#and so i will be building something new upon it

[cheolism]

classroom etiquette 

✰ — kim hongjoong x f!reader ✷ — summary: you and kim hongjoong are: members of the university english department; writing rivals; great enemies. and you meet in an abandoned classroom. ✰ — wc is approx. 2.5k ✷ — genre: rivals and lovers, smut ✰ — warnings: dom!hongjoong x sub!reader. degradation (brat, slut) and praise kinks, pet names (princess, good girl, etc.). slight exhibitionism. oral (m! receiving) and cum swallowing. dumbification of reader. ✷ — rating: 18+ ✰ — note: for @lovetaroandtaemin !! requested as part of my follower celebration! i hope this is what u wanted! ty for requesting <3 i can't wait to get to know you more <33

in short, yet again mr. kim has proved himself incapable of writing anything where a character has depth. he is so preoccupied with creating a story filled with dragons and intricate government systems that his characters fall remarkably behind. there is no substance to what he writes. he writes purely as an act of god: to create a world that inspires awe. he does not write for the art of it; for the humanity of it.

you grin to yourself, triumphant, as you publish the review to the lit magazine site. kim hongjoong's short story was littered with positive reviews, readers and fellow authors alike praising his elaborate world-building.

they weren't wrong to praise his world-building. you may not like the man and firmly believe he is a stain upon the university's english department, but you wouldn't lie and say he half-assed his world-building.

but, like you said: where he excelled in world-building building he failed in character-building.

each main character was like the next: brave and with a firm moral compass, a yearning to do the right thing. there was no depth. they felt as artificial as his nose ring, which you saw him pull off one time.

and yet, as you navigate to the home page of the literary magazine and look upon the monthly winners, as voted upon by fellow authors and readers, people just eat it up. they eager await everything kim hongjoong puts out.

as evidenced by the shining number one next to his story link.

with yours immediately beneath it.

well, you think to yourself, you did win last month.

still, you feel slighted; wronged. this month's work had been a masterpiece, in your opinion. a careful character study of a widow reminiscing of her life as she looks out the window, watching the sun rise and set and relating it to her life.

it was thoughtful. more importantly, it was human. it was everything kim hongjoong's story lacked.

your laptop chimes, breaking the near-silence of the lounge. you hurry to silence it, finger jamming on the mute button on your keyboard.

you got a new review on your story.

you click on it.

kim hongjoong (@no1likeme): another perfectly boring character study of someone the audience has no care for. every single word of this story reads as if someone was watching paint dry. no action. no plot. it's a poor imitation of a chekhov story, and a million times more boring. it's an insult to the genre. if i wanted to contemplate the meaning of life, i'd take a philosophy class. i wouldn't spend my precious time writing something as cheesy and trashy as this.

immediately, and predictably, you feel your temper rise.

who was he, you think, closing the screen of your laptop with a sharp movement, to judge your story?

just because he needed to fill his stories to the brim with gunfights and far-away dystopias didn't mean everyone else in the world was ignorant of the wisdom and humanity of character studies.

you shove your laptop into your bag, zipping it up angrily.

every story you put out, kim hongjoong leaves a comment on. it's like he's obsessed with you.

(nothing is to be said about the fact you wait for the moment he uploads a story to read it. you shimmer in your thoughts for a week, rereading and deciding the perfect way to weave your thoughts over his latest work. you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of getting a review immediately; wouldn't let him know that you were so eager to read what trash he put out.)

you stepped from the lounge, making your way down the metal staircase.

your work, you knew, was perfect. it was intricate and prompted thought.

just because he didn't understand --

you walked down two flights before stepping off of the staircase. hefting your backpack back onto your shoulder, from where it had been slipping, you make your way down the hall. the english building is nearly abandoned at this hour, a few students littering the hallways, cramming in assignments before they inevitably take the last bus back to their cramped apartment.

you go to the very last classroom on the third floor.

you switch on the lights for the front of the room, the section that is impossible to see by someone walking by and giving a cursory look through the door window.

you settle at the front of the room. the chairs are all on wheels for safety, and it slides gently as you recline into it. you pull out your laptop and boot it back up. kim hongjoong's review tauntingly stares at you.

you screenshot it and then add it to a folder labeled kim hongjoong reviews. there's 30 other reviews within, one for each story you've uploaded to the university literary magazine.

and kim hongjoong had to comment on each one of them.

he's obsessed.

the door to the classroom opens.

in steps kim hongjoong.

he is, naturally, fashionably dressed. black jeans and a black leather jacket, a striped cardigan udnerneath. hongjoong's wearing those stupid black-framed glasses of his, the ones that only seem to highlight the dark arches of his brows and show off his undercut. he's wearing his silver rings, of course, and when he lifts his hand to run his fingers through his black hair, you catch a glimpse of a brown leather watch.

hongjoong looks like he's walked out of a freshman student's fantasy concerning their literary teaching assistant.

you scoff at him. "if you gave your writing half as much attention as you did your clothes, you'd finally have something worth reading."

hongjoong scowls at you, eyes severe. "you really think you know everything, don't you?"

you smirk at him, looking back at your computer. hongjoong comes to the front of the room. he sets his leather back on the ground next to the leg of the table, beginning to pull at the sleeves of his leather jacket.

"leave it on," you demand.

he rolls his eyes. hongjoong continues to take off the leather jacket. beneath it is his striped cardigan, and it's horribly contrasting the undercut and overall sleek look he was going for.

you click your tongue. "shame. i would've said you looked hot had you left it on."

"you're such a fucking brat," hongjoong admonishes. he pulls at the armrests of the chair. it rolls easily in his grasp, and he twists it so you're craning your neck to look up at him.

hongjoong exudes power like this. staring down at you, eyes dark and serious. he's all dominance and imposing, and you can feel something twisting in your gut.

"am i?" you say, eyes glancing down at his mouth.

"you're fucking ridiculous," hongjoong scoffs. then he's swooping down and mashing his mouth against yours.

his hand finds the back of your neck, holding you firm. hongjoong's mouth is demanding, pressing against yours relentlessly, laying claim. he shoves his tongue in, dominant and not wasting a single moment.

hongjoong kisses passionately; he kisses like he's pressing forth all his anger and frustration with you.

you pull back, lips making a soft smacking noise as you separate. hongjoong's mouth is wet with spit from having stuck his tongue in your mouth, and you know your mouth isn't much better.

"seriously," you say, "you write like you're trying to fuck tolkien."

hongjoong gapes at you. and then, "get on your fucking knees, you chekhov-wannabe."

you pout for a moment, putting up a front.

then his hand is slipping up from your neck and into your hair. he guides you onto the floor, taking your spot on the chair.

the floor is cold as you kneel on it, the temperature seeping through the fabric of your jeans. you pay it no mind. instead you watch as hongjoong undoes his belt with a single hand, pushing down at his pants.

"you act like a little know-it-all," hongjoong murmurs. he pushes his jeans down to his ankles, sitting at the edge of the chair. his underwear, naturally, matches the rest of his outfit, black and tight around him.

"well," you say, looking at his bulge. you know hongjoong isn't particularly big, but you know how he fits so perfectly in your mouth. you've gotten wet more than a few times reading one of his stories, imagining him sitting down and writing, dick stuffed in your mouth. "i do know everything."

hongjoong takes out his dick. it's just — perfect. not too thick but still enough to stretch out your pussy deliciously, not too long to where it triggered your gag reflux when he kept it resting in your mouth. it isn't the prettiest dick you've sucked, but it's absolutely the best dick. it curves naturally towards him, ensuring he presses against your g-spot whenever he sticks it in your pussy.

it's just —

you never thought yourself particularly wanton; particularly vulgar or sexual. but fuck, hongjoong's dick —

he runs his hand over his dick. it's flushed from erection, and you watch, transfixed, as he delicately fingers his head and rubs his thumb against the slit, the angle of his hand showing off the watch on his wrist.

"what a little slut," hongjoong laughs. "running your mouth until you get a dick in your face. is that how i gotta shut you up? just get my dick out?"

you flick your eyes up at him. you can feel blood flush to your cheeks. it always feels demeaning to be on your knees in front of hongjoong, letting him bully you.

but you can't deny how drenched his bullying makes your cunt; how it always makes your pussy throb, desperate for him. and you just fucking love playing into it, especially when you know how fucking hard it makes him.

hongjoong slides his fist down his dick, settling it around the root of it. he presses his thumb against the head, pulling back his foreskin. "well? come on, princess. wanted a dick in your mouth so bad, didn't you?"

horribly obedient, you shuffle forward. you place your hands on his knees. hongjoong chuckles, raising his brows over the rim of his glasses. "should make you do it without your hands."

you pout up at him. "joong. . ."

"don't worry princess," he says. "not this time. but —"

you whine.

"don't be a baby," hongjoong admonishes you, though he's lost that severe look. instead he's grinning, pleased with how cock-stupid you are. "i know you just run your mouth and act out because you want my cock in your cunt. say it, baby. say you're sorry for acting out; that you want my dick."

you whine again, nails gently scraping against his thighs. it's always embarrassing how he makes you say such things. it's mortifying how they make your panties stick to your cunt with juices.

"what was it you said? 'no substance to what he writes?'"

"'m sorry," you whimper out. you settle, resting your chin on his knee. you peer up at him, pushing stray strands of hair from your face. "just wanted you, joong."

hongjoong hums, his hand once again delicately moving up his dick. "pretty shitty apology. but i guess it'll do for now."

hongjoong spread out his knees, tilting his dick towards you.

eagerly, like a puppy given the signal to pursue a treat, you lurch forward for his cock.

hongjoong held his dick still for you to press your lips to the tip. immediately you are met with the bitter taste of his precum, the taste of his skin. you slowly, gently, began to lower your mouth around the head of his dick.

"that's a good girl," hongjoong hisses out, hips lightly canting into your mouth. "such a good girl."

you can't help but preen under his praise. this part, where he rambles about how good you are, how you're a princess, you adore too. you love how the words make you heart and pussy flutter, how they smooth the sharp sting of his bullying tongue.

hongjoong glides his dick into your mouth slowly. he savors in the sweet glide of it, in his dick sliding along your tongue, your spit coating it.

you love the weight of his cock in your mouth. whenever his dick is in your mouth you can feel it dull down the sharp edges of your mind. your being becomes centered around his dick, how it feels against your tongue, how little pearls of precum mixes with your spit.

you're usually not crude, but fuck if hongjoong's dick in your mouth isn't the best part of your week.

hongjoong doesn't make you to take his entire dick. he isn't in a particularly mean mood, then. instead he slides his dick until the tip of it is on the back of your tongue, knowing just how much of it you can take after who knows how many sessions you've spent with his dick in your mouth.

"swallow," he commands. you swallow, mouth constricting around his cock. "good girl. good, princess."

one of his hands went to your hair. he guided your head back, his dick sliding around your tongue. drool fell from your mouth as hongjoong withdrew his dick, and you couldn't help but look down and watch his dick, how your spit glistens along his dick.

"good," he says, and then he's fucking back into your mouth.

hongjoong fucks your mouth slowly, his hips gently rolling into your mouth. he fucks your mouth like he's making love to it. endless praise pours from his mouth. "perfect," he sighs, "perfect fucking slutty little princess.

"gonna swallow?" he slows his thrusts even more, languid, biting down on his lip. his glasses have slid down his nose, bangs in his eyes. "gonna swallow my cum, princess?"

you nod, and he groans.

you shift forward. you move your hands up his thighs and slide them around the base of his dick, rising to your knees. hongjoong moves both his hands to your hair, fingernails scraping against your scalp.

you place your lips against the tip of his dick. slowly you take it back into your mouth. hongjoong's grip on your hair tightens as you take his dick further and further into your mouth. you go until the tip of it is hitting the back of your mouth, and then you still.

hongjoong's dick twitches in your mouth.

the need to please him endures, and so you begin fucking his dick with your mouth. you pull off of his dick until it's just your lips wrapped around his tip. then back down to the tip you go, swallowing once your lips are snug around his base. you begin to shallowly bob around his dick, hongjoong's pants, quiet and sweet, coupled with the slick sounds of your mouth around his dick.

when he cums, you can't help but choke. this part of giving head always catches you off guard, no matter how many times you swallow around his dick. you sputter around his cock, only pulling off once you begin to cough.

"good," he murmurs, voice tight. he cradles your face, his hand going to wipe at the cum that splattered on your chin. "good girl."

[johnbrand]

Future of America

It all felt surreal. The final count had been secured. 312 electoral votes for Donald Trump, definitively more than half of the country. The popular vote swung right too. It was shocking, the defeat of all that was good in the world practically numbing Michael and Benjamin. The District of Columbia had guarded the two best friends from the outside state of the world. They could not have prepared for everything to be back on the line in an instant: their friends and families, their rights, and even their homosexuality.

“I mean, it just doesn’t make sense,” Michael, the political sciences major, ranted. “Everything seems so fishy. How could all the swing states vote for this trash?”

Benjamin, although physically shorter, did not hold such a short temper. The bubblier of the two pursuing a degree in psychology, Benjamin tried to take a more optimistic approach to the situation. “It’ll be fine. There’s no way he can deliver on everything he’s promised. No president has completely fulfilled everything they’ve wanted to do in office.”

Michael groaned as they continued forward across the green. Their morning walks had always passed the judicial buildings of the capital. But now it felt as if there was something different about them. Instead of the usual respect, the two now conjured contempt for the place. “Even if that’s true, I thought we were supposed to represent the ‘future of America’.”

“Apparently everyone else isn’t ready for that future yet,” Benjamin shrugged. “I mean, they can barely handle our short shorts, so having gay men was probably a step too far.”

They both sighed, taking a seat upon the steps leading up to the buildings housing their government. Both at average heights, average musculatures, and scoring average attractiveness, no one typically bothered the pair in public. And besides Michael’s pierced ears and Benjamin’s bleached hair, there was nothing particularly effeminate about them. So, it came as a surprise when something did stray from the norm.

“Ow!” Benjamin turned to face Michael, who was peeling a wad of newspaper from his face. The wind had brought the paper airborne before smacking it right into Michael’s face. 

“You ok?” Benjamin asked, the smallest smile creeping onto his lips.

“Guess I just got slapped by the ‘future of America’,” Michael pointed to the headline of the front page, but Benjamin’s eyes were drawn somewhere else.

“Since when did you start growing out a beard?”

“What?” Benjamin asked, scratching at the thick clutch of hair covering his face. Benjamin’s eyes trailed lower as he watched Michael's body hair begin to sprout up and over the hem of the fitness shirt, before spilling out onto his exposed arms and legs. “I’ve had a beard since high school, man.”

“‘Man’?” Benjamin questioned the term, foreign to their language. Before he could analyze further, Michael’s top and shorts began to elongate. Their breathable fabric thickened and expanded, morphing into a plain gray henley and a pair of jeans that had certainly lived a few lives. 

“M…M…Michael! You’re…you’re…” Benjamin stuttered as the changes grew more drastic. His friend grew before him, the lean frame inflating with muscle before being covered by a light layer of fat. The farmer’s build became more apparent as it was centralized in locations. Michael’s hands bloated into mitts, his face squared out from the more-than-occasional beer, his feet widened into their new, larger brown boots. 

“What, bro?” Michael asked as the first of wrinkles began to sprout around his eyes. His thinning hair was quickly covered by the white MAGA cap that materialized on top of his head. “Oh, do you want to hold it? Here, but be careful; that paper is like a new New Testament.”

Benjamin, too stunned by Michael’s deeper voice, slight age progression, and overall sudden transformation, could not form a coherent sentence as he was handed the newspaper. But the more he tried to reflect on this warping event, the more Benjamin struggled too. Michael had had a beard since high school, right? Michael had not been 21, but 31, right? Mike had always been a straight, white, proud MAGA enthusiast, right?

Lost in his own head, Benjamin did not even recognize the effects of the newspaper transposing onto him. His own fingers fattening into calloused claws. Hair rippling across his forearms and down his chest and legs. Muscle pumping underneath each available surface, followed by a helping of fat to create a muscle gut that would cement a burgeoning ex-jock figure. Skimpy running fit stretching into a soft plaid and dirtied jeans. Thickening skull covered by a navy blue hat proclaiming that he too would become a part of this new era. 

“Hold the paper a little higher,” Mike instructed, dragging Ben out of thoughts. “Now smile.”

The two men posed for the picture, proud to represent the future of America.

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Time for a long Aylin ramble, because I haven't indulged in a while.

I'm actually really invested in Aylin being an aasimar! I do not think it is a misnomer or mistake, as I've seen people suggest. She was referred to as a celestial explicitly in some older builds of the game, but this was changed at some point during development. And I noted aasimar enjoyer Oath, quelle surprise prefer it this way for a variety of reasons. Primarily, I think, because it lets her be larger than life, have a touch of that other-worldliness and otherness, while keeping her very much "of this world" still, very (physically and otherwise) present and part of the prime material plane, and ultimately far more human than I believe even she herself would sometimes like to be.

To bring up the most basic and rules/mechanics-bound "creature type" level of categorisation, as an aasimar she is a humanoid, and not a celestial - outsider. Her outsider status is absolutely there and a goldmine of things to explore, but that's a different post sitting in my drafts for far too long that I'll get around to one of these days (but for now you should read this post that I love). Yes, she is in a very real sense above it all, she will outlast everyone around her and whatever she gets involved with. We also get to see her dramatic poetic archaic speech idiosyncrasies (Ho!), her odd sense of the passage of time, and, of course, her oft-discussed and joked about apparent lack of filter or regard for current social graces.

(Endlessly amused at her just going: I'll do it when my mum tells me to.)

All things combined, Aylin feels more like a being of two worlds to me than a guest visiting this one, even as she is called the emissary of a goddess. She embodies a blending and an odd balancing act between the lofty divine and the mundane, duty and preordained purpose and personhood, and touches on the many ways this balance can be tipped. A classic D&D aasimar struggle, really, and a well I am happy to keep returning to.

Balthazar: She was a unique specimen even before I began my work. Aasimar. A god's blood united with mortal flesh.

She honestly isn't even that far from a regular aasimar stat- and ability-wise - Aylin does have several special abilities, but these are flavoured as blessings from her divine mother instead of an inherent property of her as a creature - though, notably, Aylin herself at one point claims she is always reborn because "it is [her] nature".

“Blessed with the favour of a goddess, Nightsong cannot be permanently killed. When unconscious, at the start of her turn she recovers 1 hit point.” “Nightsong will be resurrected by the powers of Selûne whenever she dies.”

Importantly, she does not get to reincarnate, or get a new body, or flit away to her "home plane" or anything like what celestials get to do. She is anchored to this one physical existence (again, very human of her), tied and limited to this one body as it painstakingly repairs itself over and over and over (to a sometimes extreme extent, e.g. the all but outright stated regrowing of amputated body parts in a frankly horrifying context), insistently and indomitably but ultimately imperfectly. And I think that's part of why the kintsugi design drives me utterly wild, why her immortality setup is more interesting to me than, say, a mutant healing factor, or something like the characters in The Old Guard. Her history is pretty literally engraved on her skin, and when she, in the role of a power-granting artefact and the object of a ritual sacrifice, tells you she will feel every wound you inflict upon her, it is so easy to believe her. And I'm not even that invested in physical suffering, just that it means it's all still very palpably there, forever, and she doesn't get to magically restart with a clean slate in this sense, nor does she get to forget past lifetimes as some creatures like devas do. It's just a flavour of immortality I personally find far more engaging than most.

(I mean, yes, I am also a known hurt/comfort sucker and if you're going there in order to set up a scene where she's, I dunno, getting doted on by Isobel who's invented new scar tissue pain relief massage techniques, you know I'm going to be all over that.)

I'm also not sure I'd say she can just pop over to Argentil to hang out with her mum at will. I mean, planeshifting is not that hard to achieve, and also she can just… ask Selûne, ultimately, I guess. But I wouldn't say she has spent much time there, and I think she takes her role as Selûne's champion and representative in the Realms too seriously and too much to heart to be away from them for very long.

Which also calls to mind the issue of the obvious and "simple" answer to Isobel's eventual death - namely that with Isobel picked up as a petitioner soul they'll all just go live out the better part of an eternity in Selûne's realm. Probably in some form they will - it's never guaranteed, but this time, yeah, probably something like that will happen, and there will be, as Melodia says, no loss, only temporary separation. But I'm really not into just handwaving or stripping away most of the mortal/immortal pairing issues inherent in the relationship. If we're going for the "hang out in a different plane of existence forever" option, I think at one point Aylin would have to "complete" her duties and lay down her sword, in a way, and pick between Faerûn and the Gates of the Moon - meaning she herself is effectively moving on to a completely new phase of her existence as well.

And while Selûne carving a lovely marble statue and bringing it to life and similar takes are fun and beautiful and interesting, I'm very invested in an Aylin who was born, raised, and had to actually grow up and learn and be trained. I have a ton of headcanons of Aylin being a weird glowy baby at some point (with all the Disney's Hercules jokes I've seen folks make, of course), being entrusted to a series of Selûnite enclaves and temples and cloisters, hounded by Shar and her agents pretty much all her life.

(Neither here nor there, but Aylin also comes off as a fairly "young" immortal to me - note that I am basing this on absolutely nothing but a general impression and there's no actual hint anywhere about how old she really is. Just vibes.)

To finish up, I'd like to shout out Isobel, and the big humanising factor she is presented as. For instance, a very concrete bit of motivation for Aylin to eventually "humanise" her perception of time, if nothing else.

Aylin without Isobel is horribly depressing to me mostly because she seems to distance herself from her humanity and err on the side of holy duty (see: her epilogue letter, ouch). And Isobel is definitely the person who (invaluably, imo) explicitly and consistently insists on Aylin's humanity and personhood, who cares for her as a woman and not a divine weapon, who actually treats her well-being as a priority, and who understands her so very well and so deeply. Who does acknowledge the gloriously resplendent Dame Aylin, daughter of the Moonmaiden herself in all her awe-inspiring presence and occasionally amusing foibles, but who never fails to look past the titles and fronts even Aylin herself is so keen to put up, and focus on what lies behind it all.

A moment that sticks out to me in particular is her bemoaning Aylin's disregard for her own safety, then actually getting very angry if you suggest Lorroakan can't hurt Aylin:

Isobel: Even after all she's been through, she thinks herself unstoppable - invincible. It all feels like recklessness to me. Player: Lorroakan can't harm her. Have faith. Isobel: He can harm her. Just as Ketheric did. She'll survive it, but she can suffer like any of us - and for longer.

Using Isobel's words verbatim is a good conclusion to my thoughts here, I think: the truth of Aylin being "singular among us all" coexisting with all the ways Aylin is "just like any of us".

And now I'll pay the cute Aylin screenshot tax one last time.

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 13

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content (parts 9, 11, and 13), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning.

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44, @melmel-fandom, @hufflepufferine, @shadows-and-flowers, @xcrybaby555x, @bespectacledhuman

Face claim: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 (contains smut), Part 10, Part 11 (contains very brief, light smut), Part 12

Warning! This chapter contains wedding night smut! Please do not proceed if you are not of age to read such things, or if such are not your cup of tea!

Part 13

For all the time Linnea had spent preparing for it, the coronation itself was a blur. Elven memories did not dim; when she thought of it later, she remembered it perfectly. But at the time, it moved in flashes, one clear moment after another.

Gil-galad taking her hand and leading her from the feast, the wedding guests falling in behind them.

Walking the path down to the great Tree, through the gathered crowds. So many had come that the path was narrow, but those closest stepped back to leave more space, bowing deeply as they did so. The sound of a harp beginning to play.

Gil-galad standing next to the Tree. Her crown, resting on a pillow that Elrond carried, a delicate semicircle of golden mulberry leaves. Linnea had chosen the design both for beauty and symbolism; the mulberry leaf was the preferred food of silkworms. The same smith that had wrought the betrothal ring she had given to Gil-galad had been selected to craft the crown, and she had done her work well.

Herself. Kneeling on the steps to the dais, Gil-galad stepping forward and standing in front of her. Him lifting the crown from the pillow. 

“Varda, queen of the Valar, we call upon you. Grant your blessing to Linnea, daughter of Taucion and Lhénes, wife to Ereinion - ”

His voice catching. Lingering.

“Grant your blessing as we crown her High Queen of the Noldor, that she may rule wisely and well for as long as the Father of All wills it.”

The wreath of golden leaves settling on her brow.

Afterward, well-wishers. An endless stream of them, bowing and murmuring their names, seeking to take the hand of their new queen. The formality of the occasion quickly dissolving, save for the line to greet her. Everyone milling about, enjoying the food from the laden tables, no plate or glass empty for more than a moment. The harp joined by a flute, the music turning livelier. A circle forming to dance. 

Gil-galad by her side throughout all of it. 

And then, finally, the sun beginning to set. The crowds slowly dispersing. 

Her husband, offering her his arm.

No staircase tonight. Instead they went directly to his rooms - and Linnea supposed that now it was really theirs. Still his space, and hers below, but a combined third state that was somehow shared. 

Especially the bed.

The door shut behind them. 

They hadn't spoken about this moment. There had not been time, and she could see that Ereinion was nervous, searching for something to do, an action to take that would help him set his compass. It was part of his nature to be so.

“Will you…” He cleared his throat. “I will await you here, if you wish to return to your rooms and summon your attendants.”

That had been their habit during the previous nights. Linnea had gone to her rooms to change, and then returned for tea and shared pleasures and finally sleep. She could do the same tonight. 

But she found herself not wanting to leave him. It felt somehow wrong to separate tonight, even for those few minutes. There would be other nights for the beautiful nightgown and nightrobe that Eressie had made; there was no reason for her to change her garments only for him to remove them again.

And as she looked at him, so beautiful in his white and gold, she wanted to be the one to undress him.

“Perhaps…tonight we might tend to one another?” she offered softly. 

Her words seemed to bridge the distance, the change that was about to happen. Ereinion smiled and stepped up to her, his hand cupping her face, and she rose up on her tiptoes even as he bent down. A longer, much longer kiss than they’d shared outside; more sensual, deeper, slower. 

And when the kiss ended, and she opened her eyes, he was looking so intently at her. And perhaps that was part of why this act, what they were going to do, was so intimate. Focusing on someone else to this extent, making them the entire world; perhaps it could be done without love like this behind it and still be enjoyed, but that seemed like a different thing entirely. His hand was still on her face, and his voice, when he spoke, was the softest whisper imaginable. 

“Will you lie with me, melethel?”

On one hand it was a strange question. They had stood in front of the assembled guests; they had spoken the blessings; they had exchanged rings and gifts. All that was proper had been done. This was the final step for all that had come before. And they had already shared so much passion and joy with one another, learning each other's bodies before this night.

But on the other, it was that final step, the act that made their marriage. And so it made sense that he would ask, just as he had asked her to wed at the beginning of the ceremony.

“Alassenya nás, meleth nín.” 

It is my joy, beloved.

Ereinion smiled. Slowly, he raised his hands to the crown that he himself had set upon her head, and lifted it free. The mulberry leaves glittered in the lantern light as he set it aside - and the laurel leaves of his own crown did the same, as he bowed his head to her. 

With trembling hands, Linnea took his crown off, and set it on the table next to hers. The sight hit hard, made it real in a way that even the weight of the crown on her head had not done: High King, and High Queen. 

When he straightened up, she decided that the rest of the metal he wore needed to go too. Her fingers reached for his belt and swiftly unfastened it, found the chain of his pectoral and unhooked it. He submitted to her attentions quietly, making no move to help except for positioning himself to make it easier. And when she had dispensed with those things, it was only natural that she should push the overrobe off his shoulders, and then that she should gather up the robe itself and lift it over his head.

He liked silk pants beneath his robes, and had made no exception that day. They were pure white, pale as the moon, and the only other thing he still wore was a pair of soft white leather shoes. And in the next moment, he kicked those off. 

Linnea reached for the pants, but he stopped her hands, catching them with his own.

“Turn for me,” he murmured.

She did. She felt him gather up her hair, moving the mass of curls off her back and over her shoulder. Once it was out of the way, she felt gentle tugs at her back, one after the other; he had untied her corset and was carefully unlacing it, inch by inch. It loosened around her, dropping down as it did, until the last of the lacing was undone and the dress slithered off her, over her hips and down her arms, to pool at her feet.

She was left in her undergarments: thin white silk, a shift and drawers. Barely anything at all. And then even less, as Ereinion slid his hands over her hips, catching the shift and drawing it up over her head. 

Her heart raced, as her hair fell down around her. She turned back around.

He was staring. His eyes were dark and wide, shimmering as he looked at her. It was nothing he hadn't seen before, but he still looked stunned, and she felt his hand tremble when he laid it on her face to draw her mouth to his again. The kiss was slow for a moment and then became more demanding, as her skin touched his and his arms went around her and the heat in her core burst to life.

They had all night. There was no need to rush. But when she slid her hands down his chest, reaching again for the tie on his pants, he did not stop her that time.

This was new. Not the sight of him, as the pants dropped and he stepped out of them, but all of him. They had always left some clothes at least nominally on during the past nights, not that that had prevented anything at all. But it had been a vague notion that there would be something still to discover on their true wedding night. And as it turned out, that idea had had merit, for him proudly naked with nothing obstructing her gaze was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

She let her eyes feast. And he stood there, letting her drink him in, and then it was his turn to finish what he'd started. 

He had held still for her; she did the same for him once she was bare, as his eyes moved over her nude form. His gaze was so fierce that it almost felt like a touch, like his hands were running over her breasts, down her stomach, sliding over her hips and between her legs. Her core burned for him and he had barely laid a finger on her. 

“Ereinion,” she finally whispered, and he smiled. 

“What would you have of me, my lady?”

The glitter in his eyes said he knew her answer, but that he desired to hear it. And she would deny him nothing.

“You,” she breathed. “All of you.”

Linnea took his hands, pulling him to the bed. He followed, and once they had reached it and she had sat and then laid down, he joined her, stretching his long frame out next to her. He always made her feel so delicate and small - but not fragile, because his strength was hers, shared between them. 

Ereinion propped himself up on an elbow, brushing her hair back from her face. She burned for him - and his body said he was more than ready for her - but the gentle touch showed that even so, he would be patient. 

He lowered his lips to hers, taking his time about the kiss. Slow and sensual; it deepened gradually, lovingly. He tasted of honey and fruit, the sweets from the coronation reception, and of the wine that had flowed freely. She cupped his face, stroking her fingers delicately over the lines of his cheeks and his ears, feeling the silken strands of his hair brush her hands. 

When he lifted his head, she smiled at him. 

“What would you have of me, my love?”

Ereinion chuckled quietly, shaking his head, eyes closing briefly. “A gift that I never thought to receive at all,” he murmured. “But not before I ensure your pleasure, melethel.”

She was ready for him. She needed no more than him; she ached for him, her body knowing what it wanted. And she opened her mouth to say so, but before she could speak, he had shifted his weight to cover her, and his lips had started making their way down her bare body.

Clearly, he was enjoying the lack of obstacles. No clothing in his way, no nightgown to push aside in some faint semblance of modesty. He had kissed her skin before; his lips had run over her shoulders, her arms, her breasts. Her stomach, her thighs. But he was making sure that no inch of skin was neglected, feathering his mouth over every bit of her. He lingered at her breasts, his tongue swiping over each nipple in turn until both were stiff and aching, and then drawing them one by one into his mouth to suck. He had learned well, over the past nights; he had learned that this pleased her greatly, that she would writhe and moan for him when he did this.  

Linnea reached, trying to touch him, trying to wiggle her hand between them. Her fingers just managed to brush his sex and he shuddered, shifting his hips away out of her reach, and then laughing again softly at the whine that escaped her lips. 

“Patience, beloved,” he murmured. “Patience.”

Truly, his would outlast the stars; she did not have nearly that much. At the slide of his hand down her stomach, she spread her legs eagerly, and the motion made him moan against her breast. Yet for all his admonishments of patience, he did not delay in giving her what she wanted - his fingers gently caressed the soft folds of her and he groaned at how easily they moved, how slick she was already. She rocked her hips into his hand, pushing for a firmer touch, and that elicited another groan. His finger slipped up, circling where she needed him the most, stroking the sensitive bud of nerves in just the way she loved. But he was keeping it slow; it was another thing he had learned so well, that building her pleasure up gradually resulted in the most blinding, earth-shattering peaks.

“Ereinion…”

She curved her hands over his head, his neck, sinking her fingers into his hair. He abandoned her breasts and slid downward, his hand never ceasing its movements to keep stoking the fire in her. Down, down, down; lips caressing the smoothness of her belly, and then low enough that she could no longer reach him and had to settle for gripping the blankets. Kisses on the inside of her knee and then back up, along her inner thigh, and all the while that hand. Those fingers working their magic on her, first one and then two inside, a gentle stretch and thrusting that was a prelude to what she knew would be happening soon.

His mouth took over the work that his fingers had left. Tongue caressing that throbbing little bud; licking, suckling, teasing. Still gentle, still slow, building and building and building, using everything he'd learned over the past nights. Her eyes were torn between wanting to drink in the sight of his head between her legs and not having the strength to stay open; her head lolled back on the pillows, lips parted, breath coming in shallow gasps and whimpers.

The motion of his mouth stopped, although his fingers continued their glide in and out of her - less smooth now that she was clenching tightly around them, desperate for release. She felt him shift back, felt his breath on her flesh as he spoke. 

“Let go, beloved. Let go for me.”

When he leaned back in and resumed that soft, deliberate licking, she came apart. It was a miracle that she did not shred the blankets that her fingers gripped so tightly; her vision went white, and her entire body shook with the force of it. And Ereinion’s tongue did not stop; he kept going, groaning his own pleasure at the feel of hers, prolonging the release until she was limp on the bed, drowning in feeling, unable to move so much as a muscle.

Only then did he ease his fingers from her; only then did he move back up on the bed, shifting so that her spent form lay cradled in his arms. She let him move her, eyes still closed, feeling her heart gradually slowing to normal.

When Linnea finally opened her eyes, he was gazing at her, a faint smile on his face. 

“Are you well?”

She laughed. His question held no trace of nervousness, as it had the first time they had been together. It was knowing now, and even just faintly smug - but she did not begrudge him that in the slightest. 

She reached up, caressing his cheek. “I love you.”

Ereinion turned, pressing his lips to her palm, once and then again. She trailed her hand down lazily, over his neck and shoulder, down his chest - and it was her turn to smile as he shuddered slightly at the touch. He was happy to let her recover, to rest a moment after such pleasure, but that did not mean that his desire had been exhausted.

No, not at all. And the proof of that was found as her hand moved lower, down the firm muscles of his stomach and lower yet. 

He shuddered again, more forcefully, as she wrapped her hand around him. She too had learned; she had learned how he liked best to be touched, and she trailed her fingertips delicately over the side of his sex. The hot, velvety skin quivered, his hips pushing his hard length into her hand, and as she rubbed her thumb over the sensitive head, she felt the silken moisture that told her how on edge he was.  

She intended to draw it out, as he had with her. He was not the only one who had learned how to use his mouth, his tongue, to great effect. But as she made to move back and lower her head to his lap, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. 

“Not now,” he breathed, and she could hear the tremble in his voice. “Now - melethel, I want you now…”

Oh, yes. Yes. 

For a moment, she wondered how. But he clearly had something in mind; he sat up and pulled her to settle on his lap, astride his hips just as she had been the first time he had touched her. His sex brushed against her still-sensitive core and she shuddered, her hips seeking, pressing down as she draped her arms around his shoulders.

His hand slipped between them, grasping his own sex and dragging it through her folds to notch himself at her entrance. She was used to the feeling of entry by now from his fingers, but this was much different - more stretch, firmer pressure, and the craving for more of both, for that hardness to fill her. 

“At your pace,” he whispered, voice trembling even more. “As slow as you need to.”

She was slick, and the pleasure from his mouth and fingers had helped relax her. But it still made her muscles burn as she sank down, as her body stretched to accommodate taking him in, and she couldn't help but gasp as he slid inside her. Ereinion nuzzled the side of her face, and she turned her head to meet his kiss, all the while lowering herself. And even amid what must have been an onslaught of sensation for him, he stroked her back, soothing her, letting her take all the time she needed. 

When their hips finally met, she drew in a deep, ragged breath, just feeling. Stretch, yes, but also pleasure - and yet, that craving was still there for something more, wanting to move, wanting him to move. 

Linnea lifted her head, meeting his eyes, and gave him a small nod.

He understood. 

There was a shift beneath her, a roll of his hips that pulled him out slightly and then pushed back in. And then another, just as slow and gentle. The movement banished the last of the lingering pain, sweeping it away in a blaze of pleasure; she cried out and he immediately stilled, hands clenching on her, but she quickly took over the rhythm to reassure him, rocking her hips back and forth, and it was his turn to moan, his turn to call out her name.

“Linnea…”

The coil inside her was tightening again, her heart pounding, her body gasping for air, even as the rhythm between their bodies stayed slow. And he was there too; his mouth was open, eyes dark and deep.

His hand stole up, bringing her head down to claim her mouth. The kiss deepened hungrily, and as it did, she felt herself being tilted, laid down with their bodies still one, Ereinion on top of her, and oh, oh, his weight and his warmth and the change in angle of him inside her, the change in position that meant he was in control of the pace; there was more force behind his thrusts, although he was still attempting to go slow. If she'd thought the pleasure would drown her before, now it had the inexorability of the tides pulling her under; the only thing in the entirety of creation was Ereinion's body on her, in her, first and last and only -

And as everything in her tightened, tightened, she was aware of something else new. Even amongst all of the new sensations sweeping through her, it was like a muscle she had never been aware of before - something that could flex if she willed it so. The building pleasure stopped, like a wave stopped by a dam, just waiting for something -

Before she could consider it more, the pleasure broke. For them both.

Even as she was swept away by her own climax, she heard him cry out. He convulsed in her arms, a garbled half-shout, half-moan bursting from him. She felt warmth spread inside her, his release filling her as he spent himself. The dark curtains of his hair cloaked her head as he bent for a kiss, and then she laughed in delight as he peppered her face with more kisses. 

When finally he rolled off, he reached for her, and she went to lie on his chest. His arms encircled her and she had never felt so safe, so cherished. She was a wife now, his wife and his queen, wedded and crowned and bedded. His forever, as he was hers.

Of course, she had already known that. But this day had made it all real. 

Linnea felt his hand lazily stroking over her hair, and a press of his lips against her head. It had been long enough that she felt like she could actually move, and she rose up, propping herself on her elbow, smiling at the sight of him with rumpled hair and cheeks stained pink.

“Are you well?”

Ereinion laughed at that, sliding his hand up her back to tug her down for a kiss. “I am,” he murmured against her lips. “I am well indeed, now that I am your husband. As I have always been meant to be.”

There were no words for that. Nothing but another kiss, and curling herself back up on his chest, letting her eyes close in contentment.

That feeling she had experienced teased at her. It was difficult to summon outside of the moment, but she tried her best, smiling inadvertently as she recalled the pleasure that had filled her. Her hips shifted; she was spent, truly she was, and yet, remembering how he had felt buried deep within her…

“Melethel?” Ereinion stirred beneath her. “What troubles you?”

Quickly, she shook her head. “Nothing troubles me. It was just - there was something different, when we were…something I had not ever felt before, and I was…”

She trailed off, realizing. Of course. She had had no room for thought at the time, but now it seemed so obvious.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh.”

He didn’t press - he waited for her to speak. Slowly, she lifted herself up again, and she could feel her eyes welling up.

“When we are ready to conceive,” she whispered. “I felt - it was something inside that I could open. If I willed it. When the time is right for us. I had known something of it and yet…it is as you said. It is not possible to describe in words.”

He didn’t look surprised. His hand came up to tuck a curl behind her ear, and his fingers lingered on her cheek. “It was so for me as well, my love. And like you, I was unsure of it at the time - though perhaps that is understandable.” The corner of his mouth twisted wryly. “But I felt the same. A part of myself that I could give to you beyond my body. And while it is ill to rush such things, we should consider that this respite - while both the enemy and we prepare ourselves - may be our best chance to know that joy.”

Linnea nodded soberly. Their people preferred to have children during times of peace, to ensure that both mother and father would have ample strength to devote to bearing and raising. Her heart again ached for Eressie, and for all those like her, left alone by the war. But she and Ereinion had spoken of it previously, how there was no way to know how long this war would endure. The enemy was cunning, and patient. He would not strike until he had confidence in victory.

“Soon, then,” she murmured, and he nodded back at her, smiling softly.

“Soon,” he agreed. “But not quite yet. We have time to enjoy these early days of our marriage. I must learn to be a husband first, before I learn to be a father.”

Linnea chuckled, and offered him a sly, teasing smile. “You seem to be well-schooled in all matters that a husband must be,” she said. “But perhaps we should conduct another test? I must also continue learning to be a wife, after all…”

There was a lilt in her voice - a hint of desire, that had blossomed in her when she had remembered their lovemaking. There was much more of the night yet before them, after all, and it was their wedding night. How else to spend those hours but in the practices of marriage?

He heard the desire, and it made him laugh, but she heard that same faint hint from him. And she smiled in welcome, as he rolled her over onto her back, rising over her and nestling his hips between her thighs.

Perhaps she was not entirely spent. 

TBC....

[overnightheartbeats]

Her smile couldn't be contained watching as he stood centimeters from her. Hiding how she felt and what she anticipated was not possible in any way or form. Laurel's eyes fluttered shut upon feeling those soft, lovely lips she had been hooked on from the start. "High praise, and you say I'm the one with the flirting skills," she teased, her hands cupping his face before pulling him in for a kiss of her own. The last two have been initiated by him, it was high time she give one to him. It's all she'd been thinking about for the last two weeks. "Hey, that night was great. No apology needed. I understand family, I just got it all mixed up. That's so sweet, being so close to your little sister." She zipped up her lips, "You're a great brother, and don't worry, I'll keep your secret." He had mentioned that last time, with that same sad tone. Chicago really was home, it seemed. "Well, for what it's worth, Austin is not that bad. It grows on you for sure, but don't say goodbye to Chicago. You never know where life could take you." Laurel was giddy at the thought of him meeting Julia and Aaron. Julia will be thrilled, especially when she was already such a big fan. "Wait, that's great! I love it, I'll let them know meeting you has made it to the itinerary."

It hadn't occurred to her that her answers had a deeper meaning somewhere in there, but she had said she was an open book. "I'll hold you to that," she said with a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. His question had thrown her off for a second. "Yeah. My mom, when she was still around. She was always going on and on about being a bit much, which is fine. It makes sense, I suppose. It helped me learned to tone it down." Though, she supposed toning it down was debatable. "Really? You'd learn with me. That would be so much fun, and we'd get a new skill out of it. Hopefully, some good food too." The thought was intriguing - her mind already trying to think of how could they make this work. Maybe borrowing her dad's kitchen, because the communal kitchen in the dorm buildings wouldn't cut it. "True, but it's all you at the end of the day. Pretty green eyes," and just like that - new nickname unlocked.

Laurel happily listened to him talk about his family. Usually, the family talk bummed her out, only reminding her of the odd mess she had. But, hearing him was a breath of fresh air. His family just sounded so sweet, full of love. Hearing that kind of love envelop him comforted her, especially when she thought back to the melancholy in his tone now. "Fooled me, or drew me in?" Wasn't it all about perspective? "Both of them like dancing, sounds like I need to thank them for their hard work teaching you. So, you're a snow over heat kind of guy?" Yet, he ended up here. How amusing. "That sounds so relaxing, cabin for holidays. You'll have to let me know how it goes. To Aspen? Unfortunately, no because you make it sound so fun. When we did vacations, my mom was always picking the places, and it was New York or Paris. I was also a kid, so it was a lot of following her around during shopping trips and then spending time with some random caretaker while they went out. Once it became my dad and I, then we tried visiting the Grand Canyon and sprained his ankle, so vacation cut short. But, his job keeps him busy too, so vacations are not too fun." He did try though, and that effort was everything to her. "Oh, true. Nerdy can be hot though, still doesn't matter if it's others' favorite hobby. Just yours. A self-help book, to teach others to flirt with you? No, thank you. I'll politely decline," she joked with a wink in his direction.

Something in common made her feel excited, eager to discover what else they could have in common. The possibilities seemed endless, which only made it better. "Random hobbies, huh? I mean, I'll try anything once really," that was said with a shrug. Her curiosity had a tendency to lead her to the most odd roads. "Are you trying to test my knowledge? Maybe so, or maybe I don't, but I could just throw random moves together and you wouldn't even know the difference. I'd have to dig the pom poms out of retirement," she laughed at the thought, though her attention was drawn back to his words. Laurel had never thought of silence that way, but there was no way to say that without it sounding pitiful. "The first one sounds familiar, but I guess I haven't had much of that second option. It could also be because I can never be quiet." Deflecting with jokes, a fine option. "You are just checking off all my boxes - cooking classes and stargazing, I am too lucky. I will be taking you up on that offer! I don't need the facts, just the company." His company, more specifically. "Yes, sounds like a plan. I still need to see these awesome blankets you hyped up earlier." They'd covered a decent amount of things already in the getting to know you trail, but she was quick to think of other things. "Okay, favorite color and what's one place, anywhere in the world, that you've always wanted to visit?"

Eli smiled and sighed as he chewed his lip before getting up off the chair to be centimeters away from her face. That almost mischievous childlike smile displayed as he brought her chin up with his fingertip and pressed a fleeting but warm kiss on her soft plump lips. "I don't think kissing you would ever disappoint me." He situated himself back on his chair and wrapped his ankles around the legs of the seat. "The saddle night was a good day. I'm sorry it got cut short. My little sister needed me and if you ever meet her, you'd see why. She and I are really close. She's my best friend. Just don't tell my brother and sister," he chuckled making his eyebrows crease. "Our little secret." The thought had crossed his mind once but ended up deciding that it was best if he didn't. "I wanted to but I think I'm going to stay or find some place to settle that would still be a flight away from them. I think I exhausted my time in Chicago." A sort of melancholy took over his voice saying that out loud. Her excitement was contagious and it made him nod. "I'd love to meet your best friends. That's a genuine feeling because I don't normally like to meet people." The bribery bit had him smile at her. He did wonder what she'd have up her sleeve.

"Don't worry about that. I don't deem you too much. Has anyone ever deemed you to be too much?" His curiosity had gotten him to ask the question. Otherwise he didn't think she'd have hesitancy over being known. "Realism isn't a bad thing. Though it's good to have a balance." he hummed and nodded. "We can learn together. I know a few things but the kitchen isn't really my forte. Eating is though. I wouldn't mind learning together and coming up with different recipes to try." It was a nice thought. Laurel and him in the kitchen making something and having fun. Not paying too much attention to the exact recipe just winging it at times. He smiled as they fluttered one quick time and shook his head. "I'll proudly take the title then. I don't know who to thank. Mom or dad could have had green eyes. Who knows."

"I fooled you with my subpar dancing skills. Mama P used to love to be twirled so every chance we got we used to twirl her. So she'd take us around the kitchen to dance. It was Papa P who used to teach us how to lead." The last time he skiied was last Christmas. The last holiday that was normal. "Not since last year. It was a family trip. I've got a picture of that time in my dorm. I love the snow. It's a magical place and would love to go back. Maybe rent a cabin and spend the holidays there." A dream he knew that couldn't be made reality since he didn't have the funds to actually do it. At least not yet. "Have you ever been?" He shrugged his shoulders and cleared his throat. "Some people deem readers dorky and nerdy. So, it is not everyone's favorite hobby." She was cute when she laughed and her eyes sparkled with that joy. "It has worked. You have charmed me. Maybe now you should write a self help book on how to flirt the right amount."

"A one person type huh? Seems like we've got that in common." The smile he threw her was one that was half amused. "Cheerleading and tennis? Consider me more than intrigued. Do you still remember your cheer routine?" He'd wait until later to let her know he was one of the few cheer guys at the bottom of the pyramid. She didn't need to know that right now. "Silence isn't all bad. It depends on the person you're with. If they're using silence as a means for punishment then yeah that is not good. But if you're sitting in silence with someone who makes it safe and warm then you'd find it's also very fun. As for stargazing we should go sometime? I can't say I'll be full of facts but maybe I'll end up surprising you." Just then their food arrived and he grabbed it. "Shall we head back to the room?"

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Unwinding

Dr. Lawrence Gordon x Apprentice!Reader NSFW

Prompt: Lawrence wants to keep reader safe after tagging along on one of their missions. Giving her a hotel card for them to meet up after everything is done.

CW: nipple play, p in v, creampie,

a/n: I CRAVE more Lawrence in the new Saw movie, I need him back. I need MORE apprentice Larry!!! PLEASE TWISTED PICTURES HEAR MY PLEES!!!!!!!!! anywho- I dont hype him up often on here, but when I originally watched the movies as a preteen I loved Larry so much he was one of my favorite characters but it made me mad he cheated on his wife. now I'm a chainshipper, weird how we change

~~~

Long day. What an understatement.

You had been instructed by John to scout out another victim he had hand picked. Tagging along with Amanda to discreetly kidnap them from their job. Lawrence had warned you about the security of the building. Offering to be the one driving the two of you to the site. Amanda wanted no part of Lawrence's involvement, but you did not mind it.

Lawrence had been a pivotal part of your adaptation and healing post game. Mending the injuries you had taken during your game. Calming you down from the persistent panic attack over taking your nerves as your hands were covered in blood. Body having some deep gashes and hair stained dark with blood that you were not even sure was yours. Gloved hands flattening along your hair as he gently cleaned you up. Washing off your revealed body to make sure he could tend to all your wounds. Something rather intimate for someone you did not even know.

You had no idea surviving something so horrific would lead you into a new line of work. Being scouted in by the Jigsaw killer you heard about on the news. Finding some form of stability in your previously hectic life. Butting heads with some of your new colleagues, but never Lawrence. He had a soft spot for you. Taking care of you in anyway he could. Always agreeing with your ideas. Sending Mark and Amanda off to some of the more dangerous situations as to not put you in danger.

"I'm going with you, that's final," Lawrence put his foot down to Amanda. The three of you dressed in your black robes. Mark stood off in the distance tinkering with some gadget for a game that would occur later this week. Audibly rolling his eyes at the fight going on amongst you. John sat in the corner of the room taking in breath from his oxygen tank. Silently watching the two of them argue.

"What are you even going to be able to help with? Not like you can provide any muscle, cripple," Amanda hissed at him. Angry at him questioning her competence.

"Amanda, that'e enough," John finally intervened. His weak voice still powerful in pulling all your attention to him. Amanda's face contorted in confusion and frustration, "But-"

"I'm instructing the three of you to go together. You and Y/N can handle getting them, then Dr. Gordon can set the trap up," John coughed with his words. His statement being final say in what was going to happen. Lawrence had to fight the grin begging to creep upon his face. Amanda was speechless, storming off. Lawrence gave you a secret look with a smile. You blushed at his blue eyes.

You and Lawrence followed a distance behind Amanda towards the car. Silent in the long hallways other than the click of Dr. Gordon’s cane against the floor. You had a grueling night ahead of you. Amanda slammed the double doors open, Larry put his cane in front of you to stop you. Allowing the doors to shut before he spoke.

“I want you to be safe. You can handle getting them, I have no doubt about that. But I want you to go here while you wait for the trap to be set up,” he slipped you a room card for a nearby hotel, “You know just as well as I do, Amanda won’t let me do this alone. It’s dangerous for three of us to try and leave the location. I’ll meet you there when everything is done so we can get you out of there.”

You shyly nodded, stowing the card away in your tight back pocket. Blushing at the thought of sharing a hotel room with the doctor. Knowing you would not be staying there long. Fantasizes filled your mind.

…

The night has went accordingly. Capturing the person you were sent for, making sure to fill them with enough narcotic that they would not fight back. Departing from Amanda and Lawrence hesitantly after you got them shoved in the trunk.

You paced around the room of the dingy hotel. Somewhere you could stay without a trace. Leaving your robes and mask behind in the car. You worried for the two of them. They were not exactly the best team together. No where near as bad as Amanda and Mark, but still a lack of respect between them.

The knock he had told you would signal it was him made you jump out of your skin. Walking over and looking through the peephole, seeing Lawrence with disheveled hair from the mask he wore behind removed.

You unlocked the deadbolt. Allowing him to open the door on his own. His defeated figure painted the doorway. Limping inside the room. No words being spoken between you. He was clearly distressed. His cane clanked louder than before.

Larry sighed harshly as he sat on the edge of the bed. Laying back onto the old mattress. Cane propped against the edge of the mattress. Black cloak draping off his sides revealing his shirt underneath. Noticing how it was ever so slightly untucked. Your eyes fixated on the bit of bare tummy showing. Swirling around in your stomach with your infatuation for him.

"Did you get it all set up?" You broke the stiff silence in the room.

The doctor sighed again. Head tilting to look at you, "Not without Amanda telling me a million different ways to do it."

You smiled softly at him. Amanda believed she was John's favorite, often making her cocky. You knew better than anyone that Lawrence was John's true favorite. He was the one who made most of the traps and games possible. Having connections and abilities that far surpassed all of yours. You admired how he overcame so much.

"This was one of the most stressful weeks I've had since... well, you know," he gestured towards his amputated leg. A defeated chuckled escaped his lungs. Body sore and tired. Amanda forcing him to do most of the heavy lifting out of spite for him taking over the mission.

Your mind wandered. Eyes dancing down from his exposed skin to his groin. Imaging what he was hiding under his slacks. Thinking of taking a chance with him.

You walked over, standing directly in front of his flattened body. Watching his chest rise and fall with the breaths filling his lungs. Crawling onto his lap and straddling his hips. Lawrence's hands instinctively ran up your thighs, resting on your hips. Deep blue eyes meeting your lust blown ones.

"What is it, Y/N?"

Your hands ghosted up his body, resting against his shoulders. "I can help you relieve some stress, Doctor," you batted your lashes at him.

Lawrence's jaw tensed as he chuckled softly to himself. "And how exactly are you gonna do that, darling?"

He was agging you on. Clearly enjoying the closeness of your bodies. Your fingers traveled to his buttons, undoing them slowly down his chest. Once complete, your hands grazed up his torso kneading his soft flesh. Lips falling against his clavicle, kissing along his neck. Deep moans formed inside him. One of his hands tangled in your hair, forcing you to look up at him. Forcing your lips against his. Feverish kisses were exchanged between you. Lawrence’s tongue darting between your lips as he lapped into your mouth.

You began grinding your hips down on his groin. Feeling his semi-hard cock against your core. His sounds of enjoyment vibrated your lips. You ran your nails down his exposed torso. His hands tugged at your shirt, urging you to pull it over your head. You undressed your upper half for him. Throwing your shirt somewhere in the floor behind you. Hands reaching around to awkwardly undo the clasp of your bra. Exposing your bare breasts to him. His eyes fixated on your chest. Leaning forward and taking one of your nipples between his lips. Tongue flicking and sucking at the tender bulb. Pulling quick and squeaky moans from you. Jaw hanging open as you locked eyes with him. His mouth shifting over to the other to give them the same attention.

You sat straight up, scooting so that you could reach his belt and zipper. Staring at how his erection pressed firmly against the seem. Begging to be freed from its confides. Your nails clanged against the metal belt buckle. Slowly and sensually pulling down his zipper. Lawrence had himself propped up on his elbows making sure he could watch as you crawled back down into the floor, pulling his trousers down his legs with you. Tent pitched up in his boxer-briefs. The tip of his cock leaking precum darkening the soft fabric.

You removed your own bottoms, fully taking off your pants and underwear. Soaked core tingling against the cold air of the room. You rested your hands on his thighs, towering over him on the bed. Hand wrapping around his member through his underwear. Lawrence’s face contorted in pleasure as your hand wrapped and twisted around his shaft. “Yes— God— yes,” he chanted to you. You took your lip between your teeth, adoring all the grunts and moans coming from the man below you.

Deciding to mount him once more. Bare pussy resting against his thighs framing his cock. Deep blue eyes met yours as his jaw hung open.

“Can I fuck you, Doctor Gordon?”

“Fuck— please,” his soft eyes pleaded with you. Fingertips pulling the elastic down his legs, cock springing free. Bouncing slightly as is curved towards his stomach. Thick and swollen. Aching for some attention from you. You pumped it in your hand for a moment, thumb swirling around the leaking head. Moving to be grinding him between your slick folds. Moaning each time the head rubbed against your clit. Thick fingers dug into your hips as he moved along with your body. Chest harshly rising and falling with each hard breath he took in.

Your fingers wrapped around his base, lining him up with your entrance. Sinking down onto his girth. Stretching your walls and needing to adjust to his size. You squinted your eyes shut at the feeling of him, silently morphing your mouth into an O. Slowly hopping up and down to get yourself adjusted, finally feeling him slide all the way inside. Your hands gripped at his chest to balance.

“You’re so tight, dear,” Lawrence praised as his head fell back onto the mattress. Finding a rhythm that fit you. Lewd and sloppy sounds filled the room. Lost in the feeling of his thick cock filling you to the hilt. Tits bouncing around your chest as your smacked together.

Lawrence’s finger outlined your hips, sliding down to your sensitive nub. Circling it gentle but firm. Causing you to arch your back and call out to him. Panting his name as you grinded down quicker against him. “‘M gonna make you cum around my cock,” he panted. Your nails dug into the soft flesh of his torso, grazing down to his plush stomach. Soft hair dancing along the pads of your fingers.

One of his hands curved under your thigh, urging you to go higher. Lawrence’s eyes fixated on where the two of you met. How his cock was covered in your juices and how you looked taking him inside you. Helping you bounce up and down on him, fingers never ceasing their pace on your clit. A sexual coil wound up. Feeling your legs begin shaking when he would hit that perfect spot. The head of his cock pressing against that spongy place that had you seeing stars.

“You have the perfect cock, Doctor,” you whined. Throat tightening as you continued closer to your finish line. Lawrence smiled below you, tongue coming out to glaze his teeth.

“I could fuck you forever. Keep you all to myself. Make sure no one ever hurts you again,” Lawrence’s fingers danced along the scars on your stomach from your trap. Swearing with gritted teeth at the memory. Hands praised your figure. Promising to keep you close to him.

“I’m so close,” you huffed.

“I know, dear. I can feel you,” Lawrence smiled up at you. Eyes immediately falling back down to where he penetrated you. You were a few more swirls of fingers away from your end. Chest tingling with arousal.

“Can I cum inside you?” Lawrence asked, locking sincere blue eyes with yours. You nodded silently unable to form words. Lawrence began snapping his hips up into yours. Ruthlessly fucking you to your orgasm. Heat washed down your skin as you screamed a moan. Rutting your hips forward against his ever moving fingers. Cock nestled as deeply as possible, feeling your walls constrict around him. Loving the warmth of your climax coating his cock. Shortly starting fucking up into you again.

Your body spasmed as he thrusted into your sensitive core. Lawrence sputtered as he held you flush against his groin. Cock twitching and shooting sticky hot white all over your insides. Your pussy still in aftershock, practically milking every drop out of him. “You take it so well,” Lawrence mewled. Stretching his neck back as his fingers dug into your skin, begging to break it.

Both of you panting heavily. Savoring the afterglow. Large hands petted your skin. You rest forward keeping his softening length inside you. Your fronts completely pressed together. Lawrence kissed your head tenderly. Adoring the way you perfectly melted to his fronts. Both your bodies covered in sweat.

“You’ve definitely relieved some stress for me, love,” Lawrence joked. You smiled leaning up to kiss his lips.

“I owe you my life, Lawrence. I’d do anything to make you happy,” you softly spoke against his body.

~~~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading!! I love Larry and look forward to writing more for him. If you have any requests, please shoot them my way! //

{tags}

@iwmflbb ~ @toastnpretzels ~

[christinebloodwrittings]

To hunt or be Hunted

Alastor x reader x Lucifer

Chapter 1:

Warnings: Violence.

(Image: Dunes by Logan Feliciano. Source: Pinterest)

The dust kicked up every time you jumped to avoid the thrusts of her trident. It was becoming more and more difficult for you to move, with the blood falling down your side, your vision becoming cloudy, your back getting closer and closer to the destroyed foundations of what was once a building, until you were trapped.

Falling onto your knees, you looked up at her red glowing eyes, the two beasts fell to her side, their growl resonating deep within your bones. “I gave you a chance” she sure did, “I wanted us to be friends” her trident fell against your side, only one of the three knives grazing your skin, “But you just had to, right?” tears fell down her eyes, straight into the dirt under her heels.

“I…I underestimated you” you coughed out blood with a smile, “But I'm not dying here” she proved to be more of a challenge. No regrets, but you should’ve picked your fights a bit wiser. “This just can’t go on” she stilled the trident, trying not to deepen the already open wound, “We went through all the trouble of fighting, and you are going to let me live? Are you insane?” you growled annoyed and sore.

In between heavy breaths, she had an idea, “How about a bet?” one that made your lion ears perked up.

“Ten years, you'll work for me in my project, I believe I can manage to convince you to find something good to do with yourself” she ignited a warm yellow flame on her hand, it danced around her palm without hurting her, “What makes you think I will make a bet with you, or a deal for that matter?” you pushed her hand away, “This” she ignited her trident in the yellow flame.

With the blade she cut through your body and took your soul from you, just as easy as cutting butter. “I will kill you!” you yelled, a roar washing over your voice. She limited herself to smile triumphantly, as her eyes relaxed and shifted colors, “Now you kind of screwed, aren’t you?”.

“If I play along with your bullshit, you promise to give me back my soul?” you used the rubble behind you to push yourself onto a standing position, ungracefully so. “I promise” she offered her hand, the flame dancing in between her fingers. 

You finally took her hand, the light shifted into a dark hue going up both hers and your arm, the deal sealing itself on your eyes, changing them from red sclera to a black ones, your pupils remaining a white-silver hue.

It was a big relief when the trident wound started to heal with a hiss. “You’re awfully confident” you shrugged, placing your hand over the burning flesh. “Well, we have a long time ahead of us, don’t we?” she took it upon herself to support you on your opposite side, helping you walk away from the debris.

7 years later

When the hotel fell apart you received an order, “Take everything inside and take it to safety” and so you did. All that was pictures, pets, luggage, everything, you gathered it far from the fight, then she told you to stay put until further notice.

You took a walk around, trying to go unnoticed as you were ordered, going into your phone adding a lot of new kitchen supplies into a virtual cart, when a groan made you look towards the Radio Demon’s crashed studio. After taking a hit of Adam’s guitar-axe, you thought it was amazing that he remained alive.

“Princess, Smiley is alive” your connection through your deal was truly an advantage when far away, “Go see if he’s okay, try to stay out of sight, and if he needs assistance, help him” he was obviously not okay, but you had an order, so you made your way across the sulfuric smelling debris, until you reached the door of his studio, pushing it lightly, shadow launched at you, attempting to scare you away, failing terribly.

“I have an order to check if you are, quote unquote 'okay', demon” the shadow smiled and moved away, allowing you in. Shadows painted over your body a veil, which he could not see through, only the silver light your eyes emitted.

You peeked to your right from the door to see Alastor sitting on the floor, back against his desk, trying to hide a big gush on his chest with his hands, “Are you ok?” he shot you a look that you could call a ‘Fuck you’ and a ‘You have to be kidding me��� mix.

“Are you in need of assistance?” again he didn’t answer directly, he just growled making his prongs a lot bigger, “This intimidation skit will not work on me sir, so answer, yes or no” his ears bent down and stayed flat behind his head, “No” he muttered, refusing any help from your part, “Okay then” his shadow opened the door for you, after a small curtsy to the gesture, you moved away from the rubble, the rocks making tiny crushing sounds under your heel.

His shadow caught up with you, mimicking a stop sign with his arm, “What?” then he made a figure with Alastor’s shape, a needle closing up his wound and then the same demon all smiling and walking, “So you want me to patch him up” the shadow nodded, the smile wider and cheery, “What’s in for me? He refused help, why would I go through all that trouble for free?” then he checks-mate you with Charlie’s shape. He threatened to tell on you, “Good try joker, but you ain’t got shit on me”.

“Alright” you heard the plea from the echo that the radio cabin made.

You made your way back to the demon, as soon as he saw you he took a look at his shadow before his prongs grew any bigger, then at you taking off his shirt, he continued growling and making static noises, it became louder with every step.

As you took his coat and shirt off he noticed the tips of your fingers were a burned black color, your hands a much lighter color in contrast, light yellow, he would dare to even call it pastel, but due to the poor light he couldn’t decide on hues. 

Your nails were retractable ones, he noticed how you stopped before you touched the fabric of his coat, your nails went back into your fingers and then you proceeded.

“I’ll stitch it up, but that’s all” you took in the raw hatred in his eyes before continuing. “If you shower, avoid extreme temperatures, and apply alcohol near the edges to keep it from infections” you instructed while partially removing his garments, leaving both his dress shirt and coat hanging down his elbows. The shadow provided you with a curved needle and suture thread, a very resistant one at that.

“What the blazes!?” he shrieked when you undid his belt, only to tie his hands behind his back with it, “I don’t want you messing my work up” you explained, making a pop with your mouth at the end.

As the needle went through his skin, you found it weird not hearing a single peep off of him, then you discovered he was biting his lip, to the point it bled down his chin. “If you need to yell, do so, you’ll only hurt yourself if you continue doing that” his ears went back again, like a plea to make the pain go away, at the same time that embarrassment shot against his spine like a lightning. Then he yelled into the opposite side, to avoid receiving another smack.

When you finished closing the large gash, the shadow wrapped it up in bandages, “There you go” you stood up, dusting your knees before turning on your heels. He cleared his throat bitterly to draw your attention to the fact that he was still tied up, only to receive a disinterested giggle and your utter lack of concern.

“I’ve killed pests for less than this attitude you’re insulting me with” he thought that with an implied threat he would get rid of his binds and also get a little sign of fear from you, sadly his magic was weak, and so was the remaining strength he had, so he couldn’t free himself no matter how much he tugged on the leather.

He had a little bit of hope he could induce some authority toward you, but all he got was his hair pulled backwards and the cold steel of an ax pressed against his neck.

He took a couple of seconds to ask himself, how come you were behind him in less than a second? And also swallow the fact that now he was the one being threatened.

“Knowing how to pick your fights, may save your life one day” The edge of the blade made a sharp noise while being dragged up slowly up his neck, stopping under his chin. “You’ve chosen badly twice in a day, and barely walked alive off the first one” you tugged just a little bit harder on his hair, just to place your authority over his will.

“Tell me, are you dumb enough to bite the hand that stitched you, and die because your bruised ego and your big mouth are taking control of your rational thinking?” you couldn’t measure the amount of hate his stare held, but he attentively took your advice at heart, so he relaxed his eyes and his smile turned less demonic, only answering your question with a soft no with his head.

Withdrawing the ax from his neck, you used the point to let the buckle lose without breaking it, allowing the belt to fall down his wrists. “Start picking your fights more wisely, boy, afterlife 101” you mocked while ruffling his hair right in between his ears.

“Now, I don’t think someone will ask, but if they do, we never had this conversation, rep wise” he nodded, “You better-“ his tongue tied on itself, he reckon your face being inches away from his, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul, deer-est” you chuckled at your own wordplay, while all he could do was stare at your eyes.

“Who are you?” You assumed for a long time that hell had already forgotten you, after thirty years without making yourself present, who wouldn't?  Plus, he looked a lot younger than you, he lived on earth at least ten years longer than you, lucky bastard.

“No one” before he could make an attempt to grab your hand, you jumped out the door, disappearing from his sight into the mountain of rubble.

When Alastor made his way back to the new Hotel, he felt tempted to ask around about what he just witnessed, but preferred to keep his mouth shut. He wouldn’t admit in front of the others that the Radio Demon got assisted and handled as a whiny child, so instead he remained the smiley guy he is.

All the rooms got sorted later in the night, with a snap of his fingers everything in the new room looked exactly as it did in the old one. He placed the ruined coat and dress shirt on a chair, resorting to a gray suit he had lying around, “I should start broadcasting” he muttered to himself, making his way to his brand new station situated in the left wing of the Hotel.

After a few hours he came back to his quarters to refresh. He inspected his chest just to reassure himself, his scar had been closed with an almost religious delicacy. It almost felt like lace.

No one would catch the Radio Demon blushing while tracing his wound, but Alastor didn’t mind at the moment.

---

Hazbin Taglist: @mysterypotatoink @sibsteria @cherry-cola-100 @readergirlstuff @phoenixica24 @martinys-world @alientee @jellyroom2 @jewelsrules @zealousllamawolf @kittycat246 @littlebluefishtail

[tired-reader-writer]

Tentatively decided to name the new OC (Shapur's former tutor who now teaches his two kids) Sadiq, meaning “true, sincere, loyal”— derived from the root صدق (ṣadaqa) meaning “to tell the truth”! I have yet to figure out his whole deal but the vague strokes are that he had probably been taught to be ruthless even against family, tangled up in a succession crisis against his brother, only to eventually go “wait, none of this is even remotely worth it” and fucked off— maybe he even tried his hand at serving at court but got disillusioned and left— probably because Gotatzes deteriorated and he witnessed again brother fighting brother and got so Tired of it all. Kinda gave up on the world, only dedicating himself to his... nephew? of a sort? He probably had blood ties to Shapur's father or something to have been able to become his tutor. I get the sense that he's mellowed out quite a bit since his younger years. Actually, why do I keep visualizing this man as Froi Tiedoll from D Gray Man????

?????????????????

I don't know if the mental image will end up sticking or not. We shall see.

(Man I need to reread D Gray Man don't I)

Some other vague stuff about him:

Has lingering regrets over broken familial bonds. Maybe he wishes he'd known better, known to have not feuded against his own brother when he was younger.

Pretty chil???? (Tis the Froi influence I swear)

(but if he's so chill how'd he produce not one but TWO very rigid students?! my dude??)

“The fact that you two (Isfan and Areyan) have never once considered it (competing against each other for the heir seat, or even feuding with Shapur for the family head and lord position) then it means I have taught you two well.”

Eternal Bachelor™

Could he possibly have been peers with Lushan and Munzhir (Zaravant's dad)? Discuss.

His tutelage likely expanded its bounds beyond just Isfan and Areyan after the clan settles in Shapur's lands.

(now that I think of it I still haven't decided why they'd want to settle there, FUCK)

(maybe Sadiq could've helped convince them but with what arguments?)

Easygoing demeanor hides his sharp mind and eyes

Approved of Shapur trying to rescue Golnar and Isfan.

Wanted to see where Shapur would go with Ayunnen, Kashi, and Kazai, though knew that they probably wouldn't have a good time so long as Shapur's father and Jahanara still held power over the castle so he could have advised to wait until after Shapur became lord.

But then they DIED...

Could he have faint knowledge about things to do with magic? He could have been in Gotatzes' court after all— and that means magic and soothsaying and the like were more prominent during his times (and then Andragoras killed all court sorcerers upon attaining the throne, and here we arrive at Pars' current attitude towards magic. at least in the capital and among warriors?)

Like This™ about his students at all times:

Bonus round: two other name candidates that didn't quite end up making the cut!

Mehdi

Means "guided one" in Arabic, a derivative of هدى (hadā) meaning "to lead the right way, to guide".

Firouz/Firuz/Pirouz/Piruz

From Persian پیروز (pīrūz) or فیروز (fīrūz) meaning "victorious". This name was borne by Firuz Shah Tughlaq, a 14th-century sultan of Delhi who did much to build the city's infrastructure.

[liminalmessaging]

decided i'm just going to enjoy living for the simple fact that i'm here and i might as well. after all, where is it written that i need some grander purpose to find fulfillment in life?

[ricky-mortis]

Curtwen Week Day 6: Happy Ending

[herbofgraceandpeace]

trying to decide which of any of the other books in the chrestomanci series to reread now that I’ve finished The Lives of Christopher Chant. The trouble is I’ve got mixed feelings about ALL of the others? So…………….

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[kitkatcadillac]

seeing a lot of posts making me think about it lately but i think its really important to note when you consider the ways that you accept and support the queer/lgbtq community that its critical, if you want to do a well founded and strong job of it, absolutely CRITICAL to diversify that

i know theres a lot going on right now thats noisy, and scary, and it feels overwhelming and sometimes that pressure is good at encouraging infighting or picking teams or whatnot

but like... i dont know man. step back and relax a little bit. dont engage with the live wire. go... read some stories. read or watch some history, enjoy some queer entertainment.

google terminology. watch something about the AIDS pandemic. see top ten queer artist lists and pick a few to learn more about. look at the wiki for the lavender scare. watch some musicals, learn about theater history. about drag. the holocaust, and how much they cared about whether you were gay, autistic, or jewish, and why its so important to remember who your real fight is with.

not even all at once. just throw some crumbs in with whatever else youre doing, or youre interested in. tidbits. find happy things. find mundane things. find infuriating things. find combinations, confusing things. diversify. grow yourself. give yourself time and tools in bounds. much to learn every day.

[kimmkitsuragi]

alright this is so annoying and disappointing because -obviously i cant know for sure, but- it feels like something happened to change their minds :/ which would be just sad

[dadbots]

Peace and love.

[wereh0gz]

Started replaying sonic frontiers and have been having a blast but also why is the switch version so fucked