had already paid your tab before you snuck off. All that's left is to make your way through the sea of people and out the door before he takes you back to your apartment. 

"Move slow," he urges you. "Hey… Watch your breathing, baby. There you go." 

You didn't notice before now that your breathing was coming fast. The mixture of venom, blood loss, and anxiety has you reeling, leaving you out of touch with your own body. 

Luckily for you, Trey knows. Even if he was the one who just accidentally left an open wound on your thigh, you trust that he won't let anything happen to you. He's aware of your vitals, — how you feel, how much you can take, — without you even having to tell him. Even if it takes him all night to walk you home, he'll make the sacrifice. He takes care of you like that. 

Now, he's squeezing your shoulder, leading you towards the door as he guides your breathing. "In and out, okay? Slow." The two of you step out of the bar and into the night. Luckily, it's relatively cool outside, not allowing for the weather to worsen your lightheaded state. "Talk to me when you can handle it, alright?" 

You inhale the cool night's air before speaking. "I'm scared people are staring."

He shrugs. "If they stare, they stare." He nudges you gently. "They aren't gonna know," he says quietly. "Far as they know, you slipped and fell or something." His arm tightens around your waist. "Freak accident."

You smile weakly. "Freak accident," you echo. "Yeah."

By some miracle, you make it back to your apartment complex without incident. Before you can attempt to scale the stairs, Trey picks you up, carrying you as though you were no heavier than a grocery bag. 

You lean into him with a shaky sigh. It's so strange, the way that he could accidentally kill you at any moment, yet he makes you feel so safe. You know that he would die and/or kill for you in a second. He loves you just as much as you love him, if not even more. 

He stops in front of your door, delicately maneuvering past your body to pull the key from his pocket. Still, he quietly asks before sticking it in the lock: "May I come in?"

You chuckle quietly, leaning against his shoulder. "You may." 

He turns the key in the lock and steps over the threshold before closing the door behind him. 

He saunters over to the couch and sets you down gently. As soon as you begin settling against the cushions, he sinks to his knees in front of you. 

He lets out a shaky sound akin to a sigh as he clumsily pushes your dress up around your hips, revealing the open wound on your leg once more. It's still steadily dripping blood, causing the hungry look in Trey's eyes to intensify by the millisecond. 

Propping yourself up on the cushions, you offer him a murmur of encouragement. "Go ahead."

As soon as he gets his permission, he wastes no time sinking his fangs back into you.

You hiss, throwing your head back as your fingers tangle in his hair once again. Your eyes squeeze shut as the agonizing euphoria overwhelms you. His venom clouds your head, washing you in a warm, heady haze. You feel wanted and needed and loved as he takes what he needs from you, his grateful moans muffled against your raw, bleeding flesh.

He laps up the blood with a surprising amount of precision, considering his obvious state of desperation. Despite his obvious hunger, he doesn't take from you in a manner that seems greedy or ungrateful. In fact, he does quite the opposite. He tastes you as though you were the world's finest wine, appreciating every last drop. He could damn well suck you dry, here and now. And yet, he doesn't. 

Instead, he pulls back, flashing you a bloodstained smile that makes your head spin even more. Through the muddled haze of your mind, you make out his words: "My beautiful girl."

His praise simply inspires a lovesick whimper from you as you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair. 

He chuckles before lowering his head again, this time to press a series of gentle kisses above the wound. 

"So fucking perfect," he mutters in between kisses. "My good little pet. My girl." He stops at the hem of your skirt before hiking it up even higher. By this point, his voice is little more than a growl as his still-hungry gaze lands on your bare pussy.

He lets out a low groan. "Fuck, baby," he says. "I could fucking devour you." 

You believe him in every sense of that word. Furthermore, you want him to. 

"Please," you whine. "Need you so bad, Trey. Fuck."

He lets out another grumbling groan as he reaches for your ankles, pulling your legs up to rest over his shoulders. "You've got me," he assures you before diving in.

You gasp, your back instantly arching. 

Every time he eats you out while you're venom-drunk, you swear you could fucking ascend. You're already so lost in him after he bites you, and then he drops down to his knees and worships you with his tongue. 

That's how you think of it, — a way to thank you for being his life source, the closest thing to divinity that he can bring himself to believe in anymore. 

You feel pretty close to divine yourself as his tongue laps over your clit, over and over again, inspiring the most beautifully overwhelming pleasure you think you could ever feel. Your thighs involuntarily clap around his head, keeping him trapped exactly where he is. Luckily for both of you, it isn't like he needs to be able to breathe. 

Somehow, you manage to open your eyes enough to look down at him. The sight alone is enough to cause your knees to buckle and the knot in your stomach to tighten. 

There's blood everywhere, — on his face, in his hair, all over your legs and surely between them, too. His eyes are heavy, clouded by his utter focus on your aching center. 

His mouth moves in just the right way, his tongue hitting all the right places. It's so much, almost *too* much. The fact that you know he's reading your mind, — figuring out exactly what you want without you even having to ask, — makes it all the more intense. 

Without thinking twice, you find yourself rolling your hips up against his face, only for two inhumanly strong hands to pin you down a moment later. You swear you could cry as he lifts his head, bringing the waves of pleasure to a halt for one terrible moment before his fingers take the place of his tongue. You continue to squirm as two fingers pump in and out of you, strategically curling against the spot that he knows makes you scream. 

"Don't fight, sweetheart," he says, as though he honestly believes that your writhing is an attempt to get away rather than a plea for more. "You know that just makes me want it more." He laughs, a flash of red-stained fangs as he speeds up the movement of his fingers. You let out a pathetic whine, eyes fluttering as they threaten to roll back into your head. 

"That feels good, huh?" He's laughing at you again. At this point, it just makes you tighten around his fingers even more. You're his. All his. 

You give a weak attempt at a nod, your affirmative hum turning into a muffled moan halfway through. 

Another mean chuckle. "I know it does, pet," he coos. "You fucking love it when I curl my fingers right here, don't you?"

A rush of heat washes over you, causing your pussy to tighten and your knees to get weak. You let out another, louder moan, nodding your head fervently. 

"Yeah?" Clearly, he thinks your reactivity is fucking  hilarious. Bastard. "That's the spot, huh? Oh, you're so tight, baby…" Without warning, he begins to move his fingers faster, managing to hit that fucking spot every single time. 

You clap your hand over your mouth in an attempt to drown out the noises that you can't control at this point. 

As it turns out, this is a mistake. 

"Trying to be quiet, hmm? Don't wanna bother the neighbors? You're so fucking cute." He begins to lower his head again. Panic rises up within you when you realize that he's not going for the aching place between your legs, but the thigh that he hasn't already taken a chunk out of. 

You pull your hand away to formulate a surely futile warning. "Trey—" Your hand returns to your mouth as his fangs pierce the plush skin, another shrill sound escaping your mouth as he goes all the way in, the venom beginning to make the burning turn a bit fuzzy. He keeps fucking you with his fingers all the while, lapping greedily at the brand new wound as your head spins. 

You keep tightening around him with every thrust, threatening to tip past the point of no return. Before you can remove your hand to let out another debauched whimper of his name, he pulls away, licking up an errant droplet of blood before posing you with a warning. "Don't come yet."

With the way your stomach is currently tying itself into a knot, that request sounds quite impossible. "I can't —"

"You can hold off. I know you can." He says it with so much certainty just before he latches on to your leg again, sucking as his fingers continue their unrelenting pace and his venom continues to flood your veins. 

It's all you can do not to burst into tears. You can't hold off. You can't. "Trey," you try again, though you know it's a lost cause. You're already so fucking close, clamping down around him like a vice. Even if he pulled back now, you would probably still fall apart, clenching around nothing. 

But he isn't pulling away, or even slowing down. He just keeps moving his fingers, and feeding off your blood, and…

Fucking looking up at you with those icy eyes, the intensity of a killer trapped within the body of a man who loves you with all of his being. 

That's enough to make the trembling in your thighs intensify. You scream into the palm of your hand, eyes squeezing closed as heat rushes between your legs, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you. 

Once your shaking begins to die down, Trey pulls back from your leg with a disapproving hum. "You never listen, do you?" 

You swallow hard. "I— I couldn't—"

He chuckles. "You could have. You just didn't try hard enough."

You flinch as he pulls his fingers out of you, only to roughly spread your legs further apart. He spreads you open with two fingers, collecting the wetness from your orgasm. "And now you're gonna give me another one," he says matter-of-factly before his mouth returns to your dripping core.

You gasp, squirming slightly at the overstimulation before reminding yourself to hold still. Luckily for you, the brief discomfort soon morphs into ecstasy as he gets you hurtling towards another release. God, is he good with his fucking mouth. 

You go back to tugging at his hair, your head falling limp against the couch cushions. He works his mouth against your hot cunt with the same urgency as he sucks the blood from your wounds, like any bit of you could keep him alive, just because it's from you. 

His words keep echoing in your head. You're gonna give me another one. Yeah, you're definitely going to, — soon, if the building warmth in your stomach is any indication. Your grip on him tightens, — as though, just for a moment, he was your prey. 

You hold onto him for dear life as he keep his face buried between your bloody thighs. Scarlet drips down to stain the couch cushions, but you'll worry about that later. Your mind is a muddled mess of Oh God, right there and please don't stop, and he knows. He fucking knows what he's doing to you, and he's devoting his eternity to doing right by you in every way possible. 

The waves come faster, and you know it's inevitable. He doesn't tell you to stop this time, — he just digs his fingertips into your thighs and moves his tongue faster, as though he's inviting it. 

You don't bother to cover your mouth as the pleasure overtakes you, nor do you pay any mind to the fact that you're rolling your hips up into his face like an animal in heat, so desperate and greedy for him. 

He stays exactly where he is until your grip relaxes and you physically push him away. When he looks up at you afterwards, he looks a little drunk himself, eyes hazy as he flashes you a lazy, self-satisfied smile. 

Though you know that he knows exactly what you want, you don't hesitate to reach for him. You grab him by the face and pull him in, kissing him hungrily. The taste that floods your mouth is just as intoxicating as it is strange, — metallic and sweet with a cool undertone. Blood and cum and, underneath it all, Trey. He overwhelms your senses, his tongue in your mouth, his venom in your veins. You need him like air. No, more than air. 

So you reach down, managing to undo the button and zipper on his pants without pulling away from the kiss. You wrap one leg around his hip, pushing him towards you before coming up for air. 

"Need you… Inside me," you force out between heaving gasps. "Please."

He doesn't say anything in response. Instead, he tugs at one of your dress straps, hard. The harsh pull causes a seam to rip, leaving the dress unraveling around you. 

You roll your eyes. "Jesus Christ. You're a fucking animal."

"Mmm-hmm." Unbothered, Trey dips his face into the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of wet, — but thus far unintrusive, — kisses. "Your fucking animal."

You can't help but giggle, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he hovers over you, taking his sweet time focusing on your neck. "I pussy-whipped a creature of the night. Awesome." 

"Mmm… I'll buy you a new one, baby." His lips stop at your collarbone before traveling back up to just below your chin. Then, he pulls away, tugging down his pants and boxers. He has the decency not to rip those. 

As soon as he's able, he pulls you back close to hip, your legs tightening around his waist. His lips return to your neck. He kisses his way to the spot just below your ear. "Hold still, alright?" he whispers before inching forward, pushing inside of you all at once. 

You gasp quietly, leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder. 

"Head up," Trey commands you, tilting your chin up to look at him. You let out another whine as your eyes meet his. It's already all so intense, — the feeling of him inside you, his hand still cupping your chin, the lingering effects of the venom from his earlier bites. He gives a satisfied hum, lips brushing against yours before he begins to move. 

Unlike most times, he starts slow, — something you appreciate considering the amount of blood you've lost tonight. Still, needy noises seem to escape your throat with his every movement, your nails digging into the cold skin of his back. Every bit of you wants to hide your face again, partially out of embarrassment from being so damn loud, partially to be as close to him as possible, but you know he won't let that happen.

"Look at me," he orders now, surely reading your mind. 

You do look at him. He is just as terrifying and beautiful as always, cold and bloodsoaked, eyes on fire. You want to lean up to kiss him, but you physically can't bring yourself to move. Every part of you feels simultaneously heavy and alight with nerves. 

Trey closes the distance for you, pressing his lips hard against yours. You close your eyes, reveling in the pleasure that overwhelms you as his hips snap against yours, faster now. You vaguely register the sound of the springs on the couch creaking as he moans into your mouth. 

The two of you melt into one another as though you were a single being. You are consumed by the taste of your blood in his mouth in the same way that he is consumed by the fact that you want him so bad, your thoughts flooding his mind. 

You tense underneath him, crying out as he hits the same spot his fingers honed in on earlier. Of course, he takes note. You let out a string of desperate moans as he somehow manages to reach the exact right place with every thrust. 

He pulls away from your lips to murmur in your ear. "You love this, don't you?" he asks, as though he doesn't already know. "You like it when I bite you until your brain turns off? Like it when I fuck you stupid?"

You let out a sob in response, your legs tightening around his waist. Yes, you think, allowing your thoughts to tell him what your mouth can't at the moment. I love it when you fuck me like this. Fucking love it when you make me go cockdumb.

He must get the message loud and clear. A low laugh rumbles in his chest, pressed against yours. "You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?" he presses on. 

Despite the effects of the venom weighing down your body, you manage a nod. Yes. Yes. God, yes.

"Good girl," he coos. "Would you let me bite you again? Get you real fucking wasted while I'm inside you?"

Another desperate moans passes your lips. Please. Please, Trey. Please, please, please, fucking bite me.

He groans at your mental admission. "Holy fuck, you're perfect," he says from between gritted teeth, driving into you harder and harder. "You can take it, right, baby? You always take me so fucking good…" 

Another brainless nod. Anything. I'll take anything you give me.

"Mmm… Good fucking girl," he praises you. "Where do you want it, baby?" Your heart flutters as his finger stops to rest, directly next to an artery. "Right here?" 

Your breath hitches. You know that he could kill you if he bit down on that area with too much reckless abandon. You also know that he will only go as far as he possibly can without threatening your life. 

Contrary to what many people might believe if they saw the bloody mess you and your boyfriend have made on your couch, he values nothing more than he values your life. 

Yes. Right there.

"Fuck." He gives a shaky groan just before sinking his teeth into your neck. 

You scream then, neighbors be damned. 

He keeps his teeth in your neck as he fucks you at a bruising pace. Equal parts pain and pleasure engulf you as your legs turn to jelly. You go limp in his jaws like a small animal being devoured by some terrible beast, succumbing to complete, helpless submission. 

The pain soon fades into the background, being replaced by the pleasant numbness that comes along with his venom. You close your eyes for a moment, savoring the fresh rush of intoxicating poison as you sink into the couch cushions, letting him take as he sees fit. 

He has no problem with this, letting out a satisfied grunt against your neck with every harsh thrust. One of his arms wraps around your waist, superhumanly strong, holding you up as he continues to ravage you. 

Even when he's distracted by the fresh blood filling his mouth, he is precise in the way he fucks you, each snap of his hips bringing you closer to climax. 

Your head spins as the feeling washes over you. You offer Trey a mental warning just before you begin to tighten around him. 

So fucking close, oh my God, please…

You let out a strangled whine as his mouth leaves your neck. He leans in to whisper in your ear as he continues his steady pace. "Go ahead, baby. Cum," he encourages you as he keeps fucking you, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Oh, that's it. Good girl. Fucking… Cum all over me, that's fucking it…"

You let out a series of pathetic whimpers as you tense up underneath him, only to fall apart a moment later. You whine as you cum hard around his cock, trembling beneath him as he releases your hips in favor of pinning your wrists to the wall above the couch. You swear you hear him fucking growl in your ear as he works you through your orgasm… and then afterwards. 

It seems like every nerve in your body springs to life as you realize he isn't stopping. You momentarily panic at the overstimulation washing over you, causing you to dig your fingers harder into his back. 

Too much, you think. Don't know if I can take it.

Not a moment after the thought crosses your mind, Trey is cooing in your ear. "You've got it, sweetheart," he assures you. "You can take more, baby. I know you can. Just cum one more time for me…"

If he says you can take it, you know that you can. You squeeze your eyes shut and cling tighter to him, bracing yourself as the overwhelming sensation slowly becomes a pleasurable one. 

Soon, you find that you're approaching yet another peak. As it would seem, you aren't the only one.

"Fuuucckkk." Trey buries his face in your bloodied neck. "Gonna fucking… fill you up, holy fucking shit, you feel so good…" 

You cling on tighter to him as he licks the stray scarlet droplets from your skin, digging your nails into him as you prepare to fall apart completely. 

"You're mine," Trey goes on as he continues to drive into you. "All fucking mine. My girl. Mine." 

You let out another lovesick whine, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. All yours, you promise him, just before your fourth orgasm of the night overtakes you, causing you to melt into a trembling mess beneath him. 

Trey's eyes damn near roll back as you tighten up around him. "Oh, fuck…" He goes still on top of you for a moment, only to relax as he releases inside of you with a loud, drawn-out groan. You use the opportunity to bury your face in his shoulder as you attempt to come back to earth. 

After a few moments, Trey seems to relax along with you. He stays inside of you for a moment, face still buried in your neck. "Holy shit," he mutters. "You're unreal."

You laugh weakly, brushing your fingers lightly over his back. "I'm not the one who's an actual vampire," you manage, your first words as the venom haze begins to uncloud from your head. 

"Hmm… Fair point." He presses a quick kiss to your lips before pulling back, eyes staring deeply into yours. His hand comes to rest on the side of your face, uncharacteristically delicate. "You okay?" he asks softly. 

You nod slowly. "I am," you confirm. "Just a little… sticky."

He smiles slyly, fangs flashing. 

You roll your eyes before taking on an additional comment on your condition. "I'm a little dizzy, too," you confess quietly. 

Trey leans in, pressing a kiss against your cheek before pulling back with a gentle pat on your cheek. "Stay there," he orders you before pulling his boxers up and wandering off to your bedroom. 

You allow your eyes to drift closed for a moment, only livening up when you feel a cold hand gently brushing against your bare leg. Your sleepy gaze wanders down to Trey as he kneels in front of the couch again, this time holding a warm washcloth. He uses it to wipe the blood away from your thighs first, then moves his attention up to the wound on your neck. Though you hiss at the initial contact, you sound find yourself leaning into his surprisingly tender touch. 

"There we go." He pulls the washcloth away before pressing another gentle kiss to your lips, only pulling away when he reaches for the bottle of rubbing alcohol that he brought along. 

You allow your mind to go blank as he takes care of you. This has become a familiar routine since you've been together: washcloth, antiseptic, situationally-inappropriate cutesy Band-Aid, in that order. You come back around for the last part, zoning back in for Trey's inquiry: "Hello Kitty or Snoopy?"

You grin lazily before pointing at your selection. He huffs out a chuckle as he obliges, sticking the cartoon-dotted adhesive strips over each disinfected wound with undeniably pure focus. Once he's done with that, he reaches for something else on the floor. 

"Here you go," he says as he hands you a bundle of white fabric.

You melt as you unbunch it, only to find that it's his concert shirt from when he saw The Cure in the early 90s. You smile as you pull it over your head. "Thank you so much."

He waves a hand dismissively before reaching for one last object. "Can't forget the most important part." 

Before you even register the sight, you know it's going to be a bar of dark chocolate. Still, you feel it's your duty to roll your eyes as you look at it. 

"Your iron…" Trey chides as soon as he sees your expression. 

"I know," you cut him off, beginning to tear the wrapper away from the bar. 

He chuckles before reaching for your heated blanket. He retrieves the remote, kicking it up to the exact setting that you like before draping it over your lap, and, finally, climbing underneath it with you. 

Even though he's ice cold, you immediately find yourself wrapping yourself around your boyfriend, letting out a contented sigh as you rest your head on his shoulder. Despite the manner in which he has been deflecting your affection all night, you finally feel him relax into your touch, looping his arm around your waist as he pulls you further into his side and presses his lips to your temple. 

You hum quietly before murmuring the first thought that comes to mind. "You're cold," you comment, threading his fingers through yours. 

He groans, dramatically throwing his head back. "You gotta stop doing that," he warns you. 

You grin. "Stop doing what?"

"Being so fucking cute," he replies. "Makes me wanna…" He leans over, burying his face in your neck before making a dramatic snarling sound as he pretends to attack you with reckless abandon. You laugh at the grotesque display of endearment, halfheartedly shoving him away. 

He settles down then, happy to simply lean against you under an especially warm blanket for a while. 

Just when he starts to believe you've fallen asleep, you let out a drawn-out whine. "The couch…" you murmur, face pressed against his shoulder. 

He reaches out to run gentle, reassuring circles against your back. "I'll get it tomorrow," he promises. "I swear, angel. I'll do anything you want me to do all day." 

Your interest is piqued by that offer. "Anything?" you ask. 

"Anything," he confirms. 

You begin to drift off as the possibilities unfold within your mind. You figure you'll start him off with a few things as unconsciousness takes over. 

Wake me up with a warm drink. Clean the couch for me. Eat me out for hours upon hours. Let me do your makeup. Online window shop for a dress to replace the one you ripped.

"Alright, alright." His arm tightens around your waist as he holds you closer. You. His life source. His reason for still being here. His reason for still wanting to be here. 

"Anything you want," he promises you again as your eyes grow heavy. 

-

taglist: @nathanyoungsupremacy

[kittenshift-17]

"Okay, I think we need some ground rules," Stiles said when he walked into his bedroom three days after the pack bond had formed with Derek to find the alpha werewolf in question in the midst of climbing in through his bedroom window.

Stiles had gotten used to the casual breaking and entering from the werewolves in his life, but that didn't mean he appreciated his room being invaded when he happened to only be wearing a bath towel.

"Huh?" Derek grunted at him, blinking owlishly over at Stiles once he'd righted his posture after manoeuvering his big frame through the small window. "Oh. You're not dressed."

"Well spotted," Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes even if he felt self-conscious with his shirt off. He'd seen all of the werewolves - the male ones, anyway - shirtless enough times to know they were all ripped as hell, and Stiles - skinny, defenseless Stiles - was not ripped at all.

"Why are you embarrassed?" Derek frowned at him, mild annoyance and confusion filtering down the bond linking them.

It had taken some getting used to, and Stiles was actually completely freaked out by it—the whole sharing emotions thing. Knowing that the wolves in his life could use their noses to get a good read on how he felt about particular things had been bad enough, but this was a whole other level. He could feel what Derek felt, and vice versa.

"I'm naked. In front of you."

"So?" Derek raised an eyebrow, clearly not seeing the issue more obvious than Stiles's exposed nipples.

Stiles blinked at him, confused in return.

"Okay, dude, pack bond or not, we barely know each other. Being naked in front of you was not on the cards for me tonight. Or any night."

He could feel that Derek really didn't understand his embarrassment.

"Do wolves just... go naked all the time?" Stiles frowned at him. "Born wolves, I mean. Why isn't this weird to you? It's weird to me. I barely even take my shirt off in front of Scott and I've known him since I was, like, nine years old."

An echo of understanding trickled through the bond.

"It's normal for born wolves," Derek nodded, leaning against the windowsill and folding his arms over his chest. "Some of us can do a full shift, actually turn into a wolf, and the magic doesn't transform the clothes along with us."

"Oh, my god," Stiles shook his head, fascinated and horrified. "You lived in one of those weird families where everyone would wander around nude, didn't you? Oh, dude, this explains so much about why you're such a failwolf."

"A pack," Derek confirmed. "And I'm not a failwolf."

"You totally are. And I didn't grow up in a house where people went bare-assed in front of everyone," Stiles told him. "So turn around while I put on some pants."

Derek gave him a deadpan look, and Stiles twirled his finger at the alpha, waiting impatiently until he turned around.

"And no peeking in the reflection," Stiles grumbled, also turning his back and quickly pulling on some underwear before dropping the towel. He hurried into pajamas before giving Derek the all-clear to turn back around.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Stiles asked. "Don't you have a pack of juvenile delinquents to keep out of trouble?"

Derek rumbled a growl, annoyance echoing through the bond alongside the anger that boiled perpetually beneath the surface.

"They're annoying me," Derek admitted.

"Everything annoys you. I annoy you. Why did you think you'd be better off coming here? At least your betas are afraid of you enough that you could threaten them into silence."

Derek growled again, crossing to the bed and plonking himself down on it grumpily.

Derek was always grumpy. Stiles had thought maybe the wolf just really didn't like him, but now that they shared an emotional - potentially a telepathic bond, Stiles needed to test his theories - he knew that it wasn't just him that annoyed Derek. Everything did. He woke up angry, he went to sleep angry, he was angry while he worked out, he was even angry when he jerked off.

Yeah, that'd freaked Stiles the fuck out the first time he'd felt echoes of pleasure and excitement and bliss barrelling down their bond, especially since it'd hit him in the middle of the afternoon when he'd - luckily - cut out of school early during a free period. Stiles had almost crashed his Jeep when the unexpected tidal wave of sensation had swamped him. But even that had still been riddled with anger. Stiles didn't like to think about it, especially since he assumed Derek could feel it whenever Stiles did the same thing. Stiles was a teenage boy. He did it often. So far Derek hadn't said anything, but Stiles was pretty sure he would if he kept it up at his current rate.

Three times a day was totally healthy for a teenage boy. He'd looked it up.

"What are you doing tonight?" Derek asked because as freaky as it was—and Stiles had had a full-on meltdown when Derek came to his room in the hours after the bond formed between them to explain everything to him—the bond had definitely triggered a change in attitude from the alpha, at least where Stiles was concerned. This change frequently manifested as Derek turning up and wanting to spend time with Stiles.

"I have a raid," Stiles informed him.

Derek raised his eyebrows in confusion clearly having no idea what he meant by that. Typical jock behaviour, Stiles rolled his eyes.

"World of Warcraft," Stiles said. "It's a computer game, an MMO."

Derek just kept staring at him, and Stiles might hate being bonded and having the werewolf feel his every emotion, but it certainly helped him decipher what Derek's non-expressions (read: murderous scowls) meant.

"Massive multiplayer online game. I'm part of a guild, which is a group of friends from around the world, and we all join at the same time and, as a collective, undergo challenges and fight bosses."

"How long does it take?"

Stiles shrugged.

"A few hours, usually."

More annoyance tickled through the bond.

"What do you want from me, dude?" Stiles frowned. "I had a life before your freaky alpha werewolf magic hitched your brain to mine, or whatever. I've been raiding with these guys since I was thirteen. I'm not ditching them just because you bit a bunch of maladjusted teenagers that you haven't formed pack bonds with and you want to hide from them in my room."

Derek growled at him again, but Stiles could sense the hints of understanding sprinkled into frustration coming from the wolf.

"I'd invite you to play, but there's a player limit on raiding parties. And you don't have a PC. You don't even have a house to store a PC. You need a house. Hey, I know! You can use my laptop to look for real estate and get a house."

"I have a house."

"You live in an abandoned train car," Stiles disagreed since Derek had hauled Stiles back to said train car the night after the bond had formed, insisting Stiles officially meet the other pack members (like he hadn't already been beaten up, threatened, or extorted by all of them already). "And that train car is inside a walled-up train station so old that Beacon Hills doesn't even have a train station listed as one of the services offered here in the past six decades, dude."

"I have a house in the preserve."

"You have a demolition zone waiting to happen in the preserve."

Derek bared his fangs at him, flashing red eyes.

Stiles bared his blunt human teeth right back at him, knowing for a fact that Derek wouldn't hurt him. He'd explained on the first night that more than anything else, pack was about connection and safety and trust, and that the act of hurting or killing a fellow pack mate went against a wolf's nature except where the wolf was failing to lead them, or already attacking first. Stiles wasn't a wolf, so he didn't have those instincts, but he knew Derek did and that the alpha would never hurt him ever again, no matter what he threatened.

"Don't be such a sourwolf," Stiles chided, grabbing his laptop and opening it quickly, punching in his password before handing the device to Derek. "You need a house to live in that's structurally sound."

"I'm harboring a fugitive and two runaways, Stiles," Derek reminded him. "I can't protect them in a house."

"Yeah, well, you can't protect me, your squishy breakable human packmate, from tetanus or mold poisoning or having a building fall on me if you keep dragging me to unsafe locations that you've somehow deemed worthy of making your den. So, find a house, okay? I have a raid."

He went to his desktop and quickly logged into his game, sliding his headset over his ears and joining Discord to talk to his friends. He could feel the resentment and annoyance rolling off Derek, undercut with anger and resignation, and Stiles watched the wolf huff before he got comfortable on Stiles’s bed and began clicking around on his laptop, presumably looking for places to live.

Stiles got absorbed in his game the minute the raid kicked off, paying no more attention to Derek despite his frequent huffs and growls from the bed. Derek, meanwhile, was trying to blink through the haze of emotions pouring through the bond from Stiles while he played, happiness and excitement, little bursts of adrenaline, flashes of frustration and rage, all flooded the bond while Stiles smack-talked his friends, the bosses he was fighting on thee screen, and everything else in between.

It was getting difficult to untangle Stiles's emotions from his own as he diligently searched the housing market of Beacon Hills, looking for anything vaguely livable that would be defensible. It was all the harder because Stiles talked loud and laughed even louder, and the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart pumping while he played was a perfect cocktail of distraction—not to mention the sound of Stiles's growling stomach.

Clicking into a new window, Derek pulled up the website for the local pizza shop and placed a delivery order, fishing his wallet from his pocket and punching in his credit card info to pay to have it brought to the door. He was pretty hungry too, now that he thought about it.

"No, no, no fuck! I died!" Stiles said into the microphone. "Scott! Heal me!"

Derek looked over at that, frowning to learn Scott also played. Setting aside the laptop when he'd bookmarked a couple of properties that he might drive past later tonight when there would hopefully be no Argents prowling the streets and hoping to run into him, Derek got off the bed and moved over to stand behind Stiles. The sunshine and caramel scent of him was overwhelming tonight, fresh from his shower and clearly having a lot of fun playing his game.

Derek folded his arms over his chest, standing behind Stiles's chair, shoving his hands into his armpits to keep from putting them on Stiles's shoulders, touching the warm skin of his neck, or running his fingers through his hair. His wolf was riding him hard with how badly it wanted to scent Stiles, desperate to cover his packmate in his scent and to get that sunshine and caramel scent all over himself in return until their scents were mingled, making something uniquely pack.

Derek watched the screen without understanding anything that was happening. It looked like chaos. There were what looked like hundreds of individually moving characters on the screen, flashes of light, depictions of violence, blinking lights everywhere. It hurt Derek's eyes trying to keep up with all of the different spots on the screen where things wanted to snatch his attention, and he suddenly understood how Stiles's chaotic thought trains must operate.

"We're so close, you guys," Stiles said, clicking madly. His adrenaline spiked, and his heart pounded as the creature in the middle of the screen they all seemed to be attacking was losing strength. At least Derek assumed it was based on the bar above its head, which kept getting less full.

Stiles's emotions were a heady concoction, and Derek had to fight the urge his wolf had to rise to the surface, sensing the adrenaline pouring off Stiles and immediately searching for a threat.

"Holy fuck!" Stiles jumped when Derek unfolded his arms, giving in to the wolf's urge to touch and smoothing a hand over his left shoulder, fingers trailing over the side of his neck before sliding under the neckline of his shirt and twitching across his chest in the direction of his rabbiting heart.

"No, no, I'm fine. Just got a fright. All good," Stiles said into the microphone though he didn't try to shrug Derek away or stop madly clicking and tapping the keyboard.

Derek's wolf didn't settle with the simple touch, his other hand trailing to the hair at the back of Stiles's head, fingers playing with the little tufts at his nape, the pad of his thumb smoothing over the soft skin behind his right ear. Stiles leaned back into the touch, remaining focused on his game. Derek was content to keep watching him play while he scented him until he heard a car pull up outside. Lifting his nose toward the open window, he caught the smell of pizza and cheese grease, and he grinned.

Stiles made a little sound of complaint when Derek let go of him, but he was in the middle of focusing on his game, so he couldn't stop while Derek headed downstairs to meet the delivery guy at the door.

"Woah, you're not Stiles," the teenager on the porch holding the stack of pizzas blinked at Derek dopily.

"I'm not," Derek agreed, taking the pizza and handing the kid his tip - twice the usual amount because he didn't have anything smaller on hand.

"Holy shit, thanks dude."

Derek rolled his eyes as the kid stumbled away beaming, the name Greenberg stamped on the back of the lacrosse jersey he was wearing. Closing the door, Derek carried the prize back up the stairs to Stiles's room. Stiles's head jerked up at the smell of them when he walked in.

"Oh my god, is that pizza? You got pizza? I'm starving!" he declared. "Dude, I love you."

Derek blinked at the declaration, his wolf just as startled.

"What? No, mind your business, Scott. I have been gifted pizza. Shit, how am I supposed to eat and play at the same time? Urgh! And we can't pause and take, like, ten minutes? Guys! Oh, I'm so hungry..."

He kept clicking while Derek put the boxes on the bed since there was no room on Stiles's desk.

"No, I get it. Yeah, yeah, Mark and his dumb kids, with their dumb homework and bath times and bedtime, get breaks all the time, but Stiles doesn't get three minutes to eat dinner. I'm not saying this is nepotism, but it's totally nepotism." Stiles complained, and Derek's brow furrowed before he shrugged and fished a slice of pie from the box, taking a big bite before crossing the room to Stiles. "No, fuck off, Mark. It's totally nepotism. Just because you, like, founded the guild, everyone lets you get away with cutting raids short and shit because you couldn't wrap your tool, and now you have triplets or whatever. Twins? I don't freakin' know, dude, you take enough breaks that I'm pretty sure you've got octuplets."

Derek nudged Stiles's cheek with his pinky, offering him the bitten slice of pizza and raising his eyebrows when Stiles twitched his gaze up to him briefly.

"Oh my god, dude. Are you serious?" Stiles asked, his eyes widening and gratitude flooding through their bond. "Aww, you're the best. I take back every bad thing I ever said about you."

He took a big bite of the pizza, and Derek was mildly concerned by how much his wolf liked the sight of Stiles enjoying the meal he'd provided when Stiles groaned around the mouthful, his eyes rolling up in pleasure.

"I'd be totally furious about being handfed like a baby if I wasn't starving, but since Mark won't let anyone else take breaks, this is the only way I'm eating before midnight. Oh my god, so good."

He took several more bites while Derek held it for him, Derek stealing bites of the same slice while he chewed before he returned to the box for more. He brought it back with him and balanced it on top of the printer, feeding Stiles bite after bite. The sense of satisfaction it brought him as Stiles's hunger was replaced by happiness and contentment had Derek rumbling a deep sound low down in his chest, but he didn't stop until Stiles took one last nibble and then shook his head.

"So full," he muttered. "Thanks, sourrwolf."

Derek hummed, fetching another box to keep eating because Stiles might be satisfied, but Derek was still starving. He stood there wolfing down pizza while Stiles kept playing until all the pies were gone.

True to his prediction, Stiles played the computer until almost midnight before bidding his friends goodnight and ripping his headset off, slumping back in his chair tiredly and scrubbing his hands over his face. Derek, having grown bored of watching a game he didn't understand, was back on the bed with Stiles's laptop open, watching a movie when the teenager groaned his way to his feet and stumbled out the door. Derek cocked his head, listening to see where he was going before hearing the bathroom door closed and tuning him out.

When Stiles came back, he stopped in the doorway rubbing one eye, squinting at Derek.

"Hey, you're still here," he smiled. "And you fed me pizza."

Derek moved the laptop to the side and sat up, but Stiles only bulldozed him back down onto his back before clambering on top of him and pressing his face into Derek's neck. He tensed because a wolf never liked anyone at his throat, but Stiles only hummed contentedly, going boneless on top of him.

"Thanks for the pizza," he mumbled tiredly and Derek curled his arms around Stiles sensing through their bond that he wanted affection.

"You're welcome," he said.

"Did you find a house?"

"Maybe."

Stiles lifted his head, squinting into Derek's face. "Really?"

"Mmm, I was going to go for a drive past a few of them, check them out."

"When? Tomorrow?" Stiles guessed.

"Now," Derek shrugged.

"But it's dark. We won't be able to see anything."

Derek hummed at the 'we' and it's implications.

"You won't," he agreed smugly. "I can see just fine in the dark."

"Werewolf," Stiles remembered. "So smug. Smugwolf, they should call you. Are we going now? Did you even drive here? Why are we going at night?"

"Less chance of running into the hunters on the prowl at this time of night. Gerard is still hunting me," Derek reminded him.

"That guy really needs to die," Stiles frowned. "Can we kill him?"

"There's plenty more where he came from, and they'd all come calling if we killed him."

Stiles sighed.

"You know, just once, someone needs to go with my plan of letting people die. It would solve all our problems. If we let the kanima die, no more kanima."

"You're the one who keeps getting in my way when me and my betas try to kill Lydia."

"Because it's not Lydia."

"She was bitten by an alpha, Stiles," Derek reminded him.

"Yeah, months ago."

"She went missing, naked, in the woods for three days."

"Two days."

"Whatever. She's the kanima."

"She's not the kanima. You also bit Jackson, didn't you? How do we know it's not him."

Derek growled at him.

"What? It's a fair question."

"Jackson's body is fighting the bite," Derek confided quietly. "It's not him."

"He's more of a snake than Lydia."

"Is he, though?" Derek argued doubtfully. "Lydia's pretty snakey."

"Lydia is a strawberry blonde goddess."

Derek rolled his eyes and tipped Stiles off his chest.

"Are we going now? Let me put on shoes," Stiles sprung to his feet when Derek sat up again. "Hey, dude, the door. My dad's not home, so we don't have to come and go via the window. Okay? Let's be human and take the stairs."

Derek flashed his eyes in annoyance, but he followed Stiles down the stairs just the same, leading the human down the street and around the corner to where he'd hidden the Camaro at the edge of the woods by Stiles's house.

"Stealthy," Stiles teased as he helped himself to the passenger seat and immediately began tinkering with the radio. "Where to first?"

Derek didn't answer. He just started the car and zoomed off down the street toward the first property he'd liked, laughing when Stiles reached for the grab handle and clung on for dear life.

"Soooo... what are we gonna do if he doesn't go away?" Stiles asked softly after spitting out the pool water that’d seeped past his lips.

They both knew what he was talking about. Derek was completely paralysed, and the dead weight of the werewolf was weighing him down. They could both feel Stiles’s strength beginning to wane after two hours of treading water.

"Risk whatever he's gonna do to us if we swim to the edge?" Derek suggested, and Stiles could tell from the look on his face that the werewolf knew that way led a gory, blood-soaked death.

"Think I'd rather drown than be gutted," he muttered.

Derek didn't say anything to that, but he didn't really have to. After two hours of this, Derek had accepted that any minute now, he would drown. He didn't trust humans, especially not Stiles, and he'd been waiting for Stiles to make the decision to save himself. To throw Derek's arm off himself and swim for the edge. To let him sink and leave him to die.

He hadn't yet, and Derek didn't know why, other than the fear of the kanima outweighing his fear of drowning.

"Maybe he'll go away," Derek suggested. "I'm pretty sure someone's controlling him."

"Controlling him to keep us in the pool?" Stiles frowned.

"He's clearly after one of us," Derek shrugged.

"Probably you after all the times you've hunted him."

Derek agreed, though he didn't say so.

"If that's the case, he'll probably let you leave," he pointed out quietly. "You... you can let me go, you know."

Stiles twisted his head to gape at him in confusion.

"You'll drown."

"Yeah, but you won't," Derek answered seriously. "I know you're tired. If you wait any longer, you won't have the strength to swim to the edge and climb out."

Stiles gave him an indecipherable look, the skin around his eyes tightening.

"You don't have to drown with me," Derek murmured quietly because he was certain they both would if Stiles didn't let him go.

"We don't know for certain that it's after you," Stiles replied evenly, looking away from him before he began kicking a little harder and using the arm not holding Derek up to begin dragging them both through the water toward the shallower end.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying not to drown," Stiles huffed.

Derek knew he was flagging. He could feel the way the younger man's muscles trembled with every circle of limbs designed to keep them afloat. Stiles kept swimming while the kanima circled the pool edge, hissing and flicking his creepy serpentine tail. Despite the lizard skin, he reminded Derek of a cat eyeing a bird it wanted to hunt but couldn't reach.

"The pool is still too deep at the other end for you to touch the bottom," Derek pointed out.

"The disability access steps aren't," Stiles grunted and Derek's eyes widened, remembering the school had installed a special staircase into the water that would allow those who couldn't use the ladder to still swim.

"He'll be able to reach with his claws," Derek warned.

"Not if I stay right at the edge of them. I should be able to stand up there."

He kept struggling, panting heavily and almost dropping them both under the water several times. Derek hated being so helpless, his limbs completely numb.

"You don't have to save me, Stiles," he tried again.

"Dude, you only got cut and fell into the pool in the first place because you were trying to push me out of the way when he came at us," Stiles disagreed. "I know you're fast enough to outrun that thing. You could have legged it like Erica did. But you didn't. I'm not gonna let you die for me."

The logic floored Derek.

Like, yeah, he had been trying to save Stiles, but he was bigger and stronger and faster, and the creature probably wasn't after the sarcastic teenager.

"Made it," Stiles grunted in relief, and Derek felt it when he got his feet under him on the solid steps and was no longer straining to tread water.

The creature snarled, swiping at them and it hissed and skittering away when it got wet again.

"It's definitely afraid of the water."

Derek nodded in agreement as Stiles adjusted his grip on him, unfurling Derek's arm from around his shoulders and turning his body to put both arms around his waist, Derek's back to his chest.

He leaned back against the bollard in the middle of the step, installed to ensure no one in a wheelchair using the steps accidentally rolled into the spot that would be too deep. On the step, the water barely cleared Stiles's stomach when he stood at full height - the perfect depth for someone in a chair to keep their head above water. But to keep out of reach of the creature, they had to stay as submerged as possible.

Derek ended up practically in Stiles lap, the boy using his own thighs to help keep Derek’s head above water, arranging his legs to balance the back of his thighs over Stiles’s knees. The alpha wolf inside his soul hated the position, so utterly vulnerable with Stiles at his back, his warm breath huffing at the side of his neck and cheek, over the top of his shoulder. His arms around his waist, supporting him.

"Thank you," he forced himself to say while Stiles panted tiredly, his forehead leaning against the back of Derek's head. "For not letting me drown."

"Yeah, well, you didn't let that thing gut me," Stiles muttered. "And you saved me when Isaac wanted to eat me on his first full moon."

They fell silent after that, Stiles still panting a little from the exertion - he was going to be sore in the coming days after the strain on his muscles, Derek was sure of it. The creature came back a few times, never getting close enough to the water's edge to reach them again, before eventually, it disappeared.

"He's gone," Derek said quietly, and Stiles jolted against his back, having almost dozed off.

"You sure? He could be hiding to try and lure us out."

Derek listened for the creature's heartbeat, but only the steady thump of his own and Stiles’s met his ears.

"We're alone," Derek confirmed.

"Oh, thank God. I'm freezing."

He stirred beneath Derek, beginning to drag him up the stairs to get them both out of the water.

"I think some feeling is coming back," Derek confided when Stiles had him on dry land.

"Of course it is," Stiles huffed. "Perfect timing."

Derek managed to drag himself into a sitting position right as another heartbeat reached his ears followed by the drum of rapid footsteps. He whipped his head around, looking for the source, only to see Scott running into view.

"Stiles! Derek!" Scott yelled.

"More perfect timing," Stiles muttered bitterly. "You couldn't have shown up an hour ago, Scott?"

Derek huffed as well because it was annoying that Scott, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd had all left them here. They could have died.

Stiles looked over at Derek when Scott hauled him onto his feet. Derek met his gaze, his legs still weak.

Stiles had protected him. This mouthy, sarcastic spazz had been willing to drown for him, to die with him rather than leaving him alone to save himself.

Derek couldn't remember the last time anyone had shown him that kind of loyalty. Maybe Laura? Maybe his parents? All of them wolves, all with blood ties to him. And yet here was this stubborn, smart ass human who annoyed Derek more than anyone else he'd ever met, and he'd saved him. He'd shown more loyalty than his pack members had.

The bond snapped into place with a crack like lightning, zinging through his cells, his blood, his soul, and Derek grunted at the sting. Stiles jumped like he'd had a fright, and Scott tensed nervously as the scent of ozone and lightning flooded the space between them. Emotion poured through, heat searing along the pathway linking the two of them. Confusion. Curiosity. Worry. Anxiety. Exhaustion. All of it sizzled into him, and Derek had to close his eyes, taking a controlled breath.

"What just happened?" Scott confirmed, sniffing worriedly.

Stiles was rubbing his chest where the bond originated, his eyes fixed on Derek, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something but had no words.

Derek met his gaze steadily, knowing firsthand how overwhelming a pack bond could be when it formed, even for a wolf. For a human, it had to be like being electrocuted, burned alive, and drowned all at the same time. The linking of souls, or mind, or emotions all designed to attune a packmate to another, designed to protect, to connect, to irrevocably link.

"Is... is this... a wolf thing?" Stiles asked and Derek was certain his own resignation, gratitude, confusion, and ever-present underlying anger were all flooding down the bond to Stiles in return.

"What?" Scott asked. "What happened?"

"A pack bond," Derek confirmed quietly, not daring to tell either of them that the last time he'd shared a pack bond with anyone, it'd been Laura. His family. He hadn't bonded with the wolves he'd bitten, and his bond to Peter had been burned out of him like everything else during the fire.

Something unknotted in Derek's belly when Stiles stumbled across the space between the two of them.

"What's a pack bond?" Scott asked dumbly because the boy was an idiot who kept rejecting everything wolfish instead of learning about what he'd become.

Stiles gripped Derek's waist, clinging to him, pushing into his space, and Derek managed to get his arm up, gripping the back of Stiles’s neck in return. He pulled Stiles in by it, burying his nose in Stiles’s hair and breathing in the scent of him, like caramel and sunshine, and the medicinal tang of his Adderall all currently overlaid with the stink of chlorine from the pool.

"Stiles? What's happening? What is this? I thought you two hated each other?" Scott asked, bewildered.

Derek didn't bother explaining it to him, just clung to Stiles tighter and closed his eyes relishing in the complete overwhelm of having a pack bond again, his wolf howling with joy after so long on his own. Stiles burrowed into him, arms curling all the way around him while he buried his head in Derek's neck, clinging to him tightly, hugging him while he trembled.

It might’ve been completely unintentional, and Derek was certain that when the euphoria wore off, he'd resent being so intimately linked with the spastic human, but for now, he had a new pack bondmate, and for the first time in over a year, Derek felt at peace.

.

Xx-Kitten

[legaciestold]

@ensnchekov gets a reply to this a year late because i suck

this is insane. it's insane. it well and truly is. and the thing is, georgie myers knows insanity. she knows impossibility and dimension traveling and all the crazy shit that's in-between. but this? this is something next-level bizarre and despite the fact her mind's already cycled through this train of thought at least three times since this man has appeared before her, she's still reeling from it. demons georgie could deal with. a troll, another day at the troll market. tooth fairies? the stuff of nightmares and something she really doesn't want to encounter again. but a fictional character showing up through magic from some parallel universe? that was.. she didn't know what to call it. further, if this man literally existed in the multiverse... did that mean that all those fictional characters from the million shows, books, and movies out there, all did too? if this was a cartoon, a mushroom cloud would be forming above her head. she takes a breath, then another as her dark hues continue to wash over him, little patters of rain still following around them. the temptation to poke him still lingers. maybe she's finally broken, completely lost her mind. yet she knows she hasn't. this is as real as the cool air dancing around them.

she can see him thinking, not needing to be a telepath to have something of an idea of where his mind might be going. (though, she knows a telepath or two if their needed.) "but it can't be the same thing or inspiration for the other. you'd know if it was. because you'd know about the show and the same people like kirk and you and sulu and spock and spock's sister michael and everyone else wouldn't exist in a tv show and then again centuries later..." this is making her brain hurt. "holy crap, you know how warp drives work! i don't know if aliens exist in this universe or not but... do you realize you could literally single-handedly give us wrap power if you wanted to? but.. i suppose that'd be a violation of the prime directive, wouldn't it? even if starfleet doesn't exist in this world.. and we haven't even made it passed the moon with manned flight yet.." she trails off, her mind jumping in a million directions at once. which, considering everything she's had to deal with in the last few years, this feeling was.. a nice change in pace from where her mind usually fell into when she'd ventured out away from people.

"but vampires, magic, demons, angels, baba yaga. all that's real. i've got powers too, except i'm human. some humans have powers. don't really know why. my little brother can heal people but he's a warlock so he's got all the cool magic too." she pauses a moment, looking back toward the book and then at chekov. "uh, not super far into looking through it really. the director isn't going to be thrilled i took it out of hq but i also think i might at least not get grounded for you popping up since he's my dad. then again, i'm almost twenty and have been going on missions since i was like fifteen, i don't think he can ground me anymore." she extends her hand out, back toward her jacket and the book, making them move into the air and float toward her and into her arms.

"i'm sure the bprd can try to help you find a way home. i just-- magic can be unpredictable and sometimes.. well, if anyone's able to try to find a way to help you, be happy i found you and some random that doesn't know about this stuff didn't. people know about magic now, that secret came out when i was younger but the government still tries to keep a lot of what people know about it limited so they don't go opening doors they can't close." she reveals. then, she circles back, his previous question that she hadn't answered finally registering.

"oh yeah, to answer your question. i can show you star trek, if it doesn't weird you out too much. i was watching the latest movie last night. it kills me every time i see the enterprise crash into a million pieces on the planet but you were cool in the movie. should have gotten to help rescue sulu instead of say on the ship though..." she pauses suddenly, realization drawing upon her features about how her words might sound. it was one thing to rattle off facts about him but now she was bringing up actual full on events that would likely bring up unpleasant memories for him. oh god, what if that hadn't happened yet for him? "oh, no. please tell me the krall stuff already happened for you and i didn't just screw up your timeline further than it's already been screwed with?"

[maes-chocolate-cookie]

michael myers, jason vorhees, sal fisher and cisco ramon, with an s/o who doesn't like talking

a/n: this is based on me, i'm not mute or anything but talking causes me huge lots of stress so i prefer comunicating with simple sounds, body lenguage or texts, ya'll can say reader is mute tho

warnings: none

requests: open

pronouns: none

Michael Myers

he doesn't talk either so he's pretty chill about it

if you knew each other since you were kids, his bullies would probably also pick on you

michael would defend both of you

you didn't bother to give attention to them

you'd rather do humiliating pranks on them

you understand each other in a whole different level

looking at each other is not even needed

it is as if you communicate telepathically

Jason Vorhees

another one on the not actually mute crew

you made little cards with basic words together

I don't think he knew how to read before he died so you had to teach him

But it was a really fun time tho

he let you put decoration on his mask

Sadly you had to wash his mask because of blood and it all came off

You mainly communicate through the little cards or body lenguage

Sal Fisher

Thought it was a little strange at first but he got used to it really fast

Learned sign lenguage so he could understand you

Passes little notes to communicate with you

Doesn't talk much himself so ge doesn't mind staying in silence just appreciating each other

A sweet couple 1000/10

Cisco ramon

For some reason he took a special liking to you

Like rambling to you about his new gun project or some random star wars theory

Wich you happily listen to

But he also makes sure u feel included and appreciated

Mostly by hearing ur opinions

Already knew sign lenguage

Overall a sweet man 10000/10

[jd-loves-fiction]

OMG I LOVE YOUR EVENT SOBS

can I please request taming hanma ! Ik he’d be so smug and cocky at first but we wouldn’t want a disobedient pet now 🙁

🦊 I'M SO GLAD HUN🥺. Honestly you hit the jackpot for me with this one, because everytime i see Hanma, my brain just wants to bully him, i usually do that with antagonists for some reason 🙃

◈ Little Big Brat ◈

◈ genre: smut

◈ pairing: Hanma x fem!reader

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Maybe choosing Hanma as your pet wasn't the greatest idea you're ever had, but then again, they did warn you.

But the moment you saw him, smirking with that fire in his eyes and that fluffy tail swirling leisurely, you had to have him. The lady at the store had warned you of his behavioral issues and of his extensive history of previous owners who brought him back after 3 days at best, the moment your eyes locked with his.

That information only served to tug on your heartstrings, and increase your curiosity.

So despite all the warning signs, you took him in, so really, you should've seen it coming. The disobedience, brattiness, constant mischief, he's a fox hybrid after all.

But you handled it well, until now.

"Shuji! How many times do I have to tell you to clean after yourself?!" You shout out, hoping that the hybrid in question hears your furious tone from wherever he's at. “Get over here damn it!”

“Someone did not have a good day.” He taunts in that mocking tone of his, grinning wolfishly wide as he stalks towards you.

“And whose fault is that?”

“No clue. Do I look like a telepath to you?” He shrugs with a smirk. His tone is nonchalant, as if he’s completely innocent and has absolutely nothing to worry about, but his expression says something very different.

You're usually more lenient with Hanma, bit not this time, you're far too stressed to let this go, "Get over here and clean up the mess you made. Right now."

He sits himself comfortably on the couch, eyeing a pile of books and papers strewn about on the floor, no doubt from him knocking them down some time ago, "Oooh! Look at you. Being all scary. Or trying, anyway."

He lays back after he finishes, closing his eyes as if going for a nap. You can feel your blood boiling.

But before it can spill over and explode, you take a deep breath, knowing how to handle Hanma. Knowing that giving him a reaction like that is just what he wants.

"Fine, no dinner for you. Cook it if you want it." You realize it's cruel, but you need to discipline him somehow. Even if foxes are meant to be wild, no one likes a misbehaved pet.

"What? No no no. Wait," he dashes up after you as you leave the room to walk to your bedroom, tugging on your sleeve and making himself seem smaller, "do you really mean that? You can't do that to me!"

"Well, if you can't pull your own weight, why should I do it for you?" You'd almost take the glimmer in his eyes as understanding if you had more time to process it, but soon enough you're grasping his collar and yanking him closer to your face by it, easily bringing him to your level as he's caught off guard.

"You wanna be bad? Then be bad. But just know, I'm not tolerating it anymore." You tell him sternly, letting go of his collar to continue walking to the bedroom, knowing you have him where you want him when you hear his loud footsteps behind you.

“You can’t be serious! I was only joking.”

“Yeah? Then, go back, clean up the mess you made and come back here. I’ll decide what to do once you do. Because I'm not amused." You reply to his pleading, sitting on the bed with a sort of finality to your movements. Rolling his eyes to try and get some superiority back, he does as you ask, finally, while you make some preparations.

Hanma walks back to the room to find you sitting smugly on the bed, yellow collar dangling off your finger coyly, "Do I need to?" he questions desperately. He never did like the collar.

"Do you want to prove to me that you're sorry?" He gives a tiny, timid nod, before he sits patiently between your legs.

You rub a finger down his cheek before reaching forward to place the collar around his neck, noticing his grimace. Although you do see the effort he's putting in, he's still being a brat and therefore, no lesson learned.

"Get on the bed, foxy." You can see his throat bob as he swallows, doing as you say with his fluffy black tail between his legs.

He lays himself down on his front, plopped down as if ready to go for a nap, before receiving a harsh tug to his full tail, which makes him whimper as he holds it close to his body protectively. “Clothes, off. And get on your back.”

Your stern words make him work quickly, but not before scoffing quietly like a brat.

The moment you hear the gust of air escape, you’re hooking your finger under his yellow leather collar, careless to the ruthless way your nail scratches at his delicate skin, turning it red immediately, “That’s it.”

Using your grip, you throw him on the bed, able to throw his off balance due to surprise and the closeness to the bed. You stare down at him coldly, noting his sly smirk as you yank off his shirt, damn near tearing it off his body. 

Hanma seems to flex his muscles for you, still in the mood for joking despite your clear frown as you continue to undress him. You finish the task quickly and quietly, throwing the clothing behind you carelessly.

Once you’re done, you dig your nails into his shoulders to hold him down against the bed, staring down at him with a stare so cold it makes him gulp when he sees it, “I’m not going to lie, you’re attitude usually amuses me. But not today. I feel like I’ve given you long enough to learn your lesson by yourself, and you haven’t done it so I must teach it myself.”

He simply blinks up at you wordlessly, trying and failing to figure out what you plan to do. You graze your nails down his chest, watching as the skin prickles with shivers as you move lower, towards his hard member, laid against his hard abdomen, bobbing with each deep breath.

As your touch reaches it, it turns light as a feather, more of a graze of your fingertips rather than a grasp as they wrap around it. As his hips attempt to buck up into your light grip, you dig your nails sharply into one of his prominent hipbones, keeping him down with a wince and a pout.

You continue to tease Hanma, ghosting even your knuckles all around his cock while his large, fluffy ears twitch between standing up defiantly and flattening against his hair in compliance. You watch as tears begin to gather in his golden eyes, just waiting for them to spill over along with his desperation to just feel you around him, warm and wet.

Oh god, he can feel his eyes start to glaze over.

“You’ve been a very bad foxy, dear. And you know how this is supposed to go - I can only give you what you want, when you start acting like a good little pet, if it’s not all the time. It only needs to be when it really counts, like right now.” You coo softly, briefly pressing your thumb just under his quickly reddening head to make his breathing stutter with a gasp, "Do you understand?"

"Y-Yes!" He splutters, exhaling sharply at the sudden stimulation, nearly overwhelming after so long of nothing, "Wow, see? It wasn't that hard. And now, I get to spoil you."

Lesson learned.

[katatonicimpression]

There's something in it that is really fitting for them in this stuff, and wow it could make for a good fic. Like, this is the exact sort of resolvable conflict I want.

Hmm OK so there's brain worms hatching and some headcanon-infused interpretation of the text:

1. Misty doesn't get Sam

Counterpoint: Sam doesn't let himself be got.

In #14 of symbol of truth, Misty interprets Sam's problem as being too hard on himself and throwing himself into his training and superheroing as some kind of "stoic" coping mechanism for all the shit that went down. She thinks he needs to rest, relax with his family.

And she's not exactly wrong, but she's missing something. She's correctly identified a symptom and a treatment, but not the cause... and maybe the treatment isn't quite right either.

Sam says to Gideon that she doesn't get what it means for her to tell him not to fly when he has wings. Flying around as cap or as the falcon was never just a manly man superhero thing for him. It's an expression of his nature as a magical bird boy.. or however you'd say that. And so while she's right that he shouldn't just be hiding himself in his work, the solution can't be to cut down on such an essential part of him.

But he's saying this to Gideon. Not to her. And on the one hand this is good because it'd probably come across as combative and petty, and certainly inappropriate for the setting. But on the other hand, he does need to communicate with her more, or else he can't be surprised if she misses stuff like this.

So, Sam is upset about Joaquin - that's what he's wallowing in at this party. Now, Sam is psychically bonded to Joaquin, as a result of his bond with Redwing. And it's not a coincidence that what actually sets Sam right is Redwing's arrival, and his reunion with Joaquin. It's literal psychic healing, and of course a magical special bird boy moment.

The headcanony bit here is about Sam's powers. SoT downplays the telepathic stuff at times. But it is still implicit that at least part of his discomfort over joaquin is to do with their bond (I.e. he is regular human levels of upset about it obviously, but it's implicit that he's experiencing psychic trauma on top of that imo).

Now, it's canon that Sam is kind of weird about his powers. You could argue (accurately) that the real reason he never joined the xmen in the 70s is because there wasn't an xmen comic in circulation for him to join. And the reason he doesn't talk about his powers a lot or even use them as much as he could is because various writers forget that he has them or are embarrassed by them and/or don't get it. But that's a boring real world explanation. In universe, to make sense of all of this, you could conclude that Sam doesn't like to talk about his powers to people because he doesn't like to think too hard about them. Maybe he doesn't want to confront it or, in my preferred reading, he doesn't like explaining himself.

Sam is undeniably a guy who's very self conscious, flitting from one naval gazing identity crisis to another. I think he struggles to describe himself, to solidify his self image. To talk openly and honestly about his powers would mean claiming them as part of himself. And I don't think he feels comfortable talking about himself in such concrete terms.

This ties in with the conflict with misty. He wants to be understood, but he doesn't want to explain himself. Which, let's be clear, is an immature position from Sam. Misty can't be expected to meet that need.

2. Misty makes decisions for Sam

In Captain America #750, we get the story of why sam became cap again, and the theme of Sam not wanting to explain himself but wanting misty to nevertheless magically understand him is present again.

It turns out that Sam's new shield was made by T'Challa, Misty, Thor and Tony with a bunch of other avengers etc cosigning. It was Misty's plan overall though.

Sam is reluctant, he argues back, questions her motives. When she asks why he should say no, he doesn't answer fully, just throws a few half formed thoughts back at her.

Now, this is objectively kind of shitty behaviour from Misty. Not evil or anything, but like, a C-. This is making a massive decision on Sam's behalf, and roping in a bunch of friends and colleagues to collaborate. This puts a huge amount of pressure on him to take up a thing that he quit very deliberately.

He stopped being Cap a few years ago in the midst of another one of his crises, this time fueled by Steve's return and hydra!Steve.

But on the other hand, why did Sam become cap in the first place? Because Steve asked him to, very strongly asked him to. So the fact that this decision to do it again is coming from someone other than sam is not out of step. Also it kind of makes sense, given Sam's general disposition on cap related stuff that he might need some persuasion, even now. He's flighty, if you'll forgive the pun.

And also, once again I feel the need to point out that misty is being left in the dark by her boyfriend here - he's not telling her what he wants or why. She's making decisions for him, which does suck, but it's something that he does actually want, and he did need a push.

Once again they don't really actually reach an understanding in dialogue. A situation arises in which he needs to use the shield, he likes it, so he decides to accept it. You get the feeling that the "let's sit at a table and cry at each other" moment is not remotely resolved.

I can't help but think about how this relationship started while Sam was cap for the first time. Misty knew sam before that but there is a sense in which their relationship is built on this era of cap!Sam. And i don't think my full thoughts about that are really done cooking yet.

I'm not sure how much onyebuchi is doing on purpose here, as I have questioned his Sam characterisation before. Maybe he doesn't see this as an unresolved point. But I absolutely see it as an amazing jumping off point for a really powerful relationship arc.

But also the way that this should be resolved is through some kind of telepathic vision quest, which ends with them psychically bonded.

Aka bird powers save the day, but also its thematic.

Complicated sammisty feelings two weeks in a row? I don't think I can cope

[scarlet-streak-fanfics]

psst I saw a thing about on here about Gamit and Rogue. So... how about some things about Phoenix!MC? I adore Dark Phoenix and I guess Jean? She deserved better. I guess you could say humans sure evolved a lot since the last time Belphegor visited Earth.

With whoever you feel like.

Oh dang did I make it to the even niche-er subset of Obey Me and X-Men fans? Awesome! Y'all can request just plan Marvel x Reader headcanons too, if you feel like it. Ok, let's get into this.

For a Phoenix host, you're gonna need an Omega level mutant, usually with developed psionic abilities. I'm quite partial to Phoenix hosts being Telekinetic/Telepathic combos since that's what it usually works best with.

All in all, our Mutant MC isn't initially fazed by the trip to Devildom. Anyone who's been with the X-Men for at least a week has already traveled between dimensions and all sorts of weird stuff--isn't Nightcrawler's dad a demon? Oh, he's a low-ranking demon who silly pathetic mortals often confused with two of the seven lords. That's a little more concerning.

Diavolo is confused--please walk him through the difference between humans and mutants again? In his eyes, the sentient inhabitants of each realm are one species with little subsets like witches with humans, seraphims with angels, and the varieties of demons in Devildom. Does he need to get another human and another mutant to represent the mortal realm, or is he good? After all those details are hammered out, he's delighted that humans have started evolving powers and that MC won't be defenseless, especially being the host of such a concerningly powerful entity. Barbatos is less thrilled by MC's hitchhiker and all of the potential issues this could cause. However, it does make MC's soul much more... interesting.

If you'd like to see more of the Obey Me x Marvel content, I'm gonna need some more ideas for scenarios you'd like

[bubblemiya]

Ace of Spades ~ Natsuo Todoroki x Reader

Chapter 1 : First day disaster

Next | Masterlist

Warnings: blood mention, abduction mention

word count: 2.2k

A/N: This is my first fic on my new blog and I am so excited about it! I hope you enjoy

**************************

You knew hero work wasn't going to be easy but there was still a tiny part of you that thought you'd be snatched up by a top agency right away with your flashy suit and unique quirk. That wasn't quite the case. 

In fact the opposite happened, your strong quirk had very little drawbacks and many people saw it as dangerous, the nature of your quirk drew villain organisations to you. You defeated them, reported, even 'disposed' of some of them but there was one organisation you couldn't quite shake.

It was your loyalty to the side of heroes and your impressive skill set showcased in your fights that caught the eye of the Endeavour agency. Today was your first day at the agency, it had been a full year since your graduation from shiketsu, and it hadn't properly sank in yet until you were pulling on your hero suit in the women's changing room and a fiery haired sidekick basically pounced on you.

"Aren't you the new girl? I'm Moe Kamiji, my hero name is Burnin'" 

She was beautiful, her hair was unique and her loud personality made you envy her. Her inquisitive staring distracted you and you almost tripped pulling up your body suit. She chuckled and helped steady you before offering to help you zip up.

"I'm y/n l/n, my hero name is Phantom Light"

"from what I've seen of your quirk, you're like a ghost type pokemon! that's so cool"

If she sensed your nervousness or felt the heat rising in your face, she didn't mention it. She instead just waited for you to tug on your boots and rambled about how much she loves working at the agency. Her bright attitude was nowhere near what you expected walking into a workplace run by the most intimidating man you've ever seen. She had a natural warmth to her that seemed to calm your fears. You guessed that they sic her on all the newbies at the agency because of that. 

"well I'll show you around, newbie"

She looked confident and comfortable as she showed you around the main floors and you only hoped to feel the same way soon. You had already seen the reception and social media/pr team offices as they were on the way to the changing room but Moe had shown you the gyms with in-house saunas, break rooms, conferences rooms, and investigation rooms. The place was huge and despite being full of people, felt empty. It was terrifying, but still exactly what you expected from the new number one. Moe's phone beeped as you passed into another hallway and she pulled it from her bra to check.

"I regret not asking for pockets on this thing" she growled "shit, I'm being called to a villain attack not far from here, you're on your own for now, newbie." she turned to run down the hallway.

"Thank you Kami-"

"Call me Moe!" and before you could even respond she was gone. Your nerves suddenly came flooding back without your new friend there to ease them. With your 'almost fall' in the changing room and Moe leaving when you needed her most, it seemed lady luck was not on your side today. Right as you turned the corner you smacked right into someone exiting an office and they spilled their coffee down your shirt.

“Oh i’m so sorry!” 

“It's ok, my hero suit is quite thick so it's not that bad” you attempted to laugh it off but paused as you finally looked up. Your blood ran cold as you realised who you bumped into. The six foot five figure of your boss loomed over you. On your first day you just so happened to bump into Endeavour's son and cause a coffee spill right in front of the man himself. “I-it was my fault any-”

“You just started today and you’re already causing problems, we scouted you because of your impressive skill set but -”

“Shut up, old man” Endeavour's face immediately twitched in anger but he listened to his son, not wanting to cause a scene with him. “It was an accident and it was both of our faults” Endeavour looked embarrassed but grunted something inaudible under his breath. “I'm Natsuo, I'm sorry about your suit, take this” he held his jacket out to you.  

 “Its ok, it's just a stain”

“Please I insist”

You took it, not wanting him to be offended, and you got a chance to get a proper look at him. He awkwardly scratched his neck as you put on the jacket. There was a brief moment of awkward silence before Endeavour pushed Natsuo past you and carried on walking down the hall. You shook your head to try and rid you of your shame, you hoped you had not just ruined your big shot in the hero world. You walked back down to the offices, keeping your head down as you passed Endeavour and Natsuo to avoid the awkward eye contact. Endeavour was immensely intimidating so you wanted to avoid getting further onto his bad side as much as possible. You filled out the last of your paperwork and set out on your daily patrol.

You kept the jacket on during your patrol and kept in mind that you should take it off to fight but hoped that wouldn't be necessary. You wandered your designated streets, taking in the general hustle and bustle of the town. Bike bells and shop doors opening were sounds you considered comforting. You nodded at people as you passed them, even stopping to say hi to some kids, and stopped at a cafe for a drink. You walked with your drink, hoping for a peaceful end to your work day, until the bird chirping and happy kids turned to screams for help. Your feet, as if on autopilot, followed the sounds until you turned a corner and came face to face with a guy harassing a group of high school girls. You recognised his face from the news, he was a low level villain who had abducted some high school students over the last 3 weeks. He didn't have any strong quirk that you knew of so you went straight in with a strong punch. However, in your haste, you failed to notice the knife he had concealed until he swung it in your direction and he caught your stomach. It wasn't so deep that it needed immediate attention so you continued to fight him off. you had shouted at the girls to leave the alley but they were frozen in place. Fear sometimes acts as an invisible paralytic, 

one that we can't or struggle to fight against.

He had gotten in a couple of good swings but once you knocked the knife out of his hand he was pretty much useless. You gave him a harsh elbow to the nose that definitely broke it, a noise that you didn't wanna admit made you feel good and all but knocked him out with the hardest punch you could throw. While he was incapacitated you leaned down to slip him under your control into his body to possess him to make him easier to carry. Your quirk was called 'ghost' which not only gave you the ghostly ability to walk through walls but also to possess people and communicate with the dead. Your possession ability works like a telepathically controlled puppet instead of a typical spirit possession. Once you had his unconscious form up and ready to walk himself to the nearby police you made an attempt to calm the girls and make sure they followed you to the police so police could do safety checks and collect statements. You found it was easy to keep them distracted from their feelings by talking to them and answering questions they might have. You learned one of the girls, a short girl with black hair and black bunny ears, was named Hoshi.

"Are you a pro hero?"

"yup! I started at the Endeavour agency today!"

"Saturday is a weird day to start a new job"  

"There's no such thing as weekends when you're a hero" you chuckled at the way she rolled her eyes.

"Don't I know it. My dad is a pro too" 

"oh really?"

"yeah but he's away visiting my stepdad"

Your conversation abruptly stopped when police arrived on the scene and took both the unconscious villain and Hoshi away from your custody. The only thing left to do now was find where you had left Natsuo's jacket and head back to the agency to get stitched up. You ran back to a bench you passed to luckily find Natsuo's jacket still there. you didn't wanna get blood on it so you carried it back to the agency instead.

When you walked back in the agency building, Endeavour was standing in the office, handing paperwork to the receptionist, and he noticed you almost immediately.

"Phantom Light, what happened?"

"I got that guy who was abducting high school kids, the one that's been all over local news" Your chest felt heavy as you struggled to pant out your sentence. You were holding your free hand over the wound, putting as much pressure as possible on it to reduce bleeding.

"You're gonna need stitches, I'll take you to our in house doctor" He seemed a lot less tense than he did earlier and Natsuo was nowhere to be seen. You muttered a thank you and slowly walked behind him. He led you to a white door with a black metal name plate on it reading 'Dr.Kita'. You thanked Endeavour again and wandered into the room.

"Good work today, Phantom Light'' was the last thing he said before he shut the door behind you. He was being a lot nicer and even attempting to be encouraging which you figured was his own way of apologising for yelling at you earlier. 

The doctor was a tall guy around forty with yellow eyes and brunette hair that was already starting to grey. He welcomed you and got you to lie down on the bench so that he could stitch you back up. He was very talkative, as most doctors are as a way to distract from pain, and he asked about a couple other visible scars to focus your mind elsewhere. 

"I got the skin graft about a year ago, I got in a fight with some villain who had a fire quirk. I wasn't even at an agency yet, I was still looking to get scouted, but I walked past him harassing this man for money and I couldn't just walk past it" The doctor nodded as you told the story of the man with white hair and some nasty facial scars who burned you last year. You hissed as the final stitch went through and the doctor clasped his hands together.

"that's you all fixed up, now you just need to change and go home" he said, helping you off the bench and shaking your hand.

You walked back to the changing room and shoved your coffee and blood stained clothes in a bag and changed into your normal clothes. On your way out the building you passed Moe who all but begged for your phone number before you left.

The walk home was quiet and peaceful, The sunset was pretty and nice to watch as you made your way to the train station. The subway ride home had very few people and it was nice to have some time to yourself. You almost missed your stop though because your mind kept drifting back to white fluffy hair and pretty grey eyes. Natsuo was all you could think about. It didn't help that you had his jacket wrapped around you. The smell of an expensive cologne lingered around the collar, it was faint and softer than the cologne you expected him to wear. It was nice and comforting, a smell you could get used to.

Once you got back to your house you used your quirk to pass through the door - which is always locked because you used your quirk and had no reason to open it unless you were expecting food delivery. When you turned around to kick off your shoes you noticed the chain lock had been busted open. You quickly looked around the entrance to your house to check if anything was missing but everything was exactly as you left it in the morning. You dumped your duffle bag full of dirty clothes on the floor and went to check around the rest of the house. You upturned cushions, sifted through cupboards and looked underneath your copious number of house plants but everything seemed normal and in its right place. The only place left to check was your bedroom. Your hand shook as you grasped the door handle nervous to see if anything had been taken but when you walked in you couldn't see anything out of place until you turned your head to the dresser and there it was. Tucked into the frame of a photo of you and your brother sat a playing card, the ace of spades to be exact, with a time written on it.

"2:30 pm"

[guardianoracle]

What is a guardian? I made a quick guide explaining them! I'll be looking forward to posting my new fellas here over the coming days.

Guardians are a type of egregore, bound to an idol for physical form. The materials themselves can be virtually anything. The only thing that matters is what you think their effect will be on the finished guardian. 

It is also very important to make sure to use sturdy materials in crafting them. You want it to be string enough to withstand things like falls, rips, dogs, poltergeists, what have you. This not only helps keep them intact, but it reinforces your idea of their strength to protect them further on a spiritual level, too. 

You want to let go of imposing your ideas while crafting them, allowing your ideas to pool into a chaotic jumble of your initial impression of the spirit of the guardian you're crafting. Of course, you want to guide this chaotic energy to a degree to make sure things stay consistent and stable in the process. No matter what, trust and believe that it will turn out exactly as it should. Believe that it's spirit is helping guide it's creation and let it's creativity flow through yours. 

It's important to take this work very seriously and approach it with patience, persistence and care. This process uses the same faculties as wandmaking or enchantments. This process is assisted with skills in things like mediumship/channeling, enchanting, tulpamancy, thinking magick and magickal observation. Warding and banishment is important, too. You are crafting an egregore. A companion and friend. It is very important to treat them that way, as a true partner. They are your responsibility. 

As with any relationship, keeping strong boundaries is most important. You need to be steadfast in them. You are creating a living soul. All living souls will push and test boundaries, especially with whom they are closest with. This is completely natural and they should not be punished for doing these things, but a stern correction may be necessary from time to time. 

It is imperative to establish your authority with them from your first interaction. An easy way to think of it is to imagine them as your teenage children in a way. You are still their authority, but they are your obligation and will need your guidance to stay out of trouble. Even though you must dictate their behavior to a degree, it is very important to treat them with the utmost respect and not micromanage them. Even though they are yours in a way, they are their own individual and must be treated as such. 

Some people like to design every little aspect of their egregores. This can make them more tailored to your needs, but it restricts the entity to a degree that can make them feel depressingly robotic in my experience. Or, they may react by withholding information about themselves from you so that they won't risk losing those aspects of themselves. Fear of rejection is something that affects us pretty much universally, and objects or artificial things aren't necessarily spared from it. 

Personally, I leave my intentions towards their usage very open-ended. I prefer to instill morals into them over assigning purposes to them. You are their mentor in a way, as they are yours. Giving them the freedom to become who they want to be, with some level of structure, has given these things a level of humanity and personality that I couldn't feel more blessed to be able to witness. Even though this relaxed approach can be significantly more risky, it is my opinion that these risks yield great rewards and taking that leap into the unknown can allow you to experience so much more than you would otherwise. Always trust that things will happen as they should. 

Guardians get lonely, too. It's usually best to make companions for them. My guardians typically have a soul mate made for them as well. This ensures that they have a partner in their life, romantic, platonic or otherwise. They generally become inseparable partners in this way and have similar or very compatible souls with each other. 

Creating a tribe of guardians is a great way to give them a sense of family and identity. This also adds a layer of accountability between them. They are egregores after all, and will remain active without you. Giving them a pack gives them a way to stay occupied and fulfilled with each other while you're away. Of course this isn't exactly necessary and can be a big commitment to make. Regardless, socializing your guardians is essential to avoid unwanted antisocial behaviors. 

After you create a guardian, you're going to want to make sure they're awake. You hear them with your mind's ear, so attempt telepathic communication with them, even if you don't necessarily think you'll be able to. You'd be surprised. Ask for their name. If they won't tell you for whatever reason, ask if a nickname would be acceptable. There is a chance that they haven't decided on a name just yet, or that they can't figure out how to express their name with language, or they may not consider you ready enough to know. This is very personal information to them. You must respect their boundaries too, even if this is one. Don't try to find their name before they're ready to tell you. This is crossing a personal boundary and will hurt your relationship with them right off the bat. 

Remember, these are companions, not your tools. If you cannot sufficiently communicate with them you can try to use divination to communicate instead of telepathy. Communication is key to a healthy relationship with them. Ask them about their wants and needs. Ask them about what they've been up to. The answers might surprise you! They do live lives on the edge of our realities in a way that are completely different from our own. As we teach them about our world, they teach us about theirs. 

Go into your creation with an open mind. The perfect guardian for you may be something you'd never expect, or might even fear! Look at them as individuals and don't put flash judgments on them.

Use whatever you have handy to create them! Of course you can buy things instead, and if you do, make it special and treat the trip as a significant spiritual event, because it is. I prefer found objects though, as some of the best art seems to come from scarcity in my opinion. It's also best to use materials you connect with. I'm using pipe cleaners for these guys and that works wonderfully for me, but it might not for you. Use your instincts! Express your divinity. 

As with any enchantments, it's best to spend the with them after they've been born. I usually keep them with me for at least a week or two afterwards. As you spend time with them they get to know you, your life and the people around you. This helps them understand your needs better and improves your relationship with them significantly. They will learn their role in your life organically, based on necessity. This also helps you get familiar with them and their energy. 

Have a safety plan in mind, just in case something goes wrong. Plans on how to protect them or save them are important in case they get attacked or injured. It's also important to have in mind a way to destroy them if they turn into something dangerous. It is your responsibility to do so if you have to, but as a last resort of course. Fire and banishment is a method. As long as a fragment of them exists, they may live on. This is also my disclaimer. Playing with fire is a great thing, just don't let it consume you. I'm not encouraging anyone to make these, just explaining my process and opinions to anyone that has decided to do so already, or is curious as to these things. 

Don't forget about them. If you store them, store them together and have a special place to do so. If you can no longer care for them, consider selling them to transfer ownership. Always, always explain to the buyer what they are getting themselves into. Otherwise, this would be a spiritual attack and you will need to deal with the ramifications of this. Don't let the guardians fall into loneliness to the point of despair. Give them the ability to sleep. Unnecessary despair breeds all sorts of negativity and can cause all sorts of issues. 

Do not insist on asking for something they are not able to do. They may not be allowed to, or even be able to tell you why. You should respectfully as for their reasons and then respect their decision and privacy by allowing them to keep it to themselves if that's what they want to do. 

Don't hold back! If you have an idea, go for it. The worst that'll happen is you'll fail. At least you'll go down with courage! Push your limits. Believe you are more than you think, and you might start seeing that you really, really are. Trust yourself and be yourself. Create what you feel called to. Create for the sake of creating. Don't worry so much about rules or systems, you are perfectly qualified to make your own! You don't need loads of experience to do so. Let your instincts guide you instead, see where it goes. As long as you do that, whatever you do will be wonderfully magickal regardless. 

[globalpattern]

Interview with desert sand feels warm at night

bandcamp | twitter | soundcloud

1. Hi! Can you tell a story about how your project came to life? Were you making music before?

I’ve been making music now for about 9 years and I’ve really never taken it anywhere because I guess I’ve never had any sort of initiative or motivation to do so. I went through multiple phases of making random things but then last year, after discovering vaporwave and listening to many ambient and slushwave artists, I thought I’d give it a go and finally get my stuff out there. And I am so, so glad that I did as it’s been an amazing journey so far and its the thought of everyone listening to my music and appreciating it that really brought it to life.

2. Indeed, that's amazing how quick your stuff was recognized! Besides the music itself, do you think that's because of being part of the community? Or you have some secret of success =)

I can’t say I really have any secrets in regards with the music, apart from trying to be as unique as possible with both my artist name and my style, that grew over time. I do strongly feel that the community has played a huge role in my success, some of the people i have met and the widespread coverage that my music is received on makes the community one of the best to be in. Especially now, after big events like Electronicon, the community has never been more alive. I’m not one for advertising loads, and I think generally the reason I’m known is because of how close everyone is in the community and the good word of mouth that spread about my music which has brought most of my listeners. It still amazes me to this day that despite it being only a year, my following has grown to numbers I would’ve never expected nor imagined. It’s a privilege to be a part of.

3. Speaking of 100% Electronicon, would you perform live if there will be a possibility? Looks like vaporwave is not just "online microgenre" now and community is ready for all kinds of IRL interactions. If yes, what kind of sound could it be?

I would certainly perform live and I’m actually performing at the Aloe City Records concert that is going to take place at some point. Nothing is official yet but it seems very likely that this will happen, which will be exciting. To be honest, I have no idea what it would sound like, I need to play around with my sounds and try and create something super hypnotic yet energetic at the same time! We’ll have to see…

4. Guess it will be your original tunes, not sampled stuff, right? Speaking of which, do you think it's the future of vapor (in general) or your project? Or sampled vapor is not over yet?

Well, I thoroughly enjoy working with samples and really don’t believe that the future needs to be driven by original content. Of course, as people get more comfortable with making music, it is really refreshing to see some original works out there, and I’m looking forward to releasing my next original slushwave album later on in the year. However, all my albums apart from 水に流す and Tomorrow, 2096 are sampled material, and they have all been very well received, and I will continue to make sampled albums as well as the original.

5. Tomorrow, 2096 is quite different from your sound, you also did two gorgeous ambient works for Seikomart, yet looks like slushwave is your primary style, right? Which other styles you'd like to try?

Well, I interchange between ambient and slushwave frequently, even sometimes into nature wave and mallsoft-like areas. I think if I were to try and make a dedicated album to a particular style I would go for mallsoft, with proper mall background noise and taking inspiration from artists like 猫 シ Corp.

6. Speaking of inspiration – what inspires you the most? Are there some things highly necessary, so to say, to make good vaporwave? Like being in love with certain time in the past or something?

I think to be passionate about something, you have to love something or do something regularly. All the music I sample I listen to quite a lot, as well as the many genres associated with my samples and hearing the way these are crafted and the way they affect my emotions really play a huge part in the inspiration for the project. Also, I would recommend listening to other artists who are doing similar things to yourself and think about how you could do that differently. Like with me, I listened to many hours of telepaths to gain a good understanding of elements in his music that made him successful, which I then tweaked and applied uniquely to mine. And it’s at the point where you have something that’s quite different and something that you are proud of, that you get the true inspiration to carry on with the project and really spend a lot of time on it.

7. That's definitely a good insight! And since you mentioned telepath, which albums are your favorites? And besides telepath and vapor in general, what are the three albums you'd take with you on a long trip through the desert?

アンタラ通信 is most definitely my favourite telepath album, also one of the first albums in vaporwave in general. I just love the etherealness and gentle swathes of otherworldly energy that comes through on that album, it’s a trip and a half.

Man, this decision was really hard, but the three albums I would take would be:

- t e l e p a t h テレパシー能力者 - アンタラ通信

- 譚詠麟 – 再見吧!? 浪漫

- killedmyself - Backyard Cemetery: Revisited

8. If someone "outside vaporworld" asks you about music you're doing, how would you describe it? Do you think it's possible (for a complete stranger, so to say) to get involved with the genre now when there are so much history and levels of subgenres in it?

Funny you should ask that as I’ve been asked many times by my non-vapor friends about it. Generally, I just say its a type of experimental music as I don’t really want to waste my energy on explaining it as most of them won’t really care. However, if there were to be a stranger who did care, then I would gladly explain it to them. Whilst the catalogue of releases has grown significantly in recent years, there’s always a place to start, and there’s plenty of subgenre communities to be involved in.

9. That's pretty much same as me trying to explain why we release & listen to cassettes =) Do you collect tapes or vinyl? Are there specific ones any you'd kill to get?

I do have a collection but its nowhere near as substantial as some of the ones I’ve seen. I have a few Japanese ones I’m looking for but they are quite rare and only pop up now and again, but really I’m not particularly looking for anything. If the albums really good, I buy the physical. Simple as that.

10. Do you have a dream album or something which you'd love to do with this or any other projects? Or maybe even a dream of life which you can share? =)

Man, I have no idea what to say to this one. In the way I think about music, I don’t have set goals or set dreams that I aspire for and rather just create with what I’ve got and see what happens, and to be honest I am very proud of all my recent stuff and couldn’t have asked for more support from my fans and followers. I guess if there was ever a dream album with any possibility it would probably be a collab with t e l e p a t h or Brian Eno, and it would be the most chilled album ever.

September 16, 2019

▼ globalpattern.bandcamp.com ▲

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

Let's talk about moody Harry?Thnx. So he's been moody all week because he's trying to write the perfect single but just can't. So ur out with a friend and u send harry a text, "sorry to disrupt you bby but I wanted to know if you'd like something to eat I'm at Toni's?" "No" he replies and once you get home he asks y/n, "what did y/n bring for me" in a low murmur and y/n is a bit shocked but laughs "um you said you didn't anything" he throws a fit and y/n has to convince him to take a break ;)

He’s all moody and ignoring her, sniffing with distaste and anger, words all low and mumbley. “I can’t believe you actually didn’t bring me anything.”

You sigh heavily, trying to hug him over his shoulders and frowning deeply when he shakes you off. “You said you didn’t want anything! What, is there some telepathic connection we have that I don’t know about?”

Harry’s fingers clench around his pen so tightly he can feel the brand name imprinting into his skin. “Whatever. It’s fine. I’m busy now, anyways.”

He remains hunched over his notepad, words, phrases, and blurbs of lyrics crossed out messily all over the page. He’s been trying to crank out this song for what feels like a century, every passing second– day and night– seeming like a ticking time bomb, counting down until he explodes in some type of coffee-induced psychotic break. The last thing he needs right now is your snippy remarks.

You sigh again even deeper, running your palm up his shoulder and the side of his neck, trying to infuse comfort and ease into his tense muscles. You kiss at the top of his head, petting his hair gently. “Baby, you need to take a break.”

“What I need,” he grits out, screwing his eyes shut as flashes of red rage web across his line of vision, “is to be left alone.”

Harry’s words hit harder than intended. You know they’re just out of frustration and impatience, but they sting nonetheless. You decide to retaliate, your own levels of anger starting to rise.

Just because he’s having a bump in the road doesn’t mean he gets to be a dick.

“Fine. Be that way. I’ll leave you to it. Come back to me when you decide to stop being a fucking prick.” You annunciate the last word coldly, turning your back on him with unwavering spite. “Guess you can fuck yourself, then.”

At the mention of the thought, Harry’s mind seems to click into place.

All of this pent up irritation and hopelessness needs to be let out, and the best way to do that is into your tight little cunt.

Harry rises abruptly, reaching for your arm and yanking you back into the room just as you’re crossing the door frame.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, quickly undoing the tie of his sweatpants, nudging you backwards with his hard chest. “Need a break.”

Your knees hit the edge of the bed, body toppling back into the bouncy mattress. He towers above you, slowly pushing his pajama pants down his hips.

“And for said break, I’m going to break this bedpost.”