#also the next step is getting into speedrunning

[jorvikzelda]

finally got the last hk ending (delicate flower) yesterday. beat absrad with a single mask left - I was counting hits because I was so sure I only needed 9 with the nail (with unbreakable strength) in the last phase, got up to like 12 hits or somethjng and went “why is she not dying??”, Panicked, got hit by an orb and went down to one mask, then hit her twice more in one go (quickslash i Love You) and that was it. Felt fucking fantastic. I am never doing pantheons again

[karlachismylife]

Thots on how they would react if you got sick?

(totally not self indulgent right now)

Oh no, my lovely spouse is sick :( Get well soon, lovie, and here are some little speedrun headcanons for you ahead of everything, as a treatment!! Beware, there are some NSFW parts under the cut :) So MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT I swear I get so upset every time I have to block some ageless blog. If it's so hard to put your age in the bio, just DO NOT TOUCH THE POST!! I'd rather keep you around to read my SFW pieces than block you altogether.

Okay sorry for yelling, here we go

CW: gn!sick!reader, reader is somewhat being stubborn about getting treatment at some points, sickness unspecified, but I wrote with something cold-adjacent in mind since we're in the cold season, a bit of controlling behavior from Ghost and Price.

Soap is Mister Indulgence. Any cravings you get, be it three kilograms of crisps for breakfast or his Mam's soup you suddenly want to taste at 2 am, he's getting his ass out of bed and runs to the store or puts on an apron to make the soup. You want some tea with sugar and lemon? How much teaspoons of sugar? What, you tried it and turned out you wanted a teaspoon less? No worries, he'll make it again. You wanna binge your favourite show? Listen to "your" song fifty times in a row? Cuddle and nap on his hot chest for eight hours? Whatever you want, bonnie, his Maw always said that good mood is the most important step in getting better, so Johnny would rather die than not keep you satisfied during sick time.

He might not be the most well-versed in medical stuff, but he definitely uses his Mam's knowledge (and she is one wise woman, I tell you) and whatever experience he has himself to get you both real treatment and some homemade remedies. Swears he doesn't get sick (ever, bonnie!) when you try to shoo him away worried he'll catch whatever you have.

Drops sick the very next day you finally are all good again (and behaves as if he's actually dying, even though he has like three times lighter symptoms than you cuz that man has an immune system of a beast).

Ghost is mean about it, cruel and ruthless. At least that's what you tell him when he wakes you up to make you drink some medicine or, even worse, change you out of your sweaty pjs, help you bathe and (this one is almost breakup-worthy betrayal) take you to a doctor. No amount of pleading, whining and pouting can deter him from making sure you're getting appropriate treatment.

Truth be told, he's probably blaming himself, because under his care you should've never gotten sick in the first place. This means he's probably checking your wardrobe and adding some warmer clothes and shoes (no more wearing old sneakers when it's already rain season!) to it, probably inspecting all the food you've eaten recently in case it was bad, proofing all the windows against drafts... and somehow he still finds time to be around you all the time, holding you in your fever-induced sleep, changing cold wet towels on your forehead and caring for you.

Might or might not catch the sickness from you, which reveals that he's an even worse patient than you, constantly grumpy, wrapped in three blankets and trying to put an indifferent face, but so, so pathetic when the fever gets actually high. He will be good if you promise to hold him in your lap and stroke his hair with cold fingers.

Gaz isn't as indulgent as Soap, but he gives you a lot of autonomy and trusts that you know best what treatment helps you. So if you say you don't feel like you need to call a doctor, he won't force you; he'll buy the medicine you tell him to buy, and if he thinks it's not the best choice, he'll just suggest an alternative, leaving the final decision up to you. Also has some homemade remedies ready to go if you're willing to try them, but leans heavily towards scientifically proven treatments.

He definitely tries to keep you if not active (no hikes or something, but maybe little walks around the apartment once the worst wave passes) then at least entertained, and not in "200 episodes of a dumb sitcom watched alone" way. Of course, if that's what you're feeling, get your sitcom fill, angel (he's not one to judge, he is keeping up with like a hundred series somehow), but if you're up to play some games, Kyle is more than happy to. Puzzles, card games, board games - maybe not so much computer games, since he wants you to be mindful of your eyes health, but a little bit? Sure. If you don't wanna play games, he still wants to keep you company so that you don't feel like you're missing out on life alone in your bed.

Probably the one who is the least likely to catch your sickness, because he ACTUALLY never gets sick, that pretty boy possesses some magic, I'm telling ya. Buf if he somehow does, he's the best patient who doesn't even need your help (but will accept it since he doesn't want you to feel guilty and it's just nice). For the three days that he's sick before he's healthier than ever.

Price is also very insistent on you getting proper treatment, but he doesn't go about it in Ghost's stern manner - no, he's a sly, smart dog, he's sweettalking you into thinking half of it is your own idea and he's just there to provide. If he needs to, he plays up his worried behavior and voila, you're already taking your medicine and days off from studies or work, simply because you don't want to worry your John's bleeding heart. Drops casually something like "good thing doc's office is on the way to the base, I can drop you off before finishing that bloody report they're wanting my head for and then pick you up, lovie" - and when you note that you actually don't feel like your sickness is doctor visit worthy, he sighs and tells you that he'll stay with you then. Of course now you have to agree, you can't let him get in trouble with the report simply because you didn't want to go to the doctor!

In all the other aspects he is absolutely doting and spoiling. Will casually look through fifteen stores until he finds the exact type of natural juice gummies you once mentioned your parents got you when you were sick. Absolutely no smoking around you or even in the apartment - and he also makes sure he doesn't smell too much of tobacco before coming into your room. Will baby you in whatever way you want (yes, he will read you your book aloud) or simply stay at your side to assist you with different things if you're not into that. But god forbid you try to get back to work or studying before John Price deems you recovered enough...

Probably catches the sickness, but pretends he didn't until it's too obvious to deny. Will do all the things he reprimanded you for: try to work, keep smoking, avoid doctor etc.

Hyena!141 bonus: they absolutely cuddle you in their hyena form and do not shift into humans when you need them to fetch something like a pillow or more paper tissues. They're your fluffy cuddle buddies that are there to grumble and purr for you soothingly, keep the chills away and lick your forehead, nape and wrists to cool the fever down. Shove their snouts in different places on your body to check the temperature (no thermometer needed!) and tickle you, give you paw massages if your muscles ache and suddenly get on their best behavior (yes, even Soap). Furry menaces who? Not them, they're the sweetest boys!

NSFW under the cut, once again, minors and ageless blogs DNI or I'll block you (and cry about it!)

CW: gn!reader, oral sex, fingering, brat tamer Ghost (so it's consensual in case I didn't make it clear enough), penetrative sex with Gaz (bottom!gn!reader).

Soap is also number one advocate of "sex is proper treatment", so if you're not feeling too bad and have some energy to spare, he'll gladly eat you out and unleash his oral fixation on you. As treatment, of course. Also maybe because you're so hot that you're practically burning his tongue and it feels as if he dipped his face into the sweetest, freshly-baked pie, when you squeeze his mug between your overheating thighs. He'll do more if that's what you want, but if all you want is to come on his face, he'll lick, suck and rub as much as you need - yes, he spilled in his sweatpants just from pleasuring you and grinding against the sheets, but can you really blame him for enjoying a warm meal a little too much? Will probably compare your "sick" taste to your "healthy" one. No, he does not know what the word "shame" means.

Ghost is reluctant to have sex when you're sick, because, well... you're sick, you shouldn't exhaust your body, because it needs all the strength to fight whatever it is you caught. But once you start getting better (and as a result much, much brattier, since now you have the energy to not just whine and pout, but also to be a little defiant shit), he is absolutely using his fingers to reward or punish you for complying or resisting the treatment. Are you being good, taking your medicine, measuring your body temperature and doing whatever else doctor told you to? Good, you deserve to cum on his fingers, lovie, just lean back and let him do all the work. What's that, you don't wanna drink your medicine, because it tastes bad, and you hid the thermometer? Well, love, he hopes you don't mind getting your temperature checked a little more old-fashioned way. And if you don't like your medicine, maybe having his fingers in your mouth, muffling all your protests, will change your mind. After all, that's what you wanted to achieve by being a brat, didn't you?

Gaz is already the king of gentle sex, but if you ask him to indulge you while you're sick, he'll be as tender as only molten marshmallow fluff can be. Caressing your feverish skin with his soft palms, making sure to avoid possibly hurting joints or muscles, going down on you with his sweet, honeyed mouth before even trying anything else. Can actually give you a perfect massage (even the normal kind) and add some lightweight petting and fingering to it. If you want to have penetrative sex though, he finds the best position (probably spooning, his arm cradling your head so it doesn't spin or hurt, and your body resting without any extreme stretches or strains) and takes you slowly and carefully. Doesn't let you worry about his orgasm at all, but if you feel like cockwarming him, he won't say no, that's for sure :) let him soak in some of that heat directly from you, angel, eh?

Price will probably need the most persuasion to engage with you sexually during your sick time, he is worrying about you too much, so the best you can get is probably his fingers and mouth closer to you already getting fully healthy again. He's just scared he'll go too rough on you regardless of how careful he's trying to be, lovie. But if he ends up catching you masturbating (and failing probably, since you're still too weak for such activities), he'll have no choice but to help you finish, careful tongue strokes and finger movements along with soft grumbling about him "leaving you just for five minutes, and you're already up to no good, love!" Don't let him fool you, he's the happiest man, because he both gets to pleasure his partner and because this means you're getting better.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

The Black Kaiser's Nightmare

Duncan Vizla x Assassin!FemReader

A/N: Shout out to beelmons and G for their endless support and help with my fics <3 :') where would I be without y'all?

Summary: You run into your long-time nemesis in the last place you ever expected, but things take a turn for the worst when you find yourself stuck with him during a snowstorm.

WC: 7.2k words

Warnings: SMUT! (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), enemies to lovers speedrun into the bed, mentions and depictions of violence, fighting, accidental assassination of a third party, some serious bickering, abundant cursing, rough sex (unprotected, don't do it at home!), choking, very light knifeplay, dirty talk, slight degradation mixed with some praise, rampant sexual tension, ooey gooey lovesick fools who are just SO SO STUBBORN, I think that's it but lmk if I missed anything!

You are responsible for your own media consumption!

----

Triple Oak, Montana.

It’d been a while since you’d last found yourself in such a quaint little town, especially in the middle of winter, but you supposed you’d been in way worse places. It was barely even on the map, which made it a convenient place to lay low. 

You didn’t have to worry about interacting with many people, and you sure as hell didn’t think you’d encounter anyone you knew. At least for the time being, you felt like you could relax just a little bit while you made plans.

In a few more days, you’d continue driving north and cross the Canadian border into Saskatchewan, where you were meant to carry out your next assignment. Your target was a skeevy arms dealer that had to move his whole operation out of Serbia and was now shacked up somewhere in the vast prairies. 

You’d been tracking his activity for some time, slowly narrowing down the list of possible locations. You’d also scored some insider information about a big upcoming transaction with a terrorist cell, and your goal was to get to him before the sale was finalized.

Successfully eliminating him would pay handsomely, and you were already planning on a months-long vacation in which you’d go fully off the radar. Preferably somewhere by the beach, where you didn’t feel the constant threat of frostbite.

You pulled into a small gas station — the only one to be found in a long stretch of the highway between the town and more secluded cabins  — and occupied one of the three measly pumps. There was only one other old pickup truck next to you, but the owner was nowhere to be seen. 

You blew hot air into your hands as you walked into the convenience store, eager for some coffee despite how shitty it was. 

“Hey Lou,” you said to the now familiar attendant, the little bell above the door ringing as you pushed in. “How’s it goin’?”

“Eh, slow, the usual,” he shrugged. “At least it’s decently warm in ‘ere. They say there’s gonna be a snowstorm over the weekend, starting tonight.”

“Shit, really?” You groaned, not only because you loathed the freezing temperatures, but because it would set you back by a few more days. 

“Yup, perfect time to cozy up with the missus back at home.”

You poured yourself a large cup of black coffee and snapped the lid on top. On the way back to the register, you grabbed a couple of magazines and a pack of Ding-Dongs to eat on the road.

“Well, lucky you,” you said, putting everything on the counter. “I gotta find ways to keep myself busy and warm in case I lose power.”

As you spoke, the door to the restroom opened behind you and a tall, rugged-looking man stepped out. His eyes instinctively flickered between the two of you, even if he couldn’t see your face. He lingered close to the back, trying not to bring attention to himself.

“You sure you’ll be good all by yourself out there?” Lou asked. “Enough supplies and all?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself,” you said, fishing cash out of your wallet. “Give me thirty on number two, also.”

“You got it, tough gal.”

You chuckled as he rang you up, glancing outside. The man behind you tensed, gripped with the dread that came with sudden recognition. Your voice was one he knew well, the very same one he’d heard all seventeen times he’d almost died. Well, eighteen if he counted that one brief altercation in Belfast.

And that laugh… How many times had it been directed at him? Taunting him, teasing him, driving him utterly mad. 

It was perhaps the only thing that stopped him from actually getting rid of you that one night you slept so soundly at some shoddy little hotel in Madrid.  He’d watched your chest's steady rise and fall from his spot in the darkness, and he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

And now he’d most likely have to pay for the consequences of his mercy. 

Lou looked over your shoulder at him, but you didn’t immediately notice since you were absently flipping through one of the magazines. 

“Need anything else, Duncan?” He offered. “Pack of Winstons?”

Your skin prickled at these two very familiar details, but you didn’t move, still staring down at the magazine without actually reading. It was probably a mere coincidence. Really, there had to be dozens of Duncans in the world that just so happened to smoke Winstons.

But then, a very particular smell reached your nose — cheap cologne you didn’t know the name of, with strikingly bitter notes that had flooded your nostrils when his hands were tightly wrapped around your neck.

You glanced up at the fisheye mirror above the register… and there he fucking was, in all his deadly glory. The Black Kaiser himself.

You couldn’t help an amused huff, especially after hearing the faintest rustle of a knife being unsheathed under his coat.

“Are you sure you want to stab me with that, old man?” You said slowly over your shoulder. 

“Less impersonal than a gun. I owe you that much, don’t I?” he said with that deep, gravelly voice of his that always made a stubborn tingle form at the base of your spine.

Your hand just barely inched towards the hidden holster of your gun. “Oh, but you know I get a little crazy when the knives come out.”

Lou looked between the two of you, confusion and a tinge of fear in his eyes. 

“Uh, you two know each oth—”

Before he could finish his sentence, you whirled around and shot Duncan’s head. He ducked, but not before hurling a large knife at you in return. You dove out of the way, hearing it whizz right past your ear, and it sank into Lou’s forehead with a wet thud. His body slumped behind the counter, blood spraying over the stuff you’d intended to buy.

“Hey!” You yelled from your hiding spot. “I didn’t even get my change back!”

“You’re not gonna need it anymore,” he said gruffly, his voice not too far from you. “But before that… want to tell me what the fuck you’re doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” you said, glancing up at the fisheye mirror once more. 

Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t get a very good look at where he was, but you couldn’t stay put. You slowly began to inch to the end of the aisle, staying low. “Let me guess, you missed me so much these last three years that you decided to hunt me down.”

He scoffed. “Three years was not nearly long enough time away from you.”

You dove around the corner to the next aisle, but he wasn’t there. You started pulling yourself forward, but suddenly you were flipped onto your back. You were about to whip your gun around, but it was harshly knocked out of your grasp, sliding against the linoleum. You thrashed against the weight that pressed down on you, but he pinned your hands down beside your head. 

“Who sent you?” He asked. 

“No one sent me, you paranoid geezer!” You sneered, driving your knee up full force right into his crotch. “Not everything’s about you.”

He growled at the pain, swaying to the side, his grip on your hands relaxing. You pushed him off of you, scrambling to get to your gun. Right as you managed to get a hold of it, he was on you again, pulling you back by the legs. You tried twisting around all the way, firing another shot semi-blindly. It narrowly missed his shoulder, shattering one of the windows.

“Can’t kill me without paralyzing me, eh, little Nightmare?” He taunted.

“Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

You swallowed a scream as he stepped on the hand you held your weapon with, his heavy boot cracking your wrist. Your fingers splayed involuntarily due to the pain, and he bent down to take the gun. He kept it pointed at you as he removed his boot from your wrist and grabbed your arm.

“You’re coming with me,” he stated, starting to pull you up. 

“Like hell I am!” You spat, but you froze as you felt the barrel pressed against the back of your head.

“You were saying?”

He dragged you to your feet, leading you through the broken window, glass crunching under your boots. The wind seemed icier than it had been when you first arrived, which made you remember Lou’s warning about a snowstorm.

There was no way in hell you’d be stuck with him during it, so you’d have to find a way to weasel out of his grasp… and kill him in the process. 

He led you towards his truck, but you pretended to trip at the last second, bending down and retrieving a knife you had hidden in your boot. You stabbed backward, aiming for his femoral artery, but he moved and the knife stabbed into his thigh muscle instead.

“Motherfucker,” he hissed through clenched teeth, but he didn’t let go of you, tightening his grip on your arm. He fired off a warning shot into the air, which made you flinch a little. “Try me again and I won’t hesitate to put the next bullet through your thick fucking skull. I only have so much patience.”

He shoved you into the passenger seat of the truck, managing to tie you up with the seatbelt. Your bound hands were still slick with his blood, and you smiled triumphantly at him as he slid into the driver’s seat, immediately peeling out of the gas station.

“This is what gets you hard, isn’t it?” you said, raising an eyebrow at him. “You’re kind of a sick fuck, old man… but I didn’t expect any better from you.”

He said nothing, instead momentarily glaring at you. He grunted as he pulled the knife out of his leg, tossing it out of the window. You grumbled about him owing you a knife, but he continued to ignore you. He drove mostly in silence, winding through the icy roads as he gripped his wounded leg with one hand.

So far, it had been one of your tamest encounters. Really, it had all sort of felt like a game, but neither of you had won quite yet. After all, a game such as this could not be left unfinished.

Usually, the circumstances were vastly different. Your respective agencies had assigned you the same target a couple of times, and it always turned into a competition on who would finish the job first. As it turned out, the two of you were very competitive.

You’d left plenty of souvenirs on each other every single time you crossed paths – broken bones, an assortment of scars, and bruises as dark as the midnight sky. You wondered vaguely how much more damage you might make by the end of the day.

Why neither of you had succeeded in killing each other was… a bit of a mystery. Maybe he saw something in you that reminded him of himself, or perhaps he was growing soft with age. He would never admit it, but he’d had plenty of fun in this deadly dance with you so far, and it seemed a shame to let it come to its conclusion so soon. 

He’d have to do it though, after some thorough interrogation.

Soon enough, he pulled up a long gravel road hidden among the tall pine trees. In the clearing ahead, you saw what you supposed was his cabin. It was modestly sized and a little dilapidated, but at least it seemed to be sturdy enough to withstand harsh conditions.

“Nice place,” you said sarcastically. “I don’t suppose you have many visitors?”

“Rarely,” he said without looking at you. “I like the quiet. No one’s going to bother us here.”

“You mean no one’s gonna come running when you scream?”

He grunted, readjusting his position in his seat. You were mostly tied up at the arms so your legs had some room to move. Rookie mistake on his part, which you would definitely take advantage of. 

Before he could pull up in front of the actual cabin, you leaned back and kicked at the steering wheel. The truck swerved to the right, throwing you against the window. He tried to correct it on time, slamming on the brakes, but the snow made it careen right into a tree. 

It wasn’t a tremendous crash, but the windshield still broke, glass raining down on both of you. You were both disoriented for a moment from the whiplash, but then you began to untangle yourself from the seatbelt. You kicked at him when he tried to reach for you, but he managed to pin your legs down.

“Can’t you stay put for one fucking second!?” He growled, fully bracketing you between his sturdy legs as he freed you from the seatbelt. 

You panted heavily, trying to thrash beneath him, but he only pressed his legs tighter against your sides. A small, high-pitched whine escaped your lips as you felt the air being squeezed out of you, and you stopped moving. 

“Satis…fied?” You managed between gasps.

“Not nearly,” he said, grabbing a fistful of your hair as he pulled back. “Come here.”

He kept a firm grip on it as he dragged you out of the truck and towards the cabin. He wobbled a little with each step, his leg still bleeding some. 

“I warned you about the knives,” you said. “Even if you didn’t let me finish having fun.”

He chuckled sardonically. “No, you’re mistaken. The fun is only just beginning.”

He led you inside and locked the door behind him, making you sit down on a rickety chair. He bound your hands and feet with duct tape, wrapping some of it around your torso and the back of the chair for good measure. You decided not to struggle for the time being and instead ponder on your next move, covertly glancing at your surroundings for anything useful.

When Duncan was sure you wouldn’t be able to bolt, he went to grab something from an adjacent room, returning with his version of a first aid kit and a bottle of vodka. He looked at you from the corner of his eye as he undid his pants and lowered them to his knees.

“I didn’t realize it was that kind of fun,” you said, raising an eyebrow. 

Still, your gaze was drawn to his crotch first before trailing further down to the injury you’d caused. Rolling his eyes, he plopped down on the bed, which creaked a little under his weight. 

He took a long swig of vodka and then poured some on the bleeding gash, hissing through his teeth. Your expression of slight amusement didn’t change as he glanced at you once more, taking out a needle and thread.

“I have to be careful about infections, who knows where that knife of yours has been?” he said.

You merely watched as he began stitching himself up without so much as a grimace. His breathing was slow and steady as he concentrated, and you found yourself entranced by the precise movements of his hands.

An obscene thought about those hands wriggled into your mind, but you immediately pushed it away. It was all the more reason for you to get the hell out of there, especially now that his pants were down.

As he was finishing his stitches, you leaned forward onto your tiptoes and then threw yourself back as hard as you could. The chair broke apart under you, the force of the blow and the angle in which you fell spraining one of your wrists. The adrenaline made you barely register the pain, and you quickly wriggled out of the tape wrapped around you.

You pulled a Swiss army knife out of your boot and hastily sawed off the tape binding your ankles. He swore as you stood, lifting your arms and slamming them down to free your hands. You stumbled towards the front door and yanked it open.

Outside, the wind howled ferociously and a thick flurry of snow limited your vision of your surroundings. You felt the unforgiving cold slicing through you as you hesitated, knowing deep down that your chances of survival were very slim. 

Still, you were reckless enough to try and brave it. You started towards the steps when you were yanked back once more, your back pinned against the wall and Duncan’s hand around your throat.

“You just don’t fucking learn, do you?” He growled. 

“You only caught me because I hesitated, old man.”

His grip tightened a little in warning. “Didn’t anybody teach you never to hesitate?”

“There is a very fine line between foolishness and courage, you know…” The corners of your mouth twitched, an amused gleam in your eye. “I wonder how often you cross from one side to the other.”

He clenched his teeth and an absolutely devious, cheshire cat grin spread across your face. The mere sight of it made his blood boil with both rage and arousal, and he felt it flowing southward. Your back instinctually arched towards him, as if you could somehow sense the sudden influx of violent desire, and became infected by it.

You stared at each other for a charged moment before he suddenly fell upon you, intent on devouring you. His lips clashed with yours in a fierce kiss and you buried your fingers in his hair, tugging at it as you retaliated.

You bit his lower lip hard, making him groan into your mouth. You used this opportunity to slide your tongue against his, and he moved the hand that had been around your neck toward your jaw. Without thinking, you pressed harder against him, your fingers about to slide under the hem of his sweater.

He clasped your wrist to stop you, assuming you were reaching for some hidden weapon. You whimpered slightly, painfully reminded that it was in fact sprained. He pulled back to look at you, both of you panting heavily and still clutching each other tightly. 

“I fear that line was blurred a long time ago, and I suspect it’s the same case with you,” He murmured. 

His words broke through your daze and you immediately pushed him away from you, cradling your injured hand against your chest. A maelstrom of emotions roiled inside of you, predominantly confusion and a worrisome throb between your legs. 

“And what now?” You asked, glancing out of the window. “It’s clear neither of us are going anywhere any time soon.”

“Now we weather the storm,” he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“No, seriously.”

“I am being serious.”

You huffed in annoyance, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I… can’t believe I’m asking this right now but, maybe we can… put the killing each other thing on hold for a few days?”

“So you were coming for me.”

“No! I wasn’t!” You threw your hands up exasperatedly. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I have work further up north. This was just a pit stop.”

He assessed you for a moment, trying to find any clues that you were lying. You stood your ground, keeping your eyes on his face. He sniffed, leaning against the wall to get his weight off his injured leg. 

“I’m fine with a temporary truce, but only if we both keep our weapons in plain sight at all times.”

“I am a weapon myself, big boy.”

“So am I. I suppose we’ll have to keep an eye on each other as well, then.”

“Fine,” you huffed, stomping to the couch and pulling it over to the kitchen. “I’ll stay on this side of the cabin, you can stay on the other side.”

“What!? This is my house!” He scoffed.

“Yeah, well, I’m being generous by letting you keep your bed. Not to mention, your life.”

He rolled his eyes, limping back over to his bed. “Whatever you say. Now, can I please fix my stitches in peace for one fucking second?”

———————

There was no sleep for the entirety of the first night. 

The cabin creaked and groaned, straining against the disastrously strong wind. Your breaths fogged up in the air as you shivered under the thin blanket Duncan had given you. The cold seemed to seep into your very bones as if punishing you for your decisions. To distract yourself from the chill, you kept an eye on his prone form across the room, knowing well he wasn’t sleeping either. 

When dawn broke, a thin grayish light filtered into the room. The storm raged on and all you wanted to do was doze off, but you were still on edge. You clenched your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering, irritated by a headache. Your mood didn’t get any better when Duncan rose from his bed, crossing towards the kitchen.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You inquired, not moving an inch.

He stopped in his tracks. “I’m hungry. Don’t you want to eat?” 

Your stomach growled in answer and he lifted an eyebrow in slight amusement. You unwillingly threw the blanket off of you, getting up with an annoyed grunt. 

“I’ll give you the food. Let’s see what you’ve got,” you said, rummaging through the cabinets.

“I could just show you…”

“No, stay on your side. Even better, why don’t you go sit back down on your bed?”

He followed orders, not really wanting to start quarreling with you so early in the morning. You finally found some oatmeal packets in one of the cupboards, and you took out a few and poured them into a pot along with some water. You left it to boil over the stove top, crossing your arms over your chest and turning to face him.

“How’s your leg doing, anyway?” You asked. 

“Fine. Why do you care?”

“I really don’t.”

He chuckled. “Good thing you’re a better assassin than you are a liar.”

You sighed deeply. “Well, it is your house, I should at least have some manners.”

He scoffed, still amused. “We are way past manners. Our only courtesy to each other would be a painless death.”

“Oh, really? Painless?” You arched an eyebrow. “Did you forget Lisbon? And that grenade launcher you stole?”

“Okay, well, I wasn’t technically aiming at you. You just happened to be in the way,” He argued. “And it’s not like you haven’t given me the same sort of treatment…”

You shrugged one shoulder. “It’s only fair.”

The two of you lapsed into silence as you turned your attention back to the pot. Once the oatmeal was ready, you spooned it into two bowls and walked to the invisible line that divided the cabin in two.

He got up and met you there, reaching slowly for his bowl so as not to seem threatening. Not that you were viewing him that way, anyway. At least not in the clearly exhausted state he was in. 

“Careful, it’s hot,” you said. “Need me to blow on it first?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, resisting the lure of your impish grin. He figured it was perhaps the more masochistic part of him that made him so drawn to you. Always pushing him, testing him, keeping him on the edge. He would never admit it to himself — much less to you — but it made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t for a really long time.

He muttered a quick thank you before heading back to his side of the room, plopping down on the bed and immediately digging in. If he burned his mouth, he showed no indication of it, but you still huffed in amusement. 

When he was done, he said nothing as he lied down, his back to you once again. A little confused and wary, you watched him as you slowly ate. Soon enough, his breath evened out into a steady rhythm, and you assumed he’d fallen asleep.

You glanced over at the dining table, where the two of you had laid out all your weapons, and considered them for a long moment. 

It seemed too easy to have such a window of opportunity. Normally, you’d have jumped at any such chance, but once more, you hesitated. Not out of any sort of newfound benevolence, but something deeper than that. Something that had been gnawing at you since the previous night.

In the end, you opted not to do anything. Surely, it was bound to be a mistake to not have killed him at that moment. But that would be a problem for another day, perhaps when the storm was over. 

You sat down on the floor by the foot of the couch, back resting against the frame. Sleep deprivation was starting to hit you as well, and you knew that if you were to lay down you would certainly fall asleep. Instead, your eyes focused on the suspiciously peaceful sight of Duncan sleeping. 

The longer you stared, the blurrier the lines seemed to get. Literally. His broad form was smudged into a single sphere, and without much thought about it, everything suddenly went black. 

Until… Shit. 

How long were you asleep?

It had been long since you’d last awakened to a man in front of you, let alone holding a knife to your face. The blade shone in your half-open eyes, reflecting the setting sun outside the window. You must have been unconscious for over two hours.  Stupid, so very stupid.

You blinked the haze of sleep out of your eyes and followed the glint to his fingers, his forearm, up his broad chest and shoulders, until it finally landed on his face. 

 “So, the game ends at last, huh?” you muttered, your gaze not wavering from his.

“Could’ve ended long ago, but it didn’t,” he said, once again looking every bit the coldhearted killer he was. You could still see, however, the presence of doubt in his dark eyes. “Why didn’t you kill me?” 

“I knew you weren’t actually sleeping…”

“Even so,” he pressed, straightening to his full, imposing height. “You didn’t even try. Why?”

You blinked, not really having an answer, not one that would satisfy him at least. What's more, you had a set of questions of your own, ones that would likely also have no answer. 

The words slipped before you could even think about them. “Why did you kiss me?” 

Silence hung between you like a heavy drape. You were cornered in more than one sense. Windows for precaution and escape had long since closed, maybe even since the moment you ran into him in that little gas station. And through hardships, you learned that if there’s no way back, the only way is forward. 

The wound in his thigh didn’t seem to bother him as much anymore, so there was no way you could outrun him. You looked down to avoid his scrutiny and he used the back of his knife to force your chin back up. 

He didn’t speak, but his eyes bore into yours, almost as if seeing through them into parts of you that were foreign even to yourself. The flat part of the blade trailed up to your cheek in what could be interpreted as a caress. 

Your hand unconsciously intended to return the favor, running up his knee to his thigh, extra cautious around his wound. You noticed a change of pattern in his breathing, and so you looked down only to find one of the answers you sought — the print of his hardened cock cruelly imprisoned within his pants. 

“Oh,” you breathed, surprised. Then again, when the reality of what you were looking at fully sank in. “Oh.”

Your hand moved on its own accord again, slowly slipping further up his thigh. Again, he tightly grabbed your wrist before your fingers reached their target, and you hissed in pain. He immediately let go, withdrawing the knife as well.

“Are you hurt?” He asked. 

“A sprained wrist isn’t gonna kill me,” you said, keeping your hand on his leg to drive your point across. “Now that, on the other hand, has to be taken care of.”

“Taken care of, huh?” He rasped, his voice hoarse with want and self-directed anger because of it. 

He raked a hand through your hair, gathering it in his first and pulling your head towards his crotch. He pressed your cheek against his bulge, his hips bucking ever so slightly. 

“And how do you suppose that’s gonna happen?” He added.

“I have a few ideas if you’re open to them,” you panted, ignited in a way that almost fully consumed you. 

His eyes searched your face for a moment, drinking you in as he searched for any indications of doubt, and then he whispered, “Are you sure?” 

This time you didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He saw the feverish gleam of hunger in your eyes as he pulled away and unbuckled his belt, pushing down his pants. The outline of his cock was even more prominent through his briefs and you couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath at the sheer size of him. He was still holding onto your hair, stepping closer and effectively cornering you against the couch. 

You boldly started to reach for the hem of his briefs, but he said, “No. I want you to use your teeth.”

“Getting a little bold there, old man,” you said with a smirk, keeping your eyes on him as you dipped your head to plant a soft kiss on his thigh, right by his stitches. 

He winced slightly at the contact, but you could see his cock throb against the fabric covering it.  Your smirk only widened, “But I gotta admit I’m pretty impressed so far. Didn’t even have to slip a blue pill in your oatmeal.”

He gripped your jaw, clicking his tongue in disappointment. “I think you need more proof, actually. Allow me.”

With his free hand, he roughly tugged down his briefs and his cock finally sprang free — so thick and long and just fucking perfect — hitting his lower abdomen. The head of it glistened with precum, which he spread with his thumb. You shifted in your seat, biting your lip as saliva flooded your mouth.

“Open,” he ordered.

You immediately complied, wondering when the fuck you’d gotten so obedient. He gripped the base of it and fed it into your mouth slowly. You wrapped your lips around it, feeling it slide smoothly against your tongue. 

A small groan escaped him, his head tipped back at the first rush of pleasure. You hummed a little in response and he felt the vibration of the sound against his shaft. His hips began to move again, shuttling his length deeper into your mouth, until you could feel the head of it reach your throat.

He let you steady yourself by placing your hands on his legs, his hand returning to the back of your head as it bobbed up and down. Then suddenly, when you’d reached the very base, he kept your head down. Your nose was against his pelvis, your deep, even breaths fanning against the fine hair that curled there. 

Your nails dug into the flesh of his legs as you staved off your gag reflex as best as you could. Still, you couldn’t help but squirm a little, already pretty slick between your thighs.

 He cursed under his breath as he let you come up for air, an obscene string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock.

"If I knew you were such a cock drunk slut, I would have dropped my pants much earlier just to shut you up,” he said with a smug grin, looking down at you.

“More bold words from someone who’s only gonna last this round. I’m gonna have to take care of myself after you’re done,” you taunted lightly, making him pull at your hair.

You kept eye contact with him as you stuck your tongue out and traced it over a large vein on the underside of his shaft. You left a trail of wet, sloppy kisses as you made your way back to the tip, and he lightly slapped it against your tongue a couple of times before pushing your head back down on it. His balls tightened momentarily as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, and you knew he was enjoying himself much more than he let on.

"Well, if it's gonna be only one, might as well make good use of it, don't you think?" He said, pulling you off of him and making you stand up.

His lips were on yours in the next moment, just as desperate and hungry as the first kiss. He kicked his pants off the rest of the way and yanked your sweater off along with your thermal undershirt. He reached for your pants, but you slapped his hand away, extricating yourself from his lips to undo them yourself.

As soon as they were off, he turned you around and bent you over the back of the couch. There was a wet spot in your underwear that made him smirk, but he also couldn’t deny the way his cock throbbed at the sight.

“This is in the way…” he grunted, tugging at your bra strap.

Before you even registered what was happening, he brought the knife back out and sawed the bra off of you. You let out a gasp that was both surprised and indignant as he proceeded to rip your panties off with his bare hands, tossing the scraps of fabric aside.

“Hey! Those are the only ones I have here!” You huffed, glaring at him over your shoulder. “Unless you have a secret stash of women’s underwear, you seriously owe me.”

He nudged your knees apart with his leg. “I don’t think you’re going to need them while you’re here. You were already ruining them yourself, anyway.”

Before you could retort, you felt him push inside of you slowly, grabbing your hips as he let out a low moan. 

“Fuck…” you sighed without thinking, leaning your elbows against the back of the couch. 

“Yeah? Does that feel good?” He cooed condescendingly.

“In your drea–”

His hips snapped into yours harshly, interrupting you. You felt the heat of him against your back as he leaned over you, his breath fanning across the side of your face. 

“If I were you, I’d be careful about lying again. I might just stop and leave you all drenched like this, with your hands tied behind your back so you couldn’t touch yourself.”

He felt you clench around him at that and his smirk turned victorious. He kissed and sucked at your shoulder and neck, making sure to leave plenty of marks. His thrusts were hard and deep at first, hips barely pulling back as his weight pinned you down.

You let out a sound that was a strange mix between a whimper and a gasp as he bit into the tender flesh of your shoulder, hard enough to leave teeth marks behind. The jolt of pain mixed with pleasure – not to mention the slight shame that came with the feeling of your arousal dripping down your inner thighs – only fueled the fire that was steadily growing within you. 

Then, a little mindlessly, you pleaded, “Harder. Fuck me harder.”

He straightened immediately, readjusting himself to start pounding into you at a nearly punishing pace. You bit your bottom lip to try and keep quiet, but wanton sounds of pleasure escaped your throat despite your efforts. He was hitting a spot that made your head spin, tugging you backward onto his cock to meet his thrusts.

The lewd sound of flesh slapping together, along with your collective pants and groans, filled the room. He reached forward to grab your throat again, keeping you semi-upright as he continued to take you. In truth, he was focusing hard to stave off his release. He had plenty of stamina for his age, but the way your cunt took him so perfectly, as if molded just for him, was enough to have his balls tightening again. 

But he would never hear the end of it. 

Your legs began to shake a little as the coil in your belly tightened, threatening to snap. “I-I think I’m gonna cum, fuck…”

“Not yet,” he said firmly, immediately stopping his motions. 

You cursed him under your breath, beyond frustrated. You pushed your hips back, intent on fucking yourself on him, but his firm grip stopped you. He landed a firm smack on your ass, making you involuntarily clench around him. He hissed, feeling the strong urge to give in and continue fucking you until you came all over his cock, but he kept his composure. He wanted to keep indulging you for as long as he could, still not fully believing he wasn’t just having a dirty dream.

“Do that again and I’ll rip your fucking head off,” you snarled as he pulled out, grabbing your arm and leading you toward the bed.

“I told you I was going to make it count.”

He tossed you onto your back on the bed, crawling on top of you and pushing your knees up to your shoulders. He positioned himself between your thighs and sank back into your cunt with no further preambles, his strong body covering yours once more.

His hands cradled your head as he began to move again, reaching impossibly deeper than before. You clawed at his biceps as he ground his pelvis against you, making your brain practically short-circuit.

“There we go… See? I knew you could take more,” he said, kissing the corner of your lips. “Are you scared I'll pull out again? You keep sucking me back in.”

Too dazed to form words, your lips chased his so he would kiss you properly. Your tongue trailed over his upper lip enticingly, and he opened his mouth so his tongue could meet yours. This kiss was deeper, less frantic, finally giving yourselves a chance to taste each other properly. 

Soon you were clenching around him again, too distracted by your mounting pleasure to continue kissing him properly. 

“Fuck, don’t stop, Duncan. Please, please, please, just like that,” you begged desperately, moaning as he moved to kiss your jaw. 

“Yeah? You want me to fill you up, too?” He rasped against your skin. “Claim this needy cunt all for myself?”

You nodded eagerly, face contorting with ecstasy as you held onto him for dear life. Your muscles seized up as your climax washed over you, overpowering your senses. His hips stuttered as you cried out, your hot flesh molding into his like the deepest embrace. 

He kissed you again as he felt his own release rippling over him, groaning into your mouth as he shuddered, unable to hold himself back any longer. He thrusted hard a few more times before remaining fully inside of you, and you felt heat flooding your cunt. 

A whimper of slight overstimulation escaped you, but he soothed you with a whispered praise in your ear. You couldn’t help but smile beatifically, almost purring in content as he kept his cum inside of you.

As you both rode out your highs, your kisses turned lazy, almost tender, and even the way he held you felt different. Somehow, in some deep recess of your mind, it seemed right… and that scared you a little.

Still, you tried not to let it get to you then. Not as he leaned his sweaty forehead against yours, still panting, and said, “I think I tore my stitches.”

You chuckled. “You should probably take care of that, then.”

“In a minute…”

He disentangled himself from you, pulling out and sliding his body down between your legs. You tried to draw your thighs together, but he stopped you, planting a kiss on your mound.

He spread your lips with two fingers so he could see his cum trickling out of you, but then he pushed it back in with those same fingers, making your hips jerk slightly.

“T-this was a one time thing, you know,” you breathed, trying to sound firm. 

He barely glanced up at you, seemingly unbothered. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

But only an hour or so later, you found yourself riding him on the couch. Then, he took you against the wall, over the kitchen counter, off the edge of the bed, and subsequently on the floor. He seemed intent on making sure you never questioned his endurance ever again.

Even throughout the night, you slept sporadically, pawing at each other whenever you stirred. Not many words were exchanged during this time, but that didn’t mean your mouths weren’t put to good use. As usual, you both wound up with bruises, bite marks, and scratches all over each other, but the intention behind them couldn’t be any more different.

The storm died sometime during the night, but instead of fleeing right away, you let him hold you until dawn broke. There were too many new questions floating about in your head, but you weren’t really sure you wanted the answer to any of them for the time being. Perhaps it was simply best to let what happened remain in the past and simply move on.

As quietly as you could, you got up from the bed, cleaned yourself up, and dressed. You sheathed your weapons, avoiding looking at him as you prepared to leave. When your hand was on the doorknob, his voice stopped you.

“You didn’t kill me again,” he said. “Should I take that as an indication that you like me?”

You looked over at him, frowning. “Absolutely not. I’m serious, this was the last time it’ll ever happen.”

“I’m not sure I can trust your word.”

You huffed, irritated. “Well, you’ll have to. I intend to keep it.”

You yanked the door open, about to stomp outside, but you heard the creak of the bed as he sat up. 

“You know, I’m going to be in Portofino in a few months. I heard it’s beautiful there in the summer, and I figured I could use a vacation.”

“Are you trying to make yourself an easy target?”

“...Maybe.”

“And if I decide not to hunt you down?”

He raised an eyebrow. “If?”

You grimaced. “All I’m saying is don’t get your hopes up. I’m a very busy gal, I don’t have time to play cat and mouse with you.”

“And who’s who in that analogy, hm?”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes. “Goodbye, Duncan. Truce is over, do you hear me?”

“I’ll see you in Portofino. Make sure you bring sunscreen.”

The door slammed shut behind you. 

---——-

Part 2 out now!

[spiderrmax]

the end?

"50 wordless ways to say I love you"

47. staying up half the night to finish a game with them. word count: 1431 author's note: this was really fun to write because i had to remember the steps to beating the ender dragon. (im not a gamer im sorry) (also since you guys aren't speedrunning you don't finish the game)

It’s 10 pm when you have the amazing idea to start a new minecraft world. When you propose the idea, Kyle laughs, not believing you to be serious at first. The two of you are all ready for bed, his hat discarded and curls loose. However, when you scoot to the end of your bed, turning on your console, he follows suit, sitting right beside you. (The both of you ignore the heat in your face as your legs brush against one another.)

“Minecraft is a game that Ike likes.” Kyle teases, as the familiar soundtrack fills your room.

“Shut up. You mentioned never beating it before. We conquer The End tonight.” You swiftly respond, one of your elbows reaching for Kyle’s ribs. He takes the hit, before recovering quickly, nudging you back into your original spot on the bed.

“The End?” Kyle asks, watching as you make the new world. He smiles a bit when you title it with the two of your initials. You’re cute, he thinks, allowing the thought to simmer before he tries to forget about it.

“It’s where the Ender Dragon lives. You’ll catch on, you’re smart.” You explain, handing him a controller. “You’re going to be the little guy on the bottom half of the screen.”

Kyle doesn’t mention how he’s used to focusing on the upper half, allowing you to teach him the strings. It’s not like he hasn’t played the game before, again it was one Ike enjoyed a lot when they were younger. Ike just never cared to do much other than terrorize villagers and pick flowers.

The game loads up, and the two of you are in a spruce biome. You’re quick to start chopping down wood, and Kyle simply follows in your footsteps. Kyle is impressed with how swift and efficient you are, getting enough wood to make a full set of wooden tools. When you ask for his wood, he has no hesitation in giving it to you, kindly thanking you as you craft his tools too.

“Wanna explore for a bit? We’ll need to go mining at some point but we don’t need to rush the game.” You explain, leaning closer to him. (Kyle doesn’t know if it’s subconscious or not, but he doesn’t move much after that, scared you’ll realize and drift away.)

Kyle’s character mostly follows your character around. You continue to mine at blocks vital to progressing the game — more wood, surface coal, cobblestone — as you guys escape the forest. Playing the game with you is much more relaxing, even if Kyle isn’t making much of the decisions. Not that he minds, really, as it is similar to how Ike would play. If anything, the only reason it’s so tolerable is because he’s playing with you.

The two of you find a village around 11, the hour of exploring feeling like minutes as the two of you wondered around. Kyle watches as you steal from their farms, their chests, and destroys their hay; he can’t feel pity for the villagers with their silly design. Notably, you share the loot with Kyle, not keeping all the nicer items for yourself. It’s almost second nature, to give him the iron pickaxe you found. Kyle leans in closer; you don’t move even as his shoulder brushes.

Before venturing into the mines, you suggest stealing two villagers beds to set your spawn point just incase one of you were to die. Two yellow beds are placed down together, in the middle of a plains biome. Kyle doesn’t comment on your deliberate placement of your bed next to his. He does have to pause to take a sip of his water, face on fire. (It’s just a video game. One he’s playing with you, one he’s enjoying despite the open world. He wonders if you are picking up on his internal struggles, or if you are too focused on the game.)

Hours pass, and the two of you have made more progress than Kyle ever has. You guide him through getting enough diamonds to craft a pickaxe in order to make a portal to the Nether; he wasn’t even aware of the other dimension until you explained it to him.

Despite being prone to raging whenever he dies in game, he doesn’t care when a blaze burns him to a crisp. He watches as your character gets his stuff — “it’ll despawn, I promise to give it back” — and hides in a corner, waiting for him to safely get back to you. He thinks of playing with his friends, who in comparison, would’ve kept his stuff joyfully, and smiles down at you.

You have to get enough blaze rods to get to The End — five, preferably. Once you have that you get to leave the dreaded dimension. As you enter the portal, you show your first signs of exhaustion, yawning and reaching up to rub at your eyes, and Kyle looks up to see it’s one in the morning. 

“Hey it’s getting late. Do you want to head to bed?” Kyle’s voice is soft, peering down at you with such genuineness you can’t stare at him long.

“No, I’m okay. Let’s keep going. We still have to get ender pearls.” You mumble, voice clearly affected from your tired state.

Enderpearls come from Enderman, Kyle learns as the two of you wait for it to be night. In comparison to the five blaze rods, you need 12 eyes. Just in case, you’ll never know how many spots are full at the portal. (You explain things to him with such passion, despite being exhausted. Your hands wave slightly, and Kyle has to take the control from your lap to prevent it from falling. He’s never cared so much about Minecraft.)

Kyle’s first Enderman kills him, coming from behind. You conviently left out how they teleport, and watching him stumble around has you giggling with delirium. Purposely, this time, you lean closer, head tucked against Kyle’s arm. He can feel your laughter, and doesn’t mind being the source of your amusement. As he respawns, he shifts a bit, to allow you to fit better.

You yawn again, and after a moment, a second time. Your character is not moving as efficiently as it once was, and although you haven’t died, you aren’t fighting the mobs either. Kyle is doing most of the work, and almost is cocky with how smooth he can kill Creepers without them blowing either of you up.

At 2:48, you guys finally have gathered 12 pearls. Enderman spawn less frequently than other mobs, thus making it harder to hunt them down. Over the hour you have continued to sink into the warm of Kyle’s hoodie. If it was the morning, with people to witness, he thinks he would be a flustered mess. With the world asleep, it feels right to have you at his side; no one awake to argue with him.

Your character has stopped moving, and Kyle peers down to see if you’re asleep, too. Slowly, you blink up at him, confirmation of your (barely) consciousness. Kyle grins, and pressing a kiss to your forehead comes naturally. A sleepy grin appears on your face, but you don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

When the sun rises in the game, Kyle takes your controller to save the game. Your grip too weak to have any fight, and once the game finishes saving, he turns off the TV. Kyle yawns too, stretching as he stands for the first time in hours. You can barely keep yourself up, and once Kyle’s joints are no longer stiff, he helps guides you back up against your pillows.

“We didn’t get to the End.” You mumble into the comforter, shifting around to create space in your bed for him. He slides in, perfectly designed for the other half of your mattress.

“We can play another day.” Kyle murmurs, pushing hair from your forehead. Your eyes are shut now, and Kyle can’t help but smile from the simple domesticity of it all.

“Thanks for staying up with me.” You cuddle closer, those words acting as your goodnight as you can no longer force yourself to stay awake.

Kyle doesn’t say anything for a moment, yawning himself as he finally lets himself feel exhaustion from being up until three AM.

He tries to think of something romantic to say, like they would in the movies, but he doesn’t need to. The arm he curls around your waist, the way he eases into your mattress, and the relaxed look on his face tells it all.

[sortasirius]

"Confessions" and the Beginning

Hello fellow clowns, genuinely fucking unbelievable episode amiright?

FIRST OF ALL, welcome back Bobby's hot priest, missed u bitch.

I really did miss just like regular calls last season, it's nice just to have a random silly one to start an episode.

GIRL I MISS CHRIS AS MUCH AS EDDIE DOES RELEASE HIM FROM HELENA DIAZ'S CLUTCHES!!!!

This man is going through the most insane confessions of his life. First Bobby saying he's a murderer and now Eddie saying that his son caught him with his dead mother like give this man a break lmao.

"I don't deserve forgiveness, I gotta go."

And this is the beginning of Eddie's thesis: what he deserves. More importantly, what he thinks he deserves.

Buck is literally like the most awkward man alive. He has zero game I love him sm.

Bitch. ABBY???? FUCKING ABBY?????? SHE IS BUCK'S SHANNON, CONSTANTLY HAUNTING THE NARRATIVE.

"I wonder how many men she turned gay" Maddie is Abby's number 1 hater (besides Eddie lmao)

"Unless there's another boy" JOSH PLEASE!!!!!

The Glee reference Tim Minear you will pay for your crimes lmao

It's interesting that he didn't even seem to consider taking the next step with Tommy until Josh brought it up. Also really interesting how he ends up framing their conversation later, like it's more of an "honoring Tommy" thing than a "I really want to move in with you" thing. Now this could just be awkward scripting or awkward (no game) Buck, but I think it's worth mentioning.

I just love Chim and Maddie so much they are my true north always.

Eddie's tank top? Yeah make that an everyday look for him good lord.

"I'm straight" YEAH SURE JAN WHATEVER YOU FUCKING SAY.

He's punishing himself by not choosing the juice because he doesn't think he deserves it, because he doesn't think he's allowed to take it... He is the obstacle in his own joy. What is that joy? What is he standing in his own way of?

"Because the LAFD doesn't allow beards."

"So it's a disguise?"

"Something like that."

SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!!!!! HELLO?????

"What are you afraid of seeing when you look in the mirror?"

"A failure. Someone that doesn't deserve forgiveness. Or joy."

I'm literally beating my fists on the ground. It's textbook. Fucking textbook. He's hiding from himself, hiding himself from himself, hiding from his joy.

Nothing like 911 to give you the most insane gutwrenching side plot of all time when I tell you I was SOBBING over those two brothers. (To be fair it's been an extremely hard week).

"I'm the himbo" HE IS THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!!!!!

Look let me just get this out of the way: I really loved bucktommy. I liked their dynamic and I liked what he was able to teach Buck about himself, but I think Tommy is ultimately right: he can see the writing on the wall, just in the same way he said "my attention?" in 7x04. He was Buck's first queer relationship, but he will not be his last. And I think Tommy has an idea who his last will be, even if he kept that part to himself.

I do think it was kind of an insane speedrun at the end there, I'm not sure why he couldn't just ask Buck to pump the brakes instead of fully breaking up with him.

It's also just a complete manifestation of Buck's greatest fear: abandonment. Abandoned by his parents, abandoned (through no fault of her own) by Maddie, abandoned by Abby, by Taylor, and now by Tommy. It sucks for him, and I hate it for him and for Tommy, who also doesn't seem to think he can have good things, and would rather beat Buck to the punch than actually take the risk and be vulnerable.

I think that this was a good learning experience for them both, and I think they'll both be better for it in the long run.

"I'll see you around, Buck" killed my ass.

MADNEY BABY MADNEY BABY MADNEY BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And lastly, Eddie shaving off the mustache, his barrier from joy, and dancing around his house in his underwear. Finding the joy in being himself, finding the joy in his life again. And Buck knocking on the door, not asking any questions, and them sitting together on the couch, shoulder to shoulder each of their respective "barriers" gone.

They have some things to figure out, but we are so close that I can taste it, I can feel it.

I haven't felt this way since the last season of SPN, and while that didn't turn out the way I wanted (due to network and Robert Singer's meddling), I am confident that that is not where we're heading here. Tim Minear is back. The show is on the Shonda network. Buck is out and Eddie is on his way there. Gay Eddie. Buddie endgame. It's happening, and nothing will get me out of this clown car.

[beanghostprincess]

Follow up of the Marco And Shanks Feuding Over Buggy -

Once things resolve, the captains are somehow the WORST instigators. Roger, once he realized Marco was flirting with his Baby Bug, is caught between "well, kid has good taste" and "Oh I Gotta Kill A Child".

Whitebeard makes frequent comments about daughter in laws and it sends EVERYONE reeling, especially Buggy. He thinks it's hilarious, and it mostly joking ((but a little serious)).

Maybe it's the multishipper in me, maybe it's the polyamory projection, but eventually Shanks and Buggy have The Conversation about being captains of the own crews, of being each other's most definitely, of being married ((they are 13-15 when The End Is Nigh for Roger, and I can see Buggy having a sudden realization that Captain that Dad is dying. She and Shanks speedrun being married so he can do it. They're minors so it isn't official, but they get/make rings, set it up and have Captain officiate it so they're "married". It's the closest they'll get to the real deal and both need their dad there for this.)).

Shanks and Buggy establish an open relationship. They can be with and pursue others, but communication is key and they need to just keep each other relatively in the loop.

Buggy jokingly asks if Marco is still a sore subject, and Shanks shoots her a grin. "If you stay mine, you can be with whoever you like. Just promise me you will make sure he treats you the way you deserve, princess."

The next time Marco crosses either, it's Shanks. And he asks "hey featherhead, still crushing on clowns?"

"And if I am?"

"Here's her denden number - be nice, be polite, don't hurt her or I'll roast you for dinner, chicken boy :))"

"What"

"Byyyyeeeee~"

"No wait what-yoi-?"

Buggy goes on to assemble the world's weirdest, most unexpected polycule. A Yonko husband, a Yonko's division commander boyfriend, two warlords, a Marine, maybe a Revolutionary, just... wild ass polycule.

((Bonus, once she settles in the East for a bit, Zeff takes one look at her and goes "Oh boy now I have a niece. Damn it all." He threatens to shovel talk anyone who dates his weird clown niece but they rarely stop by the East, so he's got the conversations scripted in his head. When Mihawk shows up, he is READY.))

Buggy also has a bunch of evil exes bc she's a catch but she doesn't always clock red flags. It's mostly fine, but if any attempt retaliation, usually she's oblivious, either bc her crew goes full Protect Mom Mode or bc her current partners... take out the trash, as it were :))

Once Luffy realizes Buggy is basically his step mom is all sorts of ways, the Strawhat Protection System is enacted full throttle. She is oblivious. It's hilarious. Buggy has Scary Dog Privileges and doesn't even realize.

Whitebeard still calls her daughter-in-law. Roger is screaming crying throwing up in the afterlife. Rayleigh flips between "Oh my baby girl can handle herself ahe's so strong" and "Nobody Is Good Enough For My Daughter". Crocus hoards all newspapers that so much as mention her or Shanks.

Just. Silly funny polycule shenanigans.

Buggy just has a whole ass harem of boys pining over her and she goes through life thinking they're normal about her but they're not. They're literally obsessed with her. She only loves Shanks and is fond of Crocodile and Mihawk (ends up falling for them eventually, y'know) and the people she has been with have always been just kind of there? She doesn't forget them but she doesn't really care about them either. IT girl, girlboss behavior for once even if she's still a failgirl. But they always remember her. She's not easy to forget. Everybody that loves her is so protective of her too and she wonders why she never gets bothered by anybody?? She believes it's because she's now important and scary and yadda yadda but it's just because people have to go through Rayleigh, the strawhats, Shanks, and Cross Guild to get to her. So, you know, she's protected.

This is just amazing, btw. I also think they have an open relationship. And Marco being extremely confused when Shanks gives him Buggy's number is just hilarious, help. He's having a moment there wondering if it's a trap or something. I think Buggy would have the time of her life, and although Shanks also sleeps with other people, his heart will always be with Buggy. Like- He's the clingiest most annoying husband in the world. He's so proud of calling Buggy his wife. He's just there cheering for her, knowing that no matter how many people she's with, she'll go back to him!! The trust they could've had in each other if things would've gone well,,,,,, Going insane.

[loveoaths]

i refuse to write luke skywalker as always rational and sunshiney and din djarin as always stoic and honorable.

because luke can be whiny and enjoys complaining and doubts himself but he keeps going and it’s his refusal to quit that gets him to the other side. and he had to learn that, that dogged tenacity, with time and experience and yoda’s help on dagobah. he wears coco chanel and could kill god but he’s too busy housing hot milk juice. he’s the greatest jedi who ever lived but he also knows jack-all shit about the legacy he carries because he got the jedi speedrun. his first student knows more about being a jedi than he does and luke feels weird and less capable because of it. he still doesn’t quite know how to feel about his biofather, his feelings change every day, and he doesn’t know if he ever will. he knows next to nothing about his biomother and no one seems to think that’s weird at all. he loves sand. he misses home. he never wants to go home. he doesn’t know where home is anymore. he wanted to be a cool hero all his life and now that he is one he isn’t sure he’d have left tattooine if he’d known what it would have cost him back then, even if he knows now it was the right thing to do. he loves quickly and deeply and it’s his greatest strength and his greatest flaw, and his love is what saves his father but dooms his nephew. he’s a happy guy, not a naive one. he knows too much and not enough all at once. he’s brave and proud and freaky and normal and laughing and groaning all at once. he is a cambrian explosion, the universe convexing and convexing into itself all at once. he’s a hick from space arizonabama. he’s luke skywalker.

and din is not always selfless and honorable or deadly and murderous. that man does some reckless as shit sometimes. like get in a concrete boat in a lava river when he had a jet pack. or nearly getting eaten by every large-to-giant animal he stumbles across. or bringing a baby to a gunfight (although to his credit, the baby usually wins the gunfight). he’s also vengeful and leaves a guy to get eaten by street ratdogs with the calm air of a man who has done this before and walks away playing with his baby while a man screams bloody murder behind him. he tries to be polite and avoids killing people he doesn’t need to, but if you step to him he will cut you down without a second thought, and he will not feel bad about it. he was going to leave a teenager/young man toro calican to die because he was annoying until he begrudgingly agreed to help him. when he was young he referred to enemy combatants as “target practice” and fucked around with xi’an so he has terrible-good taste simultaneously. he just be doing shit and surviving because he’s literally wearing plot armor. he has anxiety. he has a heart— not a big one, but an honest one. he’s practical and ruthless when necessary. he’s a warrior and a protector, a father and an orphan, a zealot and an apostate, the sword and the shield, the hunter and the hunted. he lashes out when he’s frustrated and reins himself in to get a job done. he takes no bullshit but also, yes he does. he’s faced The Horrors and takes a space ambien before bed because his middle aged back fucking hurts. he’s a little guy. that’s din djarin.

they’re both complex and weird and funny and tragic and hopeful and messy as hell and basically i’m saying they should fight then fuck about it.

[alittledizzy]

this is so random lol but im originally from the dteam fandom and just recently started watching dan and phil a bit so i know almost nothing about them ive seen their sims series and coming out videos and thats about it could u tell me like the basic dan and phil lore for someone who's very new 😭

I love that I got this ask and someone who is a dnp fan who wants to start watching Dream and George on the same day ;_; this one is easier for me so I'm gonna start with it.

Basic lore:

Dan was a fan of Phil when he was a teenager and early/mid 2009 started trying to get that almighty notice by spamming his videos with comments and tweeting him. Phil clearly did notice him and started to engage with him more and more on social media. By September they'd progressed to Skype calls and there were clearly some vibes.

Dan made and posted his first video a few days before he traveled from Reading to Manchester to meet Phil for the first time. They clearly (ahem) got on well, and Dan started traveling to see Phil more and more. Dan's youtube career had a very healthy step up (cough, nepo baby) since he was being immediately and strongly promoted by one of the UK's top youtubers at the time.

By the time Dan was ready to start uni the following year (they met during his gap year), he decided to go to Manchester. Phil moved out of his parents place right around when Dan started uni, and after briefly living in the halls Dan moved in with him. Youtube was starting to be profitable for them both at this point and he wasn't enjoying his law degree so he dropped out in 2011. This was also around the era that they started trying to distance themselves from their (previously publicy confirmed) sexualities and being in a relationship due to various pressures, Dan's mental health, and one fairly big no-fault privacy invasion.

Speedrunning the next few years: Phil got an offer to work with BBC and said he'd do it if Dan could do it with him, which led to them moving to London and getting a radio show with the BBC for a few years. Their youtube careers both exploded, Dan especially, and they had various projects together. In 2014 they started the gaming channel and then ended up getting a book deal and doing their first world tour. Their career continued on in this vague nebulous are they gay, are they together, are they secretly dating women, when will they stop living together bubble until the coming out videos in 2019! Though the last couple of years skewed hard toward glass closet with them being incredibly transparent about being male attracted.

They both came out and Dan confirmed the relationship (though in such a way that people still argue about it now) and then they moved into a place in London they bought and designed from the ground up, sort of cementing the permanance of the relationship. Dan also fucked off for a few years on a very long hiatus (taking the gaming channel with him), tried to get several non-youtube projects launched but failed, did a solo world tour, Phil almost died multiple times, Dan and the gaming channel both came back, and now you're caught up to today!

[neuroticbookworm]

I was not planning on writing a Step by Step analysis this week, because my mind was too frayed from all the anticipation for the next episode. But then @lurkingshan posted this, and it knocked something loose in my brain, and now here I am.

Shan talks about how even though Jeng and Pat felt the spark of desire when they met a couple of times before they became boss and subordinate, once they knew they had to be professional, they dialed it back using very different mechanisms.

Jeng chose to keep his emotions under control in the workplace, and he harbored and nurtured those feelings in private. Pat, on the other hand, was already under stress in the workplace, and as @ginnymoonbeam and @bengiyo discuss here, he also misinterprets the initial strict mentoring from Jeng as proof that the spark he felt must've been all in his head. That his gaydar made an error, and therefore Jeng must be straight.

So when episode 8 begins, the mutual interest from their initial interactions is the only thing Jeng knows for certain, to assume that Pat might want a relationship with him. He also tells Tae that Pat never looks at him the way he looks at Pat, which makes the confession a pretty huge leap of faith from Jeng.

In the dance floor confession, Jeng observes that Pat is not ready for another relationship yet. He still confesses his feelings, but adds that he can be the safe space for Pat if that is all he wants from him. And that he will never want for anything more. He has already resigned himself here to the fate that he might never get to be Pat's boyfriend.

@respectthepetty explains here that Jeng would've fully gone along with Pat's understanding that Jeng is straight. He was forced to show his hand and come out when Pat referred to himself as Jeng's friend. Here, Jeng was no longer planning on making his feelings clear to Pat. He had no choice but to do it.

In the aftermath, Pat reacts with confusion, dawning realization and horror, and we know that Pat is reeling from this information because his mind is now doing a speedrun of all of their interactions and reevaluating them with the fact that Jeng is gay. But Jeng, oh my poor Jeng, thinks Pat is horrified for two reasons: the previously stated reason offered by his rational and logical brain, and the reason offered by his panicked and frantic brain that Pat is horrified by his advances, and that Pat never liked him in the first place. That he was utterly and completely wrong, right from the glass jelly incident. This thought may not have found deep roots in his mind yet, but it is there, floating and waiting for confirmation.

Now, some speculation for episode 9 (aka clowning). We see Pat has taken the day off, which further fuels Jeng's fears. And later Pat looks visibly unmoored and exhausted, like he hasn't slept for a few nights in a row. I was talking to @chicademartinica and she mentioned how Pat looks like he is disassociating in this episode. And I agree, he looks fully out of it.

Whatever happens that forces Jeng to confess AGAIN, I don't know yet. But what I do know is that there is a high possibility that Pat might say no after this confession, because he needs more time to process things. But, in Jeng's mind, that floating thought will finally get its confirmation and take root, and it will go, AHA I KNEW IT, HE HAS NEVER LIKED YOU, EVER.

I know we are all anxiously waiting for the slowburn to end (hopefully it'll happen before the sun swallows us whole), but we may need to hold our horses. Because the possible roadmap I see right now is: Jeng confesses -> Pat says no -> Jeng thinks Pat has never liked him and drowns himself (and us) in angst -> Pat finally finishes thinking and realizes that he does like Jeng -> Pat tries to tell Jeng -> Jeng is already packing his suitcases to flee the country OR Jeng has built his mental walls so high that Put can't get through to him without a massive effort -> Pat convinces Jeng to hear him out -> They finally sit down and talk to each other -> JengPat FINALLY BURNS

My fellow sufferers of this cursed show, I will be the happiest clown if I get proven wrong, but I think it will take a while for these two to work this mess out, and I think it might take more than one episode *runs*

[blacktofade]

Gemtho Fortnight Day 7

Prompt: Sparring then fucking. That's it, that's the prompt. (My comedy version of this prompt is Gem is all "well if you lose then you have to eat me out" and Etho gets killed immediately, on purpose. Like, not trying to fight back and failing as usual but fully embracing his end as a speedrun ticket to the pussy.)

cw: nsfw

“I think we should make this interesting,” Gem says, panting quietly, sweat dripping down the small of her back.

Across from her, Etho’s in a similar state, his headband and jacket missing, wooden sword held defensively, but even with his mask covering his mouth, she can tell he’s smiling.

“Diamonds?” Etho presumes and Gem finds herself smiling in return.

“Too simple. It needs to be something that you’ll actually start fighting for.”

His eyes are sharp, watching her. “I’m fighting,” he insists and she laughs.

“God, I hope that’s a lie, because you’re not making it difficult for me at all.”

He takes a step forward, a thinly veiled threat that just makes Gem's smile widen as she moves back, keeping the distance between them.

“We can each think of something we want,” Etho tells her. “Without saying it.”

Gem shakes her head. “I’m not agreeing to anything I don’t know.”

“Why? Are you afraid?”

Gem knows what he’s doing, but even still, he gets under his skin.

“This goes both ways,” she warns. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Etho brings his sword up, clearly ready for their next fight, and Gem’s brain processes a thousand thoughts before settling on just one — what she wants.

“Fine,” she says, and raises her own sword.

True to his word, Etho makes an effort, and Gem’s body sings with the exertion as she gives back the best she can. He’s using what she’s taught him to push her back, to close the space between them and get her on the back foot.

She can see it in his eyes, too — his need to win.

But that’s also his undoing, because the more he wants it, the more she can see his adrenaline start to affect the way he fights. His movements aren’t as clean, he’s too focused on the win, not how to get there.

He leaves himself open to an attack for too long and Gem sighs with exaggerated disappointment as she takes it, knocking him flat on his back on the ground and pressing the tip of her sword to his throat.

“Yield,” she warns and Etho does, nodding and dropping his sword, knowing there’s no way out for him.

He pants heavily, clearly frustrated with himself as he glares up at her.

“You can gloat,” he tells her as she tries to catch her breath, and she smiles and shakes her head.

“I don’t want to gloat, I want what I won.”

She drops her sword beside his and moves to stand over him, one foot either side of his hips.

“Take off your mask,” she tells him, reaching for the button of her pants, and she sees the exact moment it clicks for him.

He scrambles to do as she orders, tossing his mask aside, not seeming to care that it lands in the dirt. He’s too busy watching as she eases her pants and underwear down and off.

When she gets on her knees and straddles his face, his hands clutch at her thighs, tugging as though trying to get her to grind down against his mouth.

Feeling generous, she gives him what he wants, his tongue quick and eager, better at taking her apart than his sword. He could probably even make her beg with it.

He moans, like he’s the one being eaten out, and she rolls her hips, the fingers of one hand tangling in his hair and tugging.

He keeps his eyes open, watching her the whole time, and it makes Gem want to treat him worse. She wants to ruin him, make him submit to her again.

There’s already so much adrenaline coursing through her, she’s buzzing with it, breathing hard.

After months together, he knows what she likes, how she needs it, and she knows it’ll be quick and easy as she rides his tongue.

“This almost makes me think you can read minds,” Gem tells him, inhaling when he focuses on her clit. “If this was what you really wanted the whole time, you should’ve just said.”

He makes a noise against her, some kind of answer that she doesn’t actually care about, too busy enjoying the way it vibrates right where she needs it. She tugs at his hair to make him do it again, and she likes the way it sounds, knowing the whole lower half of his face will be wet by the time they’re through.

He’s drooling, probably enough for it to run down his chin, and she can’t wait to kiss the taste of herself out of his mouth after.

It doesn’t take long before she feels herself slipping, staring down at him, at the straight line of his nose, his eyes, the way his dark roots are starting to grow in. She thinks she loves every part of him, and it’s an epiphany she doesn’t expect to have as he laps at her like that.

“Etho,” she whines, softer than anything else she’s said to him all day, and his brows draw together in concentration as he makes her body ache for him, as he breaks her apart.

She comes, just as easy as she expected, her eyes clenched shut, mouth open on a silent groan, and when she finally drags in a breath, it’s ragged and loud and she folds forward, catching herself with on hand beside Etho’s head.

“Oh god,” she gasps. “Oh.”

He doesn’t relent until she finally finds the strength to lift up, forcing him to stop because he can’t reach.

She hovers there for a moment before easing back, carefully crawling down his body to sprawl out on top of him instead. He’s warm and she rises and falls with every breath he takes, the hot air of it blowing into her hair.

“You’re better at that than you are at fighting,” she tells him and he grunts and curls his arms around her, holding her close.

“Prefer that to fighting,” he admits, and it’s not a surprise, but Gem presses a kiss to his shoulder, through his shirt, feeling lucky to know so much about him now.

When she turns her head and rests it against him, letting the last of the tension leave her body, she can’t help but wonder.

“What were you going to make me do if you’d won?” she asks and Etho hums quietly in a way that she feels through her own chest.

“You won’t believe me now,” he sighs, and she shifts enough to be able to look up at him.

“Try me.”

“I was going to make you let me eat you out.”

Gem lets out a noise of disbelief.

“No you weren’t!” she cries, trying to sit up, even as Etho’s arms tighten around her and he laughs below her. And despite it all, Gem would never want to be anywhere else with anyone else.

[bonbelles]

˗ˏˋ tending to an injury ˎˊ˗

prompt: genshin characters tending to an injury of yours

content: gn!reader, mentions of blood/injury

characters included: diluc, childe/tartaglia, thoma, kaveh

gives you a little scolding for putting yourself in harm's way.

even if it was just an aggressive samachurl who happened to catch you just outside of mondstadt.

but once you remind him of his darknight duties, he accepts your point.

he's a perfectionist; the plaster needs to wrap over the whole cut, the bandages need to cover every single gash.

he will also tell you instructions for how to tend to your wounds:

"you need to redress your bandages every day, and wash your leg before you do so. i have rubbing alcohol if you need it, but these shouldn't get infected. now, when you redress-"

"diluc, i know how to bandage a leg."

"i'm just making sure."

the next time you go out anywhere, he will be watching from the shadows - making sure this kind of thing never happens again.

he had accidentally caught your arm with an arrow while training, and at first was unaware of the severity of your injury.

but after a minute or two of standing there, collecting the blood in your hands, he realised it was serious.

running to get medical equipment quickly, you heard him tell a group of fatui skirmishers to move out of his way, which made you laugh.

out of pity, he tried to speedrun cleaning and wrapping your arm, so that it was protected as quickly as possible to make up for his prior negligence.

"slow down, childe, you don't need to-"

"no, i laughed at you when you were in pain. i need to make up for lost time."

"surely making up for lost time will just mean you do a sloppy job?"

"...you have a point."

he then took his time and even made you tea afterwards. he felt guilty for a long time, which you frequently took advantage of.

ah, my favourite fixer

thoma is very caring, and tries to make sure he's hurting you as little as possible.

it was silly, really, you fell and cut your wrists on the concrete.

while you expected him to laugh at your idiocy, you were surprised to hear him say "come in, let me get some cloths" instead.

five star yelp review for thoma: he treated you like teyvat's most important person.

"do you have any other issues? headache, perhaps? what caused you to fall?"

"i just slipped on the steps, i don't have a headache, although my knee is throbbing a bit."

he immediately tends to your knee.

he makes you food, lets you stay with him until he knows the wounds aren't infected.

i love him

i just know this man would call you a silly goose.

but would then be like "oh shit, this is serious"

alhaitham talks him through what to do, and he does it.

you had set up camp just outside of sumeru city, and burned yourself accidentally when cooking. instinctively, you ran to kaveh and alhaitham's assuming they would have some cream for light burns.

alas they did not.

so here kaveh was, trying to make some form of home remedy, with alhaitham reading the instructions off to him.

"wait, three padisarahs? are you sure?"

"the book says three, kaveh."

"really, guys-" you try to interject. "it's not that serious. i can just go to-"

"no, you stay here and i will fix it," kaveh replied, adding three padisarahs to the mixture.

kaveh would make the cream, apply the cream, watch the burn for hours fearing it was not what it seemed, then when it surprisingly worked he would feel some form of relief.

"you are staying here. no more camping, you hear me?"

[ss-shitstorm]

Hey sorry the next chapter of Bread is taking so long(I have a good reason I swear and that reason is I’m trying to speedrun the smut) In the meantime please accept this excerpt from my first ever participation in Kinktober(that probably won’t be ready until december at the earliest) and also the most self-indulgent shit I’ve ever written in my goddamn life.

Seraphim (working title)

Paring : Starscream/Reader, Starscream/You

Kinks : Strip clubs, Pole Dancing, Semi Public Sex, Leg/Heel Worship, Gentle Dom, Master/Student Dynamic, Drug induced sex

“Are you feeling alright?”

Asks your stage mate a stone’s throw away on his side of the holographic catwalk, half-naked protomass hugged flush against his frame as he slows to a lazy stop.

“I can’t keep my eyes on my pole and your body at the same time “A little dizzy” you say plainly, furiously chewing the quid in your tightening jaw. “My uh...my fluid pump is going kinda fast.”

“Syk will do that.” he says, loose grin splitting his face as he regards your tense, trembling frame. “That and the spark oscillations. Let your cooling fans catch up for a moment.”

That sounds like a good idea. But so does sinking to the floor, or collapsing on it, the latter a bit closer to reality than you’d like. “Alright. I’m um…gonna sit down for a sec.”

“Fortunately, we’ve a surpluses of seats.” He says, abandoning his portion of the stage and strolling over to yours. He offers his servo, far smoother and softer than you’d ever realized to pull you to your feet.

“Steady?” he asks as you take a tentative step forward.

You answer by stumbling on your arched ped, blinking not-quite in stereo.

“I suppose not.” He slings your arm over his shoulders as he hefts the majority of his weight from your frame into his. It has the (probably) unintended effect of pressing your face into his neck and your own exposed chassis against his as he walks you step by warm, blissfully unsteady step over to the front row, guiding you off the catwalk and into the frontmost seat.

Or, tries to. Said seat happens to be occupied by a stocky purple and yellow femme with squinted, bloodshot optics and lazy grin on her plastic face, making repetitive cheering motions while tossing glowstick-colored popcorn in your general direction.

“Wait.” You say as he starts setting you down, struggling not to slur over your alien bubble gum. “Someone’s in that seat.”

Airplane man blinks, looking from you, to the occupant and back. “They’re a hologram. They’ll be fine.”

“Yeah but, I still don’t want to sit on her.”

He blinks again. You grind your jaw harder, instinctively anticipating a hissyfit or long winded dump on you and your “pathetic leftover human sensibilities”.

But that’s not what you get.

What you get is a roll of his optics, pupils blown to oceanic proportions and a muffled snort under his breath as he chokes back a laugh.

“You’ve blown up cities with no remorse, and still pull the parking brake at being rude.” He says, taking the prifma from his subspace, activating it in all its ornate, infinitely complex glory. He waves it in front of the femme’s face and, once certain she’s enraptured, pitches it across the room.

She stumbles from her chair, bolting after it and giggling like a madman. You find yourself joining her, blown away by the attention to detail he’d put into this holodeck program. Even the NPC’s reliably stay in perfect, pleasantly-fucked up character as the patrons he’d based them off of.

“I had some remorse.” you say as he sets you down in the seat, non-linear headspace dangling the thread from earlier irresistibly in your peripheral. “About the city, I mean. I didn’t really want to do that.”

“I’m sure at least part of you did.” He answers with a knowing sneer that barely qualifies as a facial expression. “But that wasn’t intended to be an insult. I simply found the juxtaposition of those attitudes amusing.”

“I didn’t take it as one.” You bite down on your lip by sheer accident, and not because the tips of his digits as they release your arms send the most sublime wave of goosebumps cresting over your protomass. “And you’re right. I did kinda like doing it. Not because I wanted anyone hurt though.”

“Simply because you enjoy blowing scrap sky-high?” he asks with a probably unintentional purr.

“Yeah.” You swallow at nothing, suddenly very aware of how dry your intake has become. “Ah, crap. I should probably go get some coolant.”

“Good idea. Do you remember where the dispensary stations are located-wait.” His optics flash as he sinks down to his knees, reaching into his subspace to withdraw a handful of disposable coolant packets, before offering them to you. “Stay seated, my little apprentice. I’ve got you.”

Were you capable of producing tears in this state, you’d surely be crying. “You….you’re a god.” You croak, taking the handful and ripping the top off of the first one.

“And you’re an exceptional worshiper.” He winks, straightening and getting to his peds. “In fact, stay put and I’ll give you reason to be truly devout.”

“Mmmph.” Is your poignant reply, covertly spitting the quid out to jam the packet’s straw into your intake. Your denta might suffer for it later, but right now you’re thirsty, and your jaw is *exhausted*. “You what now?”

Something warm, satisfied as a cat that’d claimed a mouse washes over his face. A look like he’d been waiting for this precise moment his entire life as he strides towards the pole you’d abandoned, casting a sly smirk at you from over his shoulder.

“Allow me to show you how I got my stage name.”

Starcream, or, “Sykness”, as he’d revealed earlier, taps his audial, likely altering the holodeck parameters in a way you still don’t understand how to do yet. After a moment, and clearly satisfied, he steps forward, raising a servo to snap his fingers.

The lights dim, the ambient electrohouse music softens to a nigh-inaudible level.-, the track taking it’s place jogging a very human part of your memory. Your brow furrows in contemplation, chewing the straw on your cybertronian Capri-sun as your brain scrambles to place these famous first few notes into their respective cubby holes. You know this. C’mon think. Think.

Definition remains elusive even as it dawns, casting shadows and early sunlight over that meandering, out of place electric guitar riff. The thick, wet kick drum that starts just a moment too early. That melodic, haunting voice layered over aimless, choir-like vocals.

He steps forward, placing a servo on his hip, wrapping the other around the pole as he keels forward into a reverent bow, waiting for the true melody to start. How fitting it is, you think, that a being bowing to no worldly power allows music alone to bend his knee.

“Life is a mystery

Everyone must stand alone-”

How also fitting, you also think, that he’d choose a human song sharing the thematic nuance of the substance coursing through both your veins. Though the “Are you fucking kidding me” stays wedged behind your denta as he tilts his helm upward, reaching the servo from his hip toward the stars as a pharisaic priest calls upon his god.

“-I hear you call my name

And it feels like-

Home.”

The scattered percussion solidifies into a drumline, moving his hips for him as he he lowers his servo. He clutches it to his throat before drawing the digits down his face, savoring the theatrics until the tempo demands his full compliance. Which it does, as a drum and bass enhanced version of Madonna’s 12’ inch Like a Prayer club mix slides into its first chorus, while he slides into a splayed V at the base of the pole, sinfully sharpened legs spread towards your line of vision like a runway.

“When you call my name

It’s like a little prayer

I’m down on my knees

I wanna take you there.”

He bends them at the knees, backwards until the tips of his heels barely graze the top of his aft, before swinging the right one over the left, sprawling onto his back and reaching one arm horizontally beyond his head, drawing the other down his cleavage and chassis.

“In the midnight hour

I can feel your power

Jut like a prayer

I wanna take you there.”

Rolling to his side he faces you, sliding his servo down the length of his topmost leg as he raises it up. Up until the tip of his ped kisses the top of his helm, before swinging at the knee to place it flat on the floor, digits trailing along his thighs and aft as he pulls himself into a catlike crouch at the base of the pole.

“I hear your voice

It’s like an angel sighing

I have no choice I hear your voice,

Feels like flying.”

Fly he does, reaching both servos behind his back to wrap around the pole, pulling himself to his feet before hooking his heel and calf around the base and gliding in a half-moon circle until his lithe, winged back now faces you.

“I close my eyes

Oh god I think I’m falling

Out of the sky I close my eyes

Heaven help me-!”

In a feat of limber blasphemy that would make serpents weep, he holds the entirety of his weight in his servos while swinging his lower body forward and up. Knotting his peds at the top of the pole once there to hang upside down, frame held in the downward swoop of a diving falcon.

“When you call my name

It’s like a little prayer

I’m down on my knees

I wanna take you there.”

You’re certainly taken somewhere as he spins around once more to face you, weight balanced on a single leg as his second stretches out to meet his lifted arm in a sharp point. The other servo used to draw trails up the biolights peppering his sides, chassis, and throat before reaching towards you in a “come hither” gesture.

“In the midnight hour

I can feel your power

Just like a prayer

I wanna take you there.”

He circles round, leg akimbo before allowing both to fall to the floor. Kneeling at the pole, curving his back into a C as he transitions to all fours backwards. His chin tilts to the ceiling, optics half-lidded while bracing his digits on the stage, bending one leg up to his chassis and lifting the other pointedly in the air. The second joins it with a sharp kick, both dangling in a loose Y like silk strands in the breeze.

“Like a child

You whisper softly to me

You’re in control,

Just like a child

Now I’m dancing.”

With a cock of his helm, he pushes himself up and back on both servos, throwing both legs backwards, planting his heels on the stage before you and rolling to his feet, granting you full view of his tight, perfect aft while gliding his digits up along his calves and thighs.

“It’s like a dream

No end and no beginning

You’re here with me

Its like a dream

Let the choir sing!”

Straightening his frame to perch flamingo-like on one leg, he reaches one servo above his head, the other sailing from the curve of his waist out to his suspended knee, before flicking both forward, hitting the floor in a roundhouse spin that takes him back to the pole. Back and wings grind flush against the metal as he dips his aft towards the floor, one clawed servo woven between his legs to grip his panel. The other cups his chin so he can bite into his index digit, catching and holding your gaze with those smoldering vermilion searchlights.

“When you call my name

It’s like a little prayer

I’m down on my knees

I wanna take you there.”

He slides into a split, before rolling onto his back to push himself backwards-upright with his palms into a profile view, rhythmically rolling his hips into thin air. He kicks his leg up once, more, hooking it around the pole to sweep the rest of him in a slow circle, springing forward to grip it and pull himself straight.

“In the midnight hour

I can feel your power

Just like a prayer

You know I’ll take you there”

He hugs the pole, cradling the metal between the plush of his exposed chassis, before jutting his frame away. Throwing his helm back and pelvis forward, he thrusts his hips in a continuous, undulating wave, all the while flashing you looks from the corners of his optics and lightning-fast-denta-barring smirks.

“Just like a prayer

Your voice can take me there

Just like, a muse to me

You are a mystery-“

Alien amphetamines or no, you’re very much drugged. Captivated like a cobra frozen by a tamer’s flute. Though his song is one sung in movement, in the serene, frenzied picture his artful limbs paint on the present moment. A moment, which, while existing only within the borders of now, has no end or beginning. Time has stopped for the two of you, and now that it has, you’re made to realize it had no claim over either to begin with.

This mech isn’t just extraterrestrial. He’s extradimensional. The fairy king that’s brought you to the forested threshold of his world. The demon smothering coals made for sinner’s feet to walk you barefoot and painless into hell. The seraphim whispering through the jumbled flesh poetry your mind provides, filtering raw intent and cognition through the labyrinthine filter your bodied consciousness relies on. “Heaven exists.” The angel tells you. “And you’re living in it.”

You believe him, because he’d blessed both bread and wine and handfed them through your parched lips. Because he extended the molecular invitation that led you to and through the doors of perception. Because that’s exactly what beings made of bent light and stardust do, and that’s exactly what he is.

He’s a fucking angel.

“-Just like a dream

You are not what you seem

Just like a prayer

No choice your voice can take me there~”

One that’s making love to himself on that pole so you can watch. So you can be a part of it. Partner in this divine act on the celestial stage that exists only in the gap of your shared awareness.

You’d be content to dissolve into this awareness, this universal heartbeat owed to all by birthright yet obscured by the task of surviving. It’s the first you’ve tasted in *either* life you’d lived, and you’d known not how you hungered for it till it touched your lips.

“Your voice can take me there-”

But your soul cries for something more pressing, more primal. A deeper desire than the one to dive into and drink from this fountain. Behind your slaked thirst grows something far more earthbound but no less urgent around the branches of your heart. Something highlighted by the wicked, nubile body of this Enochian being twisting into shadows before you. By the legs that could lace ribbons ‘round your neck as easily as snap it in half. By the wings that could drop you from the stratosphere as well as shelter you from the sun.

By the arm’s-length distance and thin metal plating separating you from his array, which you’re trying very hard to not think about as stretches into a bird of paradise pose as his finishing move.

“-Like a prayer.”

He slides down to the base, righting himself into a crouch and finally a sit, but not before lassoing a leg to hook around your neck. He pulls you flush against his torso while slinging the other leg around your back, barricading you against his frame.

“You seemed to enjoy that more than I did.” He says, roping an arm around your shoulders as his leg slides down to the curve of your waist. “And I really, really enjoyed that.”

Of course he noticed that. Even despite his natural ability to read everyone within a five-mile radius like a book, he was watching you watch him the entire time. That, and he knows you. Sussed out every last one of your objectives before you even knew them time and time again. That, coupled with the empathic bond you currently share, and metric fuckton of emotional vomit you’d heaved into each other’s laps only an hour or so ago, breaking the barricades down between your naked hearts leads you to a conclusion. The frightening, nauseatingly-thrilling conclusion that he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

And what you’re thinking, you realize with dawning horror subverted to euphoria, is that he’s extremely fucking attractive.

He's hot. Brain-rewiring-hot. Hot beyond anything you or any member of your prior species conceptualized as attractive before. Renaissance painters covered faces of the divine in flesh, only because they knew not what the hands of God could mold from metal.

“I d-did.” You say with a stuttering hiss, his talons tracing the fringe of your wings. “I couldn’t look away if I wanted to.”

“Tell me you didn’t want to.”

“I didn’t.” You ex-vent shakily, nervousness and insecurity foreign concepts as a half-knowing smile spreads over your lips. “And you know damn well I didn’t.”

He laughs, high and pearly you can feel through his bare chassis as he pulls you closer, talons creeping up your spinal strut and sending pleasant goosebumps or the cybertronian version thereof bubbling along your protoform. “Reassurance is always appreciated. Especially from another seeker.”

Right. Robot god retroactively corrected his mistake by rebirthing you as the same breed of creature holding your attention and adrenal glands hostage. Except you’re not. No one is. No one comes close to replicating this supernova condensed into living metal, whose lap you’re currently sitting in. And that’s fine, because you didn’t come here to replicate a dying star, you came here to get lost within them.

An objective you’ve accomplished, upon summoning the courage and stupidity required to look into the sun. Those optics, those impish, mischievous, so very lucid and other optics even with the pupils blown and obscuring, they’re red like a sunset. That brilliant glow coaxing long shadows from the trees and canyons with their warm last strains of light. They offer the promise of further mystery, of the comforting cowl of night for those allergic to the sun to dance within.

He’s not the end of the light. Merely the beginning of darkness.

Perhaps, beyond the loving caress of true death, the gentlest darkness you’ll ever know.

“I might’ve told you this before, back when you were still entombed in that flesh prison-“ he begins, voice liquid velvet against your audials. “But I don’t want to end the night without telling you exactly how engaging I find that brilliant little mind of yours.”

He did tell you, didn’t he? He’d also told you, after testing a facefull of the product he’d conned you into making, that said flesh prison was the only reason he didn’t bend you over the counter and fuck you until your pelvis broke.

“I…thanks. You’re also attractive in the brain, and…um…everywhere else.” You say, fluid pump thrashing uncomfortably fast in your chassis and beneath his servo, which now hovers between your exposed cleavage. He can feel that. He can feel how worked up you are and there’s nothing you can do about it. “But…yeah…I think you said something like ‘Primus help me if you were cybertronian, let alone a flyer.’”

“Oh my. “ He smirks, drawing a talon beneath your chin. “You remember that verbatim?”

“Kinda hard to not.” You say around your stuttering spark. ”It’s not every day someone tells you they like you for YOU that much.”

"A shame. You ought to surround yourself with those who know you better.“

He’s laying on the compliments pretty thickly. And touching you pretty much everywhere he can without touching you *too* much. And while both of those things are absolutely facilitated by the party favor blasting insecurity and unneeded boundaries to bits, you can’t dismiss the possibility he’s hung out to dry in the air between you. Because that possibility is starting to sound like something you’d *very* much like to make reality.

“Since I um… y’know…became both of those things- “you start, squaring up to shoot your shot, venting hitched in please god please even with the bullseye inches from the barrel of your gun. “-what now?”

“Now?-” he says, tilting his helm towards yours, an undefinable something burning like distant stars in his optics as he leans in, lips grazing the very shell of your audial as he whispers:

“-Primus help me.”

You’re not sure who starts it. Maybe neither of you do. Maybe both. Maybe that matters less than the smell of ozone and residual coolant smothered by the taste of a foreign glossa on yours, because Starscream is fucking kissing you.

You’ve been kissed before. You’ve been kissed by metal titans before, prior to becoming one yourself. This is fact, painful and brilliant carved upon your spark. But neither fact nor scar holds any power over the present moment, because all that you are is screaming you’ve never felt like this. Not with every sensor in your frame lighting up like a firework at the ghost of his touch, the whisper of his lips against yours before he fully finds them. The electric zeal as they claim yours fully, neither asking nor demanding entrance to your intake that you give all the same because not listening, not giving, in not deepening this kiss and letting his glossa pins yours down isn’t possible.

This is surrender, some part of you thinks. This is what it feels like to die, once you’ve thrown up your arms and given your life up for lost. The comfort that swaddles you once you’ve stepped beyond, the placid anticipation of what comes next. And what comes next is whatever your reaper decides, because you’d handed him the reigns of this pale horse before ever donning your bridle.

He breaks the kiss, smooth venting uncharacteristically harried as he pulls his lips away only to bite them.

“I’ll take your reciprocation as enthusiastic consent-” he begins, optics searching yours for the tattered remains of hesitancy. “- unless you desire otherwise?”

You desire nothing other than swift and immediate continuation of where you left off. While normal, sober (y/n) might be too nervous to articulate that, Syk! (y/n) isn’t leashed by so useless an emotion. And nervous energy without fear is simply another word for exhilaration.

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t. I mean...” you shutter your optics, blowing out a breath. “This is fine. I like this.”

“Would you like to go further?”

You exhale sharply. This time, it’s you that reaches for his face, you that cups his chin in your servo, you that tilts his face up to yours.

“I’ll go as far as you let me.”

He blinks, taken by surprise, not aback by your boldness. It’s a vulnerable half second he hangs within your touch, before laughter erupts from his intake. At once rumbling and yet airy as he shakes his helm from your grasp.

“You’ve yet to interface at all in that body. Do you really want your first time to be while you’re this altered? While we’re gliding?”

“I know I want it to be with you.”

His optics widen, in-venting with a sharp hiss. This is only the second time you’ve caught him off guard tonight but it’s not going to be the last. Because the only thing more attractive than sassy, confident Starscream is reeling-from-raw-and-euphoric-truth Starscream.

“I...I’m not going to pretend this doesn’t sound appealing right now.” He says, a tinge of caution to his carefree tone. “But Syk... its going to set a standard. An impossible one. Nothing you do after this is going to feel the same. So I’ll ask you one more time-” he rears back, laying both servos on your shoulders “Are. You. Certain?”

That’s a good question. For literally anyone other than you, because you already know the answer. You’ve got very little to lose, other than this new body’s virginity. Hopefully to this chemically-induced non-asshole version of Airplane man, if you can scrape enough braincells together to tell him so.

While you’re scraping just that, you give his query some space from your spark and genitals you still aren’t totally certain how to use yet. Even with that space, you can’t find a reason to *not* get your seal ruptured and back blown out in a perfect replication of the nightclub your ex’s ex used to manage, complete with music and strung out NPCs. A handful of which a re literally cheering the two of you on and making obscene hand gestures.

The stars had already aligned once to bring you two back into each other’s lives. You’re not waiting till mercury falls into retrograde to for another chance to fuck this up.

“You are an impossible standard, and you know you are.” you tell him through gritted denta. “Sober or not, if we frag you’re gonna ruin me for anyone else. So go ahead-” you reach for his servos, plucking them from your shoulders and planting them firmly on your hips. “-and fucking ruin me.”

Starscream inhales sharply. Then jerks forward sharply. Then grabs your waist, pulls it against his and crashes his lips against yours once more sharply.

Softly, you yelp in surprise. Softly you melt into it, losing a fluttery moan as his servo slides down to the small of your back, holding you steady even while he pushes you down onto the stage. Quite loudly you whine as his other hand finds the base of your left wing, pinching them betwixt his thumb and index digit.

Erogenous zones in a truly alien bit of anatomy flare to life like a litebrite set, twinkling in a magically mundane fashion at the edges of your nervous system. It’s something like lips, nape of your neck, and inner thigh all twined into one nerve cluster wet nightmare, one that has you hooking your legs around his hips and squealing against his mouth as he dips you into the floor.

The squealing again, this time in pain as your flared right wing crimps miserably against the floor. Airplane man, to his credit immediately pulls your frame up off the floor and back against his body.

“Fold them in, my dear.” he says, breaking away from your lips to reach for the wing you’d nearly sat on, tucking it in against your frame. “It’s worth the extra effort, believe me.”

You, reeling both from the endorphins still crashing through your veins and from the visceral reminder you’re not at all used to this *new* prison for your soul, need a moment to form words. “I...okay.” you exhale, folding what rightfully feels like an extra, lightweight leg sutured into your back up and against it. “Is there...uh...anything else I should know about this uh, frame?”

“I’ll tell you as we go.” He rears back, optics softening even as they narrow. “I’m going to level with you, I’ll be getting a bit bossy. There’s simply no part of me that enjoys being subdued, I’m afraid. Primus knows I get enough of that treatment *outside* the berthroom.” He works his jaw for a moment, though wither that’s from less-than-fond memories or the quid he’d discarded prematurely, you’re not sure. Is...is that going to be a problem?”

If it is going to be a problem, it’s going to be your problem, because there’s no way in hell you’re backing out now. “I can do either.” You say with absolute sincerity, all too eager to pass your whip and chains to his hands. “Just gimme a safeword, and we’re good.”

The silken, serene smile returns to his flawless face. “Right then. What’s the name of that organic spice you used to make this sojourn possible?”

You squint your optics in thought, thinking back to the agonizing lab session literally less than 24 hours ago. “Pepper?”

“Then it’s pepper.” he cocks his helm. “I trust you know how to use it?”

“Yeah. I’m good.”

“Very well.” He pauses in thought for a moment, though only a moment, before that sweet grin takes a subtly capricious flavor. He detangles himself from you, rising to his peds only to step over your delightfully disheveled form, trapping you between his perfect legs. “I noticed you noticing these-” he runs both servos up his silver calves and thighs “-a fair bit more than the rest of me. Why don’t you start paying your tithes there, and this deity will make it worth your while?”

Honestly the payment sounds equal to or better than the eternal reward. But you don’t tell him that as you lower yourself to the floor in a reverent bow and press your mouth to the hollow of his ankle, plying the not-quite-entirely-solid metal between your lips. Then, when met with no resistance, sliding your glossa out and making long, urgent strokes beneath he ball of his ped.

Your god shudders, wincing pleasantly as he leans his weight back into the pole. “Oh my. Getting right down to business, are we? Not a shred of disobedience in you?”

“Nah.” you lift your helm to plant a kiss on the tip of his stiletto, before drawing your lips up to his calf, oh-so-carefully pinching the metal between your denta. The texture of either so vibrant tears nearly spring to your optics. How is he real. How. “Are you gonna punish me for being *too* good?”

“I’d be an awfully inconsiderate master to do that.” he gives a low hiss, then a not-so-subtle jerk of his hips, indicating his thighs are trying to clamp shut. “Unless that’s something you’re interested in?”

You take a moment to respond, preoccupied with nipping at the protomass exposed near the top of his legs. God the way his plating comes together makes them look like thigh-highs Wicked, steel, razor-sharp thigh highs. “Not especially.

“Then we’ll do the opposite.” he says, peering down at you, placing a reassuring servo atop your helm. “You’re doing an immaculate job, darling.”

At “darling” you find your thighs involuntarily clenching together, because of course.

Of course this dude’s into dolling out the praise he’s personally starved for. Of course *uplifting* those around him as apposed to grinding them into the carpet gets him going harder while he’s gliding. Of course he just introduced a sweet, gentle dominatrix fetish you didn’t know you needed in your kink catalog.

You loose a muffled growl against metal flesh, painfully aware of not only a throbbing ache between your legs, but also an uncomfortable pressure further towards the front. Jesus this is gonna take some getting used to.

“Oh frag.” he murmurs, optics half shuttered as you shift your weight to your knees, straightening to cup his ankle and ped in your palm as you press your lips to the back of his knee. He sinks further back against the pole, leaning his weight into the other leg. “Vector-fraggin’-sigma you’re good at this.”

You’re beginning to wonder if seeker legs serve as sexual soft spots the way wings do, or if that’s literally just a Starscream thing. Either way, the face he wears as you make sweet oral love to his struts is enough to throw you over the edge on your own. Or would be, if you could keep dry humping the floor. But a few precious inches further up in absolute territory is all that separates you from the panels covering his array, which at once weeps tears of shimmering lubricant through the metal and bows out in the front. The more malleable metal thinly veiling what in no uncertain terms is going to split you in half later.

Sinking your weight into your own peds, you raise yourself off the ground, making your way towards both of those things. Only for your vision to be obscured by splayed digits as he covers your face with a servo, pushing your helm away.

“Oh no, not yet. You stay down, my dear.” he purrs despite the hitch in his breath, eyeing you like a beloved cat trying to climb his leg.

Much like a cherished feline, you make a face as though you’ve been kicked across the room instead of gently reprimanded. “Okay.... How do I get to your valve or spike, then?”

“Hmmm. Good question.” he says, righting himself to stare contemplatively into the distance. And doing little more, loose smile still plastered on his face as he regards thin air with pleasant ambiguity. Even experienced dominatrixes have issues chasing the next command when rolling their tits off, you suppose.

Though he might be a bit further gone than that. After a few more moments of nothing but the confusing primal scream of your new genitals, you rap softly on his hip. “Hey, uh, my next command, master?”

“Oh scrap, right.” he startles, blinking not quite in stereo. “I was trying to calculate and...ah, hang on a moment.” He narrows his optics at the ceiling. ”How long ago did we start gliding?”

“Well…it kicked in right when we came in here.” you say, struggling with your own fractured memory. “And we were dancing together for a while before you started dancing. And you dragged me over to the mirror to”-turn me on with my own body you altruistic narcissist-“ make me feel better. And we were talking for a really long time before that, so maybe…two hour-“

“Ah ah ha. “He cuts you off with an index digit placed against your lips and a yeilding, good-natured sneer. “In cybertronian..”

You choke over your stuttering spark, because surprise surprise, that grammatical correction just turns you on even more. Stop trying to acclimate me sky daddy. “….A cycle?”

His optics flit towards the ceiling, chewing his lip in thought. “Ah. Well, that puts us at about the halfway mark, when our experience would begin to taper off and pull us molecule by molecule out of the Allspark. The operative word here being ‘would’.” He dips a servo into his subspace, emerging with a packet of dusky-blue granules that seem to pulse faintly in time with the bass in the background.

You raise an optical ridge, both the color and reactive properties recalling a skeleton you’d only partially memorized. “Is that…is that Nucleon-”

“-Nail in freebase form?” he finishes for you. “Yes actually, the very same you made for me. I salted it out of the injector this morning. Good job, by the way. Not that I expected anything less. It’s also our extended-stay pass to this neurochemical sanctuary. It’ll extended our glide for another cycle and a half, before hailing us in for a *much* smoother landing than without.”

“If it’s not in the injector...How do we take it?”

“Insufflated.”

Like you’d watched Knockout do with the circuit speeder. How delightfully trashy. “Do we need like…a mirror? Or a razorblade? Or like…a straw or something?”

With an expression you clock in at about 15 million degrees C, he laughs. “Oh no. We need only once another for this. And since you’ve been such a good pet, you’re going first.”

Gritting your denta worryingly tight and probably also the inside of your cheek, you watch as he retracts the front half of his array panel, allowing his spike to spring free. It bobs slightly, catching refractive light from the many mirrors, lasers and visualizers. With human eyes, you might’ve had a stroke trying to comprehend exactly what you’re looking at. Without them, you still might be having a stroke, with the deep carnelian and acid yellow biolights and nodes peppering the sides, the tip itself a dimly glowing ember in the relative darkness.

Syk nonwithstanding, it might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life. But *with* the Syk, burning light trails and tracers into the peripheral of your optics, you’re quite certain this is some sort of holy relic.

Venting rapidly, your priest kneels at your side, leaving you to watch stupefied as he spreads a generous bump’s worth of powder on the shaft near the base. He then grips the back of your helm, gently guiding you towards your sacrament. “Go ahead darling. You’ve earned it.”

Whelp. You didn’t exactly sign up for this when you agreed to manufacture illicit robot pharmaceuticals, but you also didn’t give your signature for anything else that’s happened. And the *anything else*, thus far, has been the most spontaneous, most fun, most healing night of your goddamn life. In for a penny, in for a glitch switch, I guess.

With herculean willpower to not simply wrap your intake around the head, you dutifully obey, hold one of your nostrils shut, using the other to clean the powder off of his cock.

It burns. Not terribly so, but enough to make you gasp, and your optics water. Panting and sniveling, you try once more to get to your feet only to be held down by one of Airplane man’s savagely sharp ones.

“Not quite yet. Give it time to hit, and once it does, stay put until the room stops spinning. Then you can get up.”

If the sight of his swollen, glowing dick inches from your face isn’t enough to make you cream your jeans, then the pressure of his heels against the back of your head might just be. “How long? For it to kick in, I mean.”

“Likely just long enough for my turn.” he says, dangling the baggie as an afterthought. “Lie down and roll over, my dear.”

You do precisely that, sinking down to the floor once more as a dull, chemical taste seeps into the back of your mouth. “Am I supposed to spit this out, or-?”

“If you please. It’ll be slightly easier on your filters.” He extends a talon to draw a circular gesture in the air. “Face down, aft up in the air, please.”

Growling under your breath, you do exactly that, burying your face in your folded arms while your legs strain to heft your ass upright. There’s a half-second delay between the order to move your limbs and their actual movement that’s making this simple command a fair bit more complex. Maneuvering yourself isn’t impossible, but it does take more concentration than you remember. As does keeping yourself in place as the floor and ceiling begin to undulate like a waterbed, or surfboard over choppy water.

Though that’s not what’s taking up the majority of your inebriated attention. No, that’s Starscream holding your hip with one servo, using the other to scatter powder onto the exposed protomass of your ass.

“Primus blessed, you are a marvel, you know that?” he purrs, closing the bag and slipping it back into storage.

Even with your face partially obscured, you struggle to tear your eyes away from his exposed chassis, slutty little waist and noxiously gorgeous spike bouncing in plain sight through the window of your legs. “I’m...I’m starting to believe it.”

He gives a deep chuckle, one that rolls through the hollow where your bones would be. Though it’s drowned out by the squeal you give as he digs his talons into the meat of your aft. Just fucking fucking wreck me already.

He lowers his helm, and you can feel both the hot air from his intake as he vacuums the powder off your ass and a second, unholy wave of “oh god fuck me *yes* washing over you like a tsunami. The nail must be kicking in. Though unlike the Syk, it carries with it a sort of benevolent aggression. You still want to dance, let the bass possess and move your body for you. Still want to get fucking railed by the saint that provided you with both, but you’ve less qualms insisting about either. You’re in a position to *demand* cuddle puddles, *demand* those puddles turn into a fuck castle. And if it doesn’t, that’s fine and well. Everyone’s gotta be on the same page about this, of course.

But long, arylcyclohexylamine derivatives aside, you’ve very little issue asking for the debauchery you desire.

“Oh god.” you bite into your servo, smothering a full blown whore moan. “God I need your dick in me so bad-!”

“Spike, my dear.” Corrects your deity. “And you haven’t even taken yours out yet.”

That’s a good point. One that’d be easier to illustrate if you knew how to do that. “Where’s my dick?” you whimper, fumbling blindly around the vicinity of your crotch.

Starscream looks at you with the genuine compassion one would have for a neutered companion animal. “Oh, you are adorable.” he crooks his finger, ushering you forward. “A bit closer, and I’ll be happy to show you-oh frag.”

His optics widen, helm tilting downward as the Nail presumably barges into his system with a battering ram and war cry. He leans his back into the pole, sliding towards the floor. “Oh my. Oh yes. Oh frag me yes this is fragging perfect-!”

His helm lolls back for a second, chassis slowly heaving as his nervous systems finds it’s feet in this neurochemical balancing act. You watch his gorgeous face melt into a caricature of pure bliss, before sliding those sunset-red, newly hungry optics over to you, flitting from your face, the juncture of your bodies, to his spike, still twitching viciously erect in the velvet in the air between you.

“Still want me to show you around your array, pet?” he hooks an arm under your leg, both to pull you against him and dip his talons into the seam between your inner thigh and valve panel.

The tips of his talons send cold lightning bursting through the outer lips of your pussy and well up into your belly. You gasp, choking back, then on a whine as it escapes your lips. “Yes. Please please please yes.”

“And you seem awfully intent on attending to this.” he says, retracting the razor-sharp plating of his claws to expose smooth, slender, probably extraordinarily dexterous fingers to cradle the length of his cock, pumping them in a slow, languid motion.

“I might actually die if you don’t let me put that thing in my mouth.” you say without a shred of sarcasm, being terminally deficient in a form of vitamin d the sun can’t possibly provide.

His lip curls into a smirk, exposing a sliver of perfect denta as he slides forward. “Well, we don’t want that happening again, do we? So by all means-” he draws his free servo up your leg to your inner thigh, slipping those smooth, blunted fingers into the dripping seams of your panel to not just retract them, but sink *into* the freshly exposed, soaking wet folds of your pussy. All the while clutching the back of your helm, pulling your face down flush with the weeping head of his spike.

“-Go ahead, my dear.”

[mixterglacia]

Dumb IHNMAIMS AU Ideas

As always, feel free to use. Tagging me is appreciated, but not necessary!

(this are intentionally silly)

Tumblr AU:

AM and Ted run Tumblr accounts and are CONSTANTLY fighting. AM is a morally repugnant person that always goes for the low blow while also acting like he's in the right. (Has thousands of comments on his kiwifarms thread) Ted appears to be in the right but had a huge callout post exposing him for being a fraud/terrible friend. (Has a small kiwifarms thread.) Ellen regularly steps in because ironically Ted is the one who doesn't know when to quit, and AM gets smug satisfaction out of being the bigger person.

Tiktok AU:

Ellen: Beloved pillar of the community, funny, deeply insightful takes on media, helps break down engineering problems to make them easier to understand. Ted: Booktok, regularly in fights with AM, tends to downplay his own contributions to his issues, gets people excited about reading, brand deal with some local bookstore. AM: Booktok (strong rivalry with Ted) , absolute menace, has very well nuanced takes that are ruined by his shit attitude, doesn't want to be idolized, has a dedicated group of haters that know how much he hates being babied/idolized and they keep a block speedrun record, gets banned constantly (often due to justifiable mass reporting. Once for smoking on live. Several for bullying others, but particularly Ted who he considers a hack.) Benny: doesn't make much content, simple photo slideshows, reposts his whole fyp. Gorrister: a shockingly successful page about whatever strikes his mind on trips, doesn't know much about Internet safety so he's been doxed a few times (Ted catches wind and helps him out), often makes small but sweet tributes to his wife. Nimdok: actively avoids Tiktok.

Furry Time! (Don't be shocked, I myself am a furry) 

AM: Something like an aeromorph or other anthropomorphic form of transportation (I'm not certain what train!sonas are generally called but i imagine he's a train). Ted: Irish Wolfhound. Ellen: Fossa. Benny: Belgian Malinois. Nimdok: Rook. Gorrister: American Alligator 

Theme Park AU:

AM is only depicted through silhouette and a voice on a loudspeaker. He owns the park and has for over 50 years. Ted is a recent hire, working as a janitor. Ellen works the ticket booth, but often helps Benny with repairs after hours. Benny is a handyman, keeping the rides in working order along with the other amenities. Gorrister runs one of the food stalls, often gossiping with Benny and Ellen during their breaks. Nimdok runs one of the carnival games, a ring toss.

Obligatory Coffee Shop AU:

AM is an unpleasant regular. Despite his attitude, Ted looks forward to his daily visits. Not because he likes AM, but because he finds their arguments entertaining. AM owns a dive bar down the street, visiting before opening his shop. Ted is a charming barista, regularly noted as a customer favorite. He can be a bit overbearing. Ellen owns the repair shop next door, Gorrister being one of her employees. Both of them prefer taking their coffee to go. Nimdok is a doctor at a local hospital. He visits at odd hours, often drifting off until his pager goes off and he has to hurry back.

[minzart]

And todays's inssue 1 of Pikappa

Right from the get go I already knew it was a reboot so I'll be treating this as a paralel universe

The evronians atack! And fancy ass is now more .... nationalist? Evronialist? A bitch :D

And evronians have poetry now so I think his whole gimick in the first PKNA inssues were it put in questions if the evronians could grow their own emotions if they engaged with emotional works or not into the trash can for this universe

Donald isn't a hero, and never was before this whole time so it's an origin story, classic, easy to Start, get rid of his past as a vigilante and "avenging" act tho.... but new world new story, I hope I like Rupert better in this... also that kid wants to be the next Angus fangus just look at the lil snitching little shit

Oh so uno is looking for a hero now ok sure, and Angus seems... nicer? That can absolutely change but for now he is more friendly

Oh sweety you have no idea of the storm that's coming

Oh so guardians of the galaxy inspired now, the fantastic 4, so I can kiss goodbye any chance of political intrigue inside the evronian empire right? Shame but oh well. Also. Uno dear I think you need more steps to chose a here rather than a quick scan lf their loges for one day...

OH WOW WE ARE SPEEDRUNING THE ORIGINAL MISTERIES+MAGUFINS OF THE SERIES OK ALRIGHT

[dualcastimpact]

Finally got the itch to play and resubbed for November, and instead of continuing Dawntrail MSQ with Raginmar before 7.1 drops later this month, I'm speedrunning ARR with Valeria so I can join my friends next weekend for a Crystal Tower first-timer party. Why bother slogging through ARR to run it with Valeria when Fionn is right there in post-ARR? Because I'd never healed through an alliance raid before and I thought it'd might be nice to try with friends instead of with randos in roulette (laughs)

Also look at how pretty Valeria is!! Nothing like falling in love with your blorbo (again) to get you pumped about playing them.

Anyway.

I'm currently at the Little Ala Mhigo sequence with Valeria and going through the sylph questline for the nth time reminded me why Yda and Papalymo are arguably the least likable Scions for me. I've mentioned in another post how the game insists on making the player feel something for Moenbryda's and, to an extent, Papalymo's deaths despite not giving the player any chance to connect with either of them emotionally, and I think the sylph questline really showcases that latter part for Papalymo in particular.

The early segments of ARR goes like this:

The adventurer arrives in the city-state of their choice to begin their journey and, in the process of getting their feet under them, gets embroiled in events that demonstrate their heroism and main character syndrome in service of their chosen city-state.

Following those events, the adventurer makes a bigger name for themselves by going around the three city-states and dealing with problems local law enforcement can't be arsed to deal with (i.e. dungeons), which attracts the attention of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.

Naturally, the adventurer cannot resist the main character syndrome call of adventure and they join the Scions, who elect to slowly ease the adventurer into what they do by sending them to deal with a primal threat head-on (see: Ifrit).

Then they send the adventurer to deal with another primal threat (see: Ramuh).

And then another (see: Rhalgr).

And another (see: Titan).

But wait, you say. The Little Ala Mhigo sequence doesn't have any primals involved! Sure, but only because it didn't work—Wilred and the other Ala Mhigan youths had planned to summon Rhalgr using crystals stolen from the Amalj'aa, and we know now from Myths of the Realm that the Twelve can in fact be summoned as primals, making this a primal threat nonetheless. The Scions just didn't know it at the time.

Excepting the Rhalgr questline with the Little Ala Mhigo youths (that you mostly handle alone), the Ifrit, Ramuh and Titan questlines act as introductions to the Scion members who accompany you as you deal with the primal threat: Thancred for Ifrit in Ul'dah, Yda and Papalymo for Ramuh in Gridania, and Y'shtola for Titan in Limsa Lominsa. It's an effective method of introducing them, for the most part! Thancred is shown to be knowledgable and resourceful, coming up with a plan to trap the criminal abducting people for the Amalj'aa. Y'shtola is proud and aloof (and for good reason!), disdainful of the Company of Heroes' antics and yet stepping up to the challenge of sending the adventurer into Titan's domain with nothing more than a weak kobold aetheryte and her own expertise on the aetherial flow.

Yda and Papalymo show up right when Komuxio was about to pass on the letter to the sylph elder from the adventurer, thereby rendering their entire efforts useless. The adventurer has already won Komuxio's trust! It was very nearly done! But then Yda and Papalymo come along, loudly proclaiming to all and sundry that they're envoys from Gridania and demanding that the sylphs not refuse them, for they carry an oath of peace from the Elder Seedseer herself, instantly raising Komuxio's suspicions. And then, when the adventurer is forced to win the trust of the sylphs again, Yda sunnily suggests the adventurer dance to endear themselves to the sylphs—as if they don't already know that!—while conveniently coming down with cramps in her legs that prevent her from dancing as well. Papalymo is equally patronising and useless in his advice for the adventurer to perform their customary do-gooder heroism and run errands for the sylphs to show goodwill, all while doing nothing himself.

The dynamic duo are equally useless at Buscarron's Druthers—it's the adventurer who goes in to speak with Buscarron, and runs an errand for Buscarron while the tavernkeeper keeps an ear out for news of the elder sylph's whereabouts, and investigates the double-dealing Laurentius at his behest. What do Papalymo and Yda do? Stand outside the tavern like fucking lemons. Useless. Not a smidge of investigating or detecting or canvassing to be done between the two of them. They swoop in right near the end of the sequence, when Laurentius has been dealt with and Buscarron has news of the elder sylph being sighted in the Thousand Maws of Toto-Rak—first to sanctimoniously correct little old Buscarron on how very important for big politics the elder sylph is, and then to order the adventurer to delve into the dungeon on their own lonesome to rescue the elder sylph while Papalymo tends to Noraxia's wound and Yda goes back to the Adders for "reinforcements".

In short, the sylph questline does indeed showcase Yda's and Papalymo's character—and they are nigh-unlikable in that they are condescending and dismissive and unhelpful. The questline doesn't show anything redeeming about them. Thancred has you infiltrate the Amalj'aa camp to retrieve information all by yourself, sure, but it was his idea to ensnare the kidnapper and he pretended to be vagrant refugee alongside you instead of leaving you to act out the plan alone, and it was he who liaised with the Immortal Blades to muster the forces to stop the Amalj'aa. Y'shtola is also condescending and dismissive and largely unhelpful—she didn't do a single thing to help you in your errands for the Company of Heroes—but she supported you in areas outside your expertise and she was the one who reported back to Limsa Lominsa that Titan's threat was no more. Yda and Papalymo don't even report back to Little Solace or the Twin Adder about your success! You had to update Commander Heuloix yourself! They don't help endear themselves to the sylphs, they don't help look for Frixio, they likely had no idea about Laurentius selling Wailer secrets to the Imperials, and they don't even liaise with the Twin Adder! It might as well have been a solo mission for all the good they were for!

And they expect the player to feel bad when Papalymo died? When Yda—in actuality Lyse—lost Moenbryda in post-ARR, and then went through her breakdown from losing Papalymo and subsequent character journey from post-Heavensward to Stormblood? But I digress—just like Moenbryda, the game doesn't spend nearly enough effort to make the player care for Papalymo like they did for Thancred and Minfilia and Y'shtola and fuck, even Tataru. The difference between Papalymo and Moenbryda is while the game didn't showcase Moenbryda enough likely due to time constraints (Moenbryda was introduced in post-ARR and they killed her off not too many quests later), the game absolutely flubbed Papalymo's character the one time it was perfect for them to showcase it.

Of course mileage may vary. Of course there are those who like Papalymo's character and enjoyed what little the game had of him and wished he didn't get shafted by the narrative. But for me, making me go through a situation where not only did he not contribute anything other than obnoxious pontificating but also actively set my progress back, it became very, very difficult to care much for him. Especially when the rest of ARR doesn't attempt to rectify that. When they don't try to show you more about him, to make you care about him enough that you would feel sad when he sacrifices his life to momentarily stall the dread primal Shinryu. Remember, his death is hearkened back to. It's one of the major events in post-Heavensward. Lyse keeps narrating her journey to distant lands to Papalymo. There's a sidequest involving his father in Endwalker.

But they do not make us care enough about him to warrant that level of pathos, and it all started with the Sylph-management quest chain.

[crescentmoonrider]

hi!!! i stumbled upon the haunted hallway au today and i loved it!! i was mostly wondering about tanjiro’s side of the story and how exactly all his endings (both good and bad) would play out? i was also wondering about tanjiro’s friends and their stories in this au

hello !! thank you so much for your ask, i'm glad to know someone is enjoying this little idea of mine (❁´◡`❁)

i don't exactly have a full list of endings in mind, but they would definitely depend on the percentage of school Mysteries solved, and the depth of understanding of the various characters. maybe with one or two joke ones for fun

a few of them would be

Worst ending :

Conditions - no Mysteries are solved. no relationships have passed a certain threshold. Tanjirou steps into the haunted hallway on his own

Scenario - i mentioned it in this post before, but in short Tanjirou gets murdered by the ghost haunting the hallway. the epilogue shows him helping Senjurou (who just started high school) with directions, implying that Senjurou will be the next victim in this seemingly endless cycle of death

this ending can probably be triggered like. Extremely Early. any% speedrun strat

Not Very Good ending :

Conditions - Tanjirou doesn't step into the haunted hallway at any point

Scenario - Tanjirou and his friends make it out of high school in one piece. the epilogue shows Senjurou asking Sabito for directions, implying that while Tanjirou escaped the curse himself, things haven't changed and the hallway will keep on taking lives

can technically be triggered in any playthrough, but why would you go to the trouble of solving every Mystery and maxing out all relationships for that ?

Vase ending :

Conditions - Tanjirou goes into the art room alone at night to solve the 6th Mystery on his own

Scenario - Tanjirou gets ghost murdered and stuffed into a vase by the vengeful ghost of a failed artist

it's repeatedly mentioned not to go alone into this one, so this ending is more of a "what were you expecting ?" kinda deal

Best ending :

Conditions - all 7 Mysteries are solved fully. all relationships are maxed out. Tanjirou steps into the hallway with his friends by his side

Scenario - Tanjirou confronts the corrupted ghost responsible for the haunting and the deaths, and armed with his knowledge of the school's Mysteries and understanding of the timeline of events, realizes that the ghost was himself a student, and that the corruption was a result of his fear of being alone for all of eternity. breaking into a locked locker in a part of the hallway no one walked into in at least 50 years, Tanjirou finds the remains of the first ghost and brings him peace, putting an end to the curse

the final credits show all the ghosts finally moving on, with a smile on their face. with the end of the haunting, the hallway can finally be renovated, and the remains of all victims are found and finally get a proper funeral

.

now on to Tanjirou's friends ! or i guess what i've been calling "relationships" in the first part of this post. in order of appearance

Sabito

delinquent third year, never seen without his training sword or his mask. Tanjirou encounters him for the first time when Sabito throws an empty bucket at his head to stop him from walking into the haunted hallway

while a bit abrasive, Sabito deeply cares about the well-being of the other students and will give Tanjirou advice on places to avoid or go to, or on ways to get some rare items

seems to have a complicated relationship with Tomioka-sensei ?

(during his research on the school's past and the truth of the haunted hallway, Tanjirou can obtain an old picture taken at the start of Tomioka-sensei's third year of high school and figure out that Sabito died later that same year, taken by the hallway. his true purpose is to prevent other students from suffering the same fate)

Tomioka-sensei

depressed P.E. teacher and Tanjirou's homeroom teacher. met in class, because, like, yeah

distant at first, once Tanjirou shows enough assiduity in class and witnesses a tense encounter between Tomioka-sensei and Sabito, he can be slowly walked into opening up. his trust lets Tanjirou access some archives at the school library that he wouldn't be allowed to see otherwise

what on earth is it that burdens his soul so much ?

(obtaining his old school picture and showing it to Sabito lets Tanjirou learn about the circumstances of Sabito's death, and the reason why Tomioka-sensei feels responsible for it. later, Tanjirou can play messenger between the two, and finally help them both find some peace, although Sabito will not pass on until the ghost of the hallway is dealt with)

Zenitsu

overly-anxious classmate with an unfortunate crush on Tanjirou's little sister. as the class representative, he takes Tanjirou aside on the first day to ask him to take off his earrings, as they are against school regulations

his genre-aware tendencies will lead him to give Tanjirou advice on how to avoid meeting a tragic end, and he has easy access to the teachers' room thanks to his status as class rep

for some reason, he keeps asking for really rare items ?

(while helping Zenitsu deal with the bullying his older brother inflicts on him doesn't do much in terms of solving Mysteries, doing so will earn Tanjirou his undying loyalty, and he will even step into the haunted hallway with him, to what he fears is certain death, for the sake of this friendship)

Makomo

aloof and a bit of an airhead, she wears a unique, hand-crafted hair ornament at all times. Tanjirou meets her for the first time by accidentally interrupting her conversation with Sabito

Makomo has a keen interest in rumors, and is the first to mention the existence of the 7 Mysteries to Tanjirou. while it may sometimes seem like she is speaking in riddles, her guidance will be invaluable in knowing what to look for

why is she allowed to wear a custom uniform ?

(investigating the beginnings of the haunted hallway will reveal that Makomo was one of its first victims, nearly 50 years ago. she has been looking to put an end to this curse ever since, and watches over Tanjirou as he walks into the hallway in turn. pick up her precious hair ornament under a bookcase in the abandoned hallway and come back alive, and you can get a bonus post-credit scene)

Inosuke

delinquent first year, so rarely seen without his stupid horse mask that most people don't even know his face. first encountered properly while Tanjirou investigates the Mystery of the beautiful girl on the roof

initially brash (and not very bright), but with good instincts, tame him with enough food and compliments and he will be an invaluable ally in finding hidden clues and avoiding the very real dangers hidden behind the last Mysteries

the real identity of the mysterious "beautiful girl on the roof" ?

(if Tanjirou decides to investigate the Mystery of the beautiful girl on the roof further after getting Inosuke's relationship high enough, he will realize that Inosuke isn't, in fact, said beautiful girl. going to the roof again with that knowledge allows him and Inosuke to meet with the ghost of Kotoha. finally meeting with her son lets her find peace, and leads Inosuke to trust Tanjirou fully and finally max out his relationship)

Urokodaki

the old school janitor, determined to work there until his death for some reason. Makomo introduces him to Tanjirou once her relationship passes a certain threshold

befriending him is a must if Tanjirou wants to get access to locked rooms, including the school at night time. more importantly, Urokodaki has an uncanny knowledge of the supernatural that will help Tanjirou solve the later Mysteries

Makomo calls him dad, but isn't he way too old ?

(much like Tanjirou, Urokodaki can see ghosts just as well as living people, and his years of experience only pale in comparison to his love for his deceased daughter. once Tanjirou shows enough determination to solve all Mysteries and put an end to the haunting, Urokodaki will gift him with a protective charm like the one Makomo wears in her hair, unlocking a special ending if Tanjirou dies while carrying it)

Rengoku-sensei*

while not a relationship proper, history teacher Rengoku-sensei can be encountered in the library or the teachers' room at some points, and his knowledge of the school's past can help Tanjirou solve some of the Mysteries

he mentions off-handedly that Tanjirou reminds him of his little brother at multiple points