#I need a thousand fics of this

[stitchlingbelle]

Eugenia Kingsdaughter

So I finally got the courage to read Moira’s Pen and then I went hunting for posts to help me cope emotionally, and now I NEED to talk about “Gitta” because. You guys. Everyone is talking like Gen and Irene were terrible parents and both their kids ran away and everything is sad. And completely sleeping on our girl Eugenia!

First off, the very person who says it’s a sad story is demonstrated to be an unreliable narrator who doesn’t have all the facts. (”Some of the [volumes] are missing”, “[Eddis’ grandson] ordered...”).

Secondly, let’s look at what happened.

Eugenia ran away. There was no politically-arranged marriage to a Braeling prince, no diplomatic exchange, no nothing. She ran away!

And ~somehow~ she just waltzed up and ended up RUNNING THE BRAELS.

The Braels. The country that betrayed her parents, her country, her god.

Can you imagine the LOOK on Yorn Fordad’s face when she arrived? 

Eugenia, daughter of the man who stole three countries, who stole a country herself. We know that Eugenia isn’t just a princess. She is the next Thief, the next chosen of Eugenides-the-God. MWT is careful to mention that she died “falling” asleep.

“We don’t know the queen’s reasons,” said Tykus. Neither do we, since we don’t get to see things from her POV, but we know that she refused to marry her daughter or granddaughter back into the Ephestalian royal family... until Gitta, who had a look in her eyes the day she was born that Eugenia recognized. Gitta she happily sends back to the land of her birth, almost as her last act.

Gitta, who Eugenia wanted to name after herself. The only battle Eugenia ever lost, Hennis tells Gitta, is when their father named her Gittavjøre instead. Well-born.

Eugenia, who ran away and stole a country, never lost a damn thing.

[demaparbat-hp]

Slow mornings in Ba Sing Se.

I needed something soft today, so here's a little sketch for @nerdylizj's breathtaking fic Forgetting is a kind of mercy.

[popponn]

xavier rarely wakes up before you. most of the time, you will find his eyes still closed with his arms clinging to you or around you one way or another. but, on the days when his blue eyes are the ones that greet you first thing in the morning, you will be greeted with a soft whispered ‘good morning’ spoken in his morning voice. these kinds of mornings will start slowly with a shared smile and quiet conversation about mundane, small things. it could be the cat he saw yesterday or that particularly funny part from his dream. then, it will end with his nose brushing against yours gently. sometimes it will lead to a kiss, sometimes he will simply stay there with your forehead against each other’s. sometimes, it will lead to long hours of cuddling and going back to sleep. it is after all that, he will finally start his day along with yours. though, of course, as an end note, even if he doesn’t wake up first, please do always let him begin his days with you. he will still be drowsy—like always—but in a very embarrassingly obvious manner that his expression can’t hide, he will be happy.

zayne seems to develop a habit of taking care of your clothing at some point. it is subtle enough, but it is undeniably there. he often crouches down to tie your shoes for you—without you asking, despite your protests. if you say he doesn’t have to, he will simply say that it is more effective or faster that way, or that he simply doesn’t see a reason not to. if you feel bad, you could return him by doing a favor anyway, he reasons. afterward, it will continue into him adjusting the scarf around your neck, tidying a crease on your collar, or zipping up your jacket right before the two of you go out. he too doesn’t shy from putting your lipstick or lip balm on for you. at some point, during a break day, you might find him sitting on the sofa, reading and watching tutorials about skincare or makeup. if you approach him, expect him to ask you to watch it along with him, though in through mister doctor fashion it might lead to journal and research about cosmetics that he will read to you.

rafayel loves your attention. and it shows—in a very annoying way that unfortunately has found its way to be adorable to your heart. he unabashedly wears a smug smile and keeps on mentioning how you couldn’t stay away from him whenever he spoons you. if you are the one spooning him, turns out he is not above acting like a spoiled brat who demands affection until he is sated. in a way, it is similar to having a puppy that is a fish and a lover at the same time. but beyond all his louder actions, there will always be a part of him that is softer in the way of a cozy rain and a warm blanket. it’s the part of him who will always listen to whatever you say and the part of him that will, will always have you as his ‘happy ending’ no matter what. the part of him that shows itself in the form of a smile full of yearning even when he cups your face with both of his hands. he has his secrets and his affection for you is not one of them. yet, despite everything, it still feels like he couldn’t quite manage to get all of it out for you. so, at least, when it is time for him to give you a glimpse into how much he holds you dear, do give him your undivided attention.

[azuremist]

LET'S GOOOO MY AGENDA VALIDATED

[meta-squash]

I think two of the most important things about Jack Harkness, two things that inform almost everything he does and the choices he makes, are this: that he is a soldier NOT a leader, and that his entire life since childhood has been awash in survivor's guilt (and his whole existence after becoming immortal is an even more extreme version of survivor's guilt).

Jack is not a natural leader. He can think on the fly and he's good at getting people to listen to him, but he's not good at control, or at being objective. He's a natural second in command, he's a soldier. He was brought up to do what other people told him to, and to improvise if he had to (Time Agency, etc). But I really don't think he wants to be the leader of Torchwood. Unfortunately, everything about him means that he has to be. He knows from experience that others having control over him is dangerous, others knowing about his immortality while he's a subordinate to them is dangerous, and he also knows that his own immortality gives him an advantage as a leader. But I don't think he's good at leading. He tries to be. But he's fumbling along, in a time period he's not native to and a planet he's not native to and an unfathomable lifespan, and as charming as he is I think he's often not good with people. He's detached where he should be personal and emotional where he should be detached (or at least more level-headed). He's often too extreme or not harsh enough when it comes to things like discipline or dealing with the problems/traumas/mistakes of his employees or even civilians. He can't handle his employees seeing him uncertain/vulnerable and it makes for huge problems over and over again.

But all of this does make sense because I think in the back of Jack's mind there's always this wheel spinning, these gears turning and turning and calculating the impact and trauma each of his actions or decisions or the events around him are going to have on his own emotions for far longer than normal humans tend to consider. Because the catalyst for any part of the life we see him leading is survivor's guilt. He lost his father and his brother on the same day, joined the military and lost his best friend, joined the Time Agency and lost his memories (and maybe thinks he did something terrible). Then he died, and when Rose brought him back, he was all alone on the satellite with nothing but the corpses of the people who had fought beside him and zero explanation as to why he survived, and he had lost Rose and the Doctor besides. And then all his life on earth since, he has lost coworkers and lovers and civilians he tried and failed to save and probably also aliens he tried and failed to save. And I think by the time he becomes reluctant leader of Torchwood, every action is, whether conscious or subconscious, taken with the intent of minimizing that kind of trauma and the impact of loss.

Except that I think that the survivor's guilt has another layer to it, which is that feeling of needing to sacrifice or absolve himself in some way. No one else is willing to make the difficult decisions, no one else will move forward with the painful and unpleasant actions, even if there's no other way, even though they will someday perish and no longer see the ripples of their actions. But Jack - who cannot die, who must live with the guilt or the pain or the trauma of those actions and decisions for the rest of his very very very long life - is the one who realizes that he must take on those painful responsibilities and must do certain things even though they're terrible, because it ends up being the sacrifice of one over the whole world. And every single time, he's guilty about it, and that makes him want even more to sacrifice his own hurt for the grief and loss of others.

So it's this strange cycle of wanting to protect himself from hurt and from loss and from the survivor's guilt, but being driven by guilt towards painful and/or self-sacrificing actions. Which then makes him fear being seen as vulnerable or uncertain, and he struggles to do things on a smaller scale or in a more level-headed way, because he's not supposed to be leading like this, it's not something that comes naturally, and if he makes emotional connections by being a leader, he'll end up trapped in survivor's guilt yet again each time one of his employees or friends or lovers dies.

It's just a terrible cycle and he's trapped in it for the rest of his existence. Although if he really is the Face Of Boe, then I imagine at some point he eventually finds peace with it all or something, but I think so long as he has a human-form he's stuck with this cycle of leadership and loss and sacrifice and mistakes.

I think it's really important that Jack is not good at his job as a leader. He makes a ton of mistakes, he fucks up so much and his employees or even civilians end up collateral damage, whether physically or just emotionally. He wants to be a good leader, I think, and he's trying, but he's fallible, and he's a stranger in literally every sense, and I think a really big part of his character is that he constantly is forced to live in this bizarre dichotomy where he has to be both very distant and cold and detached, and also very emotional and intense and personal. And any other person would collapse under the stress of repeating that over and over and over again for decades, but he has to figure out how to navigate this weight as an infinite existence that can't ever collapse or let it burn him up and kill him.

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Hey I’m rewatching Warehouse 13 and it’s actually good??? I originally watched it when I was like 12, so I figured it would be one of those things where upon rewatching it I would realize it sucked but still get nostalgia from it, but that is not the case.

Sure the effects are lowkey shitty because it was 2009, but the writing?? Especially for the female characters?? They all have depth, internal conflict, unique character traits, individual strengths and weaknesses, it’s amazing!

I also love the world building. Half of it is based in real history and half of it is fully made up but all of it is fun and engaging and I enjoy it immensely.

[fuumiku]

Chilcille huh... ngl I was a little suspicious. like why would you do that, huh... hope youre not mischaracterizing anyone in your weird and wacky ship. a little weird. but then you said they both had flat asses and you know what? I salute you and your perfect characterization

The fact you seem to think you managed to not make this ask insulting is baffling. What the hell. Fuck off.

If you actually care to be open minded about the ship, I talk about marchil on my sideblog 24/7. Funnily enough I’m currently 4k words deep into an analysis of their character arc together in canon, but that’ll take some more days to get done. Some notable posts:

Of course without counting the analyses of Chilchuck on his own I’ve made, like my masterpost on his family situation. Or better yet you could also read my fics for them, see how weird and wacky they are here.

Wanna talk about mischaracterisation? They’re literally a comedic duo who interacts 24/7. Marchil is crazy bc ppl are like "did those shipper read with their eyes CLOSED?? They have no chemistry!" Meanwhile canon is like: "She’s obsessed with knowing everything she can about him and she reads him like a book." In her eyes he’s like that extra rare and hard and shiny unlockable dating sim character, that brooding mysterious character trope that’s thrilling to crack open and typically is at the center of the plot. The wife roleplay???? "Hey, did you know his type is blondes. Hey did you know he likes his women pretty and blonde. Hey did you know he likes her hair. Hey did you know that he teases her 24/7 and it’s one of the few things that consistently gets him grinning because he finds her reactions cute." Like a schoolyard bully pulling on the pigtails of the girl he likes.

It’s not like they have any thematic narratives or relevance. It’s not like she’ll live to 1000 and has existential dread about it while he’s logically gonna be her next friend to die at 50 and wether it’s romantic or platonic it’ll terrify her to lose him. It’s not like it’s fear of death x fear of rejection so they’re both obsessed with the thought of loss looming, past and ongoing. It’s not like it’s half-elf x half-foot and there’s an inherent journey that was and still is to dispel prejudices and truly come to see each other. It’s not like he’s painfully real and raw and flawed but still a good man, that he’s not the figure of prince charming that she’s always dreamed of while still being virtuous and worth fighting for. Or you know, her hair being golden and it being the epitome of beauty to him, and his hair turning silver and it being Marcille’s worst nightmare.

Just a weird wacky ship who means nothing but shallow things to people who have weirdo reasons for liking it. Like can you not. If you’re not imaginative enough to think of reasons why this ship may have an appealing dynamic that’s not my issue. But yes, yes, they’re both flat asses to me, thanks.

[userautumn]

on the matter of the heart

Evan Buckley / Tommy Kinard | 4k | Rated T

Summary:

Tommy does not shake. He's too old for that, and has seen far too much to let fear overtake his body like an unwanted animal. He was in the Army well before he became a firefighter, and he was a punk-ass kid watching his friends overdose and die on the streets of Los Angeles well before that. So when he hovers over the wreckage of the car accident and sees the mangled remnants of a familiar Jeep, he does not shake. He is steady as Lucy descends onto the highway and secures Evan to a backboard. Steady when she gets him into the helicopter and the smells of blood and gasoline immediately hit his nose like a foul thing. Steady even when they're en route to the hospital and all he can hear is the urgent sound of her voice as the team in the back desperately tries to keep Evan alive. On the outside, he is calm and collected, the stalwart firefighter and soldier he was trained to be. But on the inside, his heart is another matter entirely.

keep reading on ao3

tagging some friends! @kirkaut @kinardbuckleys @kinkdaddykinard @tenisperfection @buckera @dadbodbuck @agenttommykinard @apassingbird

[snaileer]

Behold!🤲🏼

The wildest fic I have ever come across.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Ok Wild Angsters, you wanted a continuation, so here you go :)

Four already knew what he would be walking into. His phone had been blowing up for hours. He’d come in to work early. Whether he was assigned to take care of Wild or not was another matter - Vaati loved to try and take all the admissions, convinced he was the best nurse on the unit. If Four could just keep Vaati out of Wild’s room, he’d consider it a success.

When the charge nurse told him he would be admitting the trauma alert, he knew who he was getting.

Pre-admission jitters always made Four anxious, but this was an entirely other level of fear. He almost wanted to request a different assignment, but it was too late now. What if he couldn’t take caer of him because he was his friend? What if that impair his decision making? What if he just wasn’t skilled enough to handle it? He knew Ezlo wouldn’t give him an assignment he couldn’t handle, wouldn’t be there to support him, but still…

Four went over the supplies in his room once more. Safety checks were fine—they had suction, they had a bag valve mask, the code card was nearby—and he had all the supplies he needed. It was just a waiting game.

Four paced the unit at least three times before he looked at the OR status board again. Wild was still in surgery. He poked in his chart, glancing at injuries, looking at vital signs and anesthesia notes. The last update he saw was that Wild had gotten another unit of blood. Estimated blood loss so far was around 2200mL.

2200mL. That… wasn’t too terrible, Four supposed. He’d… seen worse.

Please don’t get worse.

Four knew for certain that Wild had been mass transfused in the ED. Warriors, his primary nurse when he was there, had told him as much. Between that and the multiple blood products he’d gotten in surgery, as well all the crystalloids he was likely getting as well…

Four took a breath. Then another. He grabbed his phone, texting Warriors. You doing ok?

Wars didn’t reply.

Four wasn’t entirely sure where everyone was at this point. Hyrule had stayed at the hospital, lingering in the emergency department and then the operating room waiting area, but Four hadn’t seen him since he’d clocked in. Warriors and Legend should be getting off shift now, but whether they were going to stay up was another matter. Time was obviously in the OR (Wild’s wreck had been around 10pm, he’d arrived in the ED around 10:45, and he’d been stabilized for surgery and gone to the OR by around midnight - it was 7am now… he wasn’t sure how long this was going to take, but it couldn’t be much longer). Malon should be getting on shift now as well - she had come in last night when everything had gone down, alongside Twilight. Wind had been cautiously left out of the loop until Wild had gone to surgery, simply because nobody had really had much information at the time, so no one wanted to worry the kid until they could figure things out. Everyone had their hands full as it was. But by now, Four knew Wind was either in the OR waiting room, harassing every respiratory therapist he knew, or in the hospital library pacing anxiously. As for Sky, the last Four heard he was bouncing between different people, checking in on everyone.

He clicked through more anesthesia notes, looked at flow sheets for blood products. There wasn’t much to go on, as charting was sparse. What Four did know was that Wild had been obtunded, got mass transfused, had gotten a chest tube, had been intubated, blood was evident in his abdomen, and he had an open femur fracture. He’s been taken to Time’s OR for a ex-lap. Head CT had shown a bleed, and they were monitoring it. That was all the information Legend had told the group when he’d had a moment to spare.

Four’s vocera activated, telling him he had a call from the charge nurse. When he answered, he was told Malon had called and said they’d be finishing up in about thirty minutes and were likely to come up open.

Why was he coming up with his abdomen open? When had they gone from exploratory laparotomy to a full on open abdomen?

Ten minutes later, Malon called back to give report. When Four answered, the first thing he asked was, “How’s he doing? Is he okay? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Malon said, even though she sounded exhausted. “And he’s… hanging in there. I’ve seen worse, I’ll say that. I’ll give you the full rundown, okay?”

Four listened as Malon gave report, feeling his heart settled into his stomach, which was tying itself in knots. Multiple spots of bleeding, possible compartment syndrome in his abdomen, a likely kidney injury due to compression from the bleeding on some major vessels, a small hematoma in his brain… they’d had to call neurosurgery to do an emergency craniotomy out of overt concern of swelling, given that Wild had apparently had previous head trauma, based on what they saw in the OR.

Open abdomen, craniotomy, ICP monitoring, bleeding, one chest tube… this was a disaster. Four swallowed as he wrote, feeling his hand shake a little as his heart raced. He was not qualified enough to be admitting this. He was not.

But the turnaround on his unit was pretty insane, and he was the most experienced nurse on the unit today. At least Ezlo was charge; he knew he’d be well supported.

This was a nightmare. But Four had dealt with nightmares, and he would deal with this. He wasn’t going to screw up taking care of any patient, but especially his friend.

Sighing, he hung up the phone after thanking Malon, pushing worries for her and Time aside, trying to focus on what he would need, who he should grab to help him, and how he should prep his room.

It was time to get to work.

When everyone arrived from the OR, Four made brief eye contact with Time. He couldn’t read much from the man, who was stone faced, aside from the exhaustion evident in the dark circles under his eyes. Four got to work quickly, assessing Wild from head to toe as he looked to see what IV medications he was on. A coworker wrote the note while Ezlo helped detangle his lines (the OR always brought up a mess, after all). Time gave an overview of the surgery, and Four listened along as he checked pupils, as he zeroed the arterial line and the ICP monitor, as he listened to lung and heart sounds, as he checked the chest tube and stripped it with his fingers to ensure patency, as he checked peripheral pulses, as he looked at the abdominal dressing to get a baseline in case there was swelling from bleeding later. One of the techs connected the chest tube to wall suction, and Four looked over his drips. Only having levophed at 2 wasn’t terrible, and he was getting a unit of red blood cells, which was in a transfusion set that was y’d to some lactated ringers fluid. He was on propofol for sedation. Another nurse grabbed a blood gas from his arterial line and sent off labs. His foley he had was temp sensing, and Four quickly ascertained that Wild was cold, so he set up the blanket warmer and covered his friend up.

His friend. His friend.

Four shook his head. He had to focus.

As Time left the room, he put a hand on Four’s shoulder, making him freeze. The surgeon didn’t speak, just locking eyes with him. Four wasn’t entirely sure if it was for his own benefit or not. But he had no more time to let his emotions make any decisions for him. He nodded to the doctor, who nodded in return, and then the two went their separate ways.

This was going to be a long day.

[hishoukoku]

I am always so unfathomably overwhelmed by the look in Hua Cheng's eyes when he gazes at Xie Lian; always full of love, worship, affection and adoration.

The look only given to the one who saved his life,

the one who shielded him from pain,

the one who healed his wounds and protected him,

the one who believed in him when everyone resented him,

the one he died for and always would,

but also the one who became his entire meaning in life and for whom he continues to live, forever!

[buriedinmyownfeelings]

I’m in trouble boys

[twosdays-trash]

Im currently caught in a rut with Marquee moon pt2, so have an excerpt my other wip ive got going in the shapeshifter au-

Everything in its right place - 500 words WIP :3333

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

Even though he had turned down Vale's offer he still sometimes joins the Academy in some of their escapades and training sessions despite not being a part of the academy. It is nice having friends in such a cutthroat sport like MotoGP, but Enea has sadly (or gladly, he supposes) that he has never had the chance or time to build such a close relationship with the other drivers that a falling out would be a devastation. Like how the falling out with Marc and Vale went. The topic has become taboo in the Ranch household, even though you cannot mention racing without either Marc or Vale without there being the intertwining of the two. It's beautiful in a strange way, he supposes. 

Despite this, the bond of the Academy drivers, both Ex and current, is unbelievably strong. A lot of times Enea feels like an outsider to the group though, which he is in a way, but it's still strange. 

There are references and inside jokes that are made that he doesn't understand. Sometimes a joke is made and some of the academy members will give me this wide-eyed panicked look, like he’ll be learning whatever secret reference they made with a four-word joke. 

Enea is a people person, an extrovert. He loves talking and chatting and hanging out with people he holds dear and strangers all the same. So when he starts feeling like he's not wanted somewhere it stings a little bit, but it's nothing new. he knows he's chatty and he knows when to stop based on facial and body language alone. But seeing this behavior come from his friends hurts on a whole new level.

Sometimes it's unbearable. Like there's a tension settled over the house whenever he's there, and Enea knows that it has to do with him. On the bad days, he can always feel someone watching him, staring at him at almost constant times. He asked about it before, sort of.

 Typically on these days, someone from the group is missing, whether that's Vale, Pecco, Bez, Cele, Mig, Franky, or whoever, someone is always missing, and when Enea enters the building and asks “Where are they?” It's like he asked if he could invite Marc Marquez to the ranch or like he killed someone's grandma.

He doesn't understand, and they don't try to help him understand, so he stops trying. When he sees someone missing he stops asking. When they make a joke he doesn't understand he looks at his phone or away to pretend he isn't listening. He starts making excuses now and then so that he doesn't have to go to the ranch and so that he doesn't feel like an outsider with his friends. More and more often it starts to feel like Family PLUS Enea, and he just can't stand that feeling.

It's a slow process, pulling away. He tries to do it slowly, missing a few meets throughout a couple of months, then slowly adding more and more excuses to the board. It gets to the point where he starts scheduling hangouts with other people and sponsoring events on the days that their get-togethers happen. Putting so much effort into missing these hangouts makes Enea feel like an asshole, it weighs on him and he sure as hell hopes that no one can see the amount of pressure it's putting on him.

[idyllcy]

illicit affairs

word count: 2,018

warnings: nsfw, smut, messy sex, mild dubcon. switch!YeXuan

summary: I mean, it's not like he's doing anything wrong if you're the one doing the work, right? Well, even then. You started it.

"I told you, I can't—" Cael leans back as you straddle him, blinking at him owlishly.

"Then don't." You hum, loosening his robe. "Just sit still."

He reaches to pull you off of him, and you tilt your head.

"W-where is this coming from?" He whimpers as you press your hand to his abdomen, sliding down. "Y-you weren't this upfront before."

You lean in instead, lips brushing his ear as he shifts uncomfortably, chuckling breathily. "Yeah?"

He cranes his neck as your lips brush his ears, and the blush on his skin is brutally unforgiving as you giggle. You shift your hips over his crotch as his breath hitches, watching as his breath catches in his throat and he holds back a groan. You do it again, and this time, he manages to hiss out a weak "stop."

"But you were really eager when you were jerking off to me the other day." You mumble, pressing your lips to his, forcing your tongue into his mouth as you lick the roof of his mouth with a satisfied hum. He whimpers as your chest presses to his, and his fingers cling onto the sofa fabric underneath him to try to get him to stop touching you like his mind wants him to.

You pull away from him, strand of saliva connecting your lips to his.

"S-still." He manages, head spinning from your lips as he watches the strand break. God, he wants more. "It's wrong."

"It's not wrong if you aren't doing anything." You hum, pulling your shirt over your head. "You don't know what this feeling is, right? It's a shame you all don't emphasize on this feeling. Besides, with how many worlds I've been in, this should be far from wrong now."

You pull his robe off of him as you roll your hips again, and he moans this time.

"Aww." You coo, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Just sit still and look pretty, alright?"

You spit on your hand as you pump him, blinking at him through your lashes as you stare at him, collecting his precum on your thumb as you slide it up and down, drinking in the way his breath hitches and he whimpers, biting down on his lip to try and stop the sound from coming out. You ignore him as you keep going, forcing your chest to his as he tries to look anywhere but your cleavage, and you click your tongue in disdain.

"Cael, baby." You feign pity. "Do you feel bad for staring when I'm the one inviting you to?"

He turns impossibly more red, and you laugh, pressing a kiss to his jaw as his fingers clench uncomfortably.

"We really shouldn't—"

"It's fine." You hum, speeding up with your hand, lips curled into a cheeky smile. "Come on. You can cum. You know you want to."

Cael's hips stutter as he spills into your hand, eyes widening as he moans lewdly— and you kiss him, drinking up his voice as he pulses in your hand, skin flushed pink and body tense.

You let go once he finishes, licking the fluid from your hand, making a show of it as you stick your tongue out, and you watch as Cael's eyes focus in on your fingers, and you watch as he swallows— his adam's apple bobbing as he does, and you moan at the taste. God.

You stare down at Cael's dick, eyes lighting up as you find that he's still hard.

"Oh? I thought you said you shouldn't do this?"

"I-I really." He gasps as you slide down to put him in your mouth, giving him a lick from the base to the tip. "sh-shouldn't"

His voice cuts off as you take him all the way, lips wrapped around his cock as his tip nudges the back of your throat, and your throat tightens around him as he throws his head back, hair messy underneath him as his mouth hangs open.

"A-ah." His eyes waver as your lashes flutter, and he moves his hand to grab the cushion instead of the seat, whimpering. "I-it's so."

You moan around his cock, feeling him swell in your mouth as your nails dig into his thigh, tears forming in the corner of your eyes as you try and breathe through your nose. Cael pants as you move slowly, caught off guard when he cums almost immediately down your throat, apologizing as you force yourself to keep him there, the salt from his cum hitting the back of your throat. You swallow, him still in your mouth, and you pull off of him, saliva connected to his cock, opening your mouth to show him that you swallowed everything.

He tries looking away.

"Nuh-uh, Cael. Come on, baby." You force him to look at you as he swallows, skin feverish as you press your lams to his waist, holding him down. He could easily overpower you if he wanted to— yet he doesn't. He doesn't know what force keeps him in place, but it makes him dizzy and weird. He didn't know he was capable of feeling such intense emotion for someone. He wanted to deny that he liked you this much for such a long time, and he swore he wouldn't touch you, yet here he is— his cum in your mouth, your bare skin pressed to his as you kick out of your skirt and panties, and Cael has the urge to throw his decorum out and just fuck you how he's always imagined having you since you're already like this, but god he really shouldn't.

"Cael," You press your cunt to his cock, sliding up and down but not putting it in, and Cael feels his self-restraint slipping. "I know you want to. I started it, so it's fine, right? Come on, you know you want to. Come on, don't you want to see me dripping with your cum? Aren't you tired of seeing me end up with tho—"

The last of Cael's self-control snaps as he flips you over, him over you as you grin at him, shaking your hips to show him how wet you are. He sighs, pulling the hair tie from your wrist to his, pushing his hair back to tie it after pulls you in by the hips and using your slick to lube himself, brows furrowed as your eyes sharpen in excitement, whining for him to put it in already.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" He pants, pressing a thumb to your clit as he slides a finger in, curling it inside you as you gasp excitedly. "You wanted to see me snap and give it to you? After so long?"

You nod your head feverishly as he slides a second finger in with ease, curling them against your sweet spot, making you see stars. You drip around him messily— pussy relishing the touch of something. You tighten around him as he slides in further, adding a third finger as you gasp at the stretch, moaning deliciously as he starts moving the fingers, and you whimper sweetly as you feel your orgasm approaching, babbling about how you were cumming, and Cael hums, watching as you squirt all over him, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm as you cry about how you were starting to get sensitive.

He pulls out a little later, staring at the way his wrist got drenched, and he sticks the fingers into his mouth, pulling you closer by the hips, lining himself up with you.

"You sure?" He whispers.

"Just put it in already!" you wail.

He listens, sliding into you all the way, and your lips part as he stretches you, and your head buzzes dizzily as you finally get what you want. You look up to see him staring at you, and you look down at the bulge in your pelvis; Cael presses on it as your breath hitches, and his eyes glimmer mischievously as he presses again, causing you to jolt.

"Cael." You whimper. "Please start moving."

"Patience, sweetheart." He hums, pulling your hips up as he reaches for a pillow to put under your waist, supporting your back as he finally grabs you by the hips and fucks you.

He drags you slowly on his cock at first, watching you as your expression changes as he moves you, taking note of where you catch yourself before you can whimper and where your lips part just a little more than before.

Then, when he gets it, he moves quicker, watching as you throw your head back and moan wantonly, tears in the corner of your eyes as he moves a hand to thumb at your clit, making your head spin deliriously as he picks up the pace, practically ramming into you as you babble about how good it feels, eyes wide as your nails dig into his forearm, holding on for support as you feel an orgasm approaching, gushing around Cael as he fucks you through it, only slowing down slightly before quickening again when your orgasm finishes, and you cry about how you were still sensitive, but it falls on deaf ears, the male chasing his own high after giving you yours.

The hand of his moves from your clit to your chest, pinching your nipple and rolling the bud between his fingers, staining it with your juices as you whimper, and he leans in to kiss you as you squirm beneath him, his hand still on your waist, holding you in place as you let his tongue explode your mouth, a mess of saliva around the two of you’s mouths as you whimper, feeling another orgasm snaking down your spine and around his cock as the hand on your tit moves down to thumb at your clit again, just enough stimulus to send you over the edge with a moan swallowed by Cael.

You clench around his cock as you feel him swell inside of you, and your walls flutter when you cum again, tears sliding down the corner of your eyes as you try to sit up to stop him, but he holds you down with his body. You fall back into the sofa as you feel him pulse inside of you, fingers threading through his hair to pull on it as he speeds up. Wrapping your legs around his back as to trap him, he spills into your pussy with a lewd groan as you moan from being pumped full. His hold on you weakens as your lips meet his again, lashes fluttering as you feel his thumb circle your clit lazily as he kisses you.

"Mmm..." You moan, arching your back as pulls you up, hands on his chest as he holds your waist. He leans back for air and slips out of you as he reaches to the coffee table to grab a tissue to wipe you down. "You're so hot..." You mumble.

He pries your legs open as you use your fingers to spread your pussy, showing him as his cum trickles out— pearly white sliding down your cunt to land on the couch in a puddle, and Cael feels the blood rush to his head again, making him feel dizzy as he wipes you, hand holding your wrists in place as he cleans you.

"One more." You mumble. "Please?"

"No." He mumbles. "You've had your fill."

"You won't even need to do anything." You bat your lashes at him innocently, pretty pout on your lips. "I'll ride you."

"No." He rejects you, letting go of your wrists as he reaches for another tissue, and you pounce, pushing him back onto the sofa as you hold him down by the hips.

"Your dick says otherwise." You lick your lips, positioning above him and bottoming him out in you almost instantly, a sinful sigh slipping past your lips as he fills you again. He slides in easily with a squelch, and you smile at him. "Please?"

He looks to the side, skin flushed again, and he agrees with a whimper.

He could never say no to you anyway.

[skyphloxx]

ok so um. here is a scenario ive had in the drafts for literally over a month and forgot to post. maybe with a second part idk?

i've been thinking way too damn much about clegan and johns dog coded ass and his feelings around body markings. like, hickeys and bites and bruises etc. bear with me this post got really long lmfao.

fuckin. ok. so in a scenario where john and gale are fucking on the side pretty early on after their arrival at thorpe abbots.

everyone knows bucky is a slut, right? bucky can show up with hickeys and bites and red marks and nobody will question it. he might get jeers or crooked grins, they’ll laugh and say he must’ve slept with every girl on base and half the women in london by now, but it’s expected.

buck, though? everyone knows buck’s got a girl. and maybe he wouldn’t be the first guy to say as much and then fold after months of being away from home. but everybody who knows him knows that buck cleven isn’t like that. and anyway, it would be a little odd considering how consistently he turns down any woman who makes a pass.

you see where i'm going here right.

gale can bite the fuck out of john and leave him with bruises purpling from his neck all the way down to his thighs. when they’re alone together it’s the only time he gets to loosen that iron grip he has on himself, be anything less than carefully composed and controlled. outside gale is the fearless leader, who will sometimes joke and rib but has no vices, no faults. with john he is a hungry, wanting thing, all hands and mouth and teeth.

bucky loves it at first. being desired so much kinda drives him wild, knowing that gale wants him so bad, that there’s so much heat simmering under that cool surface. but there’s also something about the act of leaving marks on him that feels like gale’s staking a claim. that bucky allowing himself to be bitten is showing allegiance, or acquiescence, or maybe ownership. something of gale is left there, written across his skin, even if nobody else knows it. the marks say that gale can do what he wants with john’s body, that john is his. he’s painted his name across john’s neck and chest.

bucky doesn’t object to this feeling. like, at all. on its own, that part is amazing. the problem is he can’t do it back to gale. buck is so paranoid about being found out, and the communal living of the barracks adds extra complications. and john understands his fears, of course he does, he knows damn well what happens to men who get blue tickets, and he’ll respect anything that’ll help buck feel safer about what they’ve been doing. he’s pretty sure he’d do anything to keep buck coming back, he needs him that badly.

he fucking hates that he has to be so careful. he wants nothing more than to give it right back to buck, to bite the same kind of lurid purple bruises across his skin. he thinks all too often of how buck would react, his shiver at the scrape of john's teeth on sensitive skin and the low breathy noises he'd make. hates that he can't have that. but mostly he hates how he can't stake any claim over gale he way he feels that gale has over him. if buck can do what he wants with john's body, if his bites mean that john is his, then the inverse must also be true: bucky can't do the same, and gale is not his. he has no claim to stake.

which makes sense, really. as far as claims go, someone's already beat him to gale. that's the whole reason the no-markings rule was established.*

it ends up serving as a little reminder to bucky: that the arrangement he and gale have worked out to keep each other sane during all this? it's temporary. when the war ends buck will be going back to build a home and share a bed with someone, and that someone won't be john. he can't forget that however much gale seems to want him in the moment, he's committed elsewhere. john is a way for him to distract himself from everything else going on around them. he thinks sometimes gale does it as much to distract john as himself. taking pity on him or something. he knows buck still loves marge more than anything. he uses her letters like a lifeline, sniffs her perfume off the paper like it might send him back to her if he works hard enough at it.

someone with a better sense of self-preservation than bucky might try to break it off, disengage, try to soften the blow when it inevitably comes, but.

the marks also remind him that he is gale's. has been. is. will be. for as long as gale will have him. bucky needs him in a way that he doesn't bother to deny to himself anymore. his chest feels heavy with it when they’re together. he knows they're on borrowed time, but that just means john's going to borrow as much of it as he can. avoiding leaving bruises or not using his teeth is nothing, really, he would do so much less (or so much more) if gale asked him, any number of humiliating, desperate things to keep gale wanting to touch him, fuck him. it's fucking pathetic, how much he needs that. john's own stupid hurt feelings are nothing, compared to how much he'd endure for it.

so of course he never brings this whole dilemma up to buck as something that bothers him. he would not dare risk throwing a wrench in their arrangement, which is perfectly functional as it is. they've made it this far via mostly unspoken agreements, mutual willingness to not talk about it more than they need to. john will not even entertain the possibility of breaking that or scaring gale off or somehow ruining what they have. he is already so well versed at suffering in silence, and really this trade off isn't bad. he used to fucking dream of this, the taste of gale's mouth or the feel of their skin pressed together. he can stand being reminded it's temporary. he can stand knowing he's pathetic.

(bucky is a lying liar to himself. he is full of resentment and frustration. he will pretend he's not full of resentment about this for as long as it's physically possible to. gale knows something is up with him but won't say anything too specific about it for the same reason john won't - they don't talk about it if they can avoid it. that's the whole point of unspoken agreements.)

*bucky has not considered that gale would be similarly paranoid even if he was not openly in a relationship and loyal to it (loyal in heavy air quotes lmfao) if not even worse, just because gale cleven is a high-strung freak underneath all the calm collected shit.

[writing-is-a-martial-art]

Another thing about Mistholme the podcast that is occupying the entirety of my brain capacity is that it keeps reminding you to be curious. The guide, that's a funny little fellow, don't you want to know where it comes from? How it feels? How it interfaces with the world and how it is treated? Do you think about what name counts as true? Do you wonder what constitutes a person, and where someone like the beast fits? Could the sea be a person? Could a chair count? Is the question of personhood a useful one to ask at all? What's fate? What's family, and does defining it matter? What's loyalty, really? What's omniscience and what's just knowing things? Think a little more about the mad professor you've written off. Think a little more about the woman obsessed who reminds you of so many of the exhibits where a search for knowledge ended in doom. What's the line between exhibit and staff? What's the line between building and idea?

The very premise of the museum could fall into being a cold and dry archive of misery so easily but it doesn't, because it offers something to every exhibit: it offers understanding, or at least as good an attempt at it as is possible. It is stories of the world preserved with care, it is convoluted personal histories that fall outside of comfortable, easy understanding, that could so easily be simplified into tragedies or cautionary tales, being given the dignity of uncertainty, of nuance, and presented to the world in this way. The museum is full of open-ended stories, it is an open-ended story. What happens next? Aren't you curious? There was a place called the Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity and Mortality, and it wasn't always perfect. But they tried. It mattered so much that they tried.