#I'm going to spontaneously combust into flames

[msachillelaurosfunnels]

Ronnie...

[killerkillerkillher]

Bound to Fall in Love

Angel/Demon! 141 x reader

Tags: kidnapping, sacrifices, religious references, reader is too angry to die, reader commits murder lol, canon typical violence??, reader gets a kissy on the forehead, a tad crack-ish

Inclusivity tags: reader is referred to w he/him and they/them pronouns, no bodily description, no y/n

A/n: call my brain an apple w all the worms it's got. This was just a blurb at first, but I made room in there for me to potentially make it into... something I guess.

minors dni!

"Cole, I can't fucking focus while they're just... staring at us like that."

"Ignore it, Bess. We have to finish these candles."

You wish a bolt of lightening would come down and strike all three of you at once. Or maybe the building spontaneously combusting would be better. Anything, anything, would be better at this moment than watching your boyfriend and best friend work together to light a summoning circle after having tied you up in your sleep.

For a fraction of a second, you wonder if any gods are watching, if any of them would be willing to give you a boon and allow you one last chance to punch both of these betrayers in the face.

"Okay, okay, the book," Bess mutters, going to the pick up her ritual book from the coffee table you bought. Honestly, if they were going to try to sacrifice you somewhere, your living room is one of the most disrespectful places. Probably right under your bed room.

"I'm sorry," Cole has the gaul to look down at you with a face stricken with grief. Like you're dead already. "We didn't know what else to do. We're both in bad places and you've always been so good to us, so we figured-"

"You better hope this fucking kills me." You grunt. Cole's face melts into a glare. "Because if I'm still breathing, it's going to take more than Satan's intervention to save you from me. I swear on my mother." You jerk forward, making him jump back a step.

"Cole...?" Bess looks at you, then up at Cole with unease. Cole doesn't say anything for a second, sorting his feelings out with a leer before turning to her.

"Read the book."

He drags you into the middle of their pentagram while she sings Latin words off the old book pages. The candles flicker and waver before their flames grow twice as tall. Cole rolls you onto your back and pulls a knife from his back pocket.

"I meant it when I said I'm sorry," Cole mutters. You snarl, but don't jump at him like you want to.

"Yeah? Yeah, you're sorry? Kiss my ass!" You shout over Bess's reading. "If I'm still alive after this, I'm killing you and burying you in the fucking septic tank!" You crane your head up so you can see Bess as well. "Time to get some stuff off my chest, yeah? Bess, I fucked your older brother on the day we graduated."

Her eyes go wide, and she almost stops talking, but Cole shoots her a look that forces her to continue.

"And his friend Carl, the one you had a crush on. And Cole? I never. Fucking. Finished. Ever! You are the only person I've dated who couldn't get me off." Cole's hand's twitch around the blade.

"Are you serious?"

"Does now look like a time to- ack!" You don't get to finish because Bess finished the spell and it was time for your blood to fuel it. The blade buries in your gut, turning this way and that way at measured increments. You just lay there and twitch, breathy gasps falling from your gaping mouth, the pain only throwing fuel to the fires of your rage.

"Please, we call you here! Honor us with your presence!" Bess chants. Cole step away from you when the candles roar and your vision is filled with bright red and orange.

The ground beneath you rumbles. Whispers fill your ears, nothing you can ever imagine understanding, but something tells you they're other summoners. Or maybe little souls of those who were just where you are now, with a people sacrificing them.

It's odd, you think as blood soaks your back, your hair. You thought you'd be more scared in what could be your final moments. But there's only anguish where there should be fear. Only unfettered violent tension felt in your muscles, and a tongue hungering for iron and gore. You're jaw is wound tight enough to shatter your teeth.

If you could think straight, if you weren't about to die, you might be a little concerned. Never have you wanted to sink your fingers into someone's soft bits as much as you do now. This is normal, right? A normal amount of rage for the people taking your life.

Something in your gut tells you it's not.

In the fog of your rage, you missed the appearance of a pair of men above you. They hover, leathery plum colored wings sagging. One wears a leather strap harness across his chest, while the other favors an unbuttoned silk shirt. One of them looks at you curious as the fire dies, steam and copper colored smoke bellowing from his mouth. A thick cigar hangs on his lips.

"You came! There's... two of you?" Cole gawks, then falls to his knees beside Bess. You can't help but scoff at their sniveling forms.

"We did. There are." The one without the cigar brushes back his long mohawk to get a better look at the whimpering humans. They're nothing new to them, just another set of weak little things looking to get something without putting in the work for it.

Well, they might have had to put in the work to capture you, based on the way you still squirm and fight the rope keeping your arms together. So much blood has left you. You are going to die. Yet you spend your last moments doing what most humans find to be a waste of precious time. Being angry. It's interesting.

"What do you want?" The bearded one in the silk shirt grunts out around his cigar. Bess lifts her head just a bit to speak.

"We want to make a trade. A soul for a better life for us."

There's a moment of silence. You blink your heavy lids, growing too tired to do much else anymore. Both demons look back at you, then to the kneeling humans.

"They're not dead." They say at the same time.

Bess and Cole stiffen and finally chance a glance at you. You're bleeding, a glassy look to your eye and a smile on your face, but you're not dead.

"See, Bess?" You cough up blood only to swallow it back down, "what did I tell you? The cunt can't make me come and can't... can't even make me go."

The mohawked devil pops a wicked smile, not even hiding it from his would-be contractors.

Cole fumes. "I can finish the job. Fuck, am I going to finish the job." He stands, moving to step into the circle only to yelp, the invisible border around the summoning circle becoming visible if only to shock Cole back.

"Not so fast," the bearded one spawns a scroll in his hand. He's eyes glow a molten orange as he scans it. "Section 1, clause 3, part 19 states: executioner(s) must sacrifice one(1) human soul to contractee(s)... Let's see... Here it is: Sacrificee(s) must be dead upon arrival so that proper collection can be done. If sacrificee(s) is still soul bond upon arrival, then they are made the true contractor and all work will be conducted with them."

"In other words," the mohawked one grinned, "you should have went for the heart." He taps at his chest.

"Or the neck." The other devil offers.

"Or that vein in they're thigh."

"The sephenous, Johnny."

"Yeah, that."

"No, no!" Cole grabs at his hair as Bess looks like she's about to start crying. You want to laugh. They deserve the despair. They deserve the horror in their mistake. They were going to kill you!

"That means," the devils lean back to look at you. "You're our contractor. You get two requests at the price of one, human. I suggest one of those requests includes healing you." He flicks the ashes of his cigar on your leg. You don't even have to think of what you want most right now.

"I want you to untie me." You roll on your side. They wait for the rest. Cole and Bess look like they're going to shit themselves from the pale faced looks of terror they give you. Your eyes narrow. "And a hammer. A old fashioned iron and wood handled hammer."

Another beat of silence before the infernals bend over in laughter. The room shacks, sulfuric smoke pouring from their mouths to funk up the room. Cole tries to cox Bess to her feet while they're distracted. Their feet can't move though. It's like they're glued in placed and no amount of pulling and tugging could get them loose. Shame.

"Yer a funny one, love. I'll love having your soul for a few eternities." The one in leather floats over you, tilting his head this way and that way to get a good look at you. You settle him with a neutral look. "My name is Johnny. You sure that's what you want? I think you've only got a few minutes left in you."

"Then let's hurry this up a little, huh?"

"Ooh, you heard 'em." The cigared one snickers and snaps his claws. Two contracts appear in front of your face, both written in a language you can hardly comprehend. A pen appeared in front of your mouth. "Sign on the dotted line please."

You take the quill in your mouth, dip it in the blood beneath you.

"Rah 'ere?"

"Mhm."

You lean forward to dot the paper with your sloppy signature, but bizarrely enough, it seems like the powers that be have decided that they haven't made enough appearances. The floor trembles, and you worry about your poor infrastructure for a fraction of a second, when a set of gold doors spawn right behind you. You roll back onto your back to intake everything. You swear you're hallucinating when a pair of white winged angels step out, the clouded blue of heaven at their back.

"Hello?" You greet stupidly. You must be losing your mind, right? What the fuck is happening.

"Do not sign a thing." The bronzen angel instructs. "Human, we are here as messengers. God sees great things for you in your ascension. Please do not squander that to these demons." He shoots a sharp look at the demonic pair. The angel's counterpart wears a white cloak, obscuring all but his glowing golden eyes. You half expect him to sing "Be not afraid." despite you actively shitting bricks.

Oddly enough, their appearence seems to have some sort of healing property. Your lethargy starts to clear and the blade in your gut starts to get pushed out. Nothing hurts anymore.

"Oh, so we've got a big soul on our hands here, huh?" Johnny smirks. "Price, what's the plan?"

Price the devil throws his cigar to the ground and crushes it.

"Do what we do best. Bargain."

"Don't play with us, Price." The shrouded angel grunts. He's got a mind piercing voice that's got your head ringing, and you swear it echoes despite the room being well furnished. "We can provide them with just as much, if not more, at no cost of their soul." Those gold orbs land on you. "All we ask for is your faith."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You tug at your bonds with renewed vigor. The angels wince at the mention of their Lord, but only watch as you force yourself upright. "I could not give a rat's ass who gets what! How about this? First one to get me free and a hammer in hand gets my loyalty."

There's two resounding snaps from either side of you. The ropes disappear, a hammer is in your left and right hand. You don't think deeper on what that implies. You finally stand, dropping the hammer in your nondominant hand, and march over to the two people you thought you could trust. They kneel now, seemingly ready to beg for their souls.

"Come on, don't look scared now." You drop your hands on your hips. "What happened to you finishing the job?"

"I didn't want-"

"Say it with your chest." You poke his breast plate with the iron hammer head.

"I didn't want it to come to this!" Cole yells. The divine audience doesn't say anything about it. They watch you curiously as you bounce the hammer in hand. Your soul is visible to them. What should be a glowing ball of light is a red and white morning star, all sharp edges and pulsing like a heart. Your soul will certainly not end up with the others, that much is true.

"I just... I couldn't keep up with you! Your life style, the way you act, your job. I never left good enough. Bess expressed the same thing and we just... clicked. We would have just left, but we could have never lived without struggling, so we just..." He swallows. You can't look at him anymore, hands clenching at what he says next. "The book called for someone we cared for."

''That supposed to make me feel better?" You tilt your head. Cole winces, eyes falling on your feet. You look to Bess. "Thought you were better than this. You were going to kill me. Because what, I was happy? I loved both of you, you could have just talked to me."

"We're sorry! What more do you want?" Bess sobs. You straighten up, bouncing the hammer on your hip, acting like you next action is something to deliberate. You already know what they deserve, and a flash of sadness bubbles in your chest, but it quickly passes as a hot, searing emotion burns a hole into what little hesitation you had left.

"Reckon I want your souls after all the shit you've caused." You grin before swinging the hammer back and caving in Cole's chest.

"Fuck..." is all you can say after everything is done. Cole and Bess lay in a bloody heep, all recognizable features destroyed and crushed. You pant, hands trembling and nothing but white noise and static crunching around in your head. You just killed your best friend and boyfriend. For some reason, you've never felt so light.

Someone's whistle gets followed by a clap.

"Impressive. Done that before?" Johnny chuckles. He floats closer, hand running down your back as he moves past and pokes around the pulped organs. "Shite, did them right in. Can't tell which is which."

"I've never-" you start to answer, but hands are clapped onto your shoulders, shocking you into silence.

"Well, that was a good place to start, lad. Your swings were a bit sloppy, but we can fix that." Price squeezes at your trapezius, massaging the stiffness out of them. A throat clears, and Price sighs like he forgot there was other company.

"We aren't finished. The human is our ward now, Price." The uncloaked angel snaps his finger, pulling you from Price and making you spawn between the two angels. The bronzen angel smiles down at you with teeth so white you could damn near see your reflection.

"There you are. It's nicer to have you close. My friend here is Simon and I'm-"

"Come on, Kyle, you know he's ours!" Johnny spits, his wings flaring out. "We gave him the hammer first, so piss off."

"Uh...huh." Kyle's smile falls. "I think you're a bit mistaken. Look, after executing the human's request, I have his name here." A stone slab appears in front of your face. It's smells like sunshine and warm grass. What the fuck. "His pledge to the Lord has been set and his soul already has a place next to Their throne."

"Right, right, like we don't have documentation neither." Johnny huffs. The stone disappears as a scroll appears next to the devil. The smell of sulfur and smoke wafts over to you. "His name is right there, pretty boy. Getting yer fuckin' lookers on."

Kyle ignores the rude tone and does pull out a pair of reading glasses to go over the scroll. You stand there in the silence, a little too scared to speak up. What could you do anyway? In a blind anger, you didn't really have the mind to think any of this out. Angels and devils are fighting over you because you'd stupid ass was too blood hungry to think past murder. All that can be done is for them to figure this out amongst themselves, and for you to wait for the sentencing. Heaven, or Hell?

"...Simon." Kyle slowly pulls his glasses off. "This is legit. His soul is promised to all of us."

You glance up at Simon, the scary motherfucker. He blinks. Once. Twice. Then pinches the bridge of his nose with a hagard sigh.

"Shit."

That's not good.

Johnny laughs, Price grinning like a dog with a bone. Kyle marches over to you, patting your shoulders with an awkward smile. His demeanor reminds you of the way your mom acted when she said she was going to divorce your dad. And all you can think is "Not this again." Are you going to be spending your afterlife going between heaven and hell forever? Does God get weekends because Their day is Sunday or whatever?

"We need to go and talk this over with some superiors. We'll clean this up," Kyle snaps and the gore is gone, so is the ritual circle and candles. "And we'll get back to you in the morning." He places a feather light kiss on your forehead, and suddenly you're squeaky clean and in the softest set of pajamas you've ever worn. "Stay safe while we're gone and don't allow these two to influence you. Get some rest."

"Blah, blah, blah," Johnny mocks from the sidelines. Price tilts his head, and there's nothing but amusement behind those eyes. Yeah, this is exactly like your parents divorce.

"O-okay? I mean, I'll try." You shrug.

Simon nods. "That's all you can do." He steps back into the golden doorway and Kyle falls in stride. You make some distance, and with a final wave from a white toothed angel, the doors shut with a slam that shakes the house's foundation.

"Just you and us now, stud."

You turn with a comedic slowness to the devils. Price chuffs and floats forward. His assess you, takes you in in all your fluffy white pajama glory, and it seems he finds what he wants when he nods.

"Guess we've got to talk with top brass to see what's going on ourselves. Pity we couldn't stick around longer." The devil's eyes never meet yours, staying glued to various parts of your face. They hop from ears, to your eyebrows, down to your lips. Christ on a bike, is it getting hot in here? His blue, glowing cerulean eyes appear to flash with something.

"Shite, yer right." Johnny groans. "I hate going down there."

"Suck it up, love. You know how I feel about sharing." Price drops his interest in you like an old toy and takes Johnny close by his waist. You watch with a lead poisoned stare as their noses touch intimately, words you can't hear being exchanged. It's kinda of awkward to just stand there and watch but your brain isn't really functioning well enough to tell you to stop.

"Hey, stud." You blink, refocusing on the pair. Johnny seems to have climbed his partner, his legs on his waist and arms around his neck. Price makes busy opening a portal to hell in your livingroom with one hand, supporting Johnny under his ass with the other. "Sit pretty, yeah? 'll be back before those two arseholes, promise."

"Right... yeah." You nod. "Uh, be safe?"

"Be safe, he says." Price mutters. "Cute." Johnny waves until Price steps through the infernal hole and falls from view. The portal closes right behind him so you'd have no hopes of seeing anything but the red hue of smog and dust.

And here you are. A little dazed, a little sad, probably holding back a break down from the last hour of events. But you're alive and you're healed. There's no blood to clean, you're in comfortable pajamas. Could probably sleep right now if your brain would stop for a minute, but it doesn't look like that's in the plans.

So you look for something to do. Cole and Bess and moved around all your furniture to make the summoning circle. Guess you can start there, right?

[moccasins]

YES. EXACTLY

i've read the comic a million times, i basically have it memorized at this point. it's a problem. and he was kinda a jerk to life at the start too. he stumbled across her garden on accident and saw how much she disliked him and thought "you know what. i'll come here as often as i can" knowing full well how much she didn't want him to do that.

but as they started to get closer, he'd still mess up like that. she'd show him a beautiful bird and he'd tell her a story about crows eating a human alive and when she looks at him in horror is when he realizes "oh. that's probably not an appropriate story.."

he doesn't get social cues, he can't read a room, and the only stories he can tell are ones that are just disturbing. he's not a bad person, he's just never had the experience to learn what's ok and what's not. he was made and immediately thrown into his job, everyone hates him, and he hates them back. that's just asking for disaster.

and that's how he acts around gods. imagine how much of a disaster he'd be around mortals..

you know what. in afterdeath, nay, any ships involving reaper, any dynamics involving reaper, i need his status as a god to be realized more. and i don’t mean extreme shows of power (which btw i LOVE, especially if it’s nightmare getting his ass beat bc he lowkey deserves it), or the types of art where he’s the size of a tall building (which i also love)

i mean i need him to struggle with morals, with what mortals need to keep themselves alive and satisfied, struggling with figuring out what people normally do with friends or lovers, how to make them happy, forgetting to make them happy. i need him to break a social code that he just doesn’t understand because they don’t exactly have those kinds of unspoken rules in the heavens. i need him to do something that hurts someone he cares about by mistake, because he just isn’t used to what mortals need, how fragile they are (both physically and mentally) compared to him.

things just don’t apply to him and the other gods the same way they do to everyone else. and i want that shown more. i want him to struggle with social etiquette because the only people he really talks to also struggle with that because they are gods, not people. they don’t live in a society 😔

i need him to be blunt about loss, because he’s never felt it before (ASSUMING this takes place in either a version of reapertale where life doesn’t die, or he just never meets life). i need him to be inconsiderate and neglectful without realizing, because he doesn’t need to eat or drink or shower or sleep, he forgot mortals need to do that, and that mortals have emotional needs as well. he can’t just go to work for weeks on end and come back without warning, but he doesn’t get why for a while. time is meaningless to him, but painfully valuable to mortals.

he doesn’t see the day to day life of mortals (take a shot for every time i’ve said mortals jfc), only the end of it. he doesn’t grasp it. what i’m saying is make him a bit more like that one scene in steven universe. “can’t you just talk to me like a real person?!” “i’m… not a real person.”

i also need him to improve on this behavior after being informed, obviously not perfectly i mean in a realistic manner. i am not saying you should make him toxic. just clarifying. don’t make him an abusive prick or bad partner for no reason i just want his status as a god, confused about mortals (yet another shot) and their needs, to be used more bc it’s interesting

[abiiors]

canvas 🎨 // matty healy x reader

a/n: matty painter au because i have gone slightly insane idk. i love the interview these photos are from <33 got weirdly poetic with this i'm so sorry

the author heard "paint me like one of your french girls" and took it too far :)

cw: paint play???? cum play if you squint (yeah ik paint is toxic but these people are Very Horny)

wc: 3.4k

there are streaks of paint on her hips. 

a smudge of yellow right under her navel, fingerprints of blue, touching, moving, caressing the apex of her thighs as they slowly morph into green and disappear somewhere between her legs. 

she lounges lazily on the chaise, a bunch of red grapes dangling in her hands. when matty takes a break, she quickly pops one in her mouth. it bursts with a pop, grape juice pooling at the corner of her lips and sliding down, down, down. it disappears somewhere on her skin. 

matty’s breath hitches and he digs his nails deeper into his palms. 

“could you fold your leg a little more, please?” his voice sounds husky to his own ears.  

“please?” she raises an eyebrow, “since when did you start being so polite?”

“since this is a professional relationship,” he grounds out through gritted teeth. instantaneous. he's not unfamiliar with this back and forth by now.

matty looks up at her once again and sees her eyes, alight with mirth, looking right at him. it’s a peculiar feeling, he realises, he wants her to never look away from him again but he is also about to spontaneously combust.

each stroke of the brush reveals more and more of her lithe body; the curve of her hips that dip into her waist, the soft velvet of the chaise bunched up under her shapely legs. 

“eyes at the window, please,” he chastises gently. the thought of her dark gaze on him as he paints is too much to bear. 

this is not the first time he has painted with a nude model alone, even a female nude model for that matter. in fact, matty prides himself on the fact that he’s a consummate professional, that he has never been sleazy with any of his nude models. but she seems intent on pushing all his buttons. 

they had met a few months ago at a fancy tribeca bar. he had been celebrating his newest exhibition at a modest art gallery and she, the extension of her visa. they took to each other like moths to the brightest of flames. he soon learned that she was, like him, a starving artist. except her medium of art was her body. she had modelled for all kinds of designers all over nyc but she had yet to ‘make it’. 

he still remembered the way the smoothness of the live jazz band had permeated through his bones. the old fashioneds he had been drinking had created a nice buzz when he had heard her order a dirty martini in a very distinct accent. 

“come work for me,” he had said before the alcohol and drugs had consumed all rational thoughts. all that remained from that night were vague memories of red lips, fingers that trailed down his stomach and flashes of ecstasy. but now those same fingers rest in front of her abdomen, just inches away from where he wishes his head was. so matty has to swallow roughly and go back to his canvas. 

the painting is nowhere near being finished. he has only just finished the outlining process a few days ago but the thought of being here in this cramped space with her is too much to bear. matty’s grip on his brush tightens involuntarily. 

he mixes the colours on his easel carefully. matching the perfect shade of her skin is damn near an impossible task. there are shades of golden and then there is the pale hollow of her throat that he so desperately wants to mark up. how pretty she would look with a necklace of marks left by him. how her lips would part, sounds of ecstasy escaping, echoing in his studio, inside his skull for days. 

the brush digs into his hands as his thoughts reach a crescendo. a loud cracking sound resonates through the room and her eyes snap to him once again; this time a startled expression on her face. but it doesn’t long before it morphs into one of amusement and slight smugness. 

matty’s face pales when realisation dawns. he gripped the brush so tightly that it snapped in half. splinters of the wood dig into his fingers and he takes it as a welcome opportunity to walk up to the bin in the corner of the room. 

anything to escape her dark and knowing gaze.

“everything okay with you?” she asks and he bristles at her tone, at the way she doesn’t even try to conceal her amusement. 

“yes,” he has to clear his throat before he can speak again, “yes, perfectly fine.”

matty wants to set fire to the canvas in front of him. 

or perhaps it’s the sweat that gathers at the back of his neck and runs down his back that’s making him feel so irate. it bothers him more than it should, her stare bothers him more than it should. 

“window,” he reminds her through pursed lips. it’s better to use as few words as possible. that way they can get this done quickly and go home and he won’t have to think about her again till their next appointment…

but who is he kidding? matty knows she will be there, present in his waking and sleeping thoughts, burrowing herself in his brain, in its crevices like a permanent splotch of paint on his carpets. 

“i told you to look at the window,’ he says. his voice is gruff and commanding. 

“and i told you that i liked it better this way.” it’s a challenge—open and daring. her gaze refuses to leave him as she slowly gets to her feet.

matty freezes in place—it’s stupid, he knows it. he’s been staring at her naked body for hours now, memorising its contours and immortalising them on his canvas. watching her stand like this in front of him shouldn’t bother him. shouldn’t make his mouth go dry. the traces of paint between her legs beckon and taunt him. how easy it would be to worship her—first with his mouth and then with his hands. 

how sweet would she taste, melting on his tongue?

“what are you…”

“let's take a break.” she stretches, fingers intertwining together as her arms lift high above her head. her eyes close in satisfaction, a soft sigh falling from her lips. the sun warms the room. the sight heats up his blood. 

“your robe is on the table,” matty points to a corner of the room, averts his gaze with great difficulty. as expected, she smirks because to her it’s a cat-and-mouse game. and he’s her prey.

“why? does it bother you?”

footsteps pad softly towards him, the carpet rustles but he doesn’t stop her from walking to him. a small part of him likes knowing that the sway in her hips is for him. likes knowing that he haunts her thoughts just like she haunts his. 

“no.”

lies. a rouge and traitorous thought slips through.

matty is sure she can feel his racing heartbeat when she stops right in front of him. their chests touch, separated only by his flimsy cotton t-shirt. the proximity makes him realise how he towers over her, how she has to tilt her head to look him in the eyes. it’s a rather pleasing angle on her. the red smudge on her lips drives him mad. 

“tell me, matty,” her accent snags on his name as she flicks her eyes to his lips, “is this how professional relationships work here?”

she’s throwing his words back at him; teasing, taunting. her big eyes bore into his. matty’s cock twitches in response. the golden sun floods the room, illuminates everything in its path and he is once again struck by how beautiful she is. how much he yearns to hold her by the waist, to capture her mouth, to hear her soft sounds and loud moans. how much he yearns for her. 

his thoughts are fuzzy. he’s not thinking straight, he hasn’t been ever since she’s walked into his life, in his studio. his brain short-circuited the moment she shed her soft silk dress, the moment he watched the straps fall down her shoulders and the fabric pool around her ankles. 

he’s not thinking straight when he pulls her closer by her waist. 

“no,” he breathes, eyes already fluttering shut as her scent hits his senses anew. “you’re just an exception.”

when their lips crash against each other, something comes alive in him. a missing piece of the puzzle, a colour he’s been trying to mix just right. his heart thumps in his chest to the beat of the song playing in the background. an old jazzy french tune that has been stuck in his head all day. something that reminds him of her, of the curve of her hips and the softness of her hair.

“matty,” she moans right in his mouth. his name on her tongue exploring the inside of his mouth. her skin feels slightly sticky with paint and sweat. 

it feels like an out-of-body experience at first. the fingers caressing her jaw move so confidently leaving streaks of red in their wake. in an instant, he forgets about the painting. 

the kisses are raw and hungry, bordering on feverish. matty’s table clutters when she pushes him against it, her naked body pressed flush against his. goosebumps litter all over his skin, electric tingles that shoot straight from her fingertips and zap through his bloodstream. 

“say you want me,” she all but moans. “i know you do. i see–fuck, i see how you look at me.”

matty smirks at the way she almost loses her train of thought as soon as he nips at her skin. it’s the hollow of her throat that’s been driving him crazy—unmarred and soft. his teeth graze her pulse point, leaving behind soft pink marks that he soothes with his tongue. 

“i want you,” he licks over another bruise. “so bad—can’t think straight sweetheart.”

and it’s true, it’s never taken him this long to finish a painting before. hours of staring at her and he still can’t seem to get enough of it.

“so fuck me then.” her head is thrown back at this point. her voice is distant to matty’s ears, still he hears the lust in it. the want. and it fuels his own. 

she is art, he thinks. she should be his masterpiece. an idea forms in his head, bright as a star, a vision he sees so clearly. or it’s just hallucinations of a horny brain. either way, he breaks away from the kiss, grasping at her jaw roughly. 

“get on the canvas,” he commands. and she obeys without hesitation.

“on your back. and lie still.” even with his dominant side, there is a softness to matty and so she does as she’s told. 

he has to stop and marvel at the sight—she’s a vision on his half-finished painting of her, hair fanning out in unruly waves, nipples hardened. she comes alive under his stare, smiling smugly at matty’s unabashedness, at the way his eyes linger—first on the swell of her breasts to the curve of her waist and between her legs where wetness gathers the more excited she gets. she wants him to touch her, whines for it even. and he wants to give her what she wants. but not so easily. not like the first time when both of them were too drunk to appreciate each other’s bodies. 

this time he wants to remember. more than that, he wants to make it memorable. 

he dips both his hands in a dish full of paint, pink on the right, grey on the left. matty settles on his knees, right between her legs, parting them further with his paint-stained hands. the colours mix with the preexisting streaks on her body, greys with greens and pinks with yellows. matty’s mind swims with possibilities. 

“what are you waiting for?” she tuts, hooking her legs around his waist. paint sticks to his trousers. colour blooms high on his cheeks. 

when matty bends to capture her breast in his mouth, she gasps sharply. he’s briefly aware of the coolness of the paint that’s now on his stomach, a new shade of pink that morphs into something else the more they move against each other. 

“i never knew you made such pretty sounds,” he praises, tongue moving between her breasts from one nipple to another. he smirks when her legs tighten around him. 

“keep doing more of that,” she pants, “and i’ll give you any sounds you want.”

matty chuckles, mouth moving lower. now that he’s started, it’s impossible to stop or slow down. his hands trace the length of her thigh, smudging the old colours on smooth skin, mixing them with new ones as he traces a finger up to the apex. she squirms under him, hips thrusting into his.

she’s soaking wet and panting; practically dripping onto the canvas. it’s mesmerising to him, how her cheek presses against the white surface, leaves behind hypnotic patterns. 

her fingers are on the column of his spine, nails scratching softly as she traces his skin. matty feels himself growing harder, head spinning as all his blood rushes south. he wants her, he needs to feel her, to be inside her. 

“such a good little pet,” he mumbles against her mouth, lips capturing hers in a searing kiss till she’s writhing under him and clenching around nothing. 

“please, matty,” she begs. her hands move faster, fumbling with his belt. she all but rips it off him as desperation and instinct take over. matty watches transfixed. 

the ruby red of her swollen lips, the silvery sheen on her face. the necklace of mottled mauves he’s left around her throat—it’s prettier than anything he could have come up with himself. 

“beautiful,” he whispers on the shell of her ear and feels her shiver under him.

the sound of his zipper tears through the room. matty hisses with pleasure, eyes fluttering shut as she palms him—first over his boxers, then playing with the waistband. 

“touch me,” he pleads, unable to help himself, and watches her pull his cock out.

matty loses himself in the feeling of her hands wrapped around him, the way she rakes her nails down his length, traces the vein pulsating along the side. his stomach tightens with pleasure. 

“please,” she whines again, “need you in me, please.”

and this time he obliges, lining himself against her entrance. he moves his hand between their bodies, finding her clit and rubbing the bundle of nerves in circles. their bodies are so close that matty only needs to bend down to kiss her again. but he stays where he is, tip teasing her entrance, fingers flicking her clit. he wants to watch her fall apart under him, around his cock, again and again. 

“like toying with me, do you?” she wraps a hand around his base, lining his dick against her entrance properly. matty knows she can take charge if she wants to but he’s not about to let that happen. not today. 

“someone’s needy,” he tuts. in truth, he loves her needy whines, her desperation and at last matty gives her what she wants. 

he thrusts into her slowly, fingers still rubbing her clit at a steady pace. his other hand is next to her face, leaving behind smudges of pink in the vague shape of his palm. her eyes are rolled back her head, mouth parted—the room echoes with soft sounds. 

“harder–shit,” she moans. “please…”

“begging is a good look for you,” he whispers cheekily. the primal, male part of him can’t help itself. 

matty rocks into her, bottoming out again and again. 

“so tight baby, so wet for me,” he gasps as his thrusts come faster. she trembles under his touch again, letting out a string of curses. matty can tell she’s close as she clenches around his cock again and again. 

her nails rake down his back, on his shoulders, leaving behind scratches and cuts but none of them particularly care about it. all matty cares about are her moans and cries, the way she says his name again and again. 

“gonna cum,” she pants, “go faster, please–please.”

so matty does; grabbing her hips, he thrusts into her over and over again, increases his pace to the point where it’s bruises. filthy sounds of flesh slapping on flesh fill the room, moans from them both. matty loses track of time, of his surrounding, until he feels her clench around his cock and let go with a cry. 

“so pretty,” he coos and can’t help but trace a finger down her nose, along her bottom lip. “such a good girl for me.”

“come on pretty girl, i know you can cum for me one more time.” her pretty little whimpers shoot straight to his cock as he goes faster still. “you're so good for me, so fucking good around me, fucking made for me.”

“made for you,” she repeats, “ye–yes. go faster. shit.”

matty groans when she wraps her legs around his waist. it’s sudden, between one thrust and the next he’s suddenly reaching deeper than he was before. they both cry out as intense pleasure swirls in matty’s belly. 

he’s close, he can feel it. he just wants to coax one more orgasm out of her, watch her fall apart one more time. he wants to bottle up the noises she makes, for his ears only. 

his pelvis grinds on her clit, rougher than before. the intensity of it is blinding. the fire runs right under his skin, ready to consume everything in its path and burn him in ecstasy. 

“you can cum for me again, yeah? let go, darling,” he coaxes, and lowers his mouth to hers again, swallowing away her moans and cries. matty runs his tongue on her bottom lip, nipping at the corner of her mouth. 

her face is wet with tears of pleasure. he knows she’s overstimulated, struggling to keep up with him but she cries out again. a sob rips out from her as matty feels her cumming around him again, legs twitching as he fucks her through her orgasm. 

their sweaty skin sticks together, rubbing against each other and mixing paints. but matty knows what he wants, knows how to finish the final piece of his art. 

“iie still now,” he commands, “gonna cum on your pretty tits. you want that?”

“please,” she nods vigorously, hissing when he pulls out of her in one go. her back arches off the canvas, fingers curling on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. he’s marked forever. 

matty fists himself, once, twice, head thrown back as he cries out her name. he feels his cock twitch one last time, balls tightening until he’s spurting out thick white ropes of cum all over her tits, her stomach. it pools in her navel and puts a sheen of milky white on the paint. matty watches, mesmerised. 

he’s never felt this perverse satisfaction before. this much primal possessiveness. 

“fuck–fuck, matty,” she breathes hard, eyes still closer and hands in her hair as she comes down from her high. 

matty can’t help himself as he places a finger in the mess he’s made. he traces it in arbitrary shapes, swirls and lines, mixing colours and spreading his sticky release on her until his fingers reach her jaw. 

cheekily, she opens her mouth. an invitation—the desire to taste him written all over her face. so matty obliges, moaning when she swirls her tongue around his fingers, sucking them cleaning. her cheeks hollow from the effort of it. for a moment he feels like putty in her hands until she lets go of his fingers with an exaggerated pop. 

“like seeing me like this?” her voice is hoarse but the tone is still smug. like a cat that got the cream. “covered in you, naked. do i look pretty?”

matty rolls his eyes, “got what you wanted, didn’t you?” and watches her flutter her eyelashes. and she does. look pretty that is. she looks like a masterpiece. his masterpiece. 

“i always do,” she grins, hooking her arms around his neck to sit up. matty watches the cum run down her chest. 

“clean me up?” she asks sweetly, “and then we can look at the art we made.”

[inkblot22]

(PS I don’t actually know the source material for idia I just stumbled upon one of your fics while looking at FFXIV Yandere fics so sorry if this sounds OOC)

I’m not super creative but what do you think might actually be Idia’ routine with his darling? Does he fall into any routine, does it change a lot?

Have a wonderful day (and happy late bunny day!) 🫶

I actually am of the opinion that this is a very creative thought! You should give yourself more credit. I like to idealize the day to day life, but it never occurred to me that writing it down might be a good idea. On that sentiment, I think maybe Vil or even Leona would have a better day to day routine. Dividers by @/cafekitsune

Also, wow, what a pipeline, FFXIV to twst?? You've got good taste lmao welcome to my blog.

I'll put this under the cut, and I'm also not promising that this will be very good. I use the 24 hour clock. I am constantly getting told irl that American people don't do that, but I'm evil, so I'm putting the times in 24 hour clock format.

TW for mentions of noncon, coercion, captivity, someone keeping someone else awake, a hint of Idia being an asshole

+ Idia doesn't really seem like he has much of a set schedule, but Ortho absolutely does and Ortho is lowkey kind of bossy, so...

+ Yeah uh, Idia's partner is absolutely out of luck. Idia likes night gaming a lot, and he gets loud, so good luck sleeping. Idia himself goes to bed late and wakes up whenever the heck he wakes up. He could go to bed at 0300 in the morning and wake up again at 0700.

+ As his kept partner, the schedule is a little more normal, like I said. Ortho doesn't really need to sleep from what I understand, (I haven't read all of book 6, no spoilers or else I WILL temporarily block you) but it's silly to imagine that he doesn't wake up or attempt to wake up everyone else around him as early as 0600.

+ After waking up, Idia will eat breakfast. I think it'd be delivered usually since Idia and his partner are basement dwellers, one by nature and the other by force. After breakfast begins work...

+ Or procrastination. Idia flip flops between extreme focus on what he should be doing and what he should not be doing. He manages to get his schoolwork done, but more often than not, he's asking his partner to cuddle up and watch a movie, drama, or his fingers flying across the keyboard. Idia will not ask them to cuddle if he is doing schoolwork or virtually attending classes.

+ I like to think that he smells smoky, on account of the flaming hair, and he runs hot, so prepare to SWEAT. In the case his partner doesn't really want to hang out with him, he will usually sulk and only occasionally get upset to the point of doing something about it.

+ I don't think he showers every day. I think he's an every other day type of showerer, based solely on him not being particularly active. This means that his partner doesn't have to run on his showering schedule and gets extra hot water on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

+ By the way, in the case that Idia's darling ever gets peckish, Idia has a snack stash that he proudly pulled out and showed them as soon as they were allowed to wander a bit. I figure they get hungry some time around 1400, especially if Idia is also eating at that time.

+ I think his metabolism is fast, but also a bit odd. He is a young person, and therefore he strikes me as the type to get randomly hungry. If asked very nicely (and with the promise of physical affection in some form) he'd be incredibly willing to make his partner something to munch on when he makes his own.

+ Despite Idia's partner being literally held captive in his room, with all his suspicious items and, worst of all, himself, Idia is about as respectful as a kidnapper can be about demanding sex. He doesn't like to be physically forceful about it, and he often will just jerk off in the bathroom.

+ The reason for this is very simple: If Ortho ever saw Idia having sex with ANYONE, Idia would spontaneously combust. Well, obviously he doesn't know that for certain, but it's a theory that he is not willing to test. He won't even talk about his preferences around his little brother.

+ As far as I'm aware, most people in captive situations do not tend to ask their kidnapper to fuck them unless they're being threatened in some way, but Idia's partner isn't typically being threatened (ignore the shock collar,) so they never ask Idia to have sex.

+ This does not stop Idia from being a whiny bitch about not having sex enough as soon as Ortho is gone for a few hours. The close quarters and sudden advent of a human being who he doesn't mind touching him is a big thing for Idia.

+ Ortho goes on "walks" in a sort of unusual schedule. That is to say that he doesn't have a schedule. If something needs to be picked up, he's tired of Idia not listening to him, he has his own stuff to do, or he just feels like it, Ortho will go out, sharing his location with Idia. From there, Idia will typically calculate how long it'd take Ortho to get back paired with whatever Ortho said he was going to do before he left, and see if he can squeeze in some coerced touching.

+ So. Good luck, Idia's partner. Idia will make a big stink until he gets bored or his partner gives in. His partner usually gives in, based on fear of what he might do alone.

+ Bedtime is somewhat randomized. If Ortho was out, when he comes back and it's any time after 2000, he will very subtly try to get Idia and his partner to start winding down. If both or one ignores him, he'll start getting upset.

+ Like I said, Ortho is kinda bossy. He will nag someone, and the worst part is that he's usually got their best interest in mind.

+On the off chance that Idia decides to go to bed at a decent time, he curls up behind his partner. He runs hot and smells smoky, and at some times it's not the worst thing. Some times.

+ By the way, a lot of this flies out the window in the event that Idia decides to attend classes in person. This is rare, so don't expect it to happen often, but it's not as good as it could be. Ortho goes with him and he locks up any way to reach the outside world, so all his partner has to entertain themselves is his manga collection, or the fun pastime of destruction of property. (This is a very bad idea, and I can expand on punishments later.)

+ In Idia's partner's case, every day is much of the same but just a little different, which makes it hard to keep track of time. The fact that Idia prefers low lighting and no natural light doesn't help this whatsoever.

[a-hundred-musings]

You know, here's a small rant from me: I hate it when Celebrimbor is shown to be a "softie-boy" or a "naïve child" or just... someone condescending and stupid. Like, yeah I'm guilty of it too (who isn't?) but it just makes me wonder why he's presented as that in fics anywhere.

I read this fic on AO3? Celebrimbor is a stupid duck. Or he's just very naïve and easy to prank. I read another fic? Celebrimbor is a whiny baby who can't stand up for himself. I read another one? He's a man-child.

Look, I get why he's presented in that way, but can we not do that? Especially considering the things this boy has gone through which really wouldn't make him a "child-like" person, but more of a mature adult who has experienced things no one should ever experience.

Before and during the First Age, he's experienced so much:

Nerdanel and Feanor falling out -- that basically messed up entire Aman back then, but mainly their kids, so imagine how Curufin would have reacted to that.

The feud between Feanor and Fingolfin and Finarfin

The time when Feanor threatened Fingolfin

The time when the Two Trees were destroyed

The time when Melkor killed his great-grandfather Finwe.

Feanor going Mad™

The uprising of the Noldor

The First Kinslaying

His grandfather going feral and his father and uncles swearing an oath on a literal suicide-mission

One of his youngest uncles getting burned and basically died (or lived, depends on which version you follow)

A time of literal darkness. Like, no light at all. It really messed up the psyche of so many people.

Feanor abandoning his brother on the shores of Valinor -- that would mess up anyone really.

A literal battle. Like, more blood is being shed -- not only of elves, but of other creatures Tyelpe has probably never seen or heard of before.

His grandfather being so consumed by his fire and spontaneously combusting. That too, he either saw or heard of Feanor literally bursting into flames -- that is pretty traumatising.

The crossing of the Helcaraxe -- no seriously, that would mess anyone up knowing that people they love are literally walking on glaciers and over deathly waters with a 50% chance of survival.

Maedhros being crowned King of the Noldor, and an unspoken fact that there is more than one king of the Noldor -- the political implications here...

The abduction of Maedhros. Need this be explained further?

His uncles and father being concerningly close to starting a whole world-war

The rising of the Sun and the moon (like, what are those big spheres in the sky? Are they something from Melkor? Are they a sign of the End™? What is it?)

The arrival of Fingolfin's group, with more dead and furious people.

The mental health of everyone deteriorating. No, I won't explain because this era was filled with bad times.

No one knowing what to do now, since Maglor was naturally crowned the Regent King of the Noldor, and he has his own problems.

After 34 years of wondering what on earth has happened to Maedhros, he returns scarred with no right hand, and presumed torture marks.

Everyone literally holding their breaths for what will happen next.

Maedhros surrendering his crown to Fingolfin. That would hurt bad like a blow.

Literally only a few years of peace filled with tension.

Fingolfin decides to kick Melkor's arse and dies.

The Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

The Second Kinslaying.

The Fall of Gondolin

Making the decision of abandoning his father and uncles, going on his own separate path.

The death of so many of his family members and father and uncles. That is messed up. The amount of psychological trauma he's already been through...

Like, imagine his guilt of not being there with his father, imagine how much he second-guessed his actions...

The Third Kinslaying. The deaths of more elves, his uncle (or uncles), and really, just more death.

The crown of the Noldor being passed on so many times until it reached Gil-Galad. Imagine the humiliation and just the shock of the realisation of the number of people who have been crowned within a span of a few centuries.

The kidnapping of Elrond and Elros. While it probably wouldn't harm Tyelpe's psychological health, it must have been pretty messed up to find out that your two remaining uncles have committed a few more war crimes.

The War of the Wrath. Now, while it was mainly against Men, there is no doubt that some elves have been killed due to the war (given Gil-Galad's camps etc), so imagine him getting into some stray fights with the orcs or those Men who follow Melkor.

The Fourth Kinslaying. No need to further elaborate.

The death of Maedhros, and Maglor becoming a cryptid. Who wouldn't that mess up?

Surviving the First Age. Like, give this Tyelpe the recognition he truly deserves. Give him a few rings and trophies for enduring so long and he still hasn't gone down to insanity. That too, all this happened within the span of like, 600 years.

The Second Age:

Beleriand is under the sea

His "cousins" (Elrond and Elros) going their separate ways

The death of Elros (I think this is pretty self-explanatory, given the numerous HCs on the twins and Celebrimbor)

No one has any idea what has happened to Maglor. Is he alive? Is he dead? Who knows.

Rumours of a sinister evil lurking in the shadows and really, some tensions are visibly arising.

He finds this very powerful and alluring stranger who knows quite a bit about the art of smithing. They collaborate despite warnings from Galadriel, Gil-Galad, Elrond and a few others.

After giving thought to make powerful rings, Annatar watches over as Celebrimbor makes the rings for Men and Dwarves.

Newsflash: Annatar wants the rings, and he tainted them.

Celebrimbor makes the 3 Elven Rings in secret so Annatar can't get to them, but he gets kidnapped and tortured.

Like, really badly tortured. Annatar wants those 3 rings.

Celebrimbor eventually is killed, and is impaled on a spear, then given to Gil-Galad's camp after years of torture.

He went straight to his family. Can't tell if this will add to his trauma, but still.

While he didn't survive the Second Age, this boy went through so much pain, and... really, I feel like he doesn't get much of the appreciation he deserves.

Thank you for coming to my little rant as to why we need more fics that paint Celebrimbor as someone who isn't a stupid and naïve child, but more of a wiser version of Feanor and Curufin. He is not a tantrummy baby, for Ilúvatar's sake!

[zippidi-dooda]

Deuce could feel his face burning as you leaned closer.

His heart was beating so loudly, he was sure you could hear it. Sweat slicked his palms beneath the pristine leather gloves he always wore and the stripped tie around his neck seemed to grow tighter and tighter with each passing second.

He really wanted to tear off his layers of clothes right then and there, just to make the burning heat more bearable.

But with you right in front of him, inches away from grazing the tip of your nose against his, he couldn't bring himself to even try. Thinking about it any further would have made him burst into flames.

He swallowed thickly, cyan eyes nervously scanning over you, desperately trying to keep his gaze off your slightly parted lips and hooded eyes. If he looked there then, great seven, he wouldn't even know what'd he do. Spontaneously combust?

That wouldn't be good for either of you.

So, he focused elsewhere, first on your eyebrows. Those weren't captivating at all, right? Yeah, just keep looking there Deuce. Focus on the arch of your brow, trace the outline of it and oh wow, not a hair was out of place, you had the perfect brow, was that natural or did you work diligently to maintain it's perfection? Regardless, he'd really have to let you know about that, maybe you'd blush and thank him for the compliment and ... boy, wouldn't that be nice ....

No, no, no! Bad Deuce! Focus on something else!

Uhm, like ... like your hairline! There's nothing attractive about that, right? Yeah, focus on that and you'll escape this encounter just fine. You didn't seem to be sweating like he was, so you weren't nervous too then? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Oh God, what if you were trying to distract yourself like he was and could see the beads of sweat ready to drip from his blue locks, how embarrassing would that be? Your locks, on the other hand, seemed so shiny and well maintained, he could almost imagine how soft it'd feel between his fingers. If he leaned any closer he might be able to smell the shampoo you used. And if he did, what would he do if coincidentally you used the same exact brand and scent that he did? He might never change his hair product again. And what if-

"... euce?"

Oh God, you were saying something. You didn't ask him a question did you? Please say you didn't. How on earth was he supposed to answer you now?

"H-huh?" He breathed, forcing himself to meet your eyes again.

You brought your hand to his cheek, slowly brushing your thumb against his skin.

Queen of Hearts have mercy on his soul. He was going to dissolve if you contonued to hold him so tenderly any longer.

"You sure you're okay?" You asked. "You're burning up?"

Yeah and why do you think that is!

No, calm down, Deuce. She doesn't know the affect she has on you, you'll just have to come up with an excuse.

"I-It's cold o-out."

Really? Your hot and your best excuse is "it's cold out?"

And you're stuttering like a sissy! C'mon Deuce, where's that delinquent spirt from long ago? I know we said we were done with that, but some situations call for a serious attitude. Didn't you try to teach him that too?

"Then ... maybe you have a fever? Should we ... go inside?"

Hurry up!

He quickly grasped your hands, grip firm, and shook his head. "N-no. I'm f-fine. Uhm, Y/N? Y-you called me out here t-to tell me something?"

His heart did summersaults in his chest as he saw you look down, tongue darting out to wet your lips.

Your grip tightened on his hands and he was both greatful and annoyed by the barrier his gloves placed between your skin.

"Yeah, I ...."

You paused before meeting his gaze.

He held his breath.

"Deuce ...?"

"Yes ...?"

"Deuce I ... I ...."

You gaped at him for a while, face doused in a red flourish, trying to get your words out. Deuce's heartbeat was getting unbelievably louder the longer he had to anticipate what you wanted to say.

Then, he felt as if his very heart had stopped.

He felt your lips against his in an instant and everything around you two went out of focus.

Was this really happening, or was he dreaming? Did you of all people really just kiss him? Were you still kissing him? So, you liked him too? For how long? Why didn't you do this sooner? Were your lips always this soft? Shouldn't he be taking your breath away, not the other way around? This feels amazing, please don't stop. Geez, he was really burning up now. He hasn't done this before, is it obvious? Was he doing a good job? Wait, he is kissing you back right? Please don't say he was messing this up, he really needed this moment to be magical for the both of you. You're pulling away? No, not yet, come back!

"Y/N ...." He managed to let out.

"Deuce, I-I like you. I want to ... be able to do that again more often. Much more often. W-would you ... like that ... too?"

The dopey grin on his lips couldn't be wiped off no matter how hard he tried as he nodded in a daze.

Hands still shakey with excitement, the boy cupped your cheeks, pulled your close, and captured your lips in longing kiss.

Of course, he'd like that. You never even had to ask.

[bookcluberror]

I'm obsessing more than I should be over the whole "Kacchan" thing.

Deku's name for Bakugou has always reminded me of how my bff and I had sweet little child-like nicknames for each other in college. We were the Day One, ride or die, overflowing sexual tension that neither of us would ever acknowledge even though everyone else around us had to shoo it away with giant hand fans, type of bffs. We were the only ones who called each other those names. To this day I go jelly in the knees if I hear either of them, even though he and I parted ways a lifetime ago.

Guys. If he had ever introduced himself to someone by that nickname while we were hanging out, let alone someone important, I would have fucking died. Even if he had just referred to himself using that name, instead of it coming from my own mouth. I would have dropped to my knees, or ran and jumped into his arms, or simply erupted into flames ala spontaneous human combustion.

The fact that Katsuki said that... I can't even find the right words. I love all of the bkdk stuff that's come out the last few weeks. So much of it is heavily HEAVILY lined in sexual tension, and is giving bkdk shippers (which I do not consider myself one of... or at least maybe not until like a day ago) a lot to go on. ...But even with all of that development, there was still a voice in the back of my head saying "nah, we're just hoping. This is probably just symbolism and timeline parallels. Showing off deep friendship bullshit. Making the climax more intense and intimate with these personal connections. Blah blah blah" but this one hits differently for me because of how I relate that name to my own personal relationships.

Now it's become... I don't even know. Like, a confirmation not just of their love, but for the unspoken love I once shared with someone as well. Bakugo and Midoriya aren't just a fandom ship for me anymore. Their relationship is *so different* from my own friendship that I described above, but the fact that I still see myself and that personal bond reflected in Bakugo's "Kacchan" declaration... Someone needs to help me put this feeling into words, because I'm at a loss.

It hurts. It aches and throbs and feels like someone stuck a knife in my chest, reminding me of what I lost so long ago.

And it's beautiful, glowing radiant, and feels amazing, like someone has lifted my heart into the sky with cheers and fireworks and *overwhelming* love, from what could be!

And it feels fresh, brand new, yet tragically old and worn. It's warm and comforting, but cold and devastating at the same time.

Why? Why is this? What is it doing to me?? It's filling my mind with fear that this fictional relationship may also never reach its way to the summit of its potential. That I'll lose it, however fictional it may be, just like we've all lost someone before. A few days ago, I would have been bummed but not surprised if the series used all these moments to reflect on, and showcase, strong lifelong friendships built on growth and tragedy... But now it feels different. Like my own heart break (knowing that there is absolutely no way a very popular and mainstream Japanese manga will actually showcase and confirm a homosexual main character couple) is impending.

I don't know how to end this post, because I honestly don't know what I'm trying to say with it in the first place. I guess just that I'm confused. I'm happy, and I'm hurting, and I love this moment so much. It means everything to me, and will no doubt destroy what little grasp I still have on my sanity.

[darkimpala1897]

In Stalag at 3am

Buck: "Ham why is your blanket soaking wet? Your getting everything soaking wet."

Hambone, who was half asleep and sleep walks: "I was afraid I was gonna burn. I have a family history of spontaneous human combustion."

Buck: "Really?"

Hambone: "Yeah, my aunt Glinda burst into flames. I gotta stay wet or this whole place is gonna go up like a roman candle."

Bucky overhearing their conversation: "Great fantastic, Crank is allergic to walnuts, Murphy talks backwards in his sleep, DeMarco may or may not be a witch who's afraid of his own shadow, Brady can twist himself into a pretzel, Buck has commitment issues.."

Buck: "Hey!"

Bucky: "As I was saying, and Hambone is gonna go up like a tiki torch who might explode at any moment, am I missing anything else?"

Buck: "No that pretty much covers it, I'm gonna dry off Mr. Tiki torch and get him to sleep. Go back to bed."

Hambone took offense to the nickname, but he kept quiet as Buck climbed out of Buckys bunk. Well Bucky just rolled over stealing Bucks blanket.



[meatball-headache]

In other news, I'm still playing lots of Caves of Qud. I am not making much progress—and, you know me, I'm like as not to avoid the main story and go grind at random for a while. Only problem here is that everything is so incredibly dangerous that I'm 97% likely to die no matter what I do. May as well do the MSQ, since I won't make it, anyway!

I was doing okay with a gunslinger; he had pretty basic stuff, nightvision, enhanced hearing, phasing through walls... normal cowboy stuff. He got as far as Grit Gate, a personal best, then I found a room full of chain gun turrets and they took all their turns at once. Rip in peace "Quickdraw" Ishwud, or whatever your name was.

Now I'm having a good time was Nyrarouroouum the Flame-Favored. I gave her every fire spell! Kindle—that's just a light, I thought I might be a little bit of damage, but no. Flame Beam, that's what it sounds like, she shoot fire from her hands. Pyrokinesis, so she can make a whole room burst into flames at once. And, just to keep things interesting, Spontaneous Combustion, so sometimes she just bursts into flames for no reason! And also she has a gun.

Somehow, this game has really gotten its claws into me. I like the pixel art. I tried Dwarf Fortress and ADOM way, way back in the day, when they were both ASCII only... they didn't grab me as much. Because those have too little graphics? These days, they have texture packs and whatnot, so maybe that's too many graphics? I dunno. Maybe it's just the theme or something, but Qud is really sucking me in. Maybe I've just finally entered my Roguelike Era?

Anyway, that's what I'm like these days.

[fuck-customers]

i'm so fucking mad all the time. i know this is an extreme comparison but i genuinely feel it: working retail feels like burning alive. customers can either sit there and do nothing to help you or they can throw gasoline on you. more often than not its the gasoline. if you try to ask your manager for a second to put yourself out they go 'hell no. the customers love to watch you burn alive. it makes us a lot of money.' even though they, themselves are also on fire. they then promptly pour gasoline on you to make you burn harder. you're not allowed to cry or complain about burning alive because inevitably someone's going to be like 'umm??? what about the people hosting flesh-eating parasites that keep them alive and in blinding searing pain while they eat the fresh meat??? I bet they'd prefer burning alive. be thankful' and then they dump gasoline on you. you step into the break room and manage to put the flames out but as soon as you set foot in the store again, you spontaneously combust. this happens every day

Posted by admin Rodney.

[lakesbian]

16YO SINGLE DAD AISHA IS SO FUCKED UP BECAUSE BRIAN WAS LIIIITERALLY A 17YO SINGLE DAD. declaring monolith by lala lala an aisha song. she is her father (brother)'s daughter slightly shorter slightly smaller. he is a fading picture. i'm going to be forever in agony with how wildbow doesn't even point out how fucked up and sad it is that aisha is growing into brian's empty shoes. like incredible sibling relationship they hate each other they can't stand each other they love each other more than anything brian carried her away from one of the darkest days of her life brian devotes his Entire Life to her and he still never really manages to see her because he is a 17yo who can't even see himself tragically fumbling to do his best and breaking inside over his best not being enough. he literally cannot bring himself to let aisha take him home from the echidna fight unless he gets to pretend that he's taking her home instead of the other way around. aisha getting the same hairstyle as him after he dies is Sooo. Sooo Very. aisha thinking that she's no good at taking care of people aisha outright calling herself someone without a lot of heart left to go around aisha still putting absolutely incredible amounts of devotion and care into upholding the legacies of her lost loved ones...there should have been a mention of her trying to uphold brian's legacy by trying to be like him, by forgiving him for the ways he failed and loving him for how hard he tried, by outright acknowledging that she picked up his hairstyle and stepped into his big empty boots and is trying to shuffle forward in them and finally realizing how hard it was for him. like. Man. Man. The Laborn Sibligns Man. I'm just saying shit this is incoherent because if i think about aisha and brian too hard i spontaneously combust into flames and then die in real life. do you think about the laborn siblings. when will you think about the laborn siblings. everyone think about the laborn siblings.

[titanicfreija]

Squirrelly

Thomas watched his young roommate pace, mentally calculating how much heat she was generating by the change in temperature as she moved toward and away.

So far, neither Ghost nor Guardian noticed the pattern. Thomas, home and audience every time, couldn't miss it.

It was always the crucible. She would go in too hard, drain herself until she could hardly remember how to breathe, then come home and build back up.

~

Once she recovered, she struggled to get her momentum back. Sometimes it was discouragement, sometimes it was anxiety, but she would freeze up and stay home.

Freija home with the crucible calling would put her in a state Thomas referred to as "squirrely", where she was hypervigilant and ready to run, and in this particular Sunbreaker's case, feverish in the way a volcano coming out of dormancy might be. She'd escalate until someone could give her enough of a kick to just go.

This run took two recovery days before the buildup started, and Day Three of the buildup had Thomas wondering how much of their apartment was heat-resistant.

"You are going to work the climate control to death," he told her, testing her mood.

"Am I?" She looked toward the device on the wall, then at her hands as if she could see how hot she was. She eventually realized that was silly and gave a cautious poke to the closest wall before she snapped her hand away. Thomas didn't look so he couldn't confirm the scorch marks he expected. "Sorry," the Titan mumbled, lowering her head between her shoulders.

"When are you going back into the crucible?" he asked, hoping that making it sound obvious would help.

"The crucible?" she asked, blinking at him.

"Yeah. You need to go, you're going to melt the windows." He folded his hands over his belly. "Or at least take your heat wave outside, but you really need to go shoot something. Go clean out some Hive nests on the moon, the Vex out of Nessus, I think it's Mayhem in the crucible right now. Just something. You are going to burn the entire apartment to a crisp without a single flame."

The silver Guardian looked at her hands again and frowned, pouting at the Warlock. "Sunny's out and about."

That was an easy fix and she knew it. "Exactly why aren't you going?"

It shouldn't be so annoying, but this was the third time she had done this very thing, it was practically annual. And she still hadn't even noticed. He rocked to his feet and strode across the apartment, and he took her shoulders between his hands, and he guided her to the door.

Freija didn't resist initially, only leaning her weight against him, but she eventually planted a heel, effectively becoming a brick wall. "I worked the anxiety back up," she admitted. "I'm scared."

"It makes perfect sense that someone would be scared of deliberately placing themselves into the line of fire," he agreed, taking his time in the playful pushing war now that she was coming clean. "But you have to go. You know you love it, you know you'll forget all about the fear once you get in there. Go tell Shaxx you need some encouragement. I'm about to line up with Stasis just for the duskfield, you are a living heating element." She let him push her to the door and kindly opened it for them. He steered her into the hallway where he gave a playful shove. "Go before you spontaneously combust!" She took her own weight and turned to face him. He showed her his reddened palms before he shook and blew on them. Not horribly burned, but he certainly felt like he pulled a dish out of the oven barehanded.

"Sorry," she said again, lowering her head bashfully. He pushed her shoulder and she let the force turn her around, and she shuffled down the hall. "Thank you."

The warlock had to use his sleeve to touch the still-hot doorknob. "You're welcome. Don't come back until you've gone through a few matches, please. You're becoming a fire hazard for this entire side of the barracks."

@annieruok94

@wolvereaux

[his-tamine]

wish more people realized just how goddamn difficult it is for me to talk to people, because I feel like I'd scare people off if I wasn't careful. EVEN if it's not true - I can't help but put on a facade. It's the anxiety disorder doing that 'disordering' thing again. "Haha, that's hilarious!" instead of "HFJDHFJF/ HELPP MEEEEE" and fucking, "Wow, that's really nice!" instead of "You're so hot - I'm actually going to burst into flames and become the latest recorded case of spontaneous human combustion."

swear I be rereading my texts like, "This isn't me - the true me..."

[phosphenemoth]

Vent: I can't wait until it's tomorrow and these bitches fuck off for a bit and go wherever the fuck they go. Like I can't wait for everyone to shut the FUCK UP. I can't handle it anymore. I feel myself physically fucking combusting inside and it's not even spontaneous it has a cause... it's yap city in here and they are the main attraction.

I feel like a fire is set ablaze in my soul and I want to break something or choke someone or scream and I can't do anything with this boiling and searing inside me that is both satisfying and completely legal, so that means I can't take any action whatsoever at this point... so I just have to let myself burn from the stomach to the throat with uncontrollable rage that makes it next to physically impossible to breathe.

I just want to tell them both to shut the fuck up or go to hell, but they've technically done nothing wrong and I know it would make things worse for me in the future so fuck idk. I am trying to act mentally healthy about this but how do I act mentally healthy when I have mentally slammed their heads together simultaneously into the concrete wall on repeat, and mentally screamed SHUT THE FUCK UP more times than I can count.

How much longer can I go without bursting into flames or just complete fury? How much longer until they find out I am completely fucking insane and call security on me? I can't be around people like this... I wasn't built for this. I wasn't made for a life where I have to be submerged in social contact nearly 24/7.

I can't be around people anymore. I just want everyone to disappear out of the area of at least 1,000 miles of me and not be able to enter an invisible barrier. If there are people there working for restaurants or shops I don't want to be able to see or communicate with them. I want to just purchase my items/food and go.

How am I going to survive like this without screaming? It is literally going to happen soon and I won't be able to control it forever and everyone is going to think I am insane. I mean I guess I am, but damn I am trying so hard not to be. I'm trying so hard to have normal reactions to things.

[the-maddened-hatter]

Btw if spontaneous human combustion *is* real I'm going to be the one to prove it by bursting into flames on camera at the Publix checkout because lately my anxiety has decided that the more my body heats up for no fucking reason the more likely I'll be to survive the 2 minute social encounter.

So I guess maybe keep an eye on the news for that