#I just have a hard time finishing those in a way that I like

[muniemimi]

I HAD A VISION OK. ehem excuse my ugly grammar, to anyone who comes across this post, hope you like it:33 (also love the art)

       Huff! And there we go, last sack of orchid seeds to organize. "That was a pretty heavy An, I'm glad you called me over before Ken-san would see you lifting and scold me for letting his precious daughter get tired." The sun continues to direct its blaze at our little flower shop managed by my coworker, and singing partners, dad. Along with the light, the winds blow a warm breeze past us, balancing the temperature. The air smelt of wet soil and the mix of fragrance from different flowers we had just finished arranging just now spread. An hour from now, we're able to go back to the 'Weekend Cottage' where me and An usually practice with the supervision and guidance of Ken-san to take a short break before we go back to watch the shop and tend to our costumers.

      "Akito.. don't inhale the pancakes at our break later.. leave some for Kohane-chan! She promised me shes coming back today! I'm planning to give her some too while I teach her bout' our shop."

     "Aah enough with this lovestruck manners! Alright, alright fine, I won't."

    I was already planning to hide the snacks for myself since earlier.. How'd she know I'd do it again? As expected of my close friend. For now I'll just slouch behind the counter and wait for time to pass by more quickly. Hurriedly, I focused my eyes on the lovely combination of petals infront of me. Chrysanthemums. The symbol of longevity and love. The way those countless petals curl to the middle of flower, focused on the most noticeable feature, the core. It was the way I have learned this flower had different colors too. My favorite. And it also happens that, that same plant represented my birth month. From the moment I had learned to walk, I had run across fields of flowers to which it seemed to be endless, and only one seemed to stop my being. It was as if it had poison, an antidote that could make me behave and listen. Since then I have kept chrysanthemums where I can see them, to watch them grow. Slowly, the clock slowly swings its arm around. While I intently adore the plants I have bloomed, an unfamiliar sound snatched my attention.

SNAP!

      A stem. My stem of sunflowers. I can faintly hear new steps from my side of the counter. An was in the greenhouse, sprinkling the shrubs I assume. I don't need to worry about that right now, I have to focus on who is suspiciously, threading lightly on a completely normal flower shop, if not a shopper. It can't be strays.. I've carefully fended them off and guided them away from the store so the plants wouldn't be disturbed. Or maybe I missed a few pups running around? Damn.. I should've just asked for help from An to drive away the dogs. I still can't seem to get used to getting close to them.. Our windows are tinted with translucent glass so it's pretty hard to see what was it that was rustling outside, so I need to check it out myself.

     I warily walk towards the wood door. It opens with no sound emitted, and I continue to inspect my surroundings, to find any movement, none. When I tilt my head to peek at the side I heard the snap, there was no one, nor no animal. What was visible was a sunflower that seemed to be trampled on the stem, but the flower itself didn't seem to be crushed. I hum to myself proudly to know that it really was a sunflower, glad to know I still know my own buds. Before I took another step to make sure no one was there, I call out a greeting, waiting for somebody to respond,

"..Hello?"

     And then I squat down to pick up the mangled handle of the wide flower. I got up from my knees, hearing the faint tapping of shoes behind me. I had thought it was An running towards here to call me back to watch the counter. It felt so similar to the sandals the star-clipped girl always wore when working.

    "Oh hey An, back from watering the plants so fast? Did you come here to ask me to come to the front desk? Don't worry about it, I just checked if there was someone here, it was probably just a stray dog I missed when I was shooing them away. Hah.. they stepped on my sunflower.. Anyway, do you mind if you take thi--"

CLICK!

!!!

    A..ah.. something clicks.

    I turn around in hopes the sunflower in my hand would be met with the bright, familiar face of my coworker only for it to be met with a.. gun..? Gun? Here? In this quiet, unknown town? Slowly trembling out of nervousness, I thought, I won't be able to defend myself if I attacked suddenly. They have a gun for heavens sake! 

    I can't quite see who was holding the weapon, only the hair of the individual being the first thing I notice. It was the combination of two seperate colors. It was a pale, muted baby blue on the left and a more dark, navy blue on the right. Was it a natural hair color they were born with? I can't help but stare at the odd mix of pigments. It strongly reminded me of orchids gathered with hyacinths and delphiniums in a bouquet, and was getting distracted by the fact a deadly weapon was still being pointed at my temple! I try my best to whisper a sentence without seemingly wanting to provoke the figure infront of me. Still poorly gripping the flower I had in my palm since earlier, visibly shaking and terrified.

   "..Your wound." 

   ".. ..?

   ..What..?"

(english seriously aint my first language, anyways I love akitoya)

mama im in love with a criminallll

[howisjoostfanfictionforfree]

Three Times as Many ///// Longer Nights

Real person fiction! Joost Klein x vampire!reader

CW: 18+, MDNI, RPF, brief reference to past murder, cannibalism if you squint, smoochin, dry humping, oral sex, light bondage

Reader: vampire!reader, cisfemale!reader, not too descriptive with readers appearance, implied to be smaller than Joost but by an unspecified amount

Notes: Read part 1 here. Sorry for how atrociously long this part took! Vampire Joost in the Why Not??? mv helped give me the inspo to finish. I hope you guys like it because I can’t tell if I do or not. Thanks for reading!

Gargantuan kudos to @joosthead for being my inspiration and my support as always! Also huge shoutout to @catholicfacade and @tkomptgoedluv for your kind words that have driven me onwards with this fic! My tumblr homies on god

Words: ~11,600

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You're not sure why you left Joost standing there. 

Why you ran away. 

Again.

Things were going so well. You could have kissed him. Could have done all sorts of things. It's not like he wasn't into it.

Maybe it was just to get a reaction. Joost is so expressive. The way he looks at you is already something you crave and you've really only just met. Maybe it’s because as much as you want to believe you overreacted that first night, you're still not really sure you did. Nothing has made you lose control like that since the time you literally ate someone.

The doubt tickles at the back of your mind but it’s also hard to pay it too much attention when the insistent pressure of Joost’s cock against your ass is seared so clearly into your memory. It’s hard not to want to see him again. 

Still, if you’re doing this, you’re taking no chances.

Joost is expecting you at his studio tomorrow, so tonight, Melkweg is the place to be. Tickets to actually see a show are too expensive when you're not there to enjoy yourself so the cold evening is spent against the even-colder cement wall of a movie theater across the street. Wedged between gently lit ads for Bones and All and Puss in Boots you watch those who have partied too hard trickle out of Melkweg’s ever-revolving door.

Each is more than drunk enough to suit your needs, but tonight they are all in groups. So responsible. So unhelpful. When one guy finally stumbles out sans-friend you let yourself follow, slipping into those same shadows that are deeper than ever. 

Fall is well underway and nights are only getting longer.

A few streets away the lamps are sparse enough and he goes down easy. His blood is hot and sharp and everything it should be, but it’s hard to miss how unmoved you are by the man beneath you. He tastes good, it scratches an itch, but your attention is divided and the whole process somehow feels clinical.

Even now you're thinking of Joost. How you wish it were him. How he would moan when your teeth slide in deep. Deeper than he expects. Would he still be so happy-go-lucky then? Or would he claw and beg? You don’t even know which one you prefer. The man groans and you realize you're biting way too hard.

It was a good idea to do this tonight. 

You try to drink your fill, as much as you suspect the poor guy can tolerate, and release him. He nearly stumbles into the canal in his panic, but rights himself before you have to make a watery rescue. His hot blood simmers in your veins, warming you against the evening chill as you watch him stagger down the street and disappear. Hopefully he can find his way home on a cold night like this.

Anti-murder  insurance measures complete, you head for your own home with what you hope is a full belly.

The morning doesn't bring the rain so typical of your new favorite city, but instead a creeping mist. Almost as thick as the shadows that multiply with each passing night, the tiny droplets obscure the neighborhood as you stand on your balcony ruminating on how very in-control you will be today. 

The address Joost gave is surprisingly close to your own apartment. The brisk ride on your shabby bike that may or may not have originally belonged to someone else lasts only ten minutes.

16 Schimmelstraat is like much of Amsterdam. One of many brick row houses lined up one after another, complete with compulsory loading beam and hook jutting out above the top window, leftover from when the street was once a canal. There are a few small shops tucked in at ground level but most of the buildings appear residential.

Few people are on the street and with the way the sun can’t quite penetrate through the murky whiteness, the world almost seems to stand still.

Joost stands on the stoop at the end of the row in what looks like at least three hoodies. He’s still so beautiful it’s shocking. Leaning against cold whitewashed brick, much as you did last night, he smokes lazily. The tendrils curl up and away from perfect pouty lips to join with the mist and you can imagine the city is enshrouded all because of him. 

You see Joost long before he sees you. Hard not to spot a glowing head of hair like that even in this murkiness. Here in the Netherlands it shouldn’t stand out, but it did in the club and it does now too. You’re sure it’s just the almost-mullet. Nothing to do with the way his features are imprinted on your hindbrain.

When he notices you coming down the street, his face lights up just like before. He can barely stub out his cigarette as he keeps looking up like you’ll disappear. Bounding down the steps on those long long legs, Joost skids to a halt mere inches away, nearly bowling you over and flooding you with his scent.

“Heyyy!” Joost looks so excited it's almost embarrassing. Hands flit around at his sides like he wants to touch but in the sober light of day he can't seem to find an excuse. It doesn't keep him from standing way too close for sanity. Already, your preparations are threatening to become useless as you fight the tug behind your eyes and the pit in your stomach yawns. “I’m happy you came!” He blurts, giddy. “I didn't know if you would really come in the middle of the day.” 

You squint. He can’t be serious. “I’m not nocturnal, I just prefer the club at night!” 

He giggles nervously “I wasn’t sure. Everyone knows vampires burn in the sun. Or sparkle. Looks like you don’t sparkle either.” 

“Sorry to disappoint.” 

He smiles so sweetly at that. “You don’t. I’m glad you came. Still want me to show you my stuff?” There's the eyebrow waggle again. You didn't know someone could look so tender and so unrepentantly horny at the same time. “C’mon, it’s just upstairs.”

Opening the door, Joost lets you through before following you inside. Immediately faced with another door you try the handle, but before you can budge it there is a jingle and he leans past with a key. It’s obvious Joost is making a move when he lets his chest press against your back as he all but pens you in, breath fanning over your neck. It’s more than welcome, but in the tiny space trapping every molecule of his scent, it nearly makes you do something terrible.. 

“Wait, wait, hold on.” You whip around and press flat against the door to regain some space, trying desperately not to get riled. No matter your preparations, Joost is an assault on the senses. 

“Sorry!” he pulls away quickly, big blue eyes searching you from behind thick black frames, eyebrows inching upwards. “Sorry. Was I reading this wrong?”

Holding your breath would help, but he's asked you a question and you can’t imagine ignoring a face like that. “No, you just..you smell too nice…and…I really need to get a handle on the eyes. Just…hold on one sec.” Joost absorbs that for a split second before melting back into a smile. “Oh, but we're alone, it's okay right? I like your eyes.” 

Such a flatterer. And he’s kind of right, it is good that you're alone for this. It’s a goddamn miracle no one noticed your eyes at the club. Here, you almost want to take advantage of the opportunity to relax around such an unusually accepting person. Still, you know Joost is also an unusually slippery slope.  “No- I’m trying not to-” you can’t even finish.

He waits patiently while you fight it but the memory of him hard against your ass in the club makes a timely reappearance and the eyes snap into place. 

“Fuck.”  You cover them quickly. 

He brings a hand to your wrist. “Let me see.” So gentle and so shameless, he convinces you easily. Dropping your hand, you meet his eyes and he holds them, just as mesmerized as before.

 “That must be a huge pain in the ass.” 

Your confusion must show because he clarifies “Hiding that all the time I mean. I’m glad I didn’t just buzz you in, Tantu might have been the one to get the door.” 

You blink. “I don’t think Tantu would have been a problem.” 

It’s his turn to look puzzled.

“I mean, this isn’t usually a problem. You just smell so much better than anyone else.” Now that you’re past pretending to be human you can’t find it in you to be anything other than blunt. 

The gears turning in his head are all but visible as he swallows thickly, face pink. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Well, just give me a minute, I think I’m almost there.” something about what you say makes his stunned look slide into a smirk but you ignore it in favor of focusing on slowing your heart and pretending you don’t smell the spike of arousal coming off him. 

You’re definitely not wet. Nope. 

After another minute you take a deep breath, and even though the accompanying wave of pheromones makes you want to punch the wall, you manage to keep your eyes normal. “Okay, let’s go” He obliges, and you give him room to unlock the door.

Turns out, Tantu is the DJ from the club. One of the many of Joosts friends that had been there that night. You step into is in fact a very real studio full of very real equipment you couldn't even begin to guess the purpose of.

Tantu daps Joost up with noticeable warmth and welcomes you into the space without fuss. It’s clear any friend of Joost’s is a friend of Tantu and he soon leaves you to return to stabbing at his computer. Joost shows you to his own in the opposite corner. 

Right off the bat, you realize any assumptions you might have had about Joost had been wrong as he hands you the most expensive looking pair of headphones you've ever seen and proceeds to play you his entire studio album released just over a month ago.

At the club he had said ‘huge artiest’ so jokingly, so flirtatiously, somehow managing to be modest mid-brag. You hadn’t known whether to believe him. You had hoped it would be true, but you hadn't really expected it. 

Here, now, in the span of fourteen songs it becomes abundantly clear he’s not just some soundcloud rapper, not a wannabe star. He’s a real one. 

He tells you a little about each song before he plays it. Who helped him the most in the end (mostly Tantu), where he was when he started writing it (so many places, he travels a lot), how he sampled this for this song and this for that song. He is deeply proud but you can tell there is also a layer of nervousness, like he truly wants you to like it.

You sing along to Fryslan Bop, the one from the club, and he laughs hysterically as you try and fail to imitate the sound of Dutch lyrics you can’t understand to the best of your memory. 

Finally, you finish and he seems to be waiting for a review.

“I couldn’t understand almost any of that, sorry to say. Only fuck, the handful of other English words, and Joost Klein. That really is your favorite lyric isn't it?” He shrugs happily. “But I didn't need to. I liked it. It made me feel… things. You have a lot of range in your sound. All the festivals I went to this summer and nothing sounded like this.”  

He’s grinning ear to ear. “Did you go to Pinkpop? I got to play this year!”

“Yes! I definitely didn't see you though, I would have remembered.” 

He nods sagely. “Must have been a different day.” 

You want to ask about the sad song in the middle of the album. Florida-something. So different from the upbeat tracks before and after. Somehow though, it feels like you can’t, like you shouldn't, and you let it lie. 

“All right! What’s next?”

Joost remains flirtatious over the afternoon but it’s dramatically toned down compared to your last encounter. Maybe it’s just how he behaves normally, without the booze and the high of the club. Maybe it's shyness given Tantu within earshot. Either way, you have no such reservations.

“Y’know, I was half expecting it to be all talk. Like, I wondered if ‘come to my studio’ was code for my place or yours?” Tantu coughs in the corner and a blush creeps up Joost’s neck. His scent kicks up and you're reminded why flirting right now isn’t actually a good idea.

Still, getting reactions out of Joost is a wonderful pastime and you can't help yourself. “This is so much better, this stuff is amazing, I’m serious. I think I’m gonna join the groupies.” From the corner of your eye you can see Tantu put on headphones. Joost looks rightfully smug. 

Hmm, not shy then. Smug is good too. 

After another hour of poking around in the files, you propose early dinner. Joost seems kind of surprised but suggests a few spots nearby. Maybe he expected you to bail again. To be fair, you’ve never stuck around this long before.

Tantu declines to join, citing too much to do. A suspicious answer, but you won't complain if he wants to let you be alone with Joost.

Joost leads you to an Italian restaurant of all places. It’s a short walk but from the corner of your eye you catch him almost reach for your hand no less than four times. You don’t reach back, pretend not to notice. He hasn’t touched you since this morning when he crowded you against the door and you wish he would again but watching him squirm is so much fun.

The October sun has already gone down and the neon sign for Antonio’s glows like a beacon on a street with few other lights. Joost stops to stare up at it. “Can you uh…can you eat garlic?” 

What are you gonna do with this guy? 

“No, I'll die.” He whips his head around. “Really?! Fuck, sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I know another place-.” You can’t keep a straight face. “No, I’m kidding. C’mon I’m hungry.” He follows, sputtering.

They must peg you for a couple because they automatically seat you at a table in the corner away from other customers. As you peruse the menu, Joost is unusually quiet. His eyes keep flicking up to you as you read. The waitress comes to take your order and his eyebrows disappear into his bangs when you ask for pasta. He’s still staring once she leaves and you can’t stand it any more. 

“Dude, I can't drink blood all the time.” 

He chokes on his water. 

This is apparently the permission he needs to unleash the legion of questions that have been brewing since the fateful moment you rubbed up on his dick and disappeared into the night. Joost proceeds to take inventory of your personal brand of vampire with a thoroughness you did not expect. You really should have, considering the way his heart picks up every time anything vaguely vampiric takes place. 

He’s a bit of a nerd about it actually. 

“So you eat regular food?” 

Yes. 

“Do you have to drink blood?” 

Yes.

“Do you have fangs?”

Yes.

“It doesn’t look like you have fangs.”

They’re retracted.

“Re..tracted.”

Not full length right now.

“Oh. Can you turn invisible?”

No. 

“Can you brainwash humans?” 

No. What? 

“Can you turn into a bat?” 

No!

“Okay, okay! How often do you have to drink blood?” 

You tell him what you’ve found to be true over the years. 

Blood doesn’t seem to be necessary for actual nutrition, but the longer you go without it the more you crave it, and ultimately the more forceful you become when you finally take what you need. It makes you feel healthier, it gives you energy, but beyond any of that it’s just an urge you always have.

Abstaining for very long only leads to bad times for your unwilling donors when you finally give in. Indulging about twice a week seems to be the best for keeping people out of the hospital. 

By the time the food arrives, Joost is looking suspiciously horny. Smells like it too. Resisting the tug at the back of your eyes is already becoming a practiced routine. He doesn’t seem the least bit deterred by the casual mention of violence and you wonder if you could ever tell Joost about that night. 

The thought gets flicked aside as quickly as it came. 

No one can ever know what you’ve done and it’s honestly crazy to be letting him in at all. Everything you have come to accept can’t be part of your life, everything you left behind, it was to protect you- you did it to survive. 

With Joost, it’s almost like those rules have gone out the window. You don’t know what about him has you wanting to be so honest. He may be unfairly hot and the only person who has never freaked out on you but where is the self preservation? 

You’re probably going to have to move again. 

Joost has more questions but you’re curious about him. He’s Dutch, he’s beautiful, he’s not actually a poser, he clearly has a danger kink, but who is he?

Somehow, though he’s bright red again, the first thing out of his mouth is that he is not Dutch. He is from Fryslân! Joost tells you a little bit about where he grew up, when he first moved to Amsterdam, how he used to do Youtube and how he first met Tantu. You let him talk and set to work making a dent in your noodles. 

Everything Joost tells you helps paint a picture, but to your curiosity, he is quick to skate over most of his past. Anything more than a handful of years ago gets more and more vague and it becomes clear there's something he’s avoiding.

You don’t see why he would be holding out on you, it’s not like you haven’t been telling him all your secrets. Well, maybe not all of them. Whatever. 

The Florida song tickles at the back of your mind and you don’t press it. 

“I’m down to one noodle, wanna Lady and the Tramp this shit?” 

Sadly, though he accepts with enthusiasm, the noodle breaks and you don’t get your arrabiata kiss. He checks his phone while you wait for the bill and curses under his breath. “What is it?” you mumble through your napkin.

“Tantu was just being polite earlier. He wanted to work on more stuff after dinner but I didn’t see the message.” You begin to wonder what that means for your evening but Joost is already smiling again as he slips the phone back into his pocket. “Oh well, Tantu always forgives me. We’ll do it later. Wanna go through the park on the way back?”

Your stomach gives a little flip. “Yeah.”

The last vestiges of the sunset are long gone and the park is deathly quiet. The fog has been so thick for so long that the grass is soaked, glistening under the lamplight and stretching out on either side of the path to form dark fields of glitter. 

“So, is it a date this time?” He asks innocently. You try not to trip over nothing.

You want it to be a date. It really shouldn't be, you shouldn't let people know you, but for so long it hasn’t even been an option and Joost is so much more than an option. You’ve never met anyone like him.

“Yes.”

He grabs your hand and every hair on your body stands on end. It’s an innocent touch, all things considered, but you know where this is going and finally, finally, something is happening. It’s a wonder you didn’t end up in his bed that night at the club. He so clearly wanted you, and you were just as ready to let him hit it against the wall in the alley if he’d asked. This time, you're not running.

He swings your hands as you walk, trying and failing to keep the smile off his face. Every ounce of your attention is zeroed-in on the way his big hand curls around yours, but it’s also becoming impossible not to notice the emptiness around you.

The surface of the pond is mirror-smooth and the trees stand lifeless as you wander deeper into the park, like everything is holding its breath. You are utterly alone and the crunching of your shared footsteps seems to echo. 

Forgetting you're an apex predator, one would almost worry about what is lurking in the shadows. It’s fun to suspend your disbelief, let the atmosphere affect you and pretend that Joost is your only hope against the creatures of the night. You grip his hand tighter and he grips back, giving a little squeeze then lacing his fingers between your own. 

The path continues along the water and under a bridge. Low but wide, the street that goes over must be a main thoroughfare yet not a single car can be heard. Joost’s puffs of breath are all the more audible as you enter the void of the tunnel underneath.

The shadows are deep, unnaturally so, and you can only half make out the patchwork of graffiti. The lamp at the exit seems farther than it should be and it gives you a thrill, still indulging in your supernatural fantasy. You press your side up against Joost, letting the closeness be a comfort even though you are nothing but excited. 

He stops in place suddenly, catching you by the hand, and pulls you to his chest. He wraps an arm around your back and squeezes. “Why are we walking so fast?”

The light is so low but you can still make out his features, pink, golden, and perfect, looking at you bemused. “It’s spooky out here, don’t you think?” You half-whisper. “If I’m out here, who knows what else is too.” It’s said with a smile and Joost grins right back. 

“Don’t worry, we’re safe if we’re together.” His eyes dart to your lips and back up before he speaks again. “Slow down for me?” In the stillness of the night, his heartbeat is deafening. His normally crystal eyes are dark, pupils dilating more and more with his climbing pulse. It’s a shame he can’t hear yours. A feeling you refuse to name pricks at your chest and you crane your neck up. 

He beats you to it. 

Your mouths meet and color explodes behind your lids. If his scent was powerful, the taste of him is something else entirely. Joost groans against your lips and releases your hand to wrap both arms around you, crushing you close.

When he has you where he wants you, one hand comes up to cradle the back of your head and he licks at the seam of your mouth. You open for him and he licks further into you with a sigh.

It’s hard to keep up. Now that Joost finally has you in his arms he is greedy and the hot wet of his mouth threatens to eat you alive. 

You don’t think you would mind if it did. 

Joost is forced to pull away first, his laboured breath visible in the cold. You whine at the loss and his eyes widen. Need for air forgotten again, he peddles you backwards until your back hits the wall of the tunnel and he’s on you again. Joost kisses you deep, hard, pressing you into the concrete like you’re laid flat on a bed.

The kisses make their way down your neck and when your eyes open as he sucks at your collar bone, it is to see that the passage and all its vandalism register in perfect detail. You never even felt the tug but your eyes are fully shifted. 

He lifts his head to capture your mouth again and you can’t mistake the infatuation in his eyes when he notices your own.

It ruins you. You could never say no to a face like that. What’s more, you don’t want to. His devotion is so apparent and this is only your first time together. If he weren't pressing you into the wall, it would have you on your knees. 

You kiss back, hungry. Maybe if you swallow him whole, you can keep him forever. It’s hard to ignore how good he smells. His arousal has been simmering all day but now it’s kicked up to a thousand and every inhale sends a pang to your cunt. Your panties are toast. 

The hand cushioning your head from the wall comes around to cup your cheek as Joost tries his best to drink your little noises. He has plenty of his own. Words too. Little yes’s and encouragements when he slips his knee between your thighs and you grind down. 

His length is hard against your tummy, bigger than you realized when it was against your ass before. 

The rush of blood under his skin is almost tangible- so quick with the frantic pace of his heart. The hot length of his throat is flush with it, and the most mouth-watering aroma curls lazily from the neck of his hoodie. 

Your core throbs. Your teeth ache. 

Joost’s fingers start to curl under the edge of your jacket, fumbling to get under the shirt. The cool air and his cold hands make you moan and he whimpers in response, grabbing you hard by both hips and grinding into you firmly. It turns your legs to jelly, and you have to break the kiss to catch your breath against his chest. 

Too overcome to focus on a rhythm, he thrusts mindlessly every couple beats as his lips make their way slowly down your temple. Even through all the clothing, the hot length of him is like a brand over your navel. He licks over your ear and all the air you managed to recover whooshes right out again.

Joost’s shameless enthusiasm, his desperation, has your head spinning. His scent has enveloped you completely- arousal so thick you can almost taste it with his throat so close to your face. You want to taste it. He nibbles at your earlobe tenderly and your stomach swoops. 

Spit pools on your tongue and it’s dawning on you that there might be a problem.

His lips start to travel down your neck a second time. Open-mouthed kisses and tiny nips followed by the flat of his tongue laving over each mark, soothing each time it makes you grip him tighter. Then, without warning, his mouth drops to that same spot on your shoulder- the same as in the club, and he bites down.

The thrill it sends through you ricochets down to your pussy, clenching around nothing, and back up again in a split second. Your fangs drop. 

You lunge forward before you can think.

You can’t think, actually. Joost is on you, around you, and he might as well be in you with the way he fills up every corner of your awareness making higher functions impossible. He jerks back, surprised at the speed of the movement, and your teeth sink into three layers of hoodie. 

It tastes like the pasta sauce he dripped on himself at dinner.

Your gut swoops in an entirely different way as your head clears all too suddenly and you unlock your jaw and shove him off you, hand slapping over your mouth. Joost staggers back a few steps at the force, nearly falling on his ass. He looks petulant, big eyes pleading like you’ve just taken away his favorite toy. 

“What's wrong?” He huffs, already closing the distance again. You lurch away to maintain the space and confusion twists his brow. Joost tugs at the neck of his hoodie, tucking his chin to look at it and finding two jagged holes and a patch of dampness.

His brow goes slack in understanding. “Oh, it’s okay, come here.” He reaches for you again. “You know I want you to bite me right?” 

Your eyes widen and you dodge his grabby hands. You don’t dare remove your own hand from your mouth to speak. Really, you should have known. In retrospect, it was obvious. Should have known from the moment he bit you the first time in the club that he really did want you to bite him back. Fucking vampire kink fucking weirdo.

Not that you’re entirely complaining.

Finally Joost stops reaching for you, pouting, and waits. You don’t trust yourself to speak for several minutes. It would be better if you left, ran away again in case the sanity doesn’t hold. You don’t want to do that to him again though, not a third time. You have to get a grip.

Slowly, you remove your hand and he perks up. “Sorry, about your hoodie. I- , We- , We shouldn’t do that. You won’t like it.”

“What, why not? I think I would.”

“Believe me, it hurts.”

His trademark blush and grin combo is firmly back in place. “I don't care, it’s kind of hot.”

You pause, unsure how to counter without laying out the details of how you don’t want to commit murder a second time. “It’s like with the eyes. With you, I can’t really help what I’m doing, can’t control myself. It would probably be rough. I might hurt you. I mean, it always hurts but I think I might hurt you for real.”

He looks contemplative, though you notice the blush hasn’t diminished. “Is it really that different with me?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why. I think- , I think I just need to get used to you. I probably can’t ever bite you, but if we’re gonna get cozy without me flipping my shit, then I think we might need an adjustment period.” You immediately realize what you said. “That is, uh, if you want to keep doing this sometimes.”

He doesn’t leave you hanging. “I do! You said this is a date, I want more dates.” His earnest expression becomes immediately suggestive. “If I have to wait to show you my stuff, that's okay. Can’t help it if I drive you crazy.”

Oh, he’s a bastard. “Whatever you say, spaghetti shirt. You’re gonna need to stop biting me too, I can’t be held responsible for what that makes me want to do to you.”

“Noted.” He chokes through a laugh.

“Alright, let's go back. I’m fucking cold.”

The second Joost had kissed you, all fantasies of supernatural ambiance were forgotten. Now that you're separated again, they are at the front of your mind once more. The shadows look like more than shadows and the density of the fog feels designed to conceal something lurking beyond. You feel the need to protect Joost, probably from yourself, but it’s nicer to imagine something else so you let the fantasy reform.

The twinge of unease from the misty morning on your balcony is back and you do your best to stomp it out. You just need to take it slow. You can still do this if you take it slow and let yourself get used to him. 

The walk is mostly quiet. Joost seems thoughtful and you try not to hold his hand too hard. When you make it back to the studio, you unlock your bike and try not to imagine the night swallowing him when you go your separate ways. When you turn back to him, Joost swoops in again for another kiss.

It’s only a peck, he’s giving you the space you asked for, but then his hand grabs your own and brings it to his mouth. It seems like he's going to kiss that too, goofy as he is, but quick as blinking he gives your knuckle a nip and winks before doing a one-eighty and starting down the street. 

You clutch your hand to your chest like you’ve been burned.

He bit you!

Again!

He keeps biting you and now he's walking calmly with his back turned like it doesn’t make you want to chase him down and pin him. Like it doesn't make you want to take him there on the pavement and tear into him.

Is this his idea of compromise?

“See you later!” He waves before disappearing around the corner.

It’s hard to decide whether to blush or go pale. 

You wonder, not for the last time, what the fuck you are doing. 

There's no chance to stew too long because the very next day Joost is already taking up all your attention. He hits you up at ten. You're naked in front of the mirror brushing your teeth when he calls. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” So chipper. 

You spit into the sink. “Just work, was gonna go to a cafe.”

“Can I come with?” He is possibly the most distracting person in the world for you, if last night was any indication, but he sounds so eager you can’t find it in you to say no. 

Joost meets you at your usual cafe down the street. A place you often find yourself working these days when your cozy apartment, though a good refuge from the persistent rain, becomes just a little too monotonous.

There is another moment of acclimation when you meet him out front, but you manage to keep your eyes from changing. You lean into him, forehead against his chest to keep anyone from seeing in case you can’t keep a handle on it while he smooths a hand down your back, heart noticeably fast and scent stirring at the closeness.

Anyone bothering to pay attention would think you were any normal couple embracing. After a few minutes when nothing happens, you straighten. Joost almost looks disappointed. 

He swoops in rather dramatically to pay when you order at the counter and you let him, bemused. He wants to know whether you’ve ever tried poffertjes and when the food arrives he feeds you one off his plate, looking only vaguely horny when you wrap your lips around it.

Joost asks you how you like the Netherlands and you find yourself telling him how long you really haven't been here. Before you know it, you're telling him all the places you've lived over the past few years, distracted from your work already.

He has so many questions and he drinks up your stories eagerly, relays some of his own about some of the same places. He really does travel a lot.

You get so caught up that you retrace your journey all the way back to your home country. When you pause, he notices you’ve exhausted your list. “That’s where you're from, right? You have the accent.” 

You hesitate, but telling him where you're from won’t actually bring him any closer to knowing what you did. “Yeah, that’s home.” 

“Why did you leave? Why so many places?” 

Fuck. 

“Is it because-” he pokes at his canines with the tips of his index fingers “vampire?” Relief washes over you. It’s the truth technically, more than he will ever know, and you don't really have to explain it. He’s filling in the gaps himself.

“Yeah, got too hard to hide.” 

When you part after many hours and little work, he gives you the tiniest, softest kiss, takes your hand, and brushes his mouth over the same knuckle before gently biting it once more.

The cafe becomes a pattern for the two of you, him showing up more often than you would have thought he had time for. He’s better at letting you work after that first day. Often brings his own things to work on, mostly concert visuals, and becomes deeply immersed in editing and drawing when he isn’t serving as your unwitting tech-support. 

When you’re not working, he takes up your time all the same. He texts you constantly. A stupid picture of his dog, of Tantu, an edgy meme.

You're not used to it. It's been years since anyone has texted you at all. Even your boss just emails. Most often, the texting is to suss out where you are and if you're busy.

He seems determined to take you to what you're realizing is every place he usually spends his free time. His favorite restaurants, his favorite parks, his favorite bars. He's so bright, so gleeful in almost everything that he does. Joost shows you things just to see if you like them too.

One night he shows up at your door, six-pack in hand.

 “Hi! …How do you know where I live?” 

He stares back with eyes that look huge through the black frames slid low on his nose. “You sent me a pin? I thought you wanted me to meet you.”

 A glance at your phone reveals the sent pin and several highly enthusiastic reply texts that you very much had not noticed. You meant to send him the link to the place you were meeting tomorrow. Fuck your life. 

“Uh, I didn’t mean to. Hope I didn't make you drop anything to come here.” 

“No, you didn't! What are you up to? Wanna hang out?” Joost almost talks like a kid. The bottles clink at the way he wiggles while he speaks and it only adds to the effect despite the way he towers over you like you're the child.

That night you proceed to have the first of many regular movie marathons with Joost. Keeping your hands to yourself is hard with him on your couch all cozy and warm, oozing pheromones, but he mostly behaves and so do you.

Another night, he takes you to his favorite skate park where you don't do any skating. You just sit and watch everyone else and eat ice cream that melts way too fast while he tells you about someone named Nathan. 

Another night after that he brings you to his place where you play COD until he gives up trying to teach you and you talk until the sun comes up. It's more difficult being in Joost’s flat, everything smells like him and it was fucking mean of him to wear grey sweatpants the first time you come over. Still, he gives you space, not pushing like you can tell he wants to.

It’s kind of sweet actually. This stranger you met at the club, grinded on at the club, trying to work with you and be delicate like being delicate matters. It all felt like some kind of weird extended hook-up at first, but the longer this goes on the more it feels like Joost wants to know you.

No one has been allowed to know you in a long time. 

You want to know him too- know more of his favourite places, his favorite movies, his favourite foods. Know what it is he isn't saying every time you talk about the past.

It’s beginning to feel like you will. Like this thing you have going isn't so crazy.  

Seeing Joost starts to fill your days, replacing the sporadic trips to the club that filled the human-shaped hole in your chest with a companionship that made you forget there ever was a hole. You didn’t realize how much of your time was so empty before. 

Of course he isn’t always around. Often disappears for days on end to the studio and long weekends away for concerts. But, he always comes looking for you when he’s done and no matter what else you get up to together, you always find yourselves back at the cafe. You’ve carved out your own territory there, a table where no one else ever seems to sit as if they know it's meant for the two of you. 

One morning you sit at it, waiting for Joost.

He strolls in later than usual, humming what sounds a lot like Numa Numa as he approaches with an extra spring in his step. He plops down unceremoniously in his usual seat across from you, fishes around in one cavernous pocket, and deposits a steel ball-gag in front of your croissant and coffee with a clatter.

“Hey, good morning. What’s this?” 

He rubs his hands together like some kind of cartoon villain. “Good morning! I’m so glad you asked! I was just thinking since, y’know, sharp teeth problem, you could wear this and then we could do whatever we want!” His eyebrows wiggle furiously. “Well, I guess we wouldn’t be able to kiss, but you know what I mean.”

“Uhhhhh.”

“I know you said you just need to get used to me but this way you don’t have to!” His giggly, somewhat bashful self of the first few weeks knowing him has melted away to leave a Joost with honestly very little shame. It was gradual, and he was never too reserved to begin with, but these days he is incorrigible. You must be rubbing off on him.

Sadly, this one isn’t up your alley.

“I’m gonna be real, that’s not happening.  Have you ever tried one of these? It’s a good idea but I can’t handle that much drool.”

“Come on, please? I won’t laugh at you I swear. And honestly-” He leans in close. “I needed to eat you out like yesterday. Can we try it?”

As much as you don’t care that everyone in the cafe has been looking at you since the second Joost whipped out a ball gag, you also don’t want to get kicked out. This is your favorite spot.

“No, put that away!” 

Joost takes it in stride but as the days pass, you can tell he’s far from done with his scheming.

At the movies and the automat and everywhere else he takes you, at his apartment and at yours where you’ve both started expecting each other, he is always nudging. Tempting you more and more while still following the rules. Little flirtations and kisses and those goddamn tiny little bites you never quite get used to. The tender press of his canines around your knuckle make your stomach swoop without fail.

You're sure Joost knows what he’s doing, what with the way he smiles that same little smile every time. 

Bastard.

It’s not like you can blame him for any of it. You want him too.

One day though, less than a week before Christmas, Joost is forced to pause his efforts. It’s a cold and gray afternoon, and though there’s no snow on the ground, every shop and every home has wreaths and candles on doors and in windows. It’s impossible not to notice what time of year it is.

When Joost comes knocking, all bundled and breathless and confused why you aren’t at the cafe, he can tell immediately that something is wrong. 

It’s a bad day, really no other way to put it. Today is your little sister’s birthday and for the third time ever, you won’t be there. 

She was a brat really, but you loved her and she is one of the few things that always makes you think of home.

That wasn’t true at first, when you spent the first few months missing all your friends and family something awful. But after you literally killed and ate someone, the fear of discovery and the fear of hurting them drove your travels farther and farther until before long, you felt like you were doing the right thing. 

Besides, the world was too big and too detailed to miss out on. Too vibrant in all of your new senses to spend your time sulking over what could never be. Most days now, home was just a passing thought.

Still, your sister never fully left your mind, and on this one day every year you have been gone, you can never help but let your mind drift over what is and what could have been. 

Joost can tell the second you open the door. You let him in without fuss, but when you answer his probing questions with little more than noncommittal grunts and squeeze him far too tight when he goes in for a hug, he starts to adjust his demeanor.

He follows you into the kitchen and you shut your laptop, still open with the work you had been using for distraction.

“So, you don’t usually pass up the gift of my presence, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, I’m good. I just have a lot going on with work. Sorry I forgot to tell you I wasn’t gonna be there.”

“Don’t worry about it.” 

A pause.

“I've seen you stressed about work. Usually you’re asking me to help you find a file or proofread an email…”

“Yeah, okay, yeah. I’m a little distracted.”

“With what?”

“With-” you allow yourself to lean against him. He’s saddled up behind you as you finally come to a stop in the middle of the kitchen. His arms come around your waist and you let out a bone-rattling sigh.

There’s few places you’d rather be than in his arms, but the knowledge that even that is something you're still trying to allow yourself to have makes it hard for it to feel like a comfort right now.

“-with things at home. There are things I left behind that I can’t go back to.”

“You wish you could?”

“Sometimes.”

“You miss someone?”

“Yeah.” 

Fuck it. There’s so much you’ve already told him. Why not this.

“My sister.”

His grip relaxes slightly. You didn’t realize it had become tense. “Oh. I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Yeah.”

“I have a sister too. I don’t see her very often but it’s not because I can’t or anything. I don’t know what it would be like to not have the option.”

“Yeah.” You sniff. It seems to be the only thing you can say.

He squeezes you tight again when he hears it. “Wanna…talk about it?”

“No, not right now. I’ve been thinking about it all day and there’s nothing I can do so I might as well stop.”

“Okay. Wanna do something with me? Wanna watch a movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, how about Spiderman?” 

He knows you so well by now.

Joost coaxes you back to his apartment. Away from your work and to what you have to admit after many movie marathons is a home cinema setup superior to your own. The perfection of the couch-pillow-foot rest-cup holder placement leaves you unable to turn down the journey when the ride is only ten minutes.

Tonight, you watch Far From Home. Though you always cycle through the the Spiderman movies, it’s the one you saw with your friends the night you turned, and somehow it's the one you always come back to.

You’ve never told Joost you prefer it but he’s noticed anyway. Tonight, he pulls it out before you can ask.

By the time Peter Parker gets knocked out by Mysterio and accidentally arrives in the Netherlands via train, you're in Joost’s lap, clinging on with arms slung around his neck and face pressed into his chest, barely watching. Being sad does wonders for not being riled by his closeness. 

He holds you right back, hands at your waist, occasionally pressing light kisses to your hair as he comments on the inaccuracies of the movie’s Dutch portrayal.

“Y’know we do love soccer but honestly, no one is so super happy like this, especially not if you’re stuck in jail.”

You just hold him tighter. It’s been hours now in Joost’s presence and finally, you feel yourself unwinding. Just like always, Joost is the best distraction you’ve ever encountered. Your teeth itch of course, what with your face so close to his throat, but you ignore it so you can savor the feeling of him wrapped around you.

Joost is sweeter than you could have ever asked for. So often wants to know about your problems and offers up his time to solve them. Provides his presence and his affection when he can’t. 

Not that you have many problems. Your tech issues present the majority. 

Still, here and now, he's trying to fix everything just like he always does and it is with a deep shudder from yourself that he starts to rub your shoulders. His hands smooth down your back to your hips and back up again, reminiscent of the moments in front of cafes and shops where you always have your moment of initial acclimation.

Now, there is no pressure to the moment, no rush to get yourself under control. All you have to do is relax further into his hold and let his big hot hands melt sensation into your flesh. 

A sort of tingle accompanies his hands wherever they go. Up and down and up again. They knead at the muscles of your lower back before working their way up either side of your spine with gentle compressions of his knuckles. One big palm cups the back of your neck when his ministrations make it to the top and he takes a moment to inhale deeply from your hair.

The motions repeat over and over, up and down and back again. You would be letting him know exactly how much his efforts are appreciated if those efforts weren’t completely melting your mind.

Lingering in that liminal goo-brain space for what feels like hours, it occurs to you that every pass over your hips is gradually getting lower. Every time he works his way down your spine, his thick fingers splay just a little further over the swell of your ass.

You let him do it, fully on board with the feelings it’s inspiring in your core and too strung-out to think of why there might be any reason not to indulge. 

Before long, his hands are fully cupping your ass with every pass. Each time he spends a moment squeezing lightly before continuing the cycle. After a couple more circuits, he finally breaks the pattern and stops to hold each cheek in one huge hand, pulling back from your hair to make eye contact, asking silent permission.

You hold his gaze, unable to think further than the lazy, slow, creeping want he inspires. He made you so comfortable, so pliant and soft, why would you ever do anything other than what he wants?

You slump forward to mouth at his jaw, forgetting yourself, and his heart stutters.

His hands slide lower to the back of each thigh and his fingertips brush over your slit. It’s the first time he’s ever done anything quite so direct since that moment under the bridge and it makes you moan so loud that he pulls back once more to get a read on your face.

“Is this okay?”

“Mmm, yeah.” It’s hard to remember why such a question makes sense. His fingertips, so close to where you need them, make higher processes a herculean effort. Still, your brain is the stuff of legends, and you pull it together to consider what he means. 

“Fuck, uhhnh, gimme a sec.”

His hands don’t leave their precarious position, but make no further move. In the meantime, his mouth fills in the gap.

‘You know I bought something else. After the ball gag I mean. I was thinking handcuffs kinda do the same thing but, y’know, less drool.”

He smiles sheepishly.

“We don’t have to use them, I just wanted to tell you. It could keep your mouth away from me if I stayed down here.” he squeezes with both hands for emphasis.

“Oh.” With the strong departure from the sadness that had been consuming you and the reminder of all Joost represents, you are quickly coming back to awareness. Your gums ache in a way they haven’t for quite a while now, the tug behind your eyes making a return. “I- how would that work?”

“If I cuff you to the headboard and stay down here-”

Another squeeze for demonstrative purposes,

“-then your teeth will never come near me. We can’t kiss, after a point, but we can do other stuff. There are a lot of things I want to do to you.”

“Okay, I’m with you, but you would need like a steel headboard or something. I’ve seen the IKEA particle board slats you have going on.”

“I may have- uh, I may have bought that too.”

Oh he is a freak.

Your smile is all Joost needs to scramble to shut off the movie and scoop you up like it’s nothing, mouth on yours like a man starved. You cling to his shoulders as he slowly walks you back through the apartment. It’s a miracle you make it when he can’t be bothered to look where he’s going. 

Somehow, he neither bangs your elbow nor your knee on a door frame and all of a sudden the world shifts as you are deposited onto his bed with a bounce.

True to his word, it’s a new bed. Same dark blue comforter and faded Minecraft bed sheets but a new frame with solid metal bars. He lets you look while he fiddles with something on the bookshelf before turning back to you with a ‘clink’. 

The handcuffs, equally metal and solid, glint in the low light of his bedroom. You’ve never been into bondage per se, but just about anything Joost wants, you find yourself wanting too.

His enthusiasm never gets old. Even if the bed and the cuffs are just a means to an end, Joost picked them out for you, he picked them out and bought them because after all this time dancing around each other, he still wants to fuck you so badly. 

The tug behind your eyes is irresistible like never before. This time, you don’t fight it.

Joost takes you in, eyes wide and wanton, fixed on your own dark pools. He gives a shuddering sigh and unclicks the cuffs. “Oh, liefje, let’s start with this.”

The simple endearment used for the first time short-circuits any intelligent response. There are no words. You scoot up the bed, overcome by the word still bouncing around your skull and the hunger evident in his scent.

Laying back slowly, you lift your arms above your head as he crawls over you. 

Something about the position feels a little strange, but the thought leaves as quickly as it came when you’re distracted by cold metal clicking into place. He adjusts the cuffs gently, one on each wrist with the chain hooked around a thick steel post of the headboard. A good tug proves them to be durable and Joost lets out a breath you didn’t know he had been holding. 

Though the bedside lamp is dim, the blue of his eyes practically glows as he removes his glasses and lays them on the nightstand to admire what’s laid out before him.

It’s obvious all too soon that there are drawbacks to the position. You can’t lean up to kiss him, at least not much, can’t reach out to touch him and tuck a bright blond strand behind his ear or cup a cheek and trace his pouty bottom lip.

You need to, if you're being honest. Need to touch him and hold him and kiss him and tell him there is no one else you would ever want to do this with.

You don’t even know what that means, since there haven’t exactly been other options, but you know it’s true. 

Joost watches your squirming with increasing amusement as you test the limits of your bonds. Finally, mercifully, he parts your thighs and presses flush against you to capture your mouth. Your legs wrap around him immediately, holding him the only way you can. His scent is just as potent as it was that night under the bridge and quickly becoming stronger. It’s a good thing you’re cuffed because your willpower is already softening.

As overwhelmed as you are already, your teeth haven't dropped yet and you're thankful as he all but steals the breath from you. The increasingly desperate press of your mouths is all that's keeping you from begging him to get on with it.

You never thought you would be one to beg, but here with Joost above you, presence all encompassing and hips slotted into the cradle of your own like he belongs there, you think you would.

In the end you don’t have to. Joost pulls away all too suddenly and the hands braced at either side of your head come down to toy at the hem of your shirt.

“Can I?”

“Please!”

The transparent need in your demand short-circuits him for a moment. He says nothing, huge pupils unblinking for several long seconds before they snap down to fix on the stripe of skin that gets wider and wider as tattooed fingers slowly peel the shirt up your stomach. It would have been smart to get undressed first, but you’re both a bit beyond reason and you do your best to help as he drags it up above your head to tangle around your wrists.

He pauses again to drink you in, more bare skin than he’s had the opportunity to see yet. So much of the past months has been little more than kisses. His hands trace their way back down, over your sternum and your belly, ignoring your bra for now, until they reach the hem of your lounge pants.

Joost doesn’t ask this time, just meets your eyes and takes the nod you give without words. He removes them much easier than the shirt and whips them away to land somewhere to be found later. Hot palms smooth up your thighs and a single finger hooks into the elastic waistband of your panties.

The whine you let out as soon as he does it sends him scrambling and they are quickly tossed away to join the pants. 

Huge hands brace themselves against your inner thighs and you're made to bend your knees up to accommodate. It spreads you wide, everything on display. It’s been so long since anyone has seen you like this it’s borderline embarrassing. The way his scent picks up and his pupils nearly eclipse their blue border makes it all worth it.

He crawls forward to give you a single deep kiss.

“All good?” He breathes against your lips.

“All good.”

He shuffles back down and starts laying more kisses against your inner thighs. 

You know exactly where this is going. 

Joost’s overture that day in the cafe never strays too far from your mind. If you were wet before, now you’re positively dripping. It starts to run down your ass and you wonder if he will notice, see your desperation made flesh.

It’s unlikely, what with the way his eyes are shut tight and his brow is slack with bliss. He’s getting exactly what he wants.

Joost laves a hot stripe over the skin closest to the junction of your thigh, pauses for one maddening moment, then turns to lick into where you need him most without warning. 

Your gasp is more of a shout.

He groans in response and hooks an arm around each thigh before you can squirm away, the wet, slippery friction on your clit so intense you almost try to. He starts out with deep, long licks directly over it before he goes anywhere else, straight to the punch without teasing.

After what feels like far too much and nowhere near enough, he gives one long lick through your folds and shifts his focus lower. He lingers over your entrance, the flat of his tongue seals tight to the rim, textured buds undulating against the delicate skin making you writhe. He does it again and again, taking breaks to pull back and run the tip around the edge, tracing and circling before latching to it yet again with a wet ‘smack’.

Normal breathing is becoming impossible and when your thighs have been tensed so long they start to shake, he dips it in. 

There’s no telling what undoubtedly guttural noise you make because you are too busy wrestling with the sensation of blood blooming across your tongue and iron filling your sinuses. Every teasing nudge inside your pussy sends your fangs digging deeper into your lip. 

The brief agitation from earlier has returned, but now you know what it is. There’s nothing actually wrong, it’s just so much harder to bite lying on your back. The urge you usually manage to suppress is now front and center of all thought. As always, pleasure seems inextricably tied to predation.

You need to pin Joost and bite him and feel him struggle but you also need his delicious weight on top of you and his hands around you and his tongue inside you and you can’t have both.

You feel insane.

Joost’s groans are heavy, the vibrations rolling through you as he lazily pumps his tongue deeper, nose grinding into your swollen clit. He settles into a pattern. Deep, languid tongue-fucking followed by licks to either sider of your bud, close but not close enough, before directly grinding the flat of his tongue into it a few times and then starting the process all over again. 

The cuffs are fighting a battle of their own above you. Every time Joost switches targets the headboard gives a heavy creak.

You hardly notice. It’s taking all your remaining brain power just to try not to squeeze him too hard with your thighs. Though, it might be okay since every time you do he lets out a groan, far too pleased for what is probably a legitimate threat to his skull.

Blood drips down your chin now, your canines deep in your bottom lip when you hear it:

A shuffle.

A rustle.

A slight sway to the mattress.

He takes your clit between his lips and sucks hard. The bedsprings give a pathetic wheeze as your head slams back and your spine arches as a squeal rips out of you. 

The rhythmic swaying picks up the pace.

When Joost finally gives you a second of reprieve to kiss at your thigh, hot heavy breaths fanning over you, the gentle swaying continues. Puzzled, you find the willpower to lift your head and shakily unlock your thighs from where they have become earmuffs.

It’s hard to place it at first, the incessant tongue back on your skin and sharp iron in your mouth more than distracting, but then you notice. 

Gently, 

slowly, 

almost tenderly, 

Joost’s hips roll down into the mattress.

It might be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

The way his brow has started to knit as he ruts instinctively, pleasure seeping up his spine as he gets off on your own. The way his hips jerk softly like he isn’t even aware, like his body is just making him do it. The way his sweats have slid down to reveal the dark material of his boxers, snug against the muscles of his ass that are working insistently. 

You can’t handle it. You have to do something, anything. Your hands whip down to bury your fingers in his hair as you grind up into his mouth and lose your mind.

Your fingers in…his hair?

He flinches. Makes a pathetic noise as he withdraws his tongue. The sudden hard stop to the blissful sensation all the more highlights the bright red sheeting from his brow.

In your pleasure, the cuffs ripped like paper. Both loops are still attached but the chain, now broken, swings freely from your right wrist, bloody from where it lanced him deep across the temple.

Oh.

Fuck.

Joost has never bled in front of you before. Not a single scratch or cut, not even a hangnail. 

It's like hearing colors or tasting music. Now that the source of his scent isn’t trapped under his skin, it is so much more potent than you could have ever prepared for. You could never have built a tolerance to this. 

The sudden certainty of a guaranteed meal, the knowledge that your strength is superior, that you've won, it overwhelms you in an instant and the sureness of it almost leaves you calm. You're going to get what you want. There's nothing that could possibly stop you. And why should it? 

The only thing that keeps you from destroying him on the spot is the look on his face.

It’s all happening within seconds. He’s still mid-recoil. His face screws up now that the pain is starting to register, blank confusion twisting to stricken agony. 

It’s nothing like you imagined. 

Those nights alone when you think about Joost and can’t quite control that deep, savage part of your mind, the part that's been there ever since you woke up bloody in the middle of the street all those years ago, you never imagined it like this.

That inhuman part of you was sure his pain would be something beautiful. Even if the logical majority of you protested, somewhere deep down, you always expected it to be true. 

Maybe it’s the added shock of the sudden blow, maybe it’s just the wrong kind of pain, but the hurt on his face is terrible.

Not pleasure-pain like when you press on a bruise you accidentally gave him the day before and he can’t help the way his eyelids flutter, not like when your sharp nails dig into his back when you go in for a kiss and he picks you up and you have to hold on tight as he groans into your mouth.

Just pain.

Your heart folds in.

You’re rolling off the bed and shooting to your feet before Joost can even look at you, too busy staring at the blood on his fingers as he draws them back from his forehead, shaking.

It’s physically painful to turn away. You grab your phone with enough force to rattle the night stand and make yourself walk towards the door. Every sense is cranked to eleven and every reflex and muscle fiber is dialed in, all strength and no precision as you work against your instincts. Every base impulse is screaming at you to turn back and take what is right in front of you.

There’s no running away this time, just brute force resistance.

There’s so much blood.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m gonna get someone, just stay there. Stay there.” The words are choked as you use every ounce of willpower to force yourself into the hall. You don’t know if he hears you and you can’t afford to look back to check.

His gasps of pain almost sound erotic now without the visual evidence of his suffering and it makes you want to turn around and devour him.

When you recognize the thought, you hate yourself just a little.

You wrestle into your long winter coat and manage not to break the front door as you unlock it. Joost calls out your name just before it slams shut behind you.

Outside in the cold, damp, wind whipped darkness, there is enough of a disconnect from what’s inside that you can feel control come back online. 

You want to run but you make yourself walk, thankful your coat covers your bare ass, as you prioritize sending a cryptic but detailed text to 112 and then dialing the one other person that can possibly help. Tantu answers on the third ring.

“Tantu. I need you to check on Joost. I need you to go over to his place right now and it can’t wait.”

“What? What do you mean? Did he call you?”

“No it’s- Tantu please just do it. Please. Will you check on him?”

“Yes, yeah, I will, what’s going on?”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes! I’m putting on my coat! Tell me what’s wrong!”

“Please hurry, Tantu.”

You hang up, cutting off what sounds like a curse. 

He’s a good friend, you can tell. It’s a good thing you have his number. You don’t know any of Joost’s other friends. Honestly, you barely know Tantu. Joost talks about them often and with love but you’ve just never met them. 

It’s mostly Joost’s efforts to try not to spook you, to ease you into knowing him without pressure. You let it slip once that you try not to make close connections for practical reasons and he let up on group invites quickly, if a little disappointed. Anything to keep you around and unwilling to gamble with being the exception.

The trill of your phone makes you slow once more. 

It’s Joost.

He’s okay. Okay enough to call at least. Hopefully emergency medical or Tantu gets there soon.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Your phone continues to buzz as he calls again. 

And then again.

You wanted to see if this could work, whatever this is. It felt possible once. Felt like one day you would say yes to meeting his friends, like you would feel close enough to ask him about his past and maybe even tell him the full truth about yours, felt like one day you might finally adjust enough to be able to love him properly. 

Because you do love him. 

You’ve known it and denied it but you do.

You do and it didn't stop you. Such a small mistake, made so easily and unconsciously and almost the end of his life.

You love him and that’s why as you walk down the street, completely enveloped in abyssal shadow, no moon in sight, you know that when you get home you’re going to pack your things.

[hazelira]

part 2 of more than 143

The cold air nipped at your skin as you swung your legs off the bed, stretching your arms above your head with a tired sigh. Your body still felt heavy from sleep, but hunger gnawed at your stomach, reminding you that you had skipped breakfast.

You glanced at the bathroom door, debating whether to shower first or eat. Your pyjamas were comfortable, and you didn’t feel like changing yet. You’d freshen up after brunch.

Padding toward the bedroom door, you reached for the handle, already thinking about what to make—maybe something warm, something comforting—anything to distract yourself from the weight of this morning’s emptiness.

But the moment you pulled the door open, all thoughts vanished.

Because standing right there, breathless, dripping wet from the rain, was Heeseung.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his black hoodie clinging to his frame, soaked through. Raindrops dripped from his hair, trailing down his sharp jawline. His hands hung loosely at his sides, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you crashed into him before a single word could leave his lips.

His breath hitched as you threw your arms around his torso, pressing against him without hesitation. You didn’t care that his clothes were wet, didn’t care that the rain had made him cold—you just needed to hold him.

And he let you.

Heeseung exhaled sharply, his arms wrapping around you so tightly it was as if he was afraid you’d disappear. His fingers pressed into your back, his chin resting against your head as he clung to you like a lifeline.

“I—” He started, voice hoarse, but he couldn’t finish.

Because he didn’t have the words.

I didn’t know how to explain how he had run—sprinted—through the rain to get back to you. The moment the mission was over, he hadn’t even waited for his men. I hadn’t cared about anything but you.

How badly he had needed to see you, hold you, remind himself that you were still here, still waiting for him.

The guilt burned in his throat.

He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve you.

And yet, you were here, burying your face into his chest and gripping him like you never wanted to let go.

Heeseung squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling your scent beneath the faint smell of rain and his own regret.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rain still pouring outside.

You shook your head against him.

“You came back,” you murmured.

And that was enough.

For now, it was enough.

Heeseung tightened his arms around you, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, silently swearing to himself—next time, he’d come back sooner.

Or maybe…

He wouldn’t leave at all.

Heeseung was still catching his breath when you pulled back slightly, your hands sliding down his arms until your fingers found his. His skin was cold and damp from the rain, but his touch was so warm that it sent a shiver up your spine.

“You need a shower,” you murmured, voice laced with something soft yet teasing.

Heeseung blinked down at you, lips parting slightly as if to protest, but you were already tugging him toward the bathroom. His soaked hoodie clung to his body, droplets dripping onto the floor with each step, and you knew if he stayed in those wet clothes any longer, he’d end up sick.

“Wait, you—” He hesitated when you pushed open the bathroom door. “You mean together?”

You turned your head slightly, glancing at him from over your shoulder. The way his voice wavered, barely above a whisper, sent a thrill through your chest.

“Obviously,” you hummed, tilting your head. “Or do you want to freeze to death?”

Heeseung swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His ears, already tinted pink from the cold, darkened further. “N-No. I just—”

You didn’t let him finish.

Reaching for the hem of his hoodie, you peeled the drenched fabric over his head, exposing the toned lines of his torso. His skin was ice-cold to the touch, causing a frown to tug at your lips as your fingers brushed against him.

“You ran all the way here in the rain,” you muttered, hands ghosting over his chest.

Heeseung gave a breathy chuckle, his hands hesitantly settling on your waist. “You think I’d take my time when I knew you were waiting for me?”

Your heart squeezed.

Instead of answering, you reached for your clothes, slipping your pyjama top over your head. Heeseung sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers twitching against your skin. His eyes flickered to yours, searching, asking.

And when you took his hand and pulled him under the warm stream of water, he let you.

The heat washed over both of you, steam curling around your bodies, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. You stood there, feeling the warmth seep into your skin, feeling Heeseung’s presence so close, so real.

His hands found your waist again, with more certainty, his fingers brushing against your damp skin. You looked up at him, droplets of water sliding down his face, darkening the strands of his hair.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, tilting your head.

Heeseung exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “Can you blame me?”

You smiled, reaching for the bottle of shampoo. “Turn around.”

He raised a brow but did as told, letting you lather his hair, your fingers massaging his scalp in slow, deliberate motions. His shoulders visibly relaxed under your touch, and a quiet hum of contentment left his lips.

“If you keep doing that, I might never leave,” he murmured, leaning into your touch.

You grinned. “Maybe that’s the plan.”

Heeseung turned slightly, just enough to catch your gaze. His eyes, dark and filled with something unreadable, held yours for a beat too long.

Then, a slow smirk tugged at his lips.

“Then I guess I’ll have to stay.”

When you were both dressed, fresh and warm, your stomach grew loud enough for Heeseung to hear.

He laughed as you dragged him toward the kitchen, your hand gripping his like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.

“You’re hungry, huh?” he teased, plopping down into the chair while you grabbed ingredients.

“You’d be too if you skipped breakfast,” you shot back, opening the fridge. “What do you want?”

Heeseung hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. “Anything you make is fine.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile on your lips as you started preparing food. Heeseung, of course, couldn’t just sit still. He approached behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You’re clingy today,” you mused, flipping a pancake.

“You almost tackled me when I got back,” he countered, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Who’s the clingy one?”

Heat rose to your cheeks, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. “Shut up and set the table.”

He chuckled but obeyed, grabbing plates and utensils before sitting across from you.

As you ate, Heeseung’s foot nudged yours under the table, a small smile tugging at his lips.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt something settle deep in his chest—something warm, something real.

Something like home.

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[ghostgirl-22]

Can’t stop thinking about Patrick teaching Art how to jerk off and it evolving somewhere down the line into Patrick edging Art mercilessly. Art’s all whimpers and blushing up to his ears and needy whines arching up at the slightest bit of attention and Patrick’s just eating up every bit of it

You really cooked with this anon <3 (she says 100 years later)

CW: 18+ NSFW Explicit

—-

Patrick isn’t even sure how it happened. But somehow he got control over Art’s orgasm. Maybe all those late nights jerking off together, evolving into Patrick helping him. And then into Patrick literally helping him through it. And now it’s the only thing Art knows. Now the only way he can come is with help, with permission. On the phone when he can’t do it in person. All it takes is “Please Patrick, can you help me?” And the blood rushes immediately to Patrick’s dick.

It’s one of those nights. He does it in person.

Just landed in Palo Alto an hour ago, and Art’s already whimpering, scooting closer to Patrick, legs spread wide with Patrick settled between them, still fully clothed. Art in his boxers and a t-shirt, he’d been so eager, just waiting.

He’s seeking Patrick’s mouth for a kiss. For validation while Patrick jerks him roughly. He’s arching up, probably a handful of heavy strokes away from the end, and Patrick decides to take his time.

“It feels so much better when I do it, huh?” Patrick says softly in his ear. “You’ve been waiting for me all week.”

”Mmm,” Art moans, helplessly.

“I don’t understand it when you whine,” Patrick whispers. “And if i can’t understand you, i have to stop. Do you want me to stop?”

He loves to make art talk when he’s close. Loves it when he’s got Art’s pretty cock all lubed up, swollen purplepink and leaking, twitching, in his heated palm. Trying to make him talk like normal when he’s an absolute mess of a human, tongue tied and incoherent. Art, who’s usually so good with his words, so articulate, tone so crisp and clean. Stammering, stuttering for him. God it gets him so fucking hard.

“n—no,” Art whines. “Please. P-please.”

“aww i know… i know it’s hard to make that brain work right now but i don’t understand.” Patrick smiles, he’s slowing his movements watching as Art jerks his hips helplessly. “Please what? You’re so smart, can you use complete sentences for me?”

“Patrick,” Art whines. ”F-fuck.”

Patrick pulls his hands away and leans in, bracing himself on either side of the bed and bracketing Art’s hips. Art jerks upwards into nothing. Frustrated. Skin flushed all the way down his bare chest. Patrick cups his chin and art licks his lips and moves closer, lips parting automatically, searching for a kiss.

“thats not a complete sentence.” Patrick says, pulling back just before their lips touch.

“P-Please d-don’t stop.” Art stammers.

“see was that so hard?” Patrick gives him a kiss and is overwhelmed right away by art’s tongue. He’s all apart. Needy. Moaning into Patrick’s mouth while he’s kissing him. He sounds like a fucking whore. Patrick can feel his own cock pulsing.

“Holy shit,” Patrick breathes against his lips. “you’d probably do anything for me right now, huh?”

Art nods, mouth still open, tongue darting across his wet lips, pupils blown wide. Patrick pushes him down so he’s flat on his back and crawls up the length of his body.

“I wanna hear you.”

“Yes, please— Patrick please. I’ll d-do whatever you w-want.”

“You little slut,” Patrick walks his fingers up the length of his pretty cock. So much fucking pre-cum spilling out it’s like he’s already finished. “God, you need it so fucking bad, don’t you? can’t control yourself.”

“Mm need you.” Art whispers, arching into the barely there touches.

”Tell me you’re a slut,” Patrick sighs. ��Tell me you’re a fucking slut.”

“Mm a— imma s-slut,” Art stammers. “Patrick. Wanna fucking come so bad. Imma fucking s-slut.”

Patrick presses himself up against Art’s bottom, knowing Art can feel it through his jeans. “Mm you feel what you fucking do to me. Hm? You feel how crazy you make me.”

Art’s got his eyes closed, breath catching. He’s grinding his hips and moaning. “F-fuck oh fuck, yes,” he whispers.

“Oh god. Look at me,” Patrick breathes, gripping onto Art’s dick properly. He knows it’s an impossible ask. Art’s mouth is all wet, he’s drooling, aching. Grinding his balls, his ass, along the friction of Patrick’s cock while Patrick slides his grip up and down the slippery length of his.

“Come on. I don’t want to stop but I need you to look at me when you go off sweetheart.” Patrick whispers.

Art’s eyes flutter open for just a minute. He’s breathless. Chest heaving. “Oh-oh— m-my god,” he stammers out riding the feeling… he’s so goddam close and he shuts his pretty eyes again. He’s shivering, pleading when Patrick pulls back, sitting up on his knees.

“‘m sorry, s-so sorry, s-sorry Patrick f-fucking please,” art whines.

Patrick undoes his zipper and slips his hand inside to soothe himself for just a minute. “Shit,” he whispers. “You make me crazy when you don’t listen. I said I need you to look at me.”

“yes, yes okay, P-Patrick please,” Art is still whining, hips stuttering, helpless, breathless. His eyes are wet now filling with tears. God he’s so fucking pretty, so fucking desperate. “I’m sorry.”

“You wanna come for me?”

“Y-yes, i want to s-so so much. ”

Patrick stares at him, runs his messy fingers through all of that thick golden hair, art follows the touch. Turning his cheek to rest on Patrick’s palm, to kiss his hand, his arm. Tongue kissing him, wet. Patrick realizes in a detached way that he’s shivering at the feel of it.

“Mm fuck. I think I wanna stretch your little virgin ass,” Patrick whispers, not sure what he’s saying. He knows he’s breaking. That even he can’t take much more of this. “I wanna split you in half and make you come on my big cock.”

“Mmm yes,” art moans. Still kissing all over Patrick’s hand.

Patrick takes his spit, lube, covered hand and pushes Art’s hair back off his forehead, crawling on top so he’s right up in Art’s face again. “I’m gonna let you come, okay? Say okay.”

“Okay,” Art breathes, pulling his knees up more and jerking his hips in another desperate attempt to seek friction.

”Good boy,” Patrick sighs and Art’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I need to see you. Keep your eyes right here. Say you will.”

”I will.”

“Good boy.”

Art swallows again.

Patrick grips Art’s cock again. Art seizes up right away. Struggling to keep eye contact as Patrick slides his palm up and down, slowly at first.

“Fuck,” Art whispers, a litany. Hips jerking. He starts pumping into the touch. Fucking into it more, and more. Faster and faster. Oh he’s beautiful. All blissed out and open wide. It takes no time at all before he’s spilling, sticky white heated liquid covering Patrick’s palm.

“Good, that’s it,” Patrick whispers. “Feels so much better huh?” The relief of it all over him as more and more pumps out. Patrick doesn’t let up at all, keeps gripping him, jerking him, as he slides his own dick out and rubs up against his ass, along the thin fabric of Art’s boxers.

“Fuck… one day I’m just gonna fucking… watch you fall apart on my cock.” Patrick groans, burying his face against Art’s throat, his nose buried in the soft delicious scent of his golden curls.

Art’’s trembling, moaning with the overstimulation of it. These pitchy whiny noises that just make Patrick come that much faster. “Oh fuck yes,” Patrick gasps collapsing on to his chest. He feels Art tangle his fingers into Patrick’s hair.

“You like it?” Patrick asks, minutes later, sated and warm against his bare chest.

“Mmhm,” Art hums lightly.

“Say thank you,” Patrick tries, knowing he doesn’t have much leverage to control him anymore.

“Mm,” Art considers it and Patrick smiles and presses a kiss to his pert little nipple.

“Say thank you and I’ll do it again before you go to sleep.”

”Thank you,” Art says softly. “Thank you so much.”

[redgoldsparks]

February Reading and Reviews by Maia Kobabe

I post my reviews throughout the month on Storygraph and Goodreads, and do roundups here and on patreon. Reviews below the cut. You might notice the layout image looks different! I have switched to using the Storygraph wrap up :)

The Baker and The Bard by Fern Haught

A sweet, slight fantasy story focused on friendship. A baker and her friend, an aspiring bard, go on a little adventure into the forest looking for a specific type of mushroom. On the way they encounter some misunderstood magical creatures, a nonbinary fey, and only the smallest amounts of danger and conflict. The gentleness of the story makes it appropriate for, and I believe aimed at, a fairly young audience, definitely middle grade or early reader rather than YA. 

I Shall Never Fall in Love by Hari Conner 

This is a witty, well-written queer romance set in the mid-1800s, England. The story borrows heavily from Emma while still feeling like its own fresh tale, especially because of the inclusion of characters of color, queer characters, and a gender-nonconforming love interest. I was rooting for Eleanor and George all the way; both rooting for them to get together and also rooting for them to find the space to know themselves and express that authentically around the people they love! The art in this book is stunning, with beautiful colors, and so much thoughtful historical research went into the design of the houses, costumes, and world of these characters. Highly recommend, especially if you're a Jane Austen fan. 

Conversations with People Who Hate Me written and read by Dylan Marron 

I picked this book up after loving Dylan Marron's podcast The Redemption of Jar Jar Binks, a 6 episode miniseries that I find myself thinking about all the time. Unfortunately, I do think having listened to that already dented my experience of this book, because I already knew a chunk of the story from the podcast which made listening to the book feel a bit repetitive. However! I still finished and overall enjoyed Conversations with People Who Hate Me, which is about Marron's podcast of the same name, in which he called up folks who had left hateful comments on his youtube videos or facebook and just had a conversation with them. What prompted them to leave a hateful comment? What kind of values impacted how they saw the world? Might they change their mind if they had more evidence? Did they ever expect Dylan Marron to actually see their comment? (The answer to this last was almost always "no.") This is an interesting political moment to think about this project of deliberate, compassionate connection, and Marron is thoughtful about the privilege that allowed him the emotional bandwidth to pursue it.

You and Me, On Repeat by Mary Shyne

Time loop fans, rejoice! Mary Shyne has crafted a clever, gorgeous treasure box of a story. Part coming-of-age, part romance, part sci-fi, all heart. I was drawn in from the very first page, hooked with the stylish art and the intriguing premise. I fell so hard for Chris and Alicia and all of the stupidly teenage and deeply human choices that lead them into a pocket dimension of space-time. Who hasn't wanted a redo option on one of the most important days of their life? What would you do if trapped in a time loop of your high school graduation day? I left the book rooting for these two! I had the pleasure of reading this book early :) It's available for preorder now, or grab it from a bookstore in May 2025! 

You Are a Sacred Place: Visual Poems for Living in Climate Crisis by Madeleine Jubilee Saito

Saito reached a hand into some of my very own darkest climate crisis-induced depressive thoughts and drew me gently back into the light. We are all part of this natural world, and we are meant to be here, and it is good that we are here. Those things can be hard to remember sometimes, but these delicate comics underline their truth. I also got to read this early - It comes out March 25, 2025, so you can reorder it now or find it in bookstores soon.

Hey Mary! by Andrew Wheeler and Rye Hickman

Saints and stories come to vivid life in this compassionate story of a young man learning to balance his sexuality and his faith. For any readers out there trying to find space in their Catholicism for their queerness, I hope this book can light the way. Another one I got to read ahead of it's release! It's out on April 15, so you can preorder or book for it in bookstores and libraries soon.

Akane-Banashi vol 1 by Yuki Suenaga, illustrated by Takamasa Moue translated by Stephan Paul

As a child, Akane watched her father fail out of a program dedicated to training rakugo, traditional Japanese storytellers. Now in high school, she is pursuing the same career under the same teacher. This book has a lot of familiar series-set up elements- a rival older student, a series of fellow trainees, a reluctant mentor- but unfortunate didn't deeply capture me. I'm unsure if I'll continue on with this series.

She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat vol 4 by Sakaomi Yuzaki translated by Caleb Cook

THIS SERIES IS SO FREAKING CUTE! I love how it's diving into some of complicated and logistical realities of being queer in Japan. I also love how supportive the friend group is. Yuri fans you need to pick this up! 

Beautyland by Marie-Helene Bertino 

Adina is born in 1977 to a human mother on Earth; but she is not totally of this world. Some part of her is also an alien, attuned to a planet with a collective consciousness, far away in the stars. Through a lonely childhood in Philadelphia, Adina faxes notes and observations on human life to her far away family. She grows up as the child of a single, working class mother, with few friends, but a fierce commitment to live as her own singular self. I really enjoyed the light-handed prose, the short slice-of-life chapters, and the insightful look at what it feels like to grow up an outsider. Adina reminded me of myself; she reminded me of many of my other oddball, queer, trans, or asexual friends who have always felt out of step with the lives of those around us. It reminded me, yet again, that there is perhaps nothing more human than feeling like an alien among one's peers. 

The Lesson by Cadwell Turnbull read by Janina Edwards and Ron Butler 

Set on St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands, this debut sci-fi novel wrestles with some big and weighty concepts. We are introduced to two families, neighbors, with their own interwoven concerns: a married couple struggling with relationship, a woman questioning her sexuality, a teen questioning her faith, a man yearning for more ambitious career and travel options in middle age. Then an alien ship arrives above the island and the book jumps forward 5 years in time to show how a powerful controlling presence has impacted the lives of everyone on the island. The Ynaa offered advanced medicines and technology to humans in exchange for staying for a time to do an unspecified type of research. But the co-existence is not peaceful: the Ynaa lash out with extreme violence over minor provocations. This tense situation cannot last. There was much to enjoy in this novel, and the audiobook was very well read by two narrators. I did think the final act suffered from some pacing issues, and a second time jump near the end worked much less well for me than the big time jump near the beginning. It was interesting to read this after having read Turnbull's second novel No Gods, No Masters which contains similar themes but with a much more complex story structure and much larger cast. 

The Guy She Was Interested In Wasn’t A Guy At All vol 2 by Sumiko Arai

I'm obsessed with these little rock-n-roll lesbians. This series gives me some similar vibes as Nana except sweeter, sillier, and hopefully heading in a much less tragic direction! The art is to die for, I spent so long just looking at every page in awe. Makes me want to draw more comics!

Marbles: Mania, Depression, Michelangelo and Me by Ellen Forney

This comic has been on my TBR for a decade and I'm so glad I finally picked it up! Forney's cartooning is so clear, articulate and accessible; it really opened up a window for me into the experience of being bipolar. I loved the many creative visual metaphors, the inclusion of sketchbook pages, and the self-compassionate tone. I can see what this book set such an early high standard in the genre of comics memoirs! 

Lone Women by Victor Lavalle read by Joniece Abbott-Pratt

In the opening scene, Adelaide Henry is spreading gasoline through the rooms of her childhood home in a farming valley in California in 1915, and over the bodies of her murdered parents. She leaves California with a rucksack and a steamer trunk, bound for Montana, where a woman alone can claim a plot of land. If she lives on it for at least three years and establishes a farm, she'll become the owner of the parcel. But can she really survive the harsh coming winter, the white supremacy of the nearby town, and the deadly family curse she's carrying? I really enjoyed the audiobook of this novel, but found myself pondering whether or not I felt like it fit into the horror genre, which is the primary genre tag on goodreads. Can a horror book have a happy ending? Is it horror is I don't feel like the narrative voice is trying to horrify me, rather show how marginalized woman can survive, even against extreme odds, by banding together? If I was shelving it I'd more likely to put this in historical fiction. 

The Deep by Rivers Solomon, read by Daveed Diggs 

Yetu is the historian for her underwater society, a group of deep sea merfolk who live in the depths of the Atlantic. She carries all of the memories, beautiful and painful, of their ancestors- pregnant women tossed overboard from ships during the years of slave trading. It is a great honor and a terrible burden to carry these memories, and Yetu thinks it might kill her to carry them alone. When an opportunity comes to leave the memories and her people behind, Yetu takes it. But who is she without her past and her people? I listened to this 4 hour novella on audio and enjoyed it a lot of a mythical alternate history. 

The Hundred Years War on Palestine by Rashid Khalidi

"His Majesty's government view with favour the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people, and will use their best endeavours to facilitate the achievement of this object, it being clearly understood that nothing shall be done which may prejudice the civil and religious rights of existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine..." -Lord Arthur Balfour, 1917, statement made on behalf of the British cabinet (page 24)

"For in Palestine we do not propose even to go through the form of consulting the wishes of the present inhabitants of the country... The Four Great Powers are committed to Zionism." -Lord Arthur Balfour, 1919, confidential memo to the British cabinet (page 37)

"'If you wish to colonize a land in which people are already living," [Ze'ev] Jabotinsky wrote in 1925, "you must find a garrison for the land, or find a benefactor who will provide a garrison on your behalf... Zionism is a colonizing venture, and therefore, it stands or falls on the question of armed forces.'" (page 51)

"In a cover letter to [President Woodrow] Wilson, the commissioners presciently warned that 'if the American government decided to support the establishment of a Jewish state in Palestine, they are committing the American people to the use of force in that area, since only by force can a Jewish state in Palestine be established or maintained.' The commission thereby accurately predicted the course of the subsequent century." (page 51-52)

This is an extremely well written, clear, concise book. The author draws extensively from primary source documents going back to 1895. His grandparents, his parents, and his immediate family lived through many of the events he outlines; he personally knew Yassar 'Arafat, long time leader of the PLO; he was an advisor to the negotiations between Israel and the PLO which began in Madrid in 1991 and ran (unsuccessfully) into 1993; he lived in Beirut through weeks of Israel bombardment in 1982; he and his father worked for the United Nations in the 1960s and sat through Security Council meetings on the Arab-Israeli conflict, including a meeting in which an intentional US political delay allowed Israel to make a preemptive attack on Syria. These personal anecdotes enliven what is overall a very grim history of broken treaties, broken promises, and conflict. I pulled the quotes because I want to be able to return to them later, to remind myself how clear it has been since the beginning that Britain and the US considered the Palestinian people necessary and acceptable sacrifices. 

[menmuncher]

the monkey Bill/Hal Shelburn x fem!reader

a/n: I've been obsessed with 'the monkey' and WAITINGGG for a fic to come out of it (it has been 4 days) but i've found nothing- so i'm taking it into my own hands, hehe. i couldn't choose a brother bcuz they're both hot (duh. but I fear i'm leaning towards bill because i enjoy weirdos) so why not BOTH!!!1

synopsis: head cannons? of the brothers. not at the same time because we know they wouldn't share.

warnings: NSFW, oral (both receiving), stalking, abusive relationship, creepy behaviour, bruising, slapping

HAL

when you first started going out on dates with him, you both really enjoyed it. he would usually take you to those cheesy spots teenagers would go to as their first date: some places like the movies or a bowling alley.

as these dates passed, you grew closer.. but at the same time, you would meet less often? once a week turned into once a month, but you couldn't understand why considering every time you did see him again he'd almost be emotional with how excited he was - clinging onto you like a puppy

you tried to initiate more time together but were always met with an excuse. it had to be on his terms or nothing, which obviously upset you. you began to feel a sort of anger towards his neglect and decided next time you saw him; you had to say something.

and so it happened, you guys met at a small diner in Maine and he obsessed over you as he always does after not meeting for a while. you had about 10 minutes of strength before you began to break down mid-conversation, begging for an explanation why he hardly took the time to see you anymore

this broke him; he didn't wanna seem insane to you but he also didn't wanna risk you leaving. he weighed his options for a minute before ultimately deciding to take the easier route, not that either would be simple

he explained the monkey to you. you were silent the whole story, jaw-dropped. once he finished, the silence didn't end. he waited for you to throw water on him, call him a psychopath and walk out... but it never came

you... actually believed him? hesitantly, for sure, but you were willing to trust him for this relationship. now he was the one breaking down - he wasn't afraid to be vulnerable around you and there was no shot he would be able to keep it together at this moment.

you told him you'd be fine and you were willing to take the risk as long as it meant hanging out with him more. he didn't want to put you in this position, but he nodded. he was too far into you at this point.

from then on, the days together become more frequent though he pays the same attention to you as he always would after missing you.

he's so nerdy but so attentive. he loves to buy you flowers and your favourite meal every Sunday on his way home from work. if you try hard enough, you're able to keep 3 weeks worth of flowers alive at once.

"these reminded me of you. i think the lady said they were dahlias? they bloom so beautifully and reflect such a bright color, don't you think?"

he's clingy, too. he loves to lay on your lap when you watch TV together - though, he's usually asleep within minutes of resting his head. it's okay because he's cute which makes up for it.

he has panic attacks every now and then due to nightmares about the monkey, but just holding him and combing through his hair is enough to bring him back to peace

he'll cook for you sometimes, too. it's not the best cooking, but it's the thought that counts. his favourite to make is pasta, probably because it's easy.

after you've been together for a while, he'll take you on more casual dates. still a movie every now and then but mostly just a dinner at his house or a drive in the car with long conversations, where he obviously lets you have the aux. he knows you enjoy simple things like that

now, into the NSFW stuff.

he loves when you're being pleasured. he thoroughly enjoys eating you out and grunting into your pussy so you can feel his enjoyment.

he enjoys getting oral, too, of course - but won't make that the main focus. it's only if you're feeling up for it. he gives you words of affirmation while you do it

now, when he fucks you - it's usually in the bed. you being comfortable is the #1 thing to him

he's okay with you being a pillow princess. he enjoys being dominant.

but if you wanna take over? he's happy to take that as well. he's really up for anything.

he's pretty vanilla, honestly. will put a pillow under your back so you're in a comfortable position as he angles himself perfectly into you, hitting your g spot with nearly every thrust and talking you through it.

even though he goes deep and likes to control you, he's so gentle. treating you like glass and ensuring he doesn't squeeze your hips tighter than he would your hands. he couldn't handle seeing you with bruises.

he just needs to show you how much he really loves you and appreciates you staying despite his screwed up baggage

BILL

you weren't looking for a partner when you found him. you had seen an ad in the newspaper looking for a 'long lost toy monkey'.. it was bizarre, considering you could probably buy your kid a similar-looking one without him noticing.

but you had a toy monkey. you kept it as a collectible, and it sounded similar enough to the ad. you don't remember where you got it from but it wasn't anything special to you so 15 bucks was enough to have you handing it over. when the guy came to your door, he looked disheveled. he had a terrible haircut and kind of smelled.. his outfit was weird, some sort of suit sewed into a tight black fire shirt with a key necklace. you knew a lot of people in this town but.... never saw him before?

why he was wearing such a complex outfit to buy a toy monkey from you? no clue.

you took the 15 bucks, exchanged a few words then shut the door after making the sale. turning from the door, you went back to sit on your couch before your doorbell rung again.

what else could he need? he had the monkey. you walked towards the door and opened it up to have him smiling at you. something he hadn't previously done. he was silent for a minute, just smiling.

"....can I help you?" you asked, before he spoke

"uh yeah, I was wondering.... could I get your number? you are like, really good looking."

you paused for a moment, taken aback. that is not what you expected him to say. you bit your lip and contemplated- he was kind of handsome.... but there was no chance. he was a weirdo coming to pick up a monkey from you. not to mention he had absolutely zero sense of fashion.

"yeah, no" you said, closing the door. it was harsh but you didn't wanna conversate with him anymore. you were way too tired, so you went into your room and eventually fell asleep.

from that day on, you started seeing him everywhere. he would be shopping at the same supermarket as you, passing you when you'd be on a walk, and appearing at the bar every time you went out with friends. it wasn't until you had a bit of alcohol in you that you finally got enough courage to talk to him.

"this guy's a creep, i'm ending this." you said to your friends, pushing yourself up from the bar despite being warned and going over to the man sat by himself at a table - some sort of alcoholic substance in his hands.

"what is this? you're absurd" as you got closer to his booth, you saw that he wasn't in fact alone, but had your previously-owned monkey sat beside him. your face scrunched up in even more disgust

"I don't know what you're talking about.." he didn't even look at you as he continued to sip his drink, acting like this was normal.

"you're harassing me! I don't even know you!" you began to scream in his face now as he displayed little to no emotions and kept his vision locked on his glass.

"will you look at me?!" you exclaimed, leaning over the table and grabbing the monkey from the couch beside him- now he looked at you. reaching a hand out to grab at your wrist, tightly, his teeth gritted.

"leave him alone" he sneered as he tugged it from you, not completely pulling it from your grip

"him? it's a toy!" you tugged back at it as he almost growled. he stood from the booth and fully took it from your grasp this time, holding the toy to his chest. he was breathing heavily as you both stared into eachother's eyes with anger. you were left speechless, this guy was clearly mentally ill.

suddenly, his angered eyes softened. he breathed out whatever he was holding in and sat back down. you didn't speak ither, half expecting him to just get up and leave with the toy. instead, he spoke:

"this monkey reminds me of my late dad. I don't know why, but he just.. does. i've been so lonely ever since my dad left." thanks to that kid, Ricky, for inspiring his sob story. even if bill's dad was still around, he couldn't care less whether he was dead or alive.

his sad confession definetly wasn't a proper explanation to why he was stalking you.... but for some reason, you felt guilt.

he didn't need to say it. it was clear he took a liking to you because of his obsessive behaviour - and wanted this loneliness to come to an end. so, with a sigh, you stupidly submitted in an attempt to cheer him up,

"i'm sorry, I can understand being lonely.. I mean not in the aspect of friends, or family, just like-" he looked up at you and when your eyes met his you stopped.

"..what i'm trying to say is, would you like to go out sometime? maybe we can make each other less lonely." he smiled at you, something he hadn't done since he was last on your doorstep, and nodded.

you didn't really bother explaining that to your friends later on. just dismissing the conversation, claiming you "solved everything".

you started to go on dates with him. none of them really requiring spending money- he always suggested something like a park, which also made you feel bad for him. so much so that you began to initiate actual restaurant dates.

it actually wasn't going bad. he was definetly odd, and embarrassingly enough always wore the same outfit, but he began to be more attractive the more you hung around him. eventually, you forgot how weird he was.

when you two were close enough, he became obsessive as he originally was. he always needed to be near you. he always came over to your house - never even inviting you to his as it was "too messy"

there wasn't many romantic gestures he'd do, besides telling you how much he needs you and how he would "die without you"

he followed you around everywhere. he'd whine that he wouldn't want to go to your places, but would go anyway just to be in your presence.

throughout all this, he always kept the monkey just as close.

bill loved being inside you. unlike his brother, he wasn't gentle with you. at all.

he'd toss you around and fuck you pretty much anywhere he could. he would breathe in your hair's scent as he dug his nails into your thigh and pounded you. he didn't care about whether you were comfortable or not- therefore you two would frequently end up on the ground or the table.

he couldn't be submissive. besides that time at the bar, he was never again vulnerable around you- especially not during sex.

he loves receiving head. he'll tangle your hair into his hands and push and pull at it as he rapidly fucks your face. he doesn't really care for giving you air to breathe, this is his time. his pace is so rapid as the sounds, almost screams, echo the room. slapping your cheek each time you tried to pawed at his thigh in an attempt to stop him.

he's selfish. he doesn't really give you head. if you ask really nicely, he might finger you for a minute or so, kissing your slit until he's tired and wants the attention back on him.

there wasn't much aftercare. he'd just go to sleep, so neglecting of you which you hated. it made you question: should you have ever offered him a date? what would've happened if you just called the police?

when you go to confront him one day about mistreating you, he immediately goes into a rage. screaming and cursing something about how he has always been watching over you to make sure you're safe but has just been met with selfishness in return.

the argument got so deep that you eventually threatened to walk out. that's when you were once again, put face-to-face, with your toy monkey.

okay this isn't much of an ending but i'm out of ideas and this was turning into more of a fanfic about bill SORRYYYYYY

[cronchy-cryptid]

More TMA Head cannons and thought experiments and season 5 spoilers

(HEADS UP: This talks about toxic relationship dynamics. Specifically feeling isolated by a partner.)

Ok, so recently I've been really thinking hard about the Lonely Eyes ship. Specifically Elias|Jonah Magnus x Peter Lucas.

When I first heard of it, I'll admit, I dismissed it out of hand. "Peter hates people,-" I thought, "No way he willingly decideds to enter a commited relationship with anyone. That goes against his dedication of the lonely :/".

But then it sat with me.

It sat in my mind.

It seeped in to the shallow crevasses of my smooth brain.

It sat with me and now I want to understand.

It sat with me and now I want to make it work in a nuanced way.

Full love to those who ship them for fun or for aesthetic or for any other reason! This is me, full on in my red strings, corkboard, and supplemental era overanalyzing everything as I comb through the series after finishing it once.

ANYWAY! Peter Lucas is the avatar of the lonely, yes? Yes. Peter is a man of solitude. He doesn't want to talk. He doesn't want to get to know you. He doesn't want you around him. He wants to be alone. However, he notes that to feel truly alone, there still needs to be the knowledge of a person or group you are separate from. Without that comparison, being lonely can lose its meaning. It can slip into the Vast's territory. This need for people dispite wanting to be separate from them is why Peter saw the extinction as a real threat.

So he keeps himself at arms length from people, but he still needs them there. No closer and no further. Just enough for him to feel truly alone.

Elias Bouchard is the newest name and face of the body snatcher, Jonah Magnus; the avatar of the eye. (I headcanon that every time Jonah body snatches, a bit of personality is picked up from his victims. Because of this, in this post, I will refer to this incarnation specifically as Elias) Elias loves the eye and is very well attuned to it. He's conniving, quick wited, and very choice with his words. He lives to know. To know you. To know your secrets. To know your failures. To know what keeps you awake at night and to know when it's best to remind you of of all these facts. When he targets someone, he is focused and deliberate. This style of "preying" not only lends itself to feeding the eye as it rattles his victims to thier core, but also allows Elias to blackmail them into collecting MORE information for him as they don't want others to know what Elias knows. It worked on Daisy, Melanie, and (almost) Martin.

But an interesting little side effect of the Eye's power is that it makes you acutely aware of your own presence. You feel singled out by it. It knows everything about you. Intimate things that no random person should know. It watches you. Did something you do give it that knowledge? Who else knows what it knows? Who eles knows and isn't saying anything? Who eles knows and is thinking about you and your worst habits, your dirty secrets, your troubled past that you worked so hard to put behind you? They must know. But they refuse to admit it. You can't trust them. It's you against those who know you and those who will ever know you. And what a truly lonely state to be in.

Jon once said, "The lonely and the eye aren't too far apart are they? Not really.. What goods being alone if you don't know how alone you truly are?"

The eye makes you know how alone you are.

So back to Lonely Eyes (if you read this far, thanks for joining me, I promise I have a point to make). What if they're relationship was super toxic. Like textbook toxic, but they are okay with it because it's the aspects that seem toxic to an average person that they actually value in their relationship.

Imagine, Elias and Peter have an on and off relationship. Elias knows Peter. He knows how to make Peter feel like he's been seen. He knows what games Peter is willing to play and what bets he's willing to make. He hunts Peter. He enjoys the information Peter gives him, yes, but he also enjoys the slight fear that oozes out of Peter whenever they speak.

Peter hates being seen. He doesn't like that Elias "understand's him". That makes him uncomfortable. But he can't help but be drawn back in by this sence of isolation Elias' presence brings. The feeling that he can't reach the outside world when Elias is around. He wouldn't want the world there anyway, whether it's because he never liked socializing or because everytime he talks with Elias, he feels like nobody should know what Elias knows. That this lonely man had a code Elias has secretly hacked into. That Elias could be his undoing if he wanted to be.

Because of this, Peter can't handle Elias for long bouts of time. The uncomfortably becomes far too much for the fimiliar lonelness to soothe over. So Peter eventually leaves to do his own thing ...on his own boat... for his own entity...on his own time.

But, almost like a parting gift, the memory of Elias drifts in and out of his head on those long voyages. Those sparse memories makes it feel like a person is missing. A very important person is out of reach. A person who kept him on his toes and saw him whether he liked it or not, is now gone. No more chats. No more games. No more Elias. And a strong wave of loneliness hits him like a crashing wave. Peter can't help but bask in the weight of it all.

Overtime, those thoughts just don't give the same punch of loneliness. Eventually, he feels relativly average all things considered. He doesn't immediately go back like an addict might, but he will treat himself once in a while... when he finds himself washed up on the ports of London.

Elias may not count on Peter's visits. Once Peter is gone, his fun has been had and it's back to babysitting archivists. However, you would be hard pressed to find Elias focused on his work when he can see Peter walking up the institute's steps, and he knows it's about to start all over again.

[satinprose]

potter!ellie headcanons.

this came to me in a dream and gave me severe heart palpitations. these are headcanons in a story format, lots of yapping. enjoy this. i love ellie my baby ♡ mdni  as  usual.  cw  ;  this  is  mostly  fluff  but  with  some  suggestive  descriptions and a little smut (fingering)  (my  hand  kink  got  in  the  way  of  my  better  judgement)

𝜗𝜚 ellie, who works at an art studio. she specialises in pottery and painting, sells her own work and assists during her boss' public lessons.

𝜗𝜚 ellie, who you met at your friend's bachelorette party. one of those cliché 'paint n' sip' sessions, rich wine on your tongue and pre-made pots and plates to be glazed or painted. the throws of early autumn had the sun streaming through the studio's windows and warming the greenery, of which there was a lot—it was the most beautiful room you'd ever been in. shelves upon shelves of half-finished pieces, some glazed pieces waiting to be fired. paintings lining the wall, plants hanging from the ceiling and sitting atop each table.

you wish you could say differently, but she stole your attention from the moment you saw her. as the token single girl in your circle, you couldn't even tell if this was a genuine interest, pathetic loneliness, or the wine messing with your eyes.

her hair seemed to glow brighter in the sun, a reddish tinge to it. that day, red seemed to stand out. the wine, her hair, the exhaustion that flushed her cheeks. it was warm, after all, and ellie was on her feet giving whatever painting advice she could offer to your group.

it's definitely interest. that much, you could gather. you weren't just following her ever move with your eyes, you were seeking approval like a teacher's pet. your friends hadn't seen you so whipped in their lives—you looked lost if ellie wasn't speaking to you.

𝜗𝜚 ellie, who knew you were into her from the start. though, she was far from unimpressed with the designs you chose to paint on your ceramic. the energy within the group was nothing she hadn't seen from a bachelorette's party, a group of women chuckling over their shaky lines and poor artwork all born from tipsiness.

"well, look at that. one of you chicks is actually talented." "what, me?" you couldn't help laughing at yourself, yet the look on her face was so serious that your giggles trailed off into awkwardness. "yeah, duh. do you paint often?" simple questions felt like an interrogation, the fact worsened by your friends' laughter. ellie was so casual, but you felt anything but. her leaning against an empty chair, muscular arms flexing, and her gaze cutting into you... "not really, no... just random sketching every now and then." she nodded, and you, somehow, roped your way into meeting with her again. in fact, she was more eager than she initially seemed. "actually, i've been thinking about starting some kinda classes. a new hobby or something. pottery has been interesting to me—" "you let me know when you're free next."

𝜗𝜚 ellie, who gave you a one-on-one lesson in wheel throwing. it was an intimate lesson. she begged her boss to let her have the studio to herself late one night, which honestly isn't a rare occasion as she often stays late to work on pieces alone. but it was harder considering she was bringing you in this time around.

ellie was perfect. a little awkward, but she was teaching you what she does best, and every little thing had your heart pumping out of your chest. lots of time was wasted on failed creations—wheel throwing is hard for beginners. she was sat behind you, wide hands guiding yours. your forearms were muddy and all you could really focus on was the warmth of her breathing against the side of your neck.

when it came time to pay for your lesson and wrap things up, she pushed back your card. "no payment, darlin'. it was a date."

was it? she never said so before. but she was smug at the look on your face, lamely shrugging her shoulders and asking if a second date—a far less messy one—was on the cards.

𝜗𝜚 ellie, who was thoughtfulness-personified. each date she gifted you something handcrafted or painted. even a small sketch on a napkin on weeks that she couldn't catch a proper break. she was a passionate person, and couldn't help mixing her greatest passion with her newest—art, and you.

your very quickly started to run out of space to store everything. but as a girl who valued being of service to her lover, ellie happily volunteered to build you new shelving units just to keep her art in.

she'd make you things like this...

𝜗𝜚 ellie, who lets you chill at the studio even without permission from her boss. she treats you like her very own little assistant, helping her clean up and giving her your own artistic input on projects. you could sit and watch her for hours. hair in her face or thrown back into a little bun, an old wife-beater on and legs spread around the spinner. the look of concentration—brows furrowed, lips pursed, as she carefully shapes the clay. her hands one of your favourite parts; veiny, skilled. bony fingers working the clay effortlessly.

she had made it extremely clear that she doesn't mind a little mess, whether it be clay on her hands or your sticky essence dripping down her fingers like honey.

no, you aren't subtle. she knows how you get, watching her work. on the days she stays late, she'll get you to help her clean up before pushing you onto a table. ellie knows you're already wet from dreamy kisses you shared as she was working and sweet talking you.

"mhm, good girl, just like that, yeah? my patient girl." she'll coo to you as she works her fingers into your pussy, commending you for waiting so prettily and even at times being the perfect muse for a painting. but she won't stop until her fingers are glazed, and like a good girl indeed, you'll let her slip her digits into your mouth so you can suck 'em clean.

𝜗𝜚 ellie, who asked you to marry her two years later with a custom-made ring dish.

[satureja13]

This dream again. Where he dreamt of being back with Jonathan. Where his life was light and easy and exciting. Where he had nothing to worry about because Jonathan was in charge and took care of him. Where he felt carefree and loved and never wanted to wake up again. These dreams of Jonathan carried him through all his traumatic events and hard times. Helped him to stay strong for Jack when they'd been kidnapped and abused. And through his struggles of being responsible for the others as their leader. All the troubles they had to face.

Sai looked around. This wasn't a dream! Jonathan shot at him! Was he dead? At least it seems he'd been a good boy after all - when he was allowed to spend his afterlife together with Jonathan.

Jonathan stirred: "You're awake." Jonathan carefully filled in Sai about everything that had happened since they'd been separated on that fateful night. And about everything about Tiny Can they'd already discussed while Sai was sleeping. This all was a lot for Sai to take in. And his heart was heavy how cruel fate had been to tear them apart. His curiosity won though. He could drown in his sadness later. Saiwa: "So you think Tiny Can wanted us to meet you here? Why?" Jonathan: "Let's go and have breakfast and meet the others. We waited for you to wake up so we can discuss this together and figure out what this is all about, hm?" Sai: "How am I supposed to face them? We betrayed each other. I don't think there is a way back for us. And I'm so tired. All these years drained me. You know me, I'm not made for a life like this."

True. Jonathan knew Sai for all his life. And for all those 17 years they'd spent together, he was the one who cared for Sai, made all decisions and set the direction - and Sai was happy to follow and just care about his stuff. He must have suffered a lot all these years being responsible and in charge for himself and 5 others. 5 others that were just as hurt and damaged as Sai. How could the Resistance ask this of him?

Jonathan: "I'm here for you now. Let's just see what Tiny Can wants from us. And after we solved this, you can decide if you want to come with me. And live the life you'd left the elven realm for. I'll make it happen, I promise."

Meanwhile in the other room, the others aren't eager to meet Sai either. They know how much he struggled to be their leader, even though they helped him to carry the burden. And even though Sai tried so hard to overcome his struggles. But in the end they had to learn it wasn't something Sai could handle. Jeb: "Lets face it. When this is over, we need a break. This is almost three years us fighting nonstop. And we achieved enough. They can't ask any more of us when it means we are going to waste. Sai can go with Jonathan, I will go back home to Francine (his grandmother) and you - Jack and Kiyoshi and Ji Ho and Vlad - deserve to spend some time together before you fall apart like Sai and me. This isn't worth it - us giving up on everything. We deserve to have a life outside of our duties. And we outdid ourselves already. Just look how much of a help the Therapy Game alone is - for all the lost creatures out there. And all the other victories we earned by defeating the Council. We're not even dependant to work for the Resistance, we all can make a living from our side jobs." Kiyoshi: "Let's think about this later before we make any decisions. Jonathan just texted. Let's meet him and see what's going on here." The others are relieved. As tempting as it sounds to take a break and spend time alone with their loved ones, they don't want to be apart from each other. And Vlad does still not feel comfortable - all alone with Ji Ho ö.ö'

They just finished setting the table when Jonathan and Sai arrived. Ji Ho: "Look how beautiful he looks." Even though Sai seemed a bit tense to meet them after they betrayed each other and Sai tried to kill Tiny Can, Ji Ho never saw him this 'soft'. Jonathan's presence did something to him. Something good. And despite Jeb's words of wisdom a few minutes before, his heart skipped a beat. How was he supposed to give up on Saiwa? But it had to be. The urge to see him happy - and living the life he sacrificed so much for - outweighed his selfish need to be with him. Barely. But he loves him too much to just think of himself. So he tried to remain strong.

This wasn't the time for thoughts like this anyway. Time to focus on their last mission before they'd each went their separate ways. Jonathan started with the facts: "So what we know is that Tiny Can here contains coding that is mine, but I'm not capable of this kind of programming - yet. Many of these functions are still in my development and others I only barely thought about. So seeing this already accomplished is a bit much to wrap my head around. And on top of all that, you told me that there was a message from a future Jeb and Jack and there was a Professor Callahan who predicted the meteorite crash a hundred years ago. Which was quite weird since none of the astronomers confired ot nor had any sightings that this would happen..." Jack: "Does that mean...?" Jonathan: "This is the only conclusion." Kiyoshi: "For what?"

Jonathan: "I think Tiny Can is a kind of - eh ... time traveler. I will have built Tiny Can in the future and he returned. Though, we need to find out why. Since he broke, he does not communicate anymore. But he wanted us to meet here and Future Jeb urged you to stay together. So I fear you'll have to get along to face this final task together." Sai: "I will participate if I need to, but I can't be the leader anymore." Kiyoshi: "You won't have to." Jack: "We haven't forgotten that you tried to kill Tiny Can. You're disqualified anyway."

Jonathan: "Let's listen to Tiny Can's new message. When I repaired him, I saw short glimpses of Future Jack and Jeb. But he refused to show me more." That was Tiny Can's cue. He played the message. Future Jack: "Come on Tiny. Just one more message. They need to get them out of there. Tell them just to open that last save and..." And then there was only white noise and the message flickered and faded.

Saiwa hissed: "I knew it! There is someone trapped in the Therapy Game and suffering! We never should have started this damn game! And now we can't stop it anymore!" Jonathan: "That's not fair, Sai. This is the first known issue. Don't let it taint the fact that he already helped so many."

Vlad: "This must have happened before Tiny Can made the modifications and spread it all over the galaxy. From when is that save file?" Jonathan: "20th July 2024." Jack: "Gods. That was the day we got kicked out and Ji Ho almost died. The day Tiny Can saved us and broke." Kiyoshi: "Then it's not even Tiny Can's fault - it's ours..." Jonathan: "Tiny Can rescuing you must have caused an interference and someone must have been caught in there before Tiny Can could log everyone out. This might be the reason he wanted us all together here. Some of you need to log in again and the others need to make sure to keep the game stable and monitor. To get you out of there, should something go wrong. But Sai and I going to find out anything I can about that save file so we can prepare before you log in again. It might be corrupted." Kiyoshi: "There is an other issue. We need the meteorites to set the game up. We shouldn't use the network - for safety reasons." Saiwa moaned. Nothing is easy in this world. And his new carefree life with Jonathan must wait...

'Darkness on the edge Shadows where I stand I search for the time On a watch with no hands I want to see you clearly Come closer than this But all I remember Are the dreams in the mist

These dreams go on when I close my eyes Every second of the night I live another life These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside Every moment I'm awake the further I'm away'

Heart - These Dreams

Outtakes

Lenny waiting for his breakfast

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter 'Goats in Space': starts ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Piglets in Space' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-29

[candyswirls]

Respectfully asking for Lion/Arlene fluff when you have a moment

His collar was stiff with starch. Just like his posture as he glared out amongst the gala. He despised the events high Lords and ladies attempted to subject him and his legion to.

His warriors flanked his sides, trying to appear as unapproachable as possible. Despite mandatory lessons as neophytes, none were confident in their dancing capabilities. Nor did they wish to test them.

Several bold nobles had come up requesting either the Primarch himself or his wife for a dance. Luckily, as husband and wife, they could decline on the others' behalf. Once learning of this tactic, they constantly used it.

"It is stuffy in here," the lady of the first legion spoke.

"Let us get some fresh air then," he nodded as he took her by the hand.

His astartes looked after them with looks of abandonment. They silently hoped he'd invite them along. No such luck. They'd have to fend off the frivolity themselves.

As soon as the two entered a balcony, Arlene hissed at those out on it. Once empty, they closed the doors behind them.

Lion took a knee and offered his hand, "My lady."

Arlene gladly took it as he helped her to sit upon the balcony guardrail.

"I would make a comment about how handsome you are tonight, but you always are," she told him.

He hummed, "I can not say the same for you."

She waited patiently, allowing him to finish the thought.

"For your radiance grows each time I look at you," he finished as he took her hand and kissed it.

She laughed, "How noble you are. Catch me."

She swung her legs onto the other side of the guard and leaped off.

She plummeted down towards the gardens.

The primarch was below her before she hit the ground, catching her bridal style.

"You could warn me when you do that," He chided.

She smiled as he set her down, "You should come to expect this by now. And I did warn you. I told you to catch me and gave you an ample amount of time."

He sighed as she took off running, cape flowing behind her.

As she came to the entrance of a hedge maze, he called out, "Left!"

Of course, he had gotten the building plan of this entire estate and memorized it. He had to be careful. You never knew what threats could be lying in wait. Arlene could also be hard to find.

He chased after her. Always out of reach, but he always caught a glimpse of her. A teasing game they so loved to play.

The maze opened up to a clearing. A fountain was in the middle with various planet sea creatures craved from stone. Various white and drooping flowers decorated the area.

A large and towering statue of a maiden was off to the sides, covered in flowering vines. She held her arms out and from them hung a large swing. A smaller and more dainty species of vine crawled up the ropes. Light pink buds bloomed on them.

Arlene sat upon the thick wood of the seat, shining with lacquer. She had a hand on each rope and awaited for her husband.

Moonlight caused her hair to glow, and brilliant eyes took in the view of him with utter adoration.

He walked up to her and leaned against the statue. He didn't even come to its waist.

"Shall I push you, my lady?" He asked tenderly.

"Certainly not off of it," she shrugged. "But I wouldn't mind you getting it in motion."

Lion pressed a kiss to her temples before moving behind her. He pulled back the seat as far as he could and threw it forward.

The swing went rocketing forward and upwards, Arlene laughing with delight. He caught the swing as it came back and did the same motion. His chest swelled as he saw his wife leaning back, relishing in wind billowing through her hair and clothes. Breathing in the night air as the swing peaked and came back down.

This was one way he could help her fly.

He kept her going for a few more minutes till she called back, "Catch me!"

She stood on the swing and, as she swung towards him, leaped into open arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Enjoy yourself, my lady?" He asked with a smile.

She ran fingers through his hair, "That I did, though, I seem to have lost my shoes."

She stuck up her bare feet behind her.

"Then I shall have to carry you," Lion mumbled as he pressed her nose into her hair. "As to not soil your feet."

Arlene gave him another kiss, "My brave and noble knight, helping me even as I've lost my shoes."

[germesthegenie]

Actually had most of this done for a while but wanted to wait until I finished Arc 7 and had time to type out all of my thoughts, which can be found below

Settling into a rhythm of doing 2 arcs per one of these post

Arc 6

Nice to see the Undersiders in action again + Vista

Will say Victoria’s fights, while still good and interesting in things like Aura and the careful use of the Wretch, doesn’t have the same variety and fun stuff as Skitter. I do get that it’s kind of on the opposite end of the spectrum from Taylor’s “How do I use my ‘weak’ power (her words not mine) to take down this stronger foe?”, instead being more of a World of Cardboard situation with less control / mental stability. Tradeoffs I suppose, there will probably be some stuff to help it shine in its own right (Victoria’s internal monologue after accidentally hitting someone too hard with the Wretch in 6.4 was good)

That said, the rest of the team has a lot of fun stuff going on with how they can use their powers. Kenzie even got to drone strike Mama Mathers, which is perhaps the funniest way for that fight to be resolved

The fight with Cradle and Operator Red was neat. I mean, not for Rain, but at least that meant we got to see Scapegoat again- oh hes Fallen? Huh.

I like Chicken Little, even with just the bit we see. Lets hope third times the charm, Lisa.

Super Magic Dream Parade is… certainly something. Might go into the “niche characters to draw” pile

I like the subversion of what they thought was gonna be them destroying the portals and instead expanding them. The separation of humanity to different Earths felt like more of a backdrop/flavor so far, hoping this means we get to see more of the variance between the worlds

Arc 7

What felt like 3 arcs in a trenchcoat, this one took a long while to get through (partially because of school starting up again midway through)

I like the little mini trials as a sort of epilogue to the past 2 arcs in what is for the most part a transition period before I assume is the next big event with the group behind the portal attacks. Nice little moments for Rain.

Yamada’s missing after the portal incident? Damn that sucks hope they can mamage without her- RILEYS MISSING TOO WE GOTTA GET THEM BACK

Jokes and blorbos aside, those two being missing are pretty bad for a lot of reasons, both within and outside Breakthrough

Victoria’s meeting with the other therapist was rough, though for understandable reasons. Never really thought of the implications before on her being potentially Ship of Theseus’d from stray cats

Victoria getting to see a bit more of the ugliness going on in Breakthrough, starting with Chris lashing out. Completely reasonable for him to, but damn went right for the gut with the Amy mentions

Speaking of things tied to Amy, hi Marquis! I just drew you! I can’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or he just did the equivalent of accidentally hitting every negative dialogue option but damn

A lot of buildup towards what I can only assume to be Teacher’s Cauldron making a play, especially with the Nieves interlude. Not sure what his goal could be supporting an anti-parahuman movement, other than ig weakening his main enemies in Citrine and Tattletale.

Eclipse

As someone whose first experience with Worm was making a character who was a former Boston Ward, I was excited for an arc that was at least in part all about Boston

Ashley’s trigger is tragic. I had a feeling any trigger involving pure destructive power like that was either bad leading up to the event or in the direct aftermath, and that was both.

Interesting to see how many different players there were in the Boston Games, as well as the more familiar faces like Accord and Blasto. I liked the bits of their dynamic and personality in Worm, and was glad to see more of that and how their rivalry started here.

Look. I still hate Carol. But I can’t lie, some of her lines during New Wave’s fight with Damsel were kinda cool. Now just keep that kinda cold energy for villains and not, y’know, your daughters.

Poor original Damsel, fought like hell against heroes, villains, and her own powers half the time, and didn’t even get a seat at the table. Not to mentioned played from the start by J. Maybe. Never did get confirmation he was actually a spy iirc.

Oh hi Jack! And yay Riley! Nice little tie in back into the Worm timeline. Well, nice for us, horrific for Ashley. Again, poor original Damsel.

Also intro to the other Ashley clone, neat! Also interesting stuff at the end with the mystery memory.

Kenzie Interlude (bc this also deserves a whole section)

irl was doing some labwork and decided to put this behemoth of an interlude on the audiobook to listen to in the background and that was a wild experience

The dinner was just painful to listen to. The way the parents were more focused on themselves or how things looked vs their daughter literally bleeding… like I wanna say it bordered on over the top but like with the bullying in Worm this kind of stuff and worse does happen. Glad she got out of that… right?

The little callback to Victoria doing the whole crisis point thing in Arc 2 was nice, though

Everything was going so well with the foster parents and then… that. Honestly didn’t fully get it at first until reading the comments on the website and… yeah. It’s not her fault, she was 8, she was traumatized and afraid of being separated from them and then the poorly worded search. Keith could’ve handled things better but it was also traumatizing on his end. Just an awful situation overall.

How does it keep getting worse

I’m gonna be real I went into this thinking the parents were gonna be robots or holograms with AI like she had in Glow Worm and it was gonna be sad as like a pretend of what should’ve been but… no I could not have predicted any of what was actually going on whatsoever.

Gonna need to remember to not draw Kenzie smiling if shes meant to be happy damn

[caramelarrowswife]

i know youre working hard on finishing requests and we are all so thankful for your work

Bc all ur fics are absolute bangers <333

Still tho- i got a little prompt/request of a hc of mine if ur up for it.

Since vanilla extract contains alcohol, what if- Pure Vanilla’s kisses make one tipsy? (And by one I mean Dark Cacao obv)

Maybe the ficlet could be a lil suggestive if you feel comfortable enough with that. Its not a must tho!! ❤️

DRUNK ON LOVE

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Pure Vanilla Cookie, in an affectionate mood, visited his darling husband (who was busy overworking) to show him some love. The healer knew very well how much a small distraction could help with a large workload..

..He hadn’t meant to be this much of a distraction, though.

TWs: Alcohol, suggestive themes

A/N: thank you so much fhwebkrfw <333

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Pure Vanilla walked through the halls of Citadel, his light clothing standing out against the dark patterns of the Dark Cacao Kingdom. None of the maids or warriors looked at him weirdly; the monarch’s presence was as regular as that of his Majesty himself.

This time, he had a specific mission. He would visit his husband, king Dark Cacao Cookie, and (kindly) force him to take a break, however small it might be. Perhaps he could be convinced to take a walk.. it was a beautiful day - by Cacaoian standards, at least.

Finally arriving by the large door that led to Dark Cacao’s study, Pure Vanilla knocked. After a second or two, a quiet ‘Enter’ was heard. When Pure Vanilla walked into the dimly lit room, his suspicions were confirmed.

Dark Cacao Cookie sat behind his desk, hunched over a scroll. Many more of the same sort were scattered over the desk and the floor, the king’s usual precision nowhere to be found.

A sharp hiss was heard from Dark Cacao at the bright daylight that fell into his room. “Close that.”

Pure Vanilla did as he was asked (commanded). The monarch swiftly made his way over to Dark Cacao, carefully stepping over the scrolls to make sure he didn’t crush any.

“Cacao,” Pure Vanilla murmured.

He received no answer. The healer put his head on Dark Cacao’s shoulder to watch if he had even noticed.

A slight mistake near the bottom; one of the characters had a line that was just a little too long, perhaps caused by a small distraction. Pure Vanilla was just being ignored, then.

“Dark Cacao Cookie,” Pure Vanilla said again, his voice more serious this time.

Ah, his full name got a reaction out of the stoic king. Dark Cacao looked up, a little hazy, staring at Pure Vanilla’s face just inches from his.

“What is it you need..? I’m busy.”

“Too busy, one might dare say,” Pure Vanilla hummed. “The Citadel is concerned.”

“Well, you will have to reassure them,” Dark Cacao said, returning to his work.

Pure Vanilla clacked his tongue, eyebrows furrowing slightly. That just wouldn’t do.

He leaned over slightly, pressing a small kiss to Dark Cacao’s lips.

That truly got his attention. He looked up, a little wary, but his eyes had the shine of a toddler tasting their first candy.. Wait, he wasn’t supposed to feel like a toddler tasting their fi-

Before Pure Vanilla could finish that thought, gloved hands had cupped his cheeks and Dark Cacao’s lips were back on him. Dark Cacao pushed the tip of his tongue into Pure Vanilla’s mouth, desperately chasing after the sweet flavour he tasted.

Pure Vanilla, pleased his distraction had worked, let him do as he pleased.. It wasn't until Dark Cacao pulled back that the healer noticed the strange glaze over his eyes.

“Cacao?” Pure Vanilla frowned. “Are you alright..?”

“Yes..” Dark Cacao’s voice had a slight slur to it. “Let me.. I need to..”

“Look at me.” Pure Vanilla pulled back slightly, and Dark Cacao let out a pitiful groan. That.. wasn’t like him at all.

Pure Vanilla cupped Dark Cacao’s face with his hands, staring into those unfocused, amethyst eyes. Normally, Dark Cacao would’ve batted his hands away, and it was a little worrying that he hadn’t done that just now.

Oh. Oh.

Pure Vanilla could hit himself.

Of course… when Strawberry Crêpe Cookie had done a scan on his dough recently, and had found an alcohol percentage of 35%. Dark Cacao hadn’t had any issues with it in the past, but if he was in a weak state…

“‘Nilla..” Dark Cacao slurred. “Come- come on, don’t be like that.. let-le’me have–”

Pure Vanilla opened his mouth to reply, but all Dark Cacao saw was an opportunity. He leaned forward and messily kissed Pure Vanilla’s cheeks, and then his forehead, and then his lips. This much affection from the king was unheard of, and Pure Vanilla felt himself growing red.

“Cacao,” Pure Vanilla murmured softly. “You are not in the right mind. Stop it.”

Dark Cacao might have been as desperate as a starving hound, but he knew how to recognise boundaries. He let his head fall against Pure Vanilla’s shoulder with a small grunt, his abdomen unnecessarily needy.

“At least..” Pure Vanilla said with a small smile. “That is not to say I won’t reconsider when you’re sober.”

[yummysake-saucegay]

I agree to a certain extent, I think up until the end of S2 they did prioritize their ideals and principles (e.g. Viktor leaving after he finds out Jayce made weapons) - but not always. Jayce using the hexcore and performing necromancy to save Viktor, for example, and not even reacting negatively that Viktor performed those experiments on himself. Also I'm not sure if he ever knew, but also the fact that Jayce killed a Zaunite kid and Viktor doesn't break their partnership off.

2a. Jayce was willing to kill Viktor to prevent the glorious evolution.

Yes, but we don't know what he saw / what mage!Viktor told him. It's possible he knew that wouldn't be the end to Viktor, he also doesn't seem surprised when Viktor approaches him as that hexbot in the council room later. Plus we see glimpses of alternate universes and in at least one of them, Jayce actually can't bring himself to kill Viktor and runs to him instead (shown before he shoots his hammer at him in the commune).

b. I'm not sure he wanted to kill Jayce, he says "allow us a moment of civility" and it seems from the fight like he's toying around with them. Maybe he would have just choked him out to be unconscious or something, but yeah at that point where he's already very much "evolved" it's hard to tell, he could have also tried to kill him which leads to that apocalypse AU in the first place.

"Watering down their ending to just “choosing each other” devalues their sacrifice."

I mean Jayce does say in text that (instead of bringing magic to the people / his initial Hextech dream) he just wants his partner back, so he does absolutely consciously choose him. But he also chooses to stay with him to finish it together and with a big likelihood supposedly die, so I agree it's also "duty"-bound.

4."Jayce and Viktor are well adjusted adults; they have their own lives outside of each other. " Tbh, Viktor is not shown to have much of a support system outside of Jayce. The only characters he interacts with in his daily life are mostly Heimerdinger and Sky (+ Singed but only for the shimmer). And they spend almost every waking minute with each other, as BTS trivia puts them at being awake until the morning often in their labs.

I think Jayvik is one of the very few pairings where I feel like they're completely co-dependent but in a (mostly) non-toxic way.

“this person is the single most important thing my whole life revolves around”

Yeah, I would agree that's usually toxic, but it's fiction and I think Jayvik is one of the rare cases where that (you are the single most important thing in my life) could actually be claimed, mostly because of the reveal in the AU. Jayce chased this dream of magic his whole life when the mage is actually Viktor (I've seen takes about how that's also toxic, saying V steers Jayce's life because of that), he actually would have died already as a child if not for him. And on the other hand, Viktor knows that Jayce and him creating Hextech will lead to the world's destruction, but he still chooses to save Jayce every single time, hoping he will find the timeline where Jayce will stop them. If he genuinely puts the world before Jayce, he could just let him die.

TLDR; “A hero will sacrifice the person they love to save the world, but a villain will sacrifice the world for the person they love.” - Jayce and Viktor are both “heroes.”

I’ve seen many posts claiming Jayce and Viktor “can’t live without the other,” or “will always choose each other over the world.”

This is a huge mischaracterization IMO.

1. Their morals and sense of duty are more important to them than each other

- and that’s healthy! In fact, the foundation of their relationship is their shared values, goals, and convictions.

We see from their first interactions that both Jayce and Viktor want to use science to change the world for the better.

When Viktor realized that shared vision was gone their partnership ended. This rift was exacerbated when Viktor was set on the Glorious Evolution.

But they always had the same underlying goal- to do good for the world. They just disagreed on how.

Their bond was fully rekindled when they had the shared determination to sacrifice themselves to protect the future.

2. Jayce and Viktor are willing to sacrifice anything, even each other, for (what they think is) the greater good

2a. Jayce was willing to kill Viktor to prevent the glorious evolution.

After witnessing the horrific future, Jayce was already determined to do everything in his power to prevent it. His promise to mage Viktor strengthened that conviction even more. When Viktor refused to listen, he murdered him (and he would’ve been gone for good without Singed)

2b. Viktor was willing to kill Jayce for standing in the way of the Glorious Evolution

Viktor genuinely believed his plan will save humanity from suffering and imperfection. When Jayce refused to join him, he would’ve choked him to death (if it weren’t for Mel)

Watering down their ending to just “choosing each other” devalues their sacrifice. They are both incredibly principled and driven by a sense of duty toward humanity.

4. Exaggerating a relationship to be obsessive and codependent doesn’t make it better.

Jayce and Viktor are well adjusted adults; they have their own lives outside of each other. True, their stories are intertwined, but they don’t rely other person for their whole sense of self.

Devotion and commitment are great! Obsession to the point of “this person is the single most important thing my whole life revolves around” is toxic.

Jayce and Viktor already have a well written relationship in canon- why take it to the extreme to the point of being unhealthy?

I think of this especially when people say “Jayce would’ve committed suicide if he survived” but that’s another conversation.

Thanks to @event0horizon for inspiring some of these points

[screwpinecaprice]

Some warm up connverse

[buttercupshands]

Finished themmm

Accidentally

I planned on going to bed early as a celebration, but then I looked at my unfinished pf of Siffrin in the sketchbook and boom couple of hours of sketching, lining and coloring and the beans are now officially paper figured

I can now randomly take photos of them in a forest whenever I feel like it. I have couple pfs on me every day just in case of this happening

[kerorowhump]

I love how it has become increasingly obvious that keroro really loves earth. His ass could never invade in the traditional sense of the word. What he wants to do is bring peace and unity between populations

sidenote, he's always sensitive about being treated as the bad guy because, well, he knows that he is, technically. He knows exactly what his role is, that he doesn't want to do, or acknowledge, that he feels ashamed of, and that when given the choice, he avoids and pretends like it's not a thing.