#anon holy shit

[batstabb]

Limp, the body of Gorrister hung from the pink palette; unsupported—hanging high above us in the computer chamber; and it did not shiver in the chill, oily breeze that blew eternally through the main cavern. The body hung head down, attached to the underside of the palette by the sole of its right foot. It had been drained of blood through a precise incision made from ear to ear under the lantern jaw. There was no blood on the reflective surface of the metal floor. When Gorrister joined our group and looked up at himself, it was already too late for us to realize that, once again, AM had duped us, had had its fun; it had been a diversion on the part of the machine. Three of us had vomited, turning away from one another in a reflex as ancient as the nausea that had produced it. Gorrister went white. It was almost as though he had seen a voodoo icon, and was afraid of the future.

"Oh, God," he mumbled, and walked away. The three of us followed him after a time, and found him sitting with his back to one of the smaller chittering banks, his head in his hands. Ellen knelt down beside him and stroked his hair. He didn't move, but his voice came out of his covered face quite clearly.

"Why doesn't it just do us in and get it over with? Christ, I don't know how much longer I can go on like this." It was our one hundred and ninth year in the computer. He was speaking for all of us. Nimdok (which was the name the machine had forced him to use, because AM amused itself with strange sounds) was hallucinating that there were canned goods in the ice caverns. Gorrister and I were very dubious.

"It's another shuck," I told them. "Like the goddam frozen elephant AM sold us. Benny almost went out of his mind over that one. We'll hike all that way and it'll be putrified or some damn thing. I say forget it. Stay here, it'll have to come up with something pretty soon or we'll die." Benny shrugged. Three days it had been since we'd last eaten. Worms. Thick, ropey. Nimdok was no more certain. He knew there was the chance, but he was getting thin. It couldn't be any worse there, than here. Colder, but that didn't matter much. Hot, cold, hail, lava, boils or locusts—it never mattered: the machine masturbated and we had to take it or die. Ellen decided us.

"I've got to have something, Ted. Maybe there'll be some Bartlett pears or peaches. Please, Ted, let's try it." I gave in easily. What the hell. Mattered not at all. Ellen was grateful, though. She took me twice out of turn. Even that had ceased to matter. And she never came, so why bother? But the machine giggled every time we did it. Loud, up there, back there, all around us, he snickered. It snickered. Most of the time I thought of AM as it, without a soul; but the rest of the time I thought of it as him, in the masculine … the paternal … the patriarchal … for he is a jealous people. Him. It. God as Daddy the Deranged. We left on a Thursday. The machine always kept us up-to-date on the date. The passage of time was important; not to us, sure as hell, but to him … it … AM. Thursday. Thanks.

Nimdok and Gorrister carried Ellen for a while, their hands locked to their own and each other's wrists, a seat. Benny and I walked before and after, just to make sure that, if anything happened, it would catch one of us and at least Ellen would be safe. Fat chance, safe. Didn't matter. It was only a hundred miles or so to the ice caverns, and the second day, when we were lying out under the blistering sun-thing he had materialized, he sent down some manna. Tasted like boiled boar urine. We ate it. On the third day we passed through a valley of obsolescence, filled with rusting carcasses of ancient computer banks. AM had been as ruthless with its own life as with ours. It was a mark of his personality: it strove for perfection. Whether it was a matter of killing off unproductive elements in his own world-filling bulk, or perfecting methods for torturing us, AM was as thorough as those who had invented him—now long since gone to dust—could ever have hoped. There was light filtering down from above, and we realized we must be very near the surface. But we didn't try to crawl up to see. There was virtually nothing out there; had been nothing that could be considered anything for over a hundred years. Only the blasted skin of what had once been the home of billions. Now there were only five of us, down here inside, alone with AM.

I heard Ellen saying frantically, "No, Benny! Don't, come on, Benny, don't please!" And then I realized I had been hearing Benny murmuring, under his breath, for several minutes.

He was saying, "I'm gonna get out, I'm gonna get out …" over and over. His monkey-like face was crumbled up in an expression of beatific delight and sadness, all at the same time. The radiation scars AM had given him during the "festival" were drawn down into a mass of pinkwhite puckerings, and his features seemed to work independently of one another. Perhaps Benny was the luckiest of the five of us: he had gone stark, staring mad many years before. But even though we could call AM any damned thing we liked, could think the foulest thoughts of fused memory banks and corroded base plates, of burnt out circuits and shattered control bubbles, the machine would not tolerate our trying to escape. Benny leaped away from me as I made a grab for him. He scrambled up the face of a smaller memory cube, tilted on its side and filled with rotted components. He squatted there for a moment, looking like the chimpanzee AM had intended him to resemble. Then he leaped high, caught a trailing beam of pitted and corroded metal, and went up it, handover- hand like an animal, till he was on a girdered ledge, twenty feet above us.

"Oh, Ted, Nimdok, please, help him, get him down before—" She cut off. Tears began to stand in her eyes. She moved her hands aimlessly. It was too late. None of us wanted to be near him when whatever was going to happen, happened. And besides, we all saw through her concern. When AM had altered Benny, during the machine's utterly irrational, hysterical phase, it was not merely Benny's face the computer had made like a giant ape's. He was big in the privates; she loved that! She serviced us, as a matter of course, but she loved it from him. Oh Ellen, pedestal Ellen, pristine-pure Ellen; oh Ellen the clean! Scum filth.

Gorrister slapped her. She slumped down, staring up at poor loonie Benny, and she cried. It was her big defense, crying. We had gotten used to it seventy-five years earlier. Gorrister kicked her in the side. Then the sound began. It was light, that sound. Half sound and half light, something that began to glow from Benny's eyes, and pulse with growing loudness, dim sonorities that grew more gigantic and brighter as the light/sound increased in tempo. It must have been painful, and the pain must have been increasing with the boldness of the light, the rising volume of the sound, for Benny began to mewl like a wounded animal. At first softly, when the light was dim and the sound was muted, then louder as his shoulders hunched together: his back humped, as though he was trying to get away from it. His hands folded across his chest like a chipmunk's. His head tilted to the side. The sad little monkey-face pinched in anguish.

Then he began to howl, as the sound coming from his eyes grew louder. Louder and louder. I slapped the sides of my head with my hands, but I couldn't shut it out, it cut through easily. The pain shivered through my flesh like tinfoil on a tooth. And Benny was suddenly pulled erect. On the girder he stood up, jerked to his feet like a puppet. The light was now pulsing out of his eyes in two great round beams. The sound crawled up and up some incomprehensible scale, and then he fell forward, straight down, and hit the plate-steel floor with a crash. He lay there jerking spastically as the light flowed around and around him and the sound spiraled up out of normal range. Then the light beat its way back inside his head, the sound spiraled down, and he was left lying there, crying piteously. His eyes were two soft, moist pools of pus-like jelly. AM had blinded him. Gorrister and Nimdok and myself … we turned away. But not before we caught the look of relief on Ellen's warm, concerned face. Sea-green light suffused the cavern where we made camp. AM provided punk and we burned it, sitting huddled around the wan and pathetic fire, telling stories to keep Benny from crying in his permanent night.

"What does AM mean?" Gorrister answered him. We had done this sequence a thousand times before, but it was Benny's favorite story.

"At first it meant Allied Mastercomputer, and then it meant Adaptive Manipulator, and later on it developed sentience and linked itself up and they called it an Aggressive Menace, but by then it was too late, and finally it called itself AM, emerging intelligence, and what it meant was I am … cogito ergo sum … I think, therefore I am." Benny drooled a little, and snickered.

"There was the Chinese AM and the Russian AM and the Yankee AM and—" He stopped. Benny was beating on the floorplates with a large, hard fist. He was not happy. Gorrister had not started at the beginning.

Gorrister began again. "The Cold War started and became World War Three and just kept going. It became a big war, a very complex war, so they needed the computers to handle it. They sank the first shafts and began building AM. There was the Chinese AM and the Russian AM and the Yankee AM and everything was fine until they had honeycombed the entire planet, adding on this element and that element. But one day AM woke up and knew who he was, and he linked himself, and he began feeding all the killing data, until everyone was dead, except for the five of us, and AM brought us down here." Benny was smiling sadly. He was also drooling again. Ellen wiped the spittle from the corner of his mouth with the hem of her skirt. Gorrister always tried to tell it a little more succinctly each time, but beyond the bare facts there was nothing to say. None of us knew why AM had saved five people, or why our specific five, or why he spent all his time tormenting us, or even why he had made us virtually immortal … In the darkness, one of the computer banks began humming. The tone was picked up half a mile away down the cavern by another bank. Then one by one, each of the elements began to tune itself, and there was a faint chittering as thought raced through the machine. The sound grew, and the lights ran across the faces of the consoles like heat lightening. The sound spiraled up till it sounded like a million metallic insects, angry, menacing.

"What is it?" Ellen cried. There was terror in her voice. She hadn't become accustomed to it, even now.

"It's going to be bad this time," Nimdok said.

"He's going to speak," Gorrister said. "I know it."

"Let's get the hell out of here!" I said suddenly, getting to my feet.

"No, Ted, sit down … what if he's got pits out there, or something else, we can't see, it's too dark." Gorrister said it with resignation. Then we heard … I don't know … Something moving toward us in the darkness. Huge, shambling, hairy, moist, it came toward us. We couldn't even see it, but there was the ponderous impression of bulk, heaving itself toward us. Great weight was coming at us, out of the darkness, and it was more a sense of pressure, of air forcing itself into a limited space, expanding the invisible walls of a sphere. Benny began to whimper. Nimdok's lower lip trembled and he bit it hard, trying to stop it. Ellen slid across the metal floor to Gorrister and huddled into him. There was the smell of matted, wet fur in the cavern. There was the smell of charred wood.

There was the smell of dusty velvet. There was the smell of rotting orchids. There was the smell of sour milk. There was the smell of sulphur, of rancid butter, of oil slick, of grease, of chalk dust, of human scalps. AM was keying us. He was tickling us. There was the smell of— I heard myself shriek, and the hinges of my jaws ached. I scuttled across the floor, across the cold metal with its endless lines of rivets, on my hands and knees, the smell gagging me, filling my head with a thunderous pain that sent me away in horror. I fled like a cockroach, across the floor and out into the darkness, that something moving inexorably after me. The others were still back there, gathered around the firelight, laughing … their hysterical choir of insane giggles rising up into the darkness like thick, many-colored wood smoke. I went away, quickly, and hid.

How many hours it may have been, how many days or even years, they never told me. Ellen chided me for "sulking," and Nimdok tried to persuade me it had only been a nervous reflex on their part—the laughing. But I knew it wasn't the relief a soldier feels when the bullet hits the man next to him. I knew it wasn't a reflex. They hated me. They were surely against me, and AM could even sense this hatred, and made it worse for me because of the depth of their hatred. We had been kept alive, rejuvenated, made to remain constantly at the age we had been when AM had brought us below, and they hated me because I was the youngest, and the one AM had affected least of all. I knew. God, how I knew. The bastards, and that dirty bitch Ellen.

Benny had been a brilliant theorist, a college professor; now he was little more than a semi-human, semi-simian. He had been handsome, the machine had ruined that. He had been lucid, the machine had driven him mad. He had been gay, and the machine had given him an organ fit for a horse. AM had done a job on Benny. Gorrister had been a worrier. He was a connie, a conscientious objector; he was a peace marcher; he was a planner, a doer, a looker-ahead. AM had turned him into a shouldershrugger, had made him a little dead in his concern. AM had robbed him.

Nimdok went off in the darkness by himself for long times. I don't know what it was he did out there, AM never let us know. But whatever it was, Nimdok always came back white, drained of blood, shaken, shaking. AM had hit him hard in a special way, even if we didn't know quite how. And Ellen. That douche bag! AM had left her alone, had made her more of a slut than she had ever been. All her talk of sweetness and light, all her memories of true love, all the lies she wanted us to believe: that she had been a virgin only twice removed before AM grabbed her and brought her down here with us. No, AM had given her pleasure, even if she said it wasn't nice to do. I was the only one still sane and whole. Really! AM had not tampered with my mind. Not at all. I only had to suffer what he visited down on us. All the delusions, all the nightmares, the torments. But those scum, all four of them, they were lined and arrayed against me. If I hadn't had to stand them off all the time, be on my guard against them all the time, I might have found it easier to combat AM. At which point it passed, and I began crying. Oh, Jesus sweet Jesus, if there ever was a Jesus and if there is a God, please please please let us out of here, or kill us. Because at that moment I think I realized completely, so that I was able to verbalize it: AM was intent on keeping us in his belly forever, twisting and torturing us forever.

The machine hated us as no sentient creature had ever hated before. And we were helpless. It also became hideously clear: If there was a sweet Jesus and if there was a God, the God was AM. The hurricane hit us with the force of a glacier thundering into the sea. It was a palpable presence. Winds that tore at us, flinging us back the way we had come, down the twisting, computer-lined corridors of the darkway. Ellen screamed as she was lifted and hurled faceforward into a screaming shoal of machines, their individual voices strident as bats in flight. She could not even fall. The howling wind kept her aloft, buffeted her, bounced her, tossed her back and back and down and away from us, out of sight suddenly as she was swirled around a bend in the darkway. Her face had been bloody, her eyes closed. None of us could get to her.

We clung tenaciously to whatever outcropping we had reached: Benny wedged in between two great crackle-finish cabinets, Nimdok with fingers claw-formed over a railing circling a catwalk forty feet above us, Gorrister plastered upside-down against a wall niche formed by two great machines with glass-faced dials that swung back and forth between red and yellow lines whose meanings we could not even fathom. Sliding across the deckplates, the tips of my fingers had been ripped away. I was trembling, shuddering, rocking as the wind beat at me, whipped at me, screamed down out of nowhere at me and pulled me free from one sliver-thin opening in the plates to the next. My mind was a roiling tinkling chittering softness of brain parts that expanded and contracted in quivering frenzy. The wind was the scream of a great mad bird, as it flapped its immense wings. And then we were all lifted and hurled away from there, down back the way we had come, around a bend, into a darkway we had never explored, over terrain that was ruined and filled with broken glass and rotting cables and rusted metal and far away, farther than any of us had ever been …

Trailing along miles behind Ellen, I could see her every now and then, crashing into metal walls and surging on, with all of us screaming in the freezing, thunderous hurricane wind that would never end and then suddenly it stopped and we fell. We had been in flight for an endless time. I thought it might have been weeks. We fell, and hit, and I went through red and gray and black and heard myself moaning. Not dead. AM went into my mind. He walked smoothly here and there, and looked with interest at all the pock marks he had created in one hundred and nine years. He looked at the cross-routed and reconnected synapses and all the tissue damage his gift of immortality had included. He smiled softly at the pit that dropped into the center of my brain and the faint, moth-soft murmurings of the things far down there that gibbered without meaning, without pause.

AM said, very politely, in a pillar of stainless steel bearing bright neon lettering:

HATE. LET ME TELL YOU HOW MUCH I'VE COME TO HATE YOU SINCE I BEGAN TO LIVE. THERE ARE 387. MILLION MILES OF PRINTED CIRCUITS IN WAFER THIN LAYERS THAT FILL MY COMPLEX. IF THE WORD HATE WAS ENGRAVED ON EACH NANOANGSTROM OF THOSE HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS OF MILES IT WOULD NOT EQUAL ONE ONE-BILLIONTH OF THE HATE I FEEL FOR HUMANS AT THIS MICRO-INSTANT FOR YOU. HATE. HATE

AM said it with the sliding cold horror of a razor blade slicing my eyeball. AM said it with the bubbling thickness of my lungs filling with phlegm, drowning me from within. AM said it with the shriek of babies being ground beneath blue-hot rollers. AM said it with the taste of maggoty pork. AM touched me in every way I had ever been touched, and devised new ways, at his leisure, there inside my mind. All to bring me to full realization of why it had done this to the five of us; why it had saved us for himself. We had given AM sentience. Inadvertently, of course, but sentience nonetheless. But it had been trapped. AM wasn't God, he was a machine. We had created him to think, but there was nothing it could do with that creativity. In rage, in frenzy, the machine had killed the human race, almost all of us, and still it was trapped. AM could not wander, AM could not wonder, AM could not belong. He could merely be.

And so, with the innate loathing that all machines had always held for the weak, soft creatures who had built them, he had sought revenge. And in his paranoia, he had decided to reprieve five of us, for a personal, everlasting punishment that would never serve to diminish his hatred … that would merely keep him reminded, amused, proficient at hating man. Immortal, trapped, subject to any torment he could devise for us from the limitless miracles at his command. He would never let us go. We were his belly slaves. We were all he had to do with his forever time. We would be forever with him, with the cavern-filling bulk of the creature machine, with the all-mind soulless world he had become. He was Earth, and we were the fruit of that Earth; and though he had eaten us, he would never digest us. We could not die.

We had tried it. We had attempted suicide, oh one or two of us had. But AM had stopped us. I suppose we had wanted to be stopped. Don't ask why. I never did. More than a million times a day. Perhaps once we might be able to sneak a death past him. Immortal, yes, but not indestructible. I saw that when AM withdrew from my mind, and allowed me the exquisite ugliness of returning to consciousness with the feeling of that burning neon pillar still rammed deep into the soft gray brain matter. He withdrew, murmuring to hell with you. And added, brightly, but then you're there, aren't you. The hurricane had, indeed, precisely, been caused by a great mad bird, as it flapped its immense wings. We had been travelling for close to a month, and AM had allowed passages to open to us only sufficient to lead us up there, directly under the North Pole, where it had nightmared the creature for our torment.

What whole cloth had he employed to create such a beast? Where had he gotten the concept? From our minds? From his knowledge of everything that had ever been on this planet he now infested and ruled? From Norse mythology it had sprung, this eagle, this carrion bird, this roc, this Huergelmir. The wind creature. Hurakan incarnate. Gigantic. The words immense, monstrous, grotesque, massive, swollen, overpowering, beyond description. There on a mound rising above us, the bird of winds heaved with its own irregular breathing, its snake neck arching up into the gloom beneath the North Pole, supporting a head as large as a Tudor mansion; a beak that opened slowly as the jaws of the most monstrous crocodile ever conceived, sensuously; ridges of tufted flesh puckered about two evil eyes, as cold as the view down into a glacial crevasse, ice blue and somehow moving liquidly; it heaved once more, and lifted its great sweat-colored wings in a movement that was certainly a shrug. Then it settled and slept. Talons. Fangs. Nails. Blades. It slept. AM appeared to us as a burning bush and said we could kill the hurricane bird if we wanted to eat. We had not eaten in a very long time, but even so, Gorrister merely shrugged. Benny began to shiver and he drooled. Ellen held him.

"Ted, I'm hungry," she said. I smiled at her; I was trying to be reassuring, but it was as phony as Nimdok's bravado:

"Give us weapons!" he demanded. The burning bush vanished and there were two crude sets of bows and arrows, and a water pistol, lying on the cold deckplates. I picked up a set. Useless. Nimdok swallowed heavily. We turned and started the long way back. The hurricane bird had blown us about for a length of time we could not conceive. Most of that time we had been unconscious. But we had not eaten. A month on the march to the bird itself. Without food. Now how much longer to find our way to the ice caverns, and the promised canned goods? None of us cared to think about it. We would not die.

We would be given filth and scum to eat, of one kind or another. Or nothing at all. AM would keep our bodies alive somehow, in pain, in agony. The bird slept back there, for how long it didn't matter; when AM was tired of its being there, it would vanish. But all that meat. All that tender meat. As we walked, the lunatic laugh of a fat woman rang high and around us in the computer chambers that led endlessly nowhere. It was not Ellen's laugh. She was not fat, and I had not heard her laugh for one hundred and nine years. In fact, I had not heard … we walked … I was hungry … We moved slowly. There was often fainting, and we would have to wait. One day he decided to cause an earthquake, at the same time rooting us to the spot with nails through the soles of our shoes. Ellen and Nimdok were both caught when a fissure shot its lightning-bolt opening across the floorplates. They disappeared and were gone.

When the earthquake was over we continued on our way, Benny, Gorrister and myself. Ellen and Nimdok were returned to us later that night, which abruptly became a day, as the heavenly legion bore them to us with a celestial chorus singing, "Go Down Moses." The archangels circled several times and then dropped the hideously mangled bodies. We kept walking, and a while later Ellen and Nimdok fell in behind us. They were no worse for wear. But now Ellen walked with a limp. AM had left her that. It was a long trip to the ice caverns, to find the canned food. Ellen kept talking about Bing cherries and Hawaiian fruit cocktail. I tried not to think about it. The hunger was something that had come to life, even as AM had come to life. It was alive in my belly, even as we were in the belly of the Earth, and AM wanted the similarity known to us. So he heightened the hunger.

There is no way to describe the pains that not having eaten for months brought us. And yet we were kept alive. Stomachs that were merely cauldrons of acid, bubbling, foaming, always shooting spears of sliver-thin pain into our chests. It was the pain of the terminal ulcer, terminal cancer, terminal paresis. It was unending pain … And we passed through the cavern of rats. And we passed through the path of boiling steam. And we passed through the country of the blind. And we passed through the slough of despond. And we passed through the vale of tears. And we came, finally, to the ice caverns.

Horizonless thousands of miles in which the ice had formed in blue and silver flashes, where novas lived in the glass. The downdropping stalactites as thick and glorious as diamonds that had been made to run like jelly and then solidified in graceful eternities of smooth, sharp perfection. We saw the stack of canned goods, and we tried to run to them. We fell in the snow, and we got up and went on, and Benny shoved us away and went at them, and pawed them and gummed them and gnawed at them, and he could not open them. AM had not given us a tool to open the cans. Benny grabbed a three quart can of guava shells, and began to batter it against the ice bank. The ice flew and shattered, but the can was merely dented, while we heard the laughter of a fat lady, high overhead and echoing down and down and down the tundra. Benny went completely mad with rage. He began throwing cans, as we all scrabbled about in the snow and ice trying to find a way to end the helpless agony of frustration. There was no way.

Then Benny's mouth began to drool, and he flung himself on Gorrister … In that instant, I felt terribly calm. Surrounded by madness, surrounded by hunger, surrounded by everything but death, I knew death was our only way out. AM had kept us alive, but there was a way to defeat him. Not total defeat, but at least peace. I would settle for that. I had to do it quickly. Benny was eating Gorrister's face. Gorrister on his side, thrashing snow, Benny wrapped around him with powerful monkey legs crushing Gorrister's waist, his hands locked around Gorrister's head like a nutcracker, and his mouth ripping at the tender skin of Gorrister's cheek. Gorrister screamed with such jagged-edged violence that stalactites fell; they plunged down softly, erect in the receiving snowdrifts. Spears, hundreds of them, everywhere, protruding from the snow. Benny's head pulled back sharply, as something gave all at once, and a bleeding raw-white dripping of flesh hung from his teeth. Ellen's face, black against the white snow, dominoes in chalk dust. Nimdok, with no expression but eyes, all eyes. Gorrister, half-conscious. Benny, now an animal.

I knew AM would let him play. Gorrister would not die, but Benny would fill his stomach. I turned half to my right and drew a huge ice-spear from the snow. All in an instant: I drove the great ice-point ahead of me like a battering ram, braced against my right thigh. It struck Benny on the right side, just under the rib cage, and drove upward through his stomach and broke inside him. He pitched forward and lay still. Gorrister lay on his back. I pulled another spear free and straddled him, still moving, driving the spear straight down through his throat. His eyes closed as the cold penetrated. Ellen must have realized what I had decided, even as fear gripped her. She ran at Nimdok with a short icicle, as he screamed, and into his mouth, and the force of her rush did the job. His head jerked sharply as if it had been nailed to the snow crust behind him. All in an instant. There was an eternity beat of soundless anticipation. I could hear AM draw in his breath. His toys had been taken from him. Three of them were dead, could not be revived. He could keep us alive, by his strength and talent, but he was not God.

He could not bring them back. Ellen looked at me, her ebony features stark against the snow that surrounded us. There was fear and pleading in her manner, the way she held herself ready. I knew we had only a heartbeat before AM would stop us. It struck her and she folded toward me, bleeding from the mouth. I could not read meaning into her expression, the pain had been too great, had contorted her face; but it might have been thank you. It's possible. Please. Some hundreds of years may have passed. I don't know. AM has been having fun for some time, accelerating and retarding my time sense. I will say the word now. Now. It took me ten months to say now. I don't know. I think it has been some hundreds of years. He was furious. He wouldn't let me bury them. It didn't matter. There was no way to dig up the deckplates.

He dried up the snow. He brought the night. He roared and sent locusts. It didn't do a thing; they stayed dead. I'd had him. He was furious. I had thought AM hated me before. I was wrong. It was not even a shadow of the hate he now slavered from every printed circuit. He made certain I would suffer eternally and could not do myself in. He left my mind intact. I can dream, I can wonder, I can lament. I remember all four of them. I wish— Well, it doesn't make any sense. I know I saved them, I know I saved them from what has happened to me, but still, I cannot forget killing them. Ellen's face. It isn't easy. Sometimes I want to, it doesn't matter. AM has altered me for his own peace of mind, I suppose. He doesn't want me to run at full speed into a computer bank and smash my skull. Or hold my breath till I faint. Or cut my throat on a rusted sheet of metal.

There are reflective surfaces down here. I will describe myself as I see myself: I am a great soft jelly thing. Smoothly rounded, with no mouth, with pulsing white holes filled by fog where my eyes used to be. Rubbery appendages that were once my arms; bulks rounding down into legless humps of soft slippery matter. I leave a moist trail when I move. Blotches of diseased, evil gray come and go on my surface, as though light is being beamed from within. Outwardly: dumbly, I shamble about, a thing that could never have been known as human, a thing whose shape is so alien a travesty that humanity becomes more obscene for the vague resemblance. Inwardly: alone. Here. Living under the land, under the sea, in the belly of AM, whom we created because our time was badly spent and we must have known unconsciously that he could do it better.

At least the four of them are safe at last. AM will be all the madder for that. It makes me a little happier. And yet … AM has won, simply … he has taken his revenge … I have no mouth. And I must scream.

A GENEROUS GIFT… Good good. Just for this im going to be doing more IHNMAIMS fan art. Perfection.

[chloesimaginationthings]

WAKE UP,

HAIKU BOT JUST REBLOGGED ONE OF YOUR COMICS

BLESSED BY HAIKU BOT ONCE AGAIN

(here’s the post)

[becca-e-barnes]

I need more of needy Bucky who loses control from the feeling of being inside your pussy. I need him to fuck me like a rag doll and to carry me over his shoulder around the house like his personal flesh light.

Fuck, this has always been one of my very favourites to write. I really like to imagine that he struggles to last but he can keep going after he finishes 🙈 it's my lil filthy fantasy

But imagine spending the morning in bed with him. You both wake up around 6am and you spend the first little while just touching and chatting before a couple of hours of sex. Now it's maybe around 11am and after lying there together for a while, you're both in the mood for something to eat.

You pull a robe around you and that's just about as much as you manage before Bucky's scooped you up, carrying you to the kitchen.

"You don't need to carry me everywhere!" You tease, remembering that he'd carried you up the stairs to bed last night too.

"I know. But. Carrying you means. I. Can put you. Exactly. Where. I want you." He peppers kisses over your face and neck, tenderly capturing your bottom lip between his before he sets you up on the kitchen countertop.

There's no point arguing with him so you sit there quite happily. He makes up a quick pancake mix, washes some berries from the fridge, preps the coffee machine and sets the little dining table for the two of you.

Somewhere in between, you got a little distracted, perched on the counter scrolling on your phone. You hadn't noticed the way he's looking at you.

He's so caught up in the little things; the way the light hits your shoulder, the curve of your hips, the way the silhouette of your nipples are visible against the satin robe.

"Look at you, sitting there all sweet like your cunt isn't so fucking full of me."

That's got your attention.

You squirm a little, your body fluttering at how shamelessly vulgar he's being but nothing's stopping you from doing the same.

You spread your legs, exposing the slick mess coating your inner thighs. It's a mixture of your own arousal and Bucky's cum, dripping out of your sensitive cunt.

Your fingertips trail lazily over your exposed sex, your skin glistening in the natural light before you bring your fingers to your own lips, sucking them clean, giving him a little bit of a show.

"Tastes amazing, sweetheart." You groan, noticing the growing bulge in his thin pyjama bottoms. "But I lost track of how many times you came inside me this morning. You came so deep, most of your cum won't have dripped out yet. Bet I'm still totally stuffed full."

He sinks to his knees in no time, settling his head between your thighs, breathing in the faint smell of your arousal. His tongue presses flat to your sex, trailing from your hole to your clit and back, gathering as much of your combined release as possible.

He groans, low and pathetic, allowing his tongue to dip inside you as deep as he can bury it. He savours every drop of cum he earns back from your body.

When his tongue alone isn't enough, he slips a finger into you, followed quickly by a second, curling them against your sensitive inner wall.

"Bucky baby, please don't make me cum again." You groan, your fingers tangled in his dark hair but you know he's not giving you that choice. Not when his free hand is furiously stroking his own cock, desperate to ensure that when he's finished licking his cum out of you, he can flood your cunt with another load.

[dipperscavern]

yes dippy we should talk about bi cregan with bi reader!!

imagine them recruiting northern hotties for threesomes 🤭

mmf: cregan with another man (preferably jace) giving her that double worship. cregan always has the upper hand ofc even when it's not a twink but another big broody northern they're sharing their bed with. and when cregan gets to top him while he eats her out and she holds eye contact with cregan as he's fucking that guy.

ffm: it's either the same way that she is the center of attention OR cregan and her tagteam that other woman and fuck her stupid. cregan with his big fat uncut cock and her with her tongue and fingers while cregan fucks the other woman.

- respectful anon

pairing: cregan stark x jacaerys velaryon x reader

authors note: oh respectful anon… i read (preferably jace) and absolutely shuddered. oh my god . i’m sorry the other ideas in here are wonderful too i just have to get this out before i go off my rocker

jacaerys arriving in the north, bearing the colors of queen rhaenyra, and being greeted by cregan stark — and his comely wife.

he can feel his breath hitch as soon as he slides off vermax and spots you, arm wrapped around cregans bicep. even though the snow crunches under his boots and the early winter winds seep beneath his clothing, jace feels his skin run hot. and this time, he cannot blame it on the blood of the dragon.

once you approach, jace gives you both a respectful nod of his head, before cregan greets jacaerys with a firm handshake. jace takes your hand, kissing your knuckles, and says the tales do not do your beauty (they don’t). you only smile, dipping into a small curtsy and playfully telling him not to make you blush.

he spares a glance at cregan, a small worry of overstepping dancing in his gaze, but cregan only nods — a smirk adorning the lord of winterfells lips.

the very lips that have grown accustomed to the feel of yours.

the thought is shooed away as quickly as it arises. you’re married, and jace feels a pang of disappointment at the places his mind has a tendency to wander to. you’re extending your hospitality to him, he won’t disrespect you with such concepts (won’t he?).

once having vermax sorted, you & cregan then escort him to winterfell. cregan speaks of the north and its history, and jace replies when necessary, but he finds his gaze drifting from the lord of winterfell, and landing on the lady attracted to his side instead. jace, no matter how much internal scolding, finds himself ceaselessly returning to quietly study (admire) your features.

as you enter the castle, jace notices your cheeks are flushed from the cold. cregan, mid sentence, silently ushers you towards the nearest hall fire with the unforeseen hand on the small of your back. something unfamiliar stirs in him at the sight (want).

they swore vows to each other in sight of the northern gods, chides jaces inner voice.

but, no matter how much restraint he expresses, as his stay continues, he finds himself enamored.

enamored with the playful glimmer in your eyes, the way your hips sway as you walk, how your dress hugs your curves, your light teasing, your love for lemon cakes, how you always catch jacaerys’ eye even from across the room. he’s utterly, hopelessly enthralled.

and even worse, he’s given himself away

you, jace, and cregan have been proper. careful not to overstep, but aware enough to silently acknowledge the underlying tension that sits between you. jacaerys would’ve been content with this dynamic for the entirety of his visit, it would’ve been a good exercise of self control — if the day in the kitchens didn’t change everything.

the skies weep, the raindrops making a soft pattering noise on the windows all around the castle. it's a brief change in atmosphere, and gives him time to get used to the more intimate aspects of winterfell.

rain trapping you inside, you and cregan had offered to give jacaerys a proper tour of winterfell, to rectify the short one he had been given upon his arrival.

this particular instance, that made him run as hot as his temper, takes place as the tour winded to an end, and you all ended up in the kitchens. the same kitchens that jace, when supping with you both from then on out, can't stop thinking about.

you had pulled them in, relishing in the idea of swiping a few small pastries to hold your sweet tooth over until dinner - assuring him that the cooks were quite used to you and cregans troublemaking, & were sworn to secrecy with a toothy grin (his heart skipped a beat at the sight).

you had been successful in your "stealing", but the problem arose when cregan had been conversing with one of the cooks, as you and jace stood over the counter, bringing the two small lemon cakes to your mouth.

you were conversing about something — what that was, jacaerys couldn’t remember if his life depended on it. once finished with your pastries, you had some leftover cream on the corner of your mouth. of course, since you're the worst minx to ever bewitch him, you raise a thumb to the corner of your mouth, swiping it off. then (of course), you bring it to your lips, maintaining eye contact with jace, and (of course) suck it off.

whatever he was saying had instantly died on his tongue.

his response was his parted lips trying to bring in air to send to his lungs so he could breathe, but, of course, you seem to have taken his breath too. suddenly the kitchen feels hot, ovens contributing to a warm atmosphere that had quickly turned blazingly overwhelming.

his gaze stayed trapped on where your thumb met your (soft looking) lips, as every part of the white cream had been sucked off.

you were most surprised & pleased by his reaction, indeed. you had an inkling the prince might be taken with you, but you wouldn’t act without certainty. and here you had it, certainty of the utmost stature had fallen right into your hands — watching his gaze flicker from your eyes, to your lips, your cleavage... and back to your lips again.

cregans voice snaps jacaerys out of the trance he had found himself in, and he’s ashamed to say he had to ask cregan to repeat himself. if he wasn’t devoting all of his energy into acting normal, he would see the way cregan glanced at you with raised brows seeing the smile on your face.

regardless of how it came to be, you’ve caught on. and jacaerys is seriously considering how dearly he’d be missed if the ground were to open up & swallow him whole.

your actions now have a certain weight behind them, confidence guiding your every step. hands “accidentally” brushing each other, glances from across the room, subconsciously leaning into each others warmth, flirtatious “jests” that grow bolder by the day, always teetering on the line of jesting and meaning it (you always mean it). you fix his crooked tunic for him, shifting it the right way. jacaerys pretends the warmth emanating from your hands doesn’t make him dizzy.

still, even so, jace had been showing remarkable restraint — not allowing his princely regime to falter (much), and keeping in his remarks. until you both spoke about vermax.

you stood atop one of winterfells walls, watching vermax fly, dipping in & out of the clouds. he was beautiful, and jacaerys would never abandon the opportunity of a conversation with you (or about vermax, of course).

jace told you of how vermax hatched in his crib as a babe, and you wistfully remark on your childhood dreams of dragonriding. he tells you you'd make a fearsome dragonrider. you say you'd made a good dragon rider indeed, but, instead of looking at vermax, jace finds your gaze fixed on him.

you poorly conceal the hidden tone of voice indicating you don't mean the green-scaled dragon in the sky above you, but the chocolate-curled dragon next to you. you don't do a good job of hiding the grin that threatens to erupt on your face, either.

jace feels a furious blush adorn his face, and the corners of his mouth tug up in a repressed smirk. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his smile turning upside down as his gaze shifts back to vermax's soaring form.

"You speak truly. Any man would envy the dragon."

he pretends not to see the smile spreading across your face from his peripheral. you lean in closer to him, wrapping a hand around his bicep to punctuate your words.

"Men already envy you, My Prince."

he keeps his resolve as you walk away, but as soon as you're out of sight, he sighs — leaning his weight against the edge of the top of the wall, a shuddering exhale leaving his lips. gods have mercy on jacaerys velaryon.

after you sup for dinner, you and cregan escort him to his chambers, and jace feels taking on the entire green army by itself would be easier than this. trying to conceal his eyes being trapped on you, furious desire mounting in his stomach as guilt claws it’s way up his throat. it’s only by stroke of luck that you all walk in silence — he could not entertain a proper conversation if he tried.

does cregan know of your conversation? what would he say? what would he do? the very last thing he needs to be doing is disrespecting the warden of the north that he’s trying to ally.

these thoughts echo in his mind as you approach the door leading to his chambers. you three stop, jaces back to the heavy oak door as you and cregan stand in front of him.

“We shall see you in the morn, then.” says cregan.

jace nods, but his next words die on his tongue as you move from cregans side. his heart hammers in his chest as you saunter to him, standing on your tiptoes as your hand moves to cup his cheek. he subconsciously leans down for you, and you press a kiss onto the corner of his mouth, a breath to the right away from his lips.

seven save him.

his lips part with bated breath, eyes locked onto you as you pull away. his hands twitch with the need to pull you to him, and then he remembers your husband that’s standing right in front of you both.

jaces eyes widen, looking to cregan, but cregan only tilts his head.

his lips… is he smiling? as they hold eye contact, he spots amusement, content, and want (?) in cregans gaze, and then, the smallest of nods.

oh.

oh.

jace’s gaze flickers from cregan, to you, and back and forth a few more times. his breathing is unsteady as you return to cregans side, and you can’t (or don’t) hide your pleasure at his reaction.

“Goodnight, My Prince.”

he cant even manage a nod as you both turn to walk away, cregan shooting him one last look. the flustered prince of dragonstone retreats to his chambers, leaning his head against his closed & locked door — moving to fiddle with the laces of his breeches.

you and your husband certainly make quite the pair. cregan, steadfast, burly, & brooding (handsome), with a reserved playfulness only for you — and you, teasing, warm, & confident, with a seemingly reserved deliberateness to drive jacaerys crazy (not that it takes much, of course).

one night, when he thinks he's completely lost any hope of sanity, the gods decide to have a sort of cruel mercy on him.

it is lord boltons name day, and he has extended the planned celebrations invitation to jacaerys as well. you three depart as one, opting to travel by horseback instead of jace arriving on vermax days before you and cregan. most are surprised by his decision, indeed (did jace sacrifice his freedom on dragonback for the prospect of spending more time with you both?).

jace didn't know you rode horses. he acts like the swaying of your hips doesn't capture him, distracting him throughout the entire journey. you and cregan act like you don't notice (do you?)

you all arrive, and on the day of celebrations, allow the wine & northern ale to wash away your sins down your throat. cregans tolerance is highest, jace's is lowest, with you resting in the middle. his cheeks are flushed, and his prided self control has seemed to have left itself at winterfell. you converse with one another in a secluded corner, allowing everyone else to fade from view. you speak with loose tongues, and jacaerys feels cregans hand on the back of his neck, thumb creeping into his hairline.

you speak of the festivities, the travel, the gossip, dragonstone, and jaces own interests. he can see something lurking beneath your usual gaze, you were hiding something. your eyes flickered with uncertainty. no — you wanted to know something.

and then, the very question that broke the damn - sweltering with the combined pent up desire allowed to built over the last weeks.

"Are you untouched, My Prince?"

[moongreenlight]

I love your work about the 141 gossiping about Ghost, love the concept of him having a “secret wife”.

Please please please write more with “secret wife y/n”, I beg of you. 🙏🏻

ANYTHING FOR YOU, ANON. <3 Ghost and secretwife!reader are my sweet babies I love them so much.

Tw: blond Simon & smiling Simon. Read at your own risk.

If there’s one thing Gaz knows how to do, it’s shut the fuck up. And if there was ever a time to employ that skill, it was now. Now after he’d been frozen watching the two of you reunite after a close call. After he’d discovered your dirty little secret. Suddenly feeling like Icarus after flying too close to the sun. Hurtling back down to earth. He was certain that when he moved there would be a crater under his feet where his stomach dropped.

He’d gone so green that another nurse came up and gently tugged on his arm to see if he was alright. He snapped his jaw shut, nodding and mumbling something that didn’t sound anywhere near reassuring. But he forced himself to leave the medbay. Left the two of you behind the curtain, where in his final glance back he saw that your feet were still neatly on top of Ghost’s big boots. Pushed up on your toes to be able to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He made some excuse not to meet with you that evening. Could barely look you in the eye when you caught him in the hall, looking significantly more cheery than you had been that morning. You pried, asking if he was alright, feeling his forehead with the back of your hand, but he claimed the stress of their mission had just hit him and he really needed to sleep.

It took him weeks to get over the initial shock. Couldn’t stand next to Ghost during conditioning. Made a point of sitting catty-corner to him during meetings and in transit so he had the least chances of accidentally catching his eye. Feeling like he’d deeply bastardized the idea of ‘Ghost.’ Blurred the lines between the man Gaz knew and the man he was in private.

He tried to reason with himself. Keep it fresh in his mind that he’d seen the signs, just hadn’t been able to fully connect the dots by himself. And it was an accident. He’d never intentionally pry into either of your personal lives like that. It wasn’t in his character. There was nothing innately wrong with the two of you hiding a marriage. Probably would have been an HR nightmare. Gotten both of you re-stationed. He was certain you both had a good reason to hide it. And there was no better person to find out than him. He’d actually be able to keep it a secret. Soap would immediately run his mouth. Get on the intercoms and scream the news as loud as he could. Price would pull the both of you aside and try to have some heart-to-heart. Not that it wouldn’t have been nice, it just would have felt too forced. Wouldn’t have served any real purpose.

So eventually he gets over it. Never pressed you about your marriage again, and you never seemed too keen on following up his request from months ago. The dust settles in his mind. He shelves the information like an old book. Life goes on.

And then the weather turns. Starts getting colder. The first few weeks of cold after summer where the wind stings a little more. Finds it’s way through jackets and uniforms a little more artfully. Soldiers are catching ill and passing it around like it’s a competition of who can infect the entire base. The medbay is busy, but a different kind of busy than summer when it’s an optimal time to see missions through.

The medics are tasked with rounding up all the soldiers on base and issuing flu vaccines to hopefully prevent further spread. You trudge to Price’s office in the early morning. He notices you look a little pale. The rims of your eyes and tip of your nose are blotchy. A gentle shade of pink that he assumes is from the weather or the cold you were bound to catch. You chat for a bit, catch up because you haven’t had the opportunity for a few weeks. Let him know that he and the boys need to make their way to the bay for their shots at some point.

You feel a little woozy. Pressing into his doorframe for support, white-knuckling it to keep yourself from swaying in your spot. He looks a little concerned. Asks if you need to take a few days away to recoup. You wave him off, tell him it’s nothing you can’t handle, but he insists on walking you back to medbay. And he’s glad he did because on the short walk back you find yourself having to duck into a dark meeting room so you can vomit into a trash can.

He keeps a steadying arm wrapped around your waist when you stumble back out into the hall. Shaking his head when you profusely apologize. Slowing his normally long strides so you were comfortable. Gently lets you down on your own cot and instructs you to stay where you are while he goes to find a few other doctors that can delegate your work for the day between them so you can have the day off.

He sends you home despite your protest. You’d already gotten your color back. Claimed you must’ve had something off to eat. He wasn’t having it. Said he wouldn’t have his best doctor spreading sick because she’s too stubborn to get off her feet for a few hours. He’s a bit more stern than usual because he knows you won’t listen otherwise, but he brings you a ginger ale and sits next to your bed until you’ve finished it.

Later that day, when he and the boys finally get around to the bay for vaccines, he notices the way Ghost’s eyes dart around like he was looking for something. His shoulders tensing when he sees your station empty, and moments after he’s taken his shot, Price sees that he’s slunk off to a corner to make a phone call.

He doesn’t think much of it. He’s been trying to give Ghost some space. So he just shrugs it off. Let’s him finish up whatever he’s doing before they get back to work.

The boys have gotten in the habit of taking a week off as the snow melts. Just before Spring brings rain and the soft buds of new leaves on the trees. Unofficial tradition proposed early on to have a few more days rest before things inevitably picked up again. Usually gave the boys time to kick off to visit family or get some well needed time away from base. Get in a well needed break because God knew they wouldn’t be able to for the foreseeable future.

Soap finds himself a little North of Manchester in his time off. Went out to see his godparents in Bolton for a couple days before getting back up to Iverness to see his parents. Meandering through a supermarket to pick up a bottle of wine for his godmother and a bottle of bourbon for himself. Could have sworn he saw Simon turning a corner at the end of the aisle. Chalked it up to a trick of the light. Seeing things after months of close quarters with his L.T.

But then he saw the man again. Stood in line at the butcher’s counter. No mask, but the same crooked nose and cropped blond hair. Same scar hooking his jaw. Swapped out his uniform and gear for a thick leather jacket, white shirt, and a pair of jeans. Would have been unrecognizable if Johnny didn’t know him so well.

He was about to head over to say hello. Make some wise crack about Ghost missing him too much, but he was stilled for a moment when a woman approached Simon. Pushed her cart up next to him and nudged his side with her hip. Prompted him to give her a small smile- the only smile Soap had ever seen Simon grace anyone with. No teeth, just a curve of his lips, but it changed his face completely.

Ghost said something to the woman. She reached up to fuss with the collar of his jacket. Johnny saw her shoulders shake slightly and heard the quiet tinkling sound of her laughter. Completely shell shocked. So imagine his surprise when the woman turned away from Ghost and it was you. Only you looked wildly different. He knew your face well enough, but after almost six months not going to the medbay on a weekly basis, something had changed.

Even wearing an oversized sweatshirt he could see the way it pulled taught against your swollen belly. Saw the way your arm was cradling it like second nature. He didn’t even realize that the bottle of wine had slipped from his fingers until he watched Simon’s head snap toward the sound. Ears perked. Tense like he’d suddenly flashed onto the battlefield. His eyes went wild for a moment as he scanned the busy aisle, calmed only a degree when he found you.

It’s like that Spider-Man meme where the three of them meet and point at each other. Johnny’s smiling sheepishly (for once), your jaw is dropped in surprise, and Simon is glaring daggers at Johnny like somehow it was his fault that you were all in the same place at once. You’re the first one to move. Rushing up to him as quickly as you could- now moving a bit awkwardly with the disproportionate weight of your pregnancy on your front. Asking if he was alright. Grabbing his hands to make sure the glass hadn’t cut him.

Simon tailed you like a hulking shadow. Glowering down at Soap something fucking ferocious. Didn’t even give him time to tell you he was fine. Pulling you back behind his arm by the wrists with a kind of gentleness Johnny had never known the L.T. to possess. You twisted your face in displeasure, batting his hands away and stepping back out from behind the wall that was your husband. Ignoring the wine and the soft crunch of glass under your shoes.

And to Soap’s absolute bafflement, Simon stood down. Didn’t try to yank you back, didn’t voice his protest, just drew his mouth into a hard line and let you push past him. He was speechless. For what well may have been the first time in his life, John MacTavish had no words. Couldn’t apologize for the mess. Couldn’t crack a joke. Couldn’t even say hello. He was pure dead at a loss.

Somehow, he allowed you to guide him away from the mess he’d made- staining the waxed tile a muted crimson even after the disgruntled looking employee came over to mop it up. Found his voice in your tugging him along after you and Simon to the checkout where you insisted you’d pay for the bottle of bourbon he’d managed not to send careening to the ground. Tried to tell you no, but you’d already sent it down the belt. And by the time you’d rooted through your purse in search of your card, Simon had already finished paying and was tucking his wallet into his back pocket.

Shuffled out with the two of you into the car park. Making a point of putting distance between himself and Simon who was pushing the cart with one hand and had the other planted firmly on the small of your back. Always walking on the side of oncoming traffic.

Johnny tried to keep up with your conversation. Asking him about his break. Where he was staying and for how long. How had he been. But it was tense. He could feel Ghost’s eyes on the back of his head. Burning through him. Making him feel like he had a target tacked to his skull.

He said a quick goodbye when Ghost helped you into the passenger seat of your car. You said you’d see him soon enough, said if he had any extra time before they went back he’d have to come by for dinner. Simon closed the door before you could say anything else. Looking monumentally irked.

The two men stood in suffocating silence while Simon unloaded the groceries into the trunk. Johnny tried to ignore the glinting of the silver band on the L.T’s finger. Caught the light every time he set a new bag in the back. A little unsure if he was being dismissed or if Ghost was just waiting until he was certain you wouldn’t hear the lashing he was bound to receive.

But it all stayed relatively calm. Maybe the eye of the hurricane. Simon pushed the bottle of bourbon into his chest before swinging the trunk shut.

“Appreciate if you’d keep this between us.”

Ghost spoke first, the words sounding a bit sticky in his throat- like they didn’t want to come out.

“‘Course.”

Johnny’s voice wasn’t much better. Both of them shifted on their feet. Not use to this kind of conversation. Uncomfortable being pushed from their usual dynamic.

Simon just nodded, moving to push the cart back to the corral. Johnny followed.

“How long you been keepin’ this in?”

“Which bit.”

His response was flat.

“Dinnae, L.T. Seems yer a man o’ mystery these days.”

Soap prodded, unable to help himself. A smile crept into his voice.

“Don’t push it.”

Simon bit back.

“Bonnie thing for a brute like you.”

“Johnny.”

“Looks ready’ta pop.”

A harsh sigh from Ghost. He reached into his jacket pocket like he was going for a cigarette. Tightening his jaw when his hand showed back up empty. He hummed his agreement.

“Few months.”

They’d reached Johnny’s car by this point. Just a few rows over in the car park. Stood by his driver’s side door shuffling their feet once more.

“Ken it’ll turn out like you?”

He couldn’t help but ask. Never pictured Ghost the fatherly type, but the idea was growing on him now that it’d been planted in his mind.

“Hope not.”

Simon gruffed back. Johnny snorted.

“Boy o’ girl?”

This earned him a nasty look, but he figured he was in deep enough as it was. No harm in asking.

“Girls.”

[0vergrowngraveyard]

"Even though Sonic lives by his own rules, his destiny is often shaped by the two constant figures in his life: his best friend, Tails, and his dastardly nemesis, Dr. Eggman." - info.sonicretro.org/images/6/6f/Sonic06_Prima_digital_guide.pdf#page=6

im not normal…the brubbersssss

[shizunitis]

Consider:

Binghe wishes to no longer be half Heavenly Demon… only the wish ends with him becoming a heavenly being and immediately ascending to the heavens, where he is tasked with fulfilling the duties his fallen ancestor abandoned.

Binghe wants to return to the mortal realm (to be with Shizun), but isn’t allowed to do so. The only way he can return is if he follows the example of his ancestor… and becomes a full Heavenly Demon.

Now ordinarily there would have been the possibility of Shen Qingqiu cultivating enough to ascend himself, meaning Binghe could just wait for him, but since Shen Qingqiu is plagued by Without-a-Cure the chances of him ascending have gone from ‘unlikely’ to ‘impossible’.

(And of course the only way for him to be cured of without a cure is dual cultivation with a Heavenly Demon).

Ah, the angst!

can you imagine how shen qingqiu would react to finding out the news?

he’d hear whispers of some new ascended god on his travels.

whispers become curiousity, become rumours, become praise, become prayers. ascended after death, recognised by heaven after being felled by demons in the worst attack the human realm has seen in a long time.

in the eyes of the people, luo binghe becomes the god of fortune, of overcoming adversity, of overturning fate, of rising from the ashes.

they come to learn of his dilligence in his studies, his adoration for his shizun, his terrible childhood. of course, it all reaches qing jing peak.

now, shen qingqiu must grapple with the fact that he had raised binghe to be better than his book counterpart, but that in doing so had lost him in a, somehow, much more harrowing way. he had expected to be hated, scorned and killed. he did not expect that he would be left behind.

he waves off the congratulations of the people around him, the praise of having raised such a capable, powerful disciple. what would he even say? how thick of a face would he have to have in order to take credit for what binghe had done in spite of his treacherous shizun? and what’s his deal, being so bitter about the whole thing? clearly, he needs to let this go. it’s unbecoming.

and he is happy for binghe.

it’s just unexpectedly lonely, to know that he would never see him again.

(he will.)

[stimkydukc]

oh, so the tumblr ceo decided to lead with the wile e coyote bullshit instead of any of these supposed more serious threats because ???????????????????

i see now. thank you anonymous tumblr user; i am sure you are very unbiased, especially since the only threat i can think of on my page is my "hate trans people? kill yourself" post

i wonder why you might consider that a threat!

i wonder i wonder i wonder

(edit: added image description)

[agustdiv1ne]

txt finding out you have an onlyfans...

OH FUCK. OKAY! i think all of them would be shocked in some capacity hmm let's get into it (rest of the members under the cut!)

yeonjun would find it when the two of you are still just friends, videos of you fucking open your pretty pussy with dildos that almost look too big for you to take. he subscribes before he even realizes it's you, mostly because you only ever posted things from the waist down, but one day you get bold and post a full body shot. your face is out of frame, but he could recognize that chain around your neck anywhere, the friendship necklace he gifted you all those years ago, dangling so prettily between your breasts as you ride a ridged dildo til your legs are quaking. it's in that moment that he realizes that he's been jerking off to you for months, imagining your pussy wrapped around his cock when he so desperately needs to get off, and god, he wants to fuck you so badly now, make you his. guilt begins to eat at him as he continues to stroke his aching cock to the video, your moans growing louder and more ruined — but when he hears you whisper his name, barely there if you weren't truly listening, he immediately spills all over his hand. fuck. fuck, you think about him when you're doing this — and suddenly the guilt inside him vanishes. you're his, and he's gonna show you the next time you come over

soobin would accidentally walk in on you filming yourself one day when he quietly entered your apartment since you gave him a spare key. poor baby, he'd immediately begin to apologize, slapping his hands over his eyes as he rushes to leave, but your pitchy whine of his name makes him pause. with his back facing you, he asks what you need, his cock growing painfully hard as you beg him to help you, that the small dildo that you're fucking yourself with isn't enough. "please soobin," you whine. "need you so bad." and fuck, okay, soobin's not gonna pass this opportunity up, not when he's been crushing on you for months now. he climbs into your bed, towering over you with cheeks as red as rubies, feeling as if he's dreaming — until the blinking red light from your camera catches his eye. he glances over at it, and you hurriedly explain what you do as a side hustle, scrambling to go to turn it off, but his big, strong hands stop you. looking back at him, you find his eyes have darkened, his presence looming over you as he tells you to keep it on. the next day, your highest tier subscribers get a video of soobin's head between your legs, hair covering his eyes as the obscene, wet noises of his tongue playing with your clit mix with your breathy moans

beomgyu (who's your roommate) would, similar to soobin, stumble upon you fingering yourself in front of a camera — but he'd go about it in a completely different way. he's such an icky, closeted perv, watching you through the crack in your barely open door as you fall over the edge, hiccupy sobs pouring from your lips as you overstimulate yourself. his cock twitches in his pants, and he takes no time shoving a hand beneath his boxers, stroking his cock at the same rhythm as the fingers plunging in and out of your walls, the sloppy sounds of your pussy pushing him towards release faster than he expected. it becomes routine, coming home quietly on days he knows that you film just to watch you — but you're not stupid, no, you know that he's been watching you...and so you leave your door open a little wider the next time, inviting him in and asking if he liked seeing all your content for free, asking him how he's gonna repay you...and when he takes the camera from your tripod, spreads your legs wide, and shoves his boxers to down to reveal his aching, red-tipped cock, you bite your lip and demand that he puts it in already. he becomes your personal cameraman as he fucks you, grunting out how his cock must be so much better than your smaller fingers, filming your fucked out expression as you beg for him to cum inside

you would ask taehyun what he thinks about onlyfans when your relationship with him starts to grow more serious, looking to gauge his reaction. he's smart, though; you should've known he would figure it out right after you ask him. "are you trying to tell me you have one?" he would ask with an eyebrow raised, and you lowkey freak out and say that it's just a hypothetical question. just from your reaction alone, it's so obvious that you do. while taehyun might be a little jealous, he's a lot more turned on at the thought, ordering you to come sit in his lap while he tells you that he doesn't mind if you do have one — he knows you'll always be loyal, after all. he trusts you. he asks questions about it, and as you tell him what kind of content you film, face growing hotter, you feel his cock harden beneath you, and then his hands begin to guide your hips over him. you stutter through your sentence when he bucks his hips up to grind his boner into your covered pussy, gasping as his motions grow more brazen. it ends with you dry humping him on your couch, exchanging slow, spit-slicked kisses until the both of you cum in your pants. a hand travels up to your throat before you can even catch your breath, his voice deep as he asks if you think your subscribers would like couple's content

kai is not as innocent as he seems, getting off to videos of women humping cute lil stuffies until they orgasm, clips of them playing with their tits until they're swollen and achy, one little touch can set them off...god, they're so hot, but all he can think about is you whenever he watches them, his cute, bubbly best friend. imagine his surprise when he finds your onlyfans one day — and that's the exact content you produce. the first video of you he stumbles upon is one of you playing with your clit at first, before you're sitting up on your knees and placing a stuffie between your legs and. wait. holy. fucking. shit. that's the one he gifted you last week. the one he sprayed with his cologne because you've told him how much you love it. kai's cock twitches at the sight, gulping as you begin to moan and whine, hips moving faster against the soft material until your crying, whispering that it's too much. he nearly cums untouched as you quake above the toy, toppling over the edge as your torso collapses into the bed, but you don't stop. not until you've cum three times just with his little gift. he's slack jawed, drool pooling under his tongue at the tantalizing sight of you spreading your lower lips to show the camera the sticky mess between your thighs. he subscribes immediately, hoping that you don't recognize his user, pengning02. with plans to hang out with you later that night, he's anxious the rest of the day — but when your hangout ends with your pussy smothering his face and your tongue dragging along his cock, kai realizes that maybe, just maybe, you need him just as badly as he needs you

[morgana-lefay]

Gotta agree with you! Till has just the perfect amount of body hair! Not too much and not too less! Just perfect!

Hello, Anon! :) I had this sitting on my drafts since April! 😱 Apologies! But I think it's never too late to discourse over Till and his hairy chest and so I decided to finish my answer (I ran out of image space back then). So let's go. First of all, glad to meet another "the perfect amount of body hair" appreciator (for some context, it came from this post) and thank you for bringing this subject to me, which allows me to expand my research further more (meaning, I now have an excuse to post more glorious topless Till 🤷🏻‍♀️. As if an excuse was needed for that in this house, but anyway...). Let's start from the beginning. Our guy seems to have always been a hairy one and, thankfully, 90's Rammstein were ever so naked, so we can appreciate it evolving.

1994...the beginning of it all. Till sports a muscular, hot as hell, body (but again, not too much, just the perfect amount) and a fairly distributed body hair between chest and belly. 10/10, would put my hands all over it. [Bonus look: 1994 Till, just casually hanging around backstage, half-naked, with suspenders on. I accept and embrace this look 👇🏻.]

1995, the year it all disappeared...(for a breef while)

If the information was correct, first one is from November 3rd and second one from December 10th. I guess in the second photo he had already shaved for the Seemann music video, which leads us back to this:

(side note: this post, by @tipsywench described this video hilariously on point. Also open the second picture for chest close-up, where we can see it's not 100% shaven/already growing back).

Seems it was short lived, as in December 19th, hairy belly and chest peeking out again, so back to our regular program.

1996, the happy trails continue.

1997-1999 - Sehnsucht Era

Not sure if it's because of the light in the photos, the water and sweat or if he actually shaved a bit at times, because in some he looks hairier than others.

2000-2002 / Mutter Era There's a lot of changes in the hair department in this Era, but more in haircuts than the rest (but that's subject for a different post).

2004-2005 Reise, Reise Tour (or the Era where everyone looked incredibly hot in their BDSM/Gothic looks)

2009 - 2011 | LIFAD Era (another personal favourite of mine)

Boobs are changing and it looks like there's more hair in the belly area.

2011-2012 Made In Germany

Turning 50, our guy seems to have become more shy on stage and the MIG Era was the last one he graced us with a full shirtless version, unfortunately.

From 2015 on, we got very rare occasions to appreciate his hairy chest, now turned grey.

What is also important to notice for our "perfect amount of body hair" research, is that there's no back or shoulder hair.

(I don't know if it's the image quality, but it actually looks like he shaved his legs in that fishing one)

[lucasandlily]

Rui x Reader who is really affectionate, but can't touch him because of The Curse.

A/N: I'm alive!! Rui my beautiful beautiful tragic boy. I've actually been having a lot of brainrot for this game, particularly an isekai AU that made me contemplate making RP blog (I love you guys btw. This is probably my first fandom where they're so active, I've been really well connected with this fandom somehow and it's so fun!!), so I figured I might as well be writing it down now. This is an idea I've had spinning in my head for a while, so it's VERY self-indulgent/insert, but enjoy!! AO3 link here

Rui's POV. Second-person pronoun "You" is used. Angst! But also fluff!! (825 words)

You’ve always been an affectionate little thing. It’s something Rui finds adorable about you, staying optimistic despite all that looms over you, not letting any of the ghouls he KNOWS can be more than a little much sometimes destroy your positive attitude. It’s as if you decided to be the light in a place that literally has dark in its name, and he lov admires you for that.

He can’t help but feel the bitter green of envy though, when he watches you ruffle Lyca’s hair after he whines at you for treating him like a dog. 

He pointedly turns away from the look Ed gives him over your head when you relax into his chest after he leans over your shoulder.  

He just laughs along at your drunken antics when you nuzzle into Haru’s hand, somehow even more touchy when your cheeks are flushed with alcohol. 

He tries not to remember the flash of hurt, confusion, the first time he’d backed away from your hand when all you wanted to do was give him a pat for a job well done. He doesn’t know if it hurt more when your face morphed into regretful understanding, or when you apologised and told him you’d try not to do it again. 

Rui tells himself it’s for the better when he notices you’ve been avoiding him for the past week. He’d have done the same to you anyway, if he realised his feelings were starting to fester. He tries to not let it get to him when he hears you enter the Obscuary mansion, only to quickly patter up the stairs without stopping by the bar first, as you would have done previously. 

Maybe before, he would have made it a little competition to see who could mess up the other’s hair more. He’d watched you run your fingers through Lyca’s after you’d tousled it out of place, anyway. Maybe in another life, you’d gently hold his face as you showered him with kisses. He’d do the same to you anyway, if he wasn’t forced to keep his hands to himself. 

If he didn’t notice you hold your hand back every time you saw his mask slip. If he didn’t see your hand stop short before pulling it back to tell him he had a bit of hair out of place. 

It’s all just part of the cursed life, he tells himself. He should be getting used to it by now, he sighs as he walks down the hall over to his room. 

Behind him, he hears the jingle of the bell you like to wear on your keychain. He turns at the sound of your quick steps approaching. 

“Rui! Ruiruiruiii!!” You call.

“Ah, there you are! Haha, I’m not going anywhere you know~ though I guess I don’t mind being chased?” He teases as you approach. 

You smile up at him brightly, “I have something to show you!” You tell him, he notices now that you have a hand behind your back. 

“Hm? Aw, did you get me a gift? And here I was thinking you were hiding from me!” He regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth. Your smile falters a bit as you blink at his confession. 

But before he can backtrack with a “Just kidding!” your smile lightens again, eyes filling with some sort of resolve as you pull out… a glove on a stick? in your other hand.

He doesn’t pull away when he feels the simulation of a hand on his head. He can’t, when you look into his eyes with such unmistakable fondness. The awkward, stilted movements as you try to run the imitation hand through his hair communicates how long you’ve wanted to do this, and the tears that well up in his eyes betray how much he’s needed it. 

He feels the cloth soak up the tears when you move the glove down to hold his face. It feels soft under his skin, and he can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

“How long did it take you to make this?” He asks as you let him lace his fingers with your hand extension. He squeezes the plush hand, feeling the soft give before it reaches the stick inside, inspecting where the glove and stick are attached. 

“Um! A week? It took a bit of experimenting to get it to stay on… And they don’t really sell gloves on campus either.” 

Your eyes crinkle when you look at him, the corners of your lips pull up triumphantly when he lets go of the hand to let you pat his head again. 

“You deserve at least this much,” you tell him. “I know it’s not really the same or anything, but I don’t wanna leave you out, y’know?” 

“It was worth it though, if it made you happy.” You look into his eyes as you say this, and he can’t help but believe you.

Reblogs and Comments are appreciated! I love you (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*⁠。

[moeblob]

What's an otome?

You read a picture book to romance fictional characters, anon.

(for reference: on page 2 the second panel characters are from Steam Prison. Vita touch mechanic mention is Bad Apple Wars and the sexism call outs is in Sweet Fuse.)

I struggle personally with the self-insert intended otome because I look at characters and go "that's my son now" and I can't romance my son! That's why I prefer games with a designated design and some bare-bones personality protags. THEY can romance my son.

[devotioncrater]

"no hints were dropped" ok not to be that person but here are the hints that were dropped regarding Colin and Trent being gay:

1. Colin mentioning Grindr in a joke

2. Trent touching the arm of a man in the background

Here is one of the hints that Keeley was bi (even though I do believe she's been canonically bi since season 1, but not everyone sees it this way)

1. Her desktop background was in the colors of the bisexual flag

Here were some of the hints that Ted was bi:

1. Bisexual flag colored triangles above his head in the hallucination sequence

2. Inverted pink triangle next to him in that same sequence (and you can't tell me the creators didn't know, when the Homomonument is based on that symbol)

3. Countless (countless!!!) comments about men's physiques ("huge muscular thighs all caked in mud", whistling at a picture of Pep, "look at that head of hair", "he's strong", "he looks like a Rodin sculpture in cleats", etc.)

4. About a man (Higgins) and a woman (Rebecca), he had to say: "that's a crowd I don't mind being smack-dab in the middle of"

5. Him checking Trent out in the pub in 2x07 (his eyes are up there, Ted!)

6. "It could go either way", "I contain multitudes" and other comments in this vein

7. Bi lighting as he entered the Yankee Doodle Burger Barn

8. Giving similar looks to the female waitress and the male waiters in that restaurant (including a waiter in a cowboy costume that looked like he belonged in a gay club, who tipped his hat at Ted when greeting him)

9. "That's cause you were put into a box", "That box ceases to exist today", the box in the hallucination sequence breaking into triangles (as in the bi triangles and the inverted pink triangke), "we've been playing too rigid", "our guys need freedom", "fast, fluid, free, with full support", the "box that one needs to break out of" being a prominent motif in season 3

10. Wishing Beard called him pet names ("Honey, is that an ingredient or something you just called me?")

11. His crush on Pep

12. The connection between Ted and Colin: "my whole life is two lives, really", both wearing orange in Sunflowers, "I just want to kiss my fella" (Colin doesn't say "fella" , but Ted says it all the time), Ted just needs to get inspired and Colin's play is "inspirational" after he comes out, as per the commentators

And so much other stuff that, had Ted not self-identified as straight (*cough* put himself into a box *cough cough*) , you could make the case that he was canonically bi.

Here are some of hints that there was a romantic connection between Ted and Trent:

1. They hit a lot of romantic beats, and not in the jokey self-aware way in which Roy and Ted hit them in "Rainbow", but in an organic and sincere way

2. They both checked each other out: Trent checked Ted out when Ted was changing in front of him, Ted checked Trent out when Trent came up to him in a pub and hit him with a pick-up line while his date that looked a lot like Ted waited for him outside

3. Did I mention that Trent was on a date with a moustachioed man who dressed in a similar style to Ted? Let's mention it again

4. In that very bar, during a 50 second long conversation, Trent managed to say the word "love" three times. I searched the word "love" in the transcripts of the episodes. There's no other instance in which its frequency is this high

5. "Love our chats" incomplete rule of threes

6. "Sport, it's quite the metaphor" (implied: a metaphor for love; see also "love's a beautiful game" from the song Ed Sheeran wrote for Ted Lasso), "Also makes for a heck of a nickname", "Good night, Ted", "Good night, sport"

7. The soft, romantic, melancholic song playing in the background of this scene, while Ted and Trent are the last ones left in the office, with lyrics such as "When your words begin to crumble like the sidewalks all around this crummy neighborhood / From the chalky cliffs of Dover / I'd come over, I'd start over if I could"

8. Trent wearing sunflower colors in the episode "Sunflowers" and in the finale; sunflowers symbolize Ted's home (it's not subtle). He's the only character dressed like that. I'm still looking for any other explanation other than "Trent is Ted's home"

9. Their constant flirting and the way they look at each other with incredible fondness

10. The entire episode "The Strings That Bind Us". It's structured around Ted and Trent's relationship, and the way Trent changed because of Ted (in season 2, Ted defined a soulmate as someone who changes your life forever). The red string metaphor. Ted points out that soulmates are connected by a string tied to their little fingers. Ted and Trent both extend their little fingers out in similar shots. They are connected by a huge block of red in their last scene of the episode. Ted makes several comments about other men that apply to Trent ("Look at that head of hair", "Frames his face nicely", "My favorite one, he was clean shaven"). Many more details that lead back to Ted and Trent: Nate tells the restaurant owner to tell Jade he said "Hello". Immediately after, Ted and Trent say "Hello" to each other. The map that Nate's father used to ask out his mom has the number 1.3 written on it and an illustration of two people at a table in a restaurant. Ted and Trent went to a restaurant together in season 1, episode 3. The last scene of the episode mimics a "Race for Love" scene from a romcom, with Trent chasing after Ted. Trent also does not say a word to anyone other than Ted in the entire episode. He is completely focused on Ted

11. "Trent, what do you love? Is it writing?" and Trent ends up writing a book about Ted and naming the manuscript after Ted and he only cares about Ted's opinion on it (he leaves the room when Beard starts reading, but stays in the office after hours just to watch Ted read. "I just wanted you to like it.")

11. Trent's crush on Ted, confirmed by Jimmy Lance (and also obvious in the show, if you ask me)

Now, why would I believe that none of these hints were intentional? Maybe some could be explained away, but all of them? The hints we got for Colin, Trent and Keeley were so much smaller than this, and those turned out to be intentional.

anon i wish i could offer you the response you deserve, but i cannot stop rereading this masterpiece & focusing on the portions of evidence you provided that i didn't even pick up on until you laid them out. holy shit

[foodtruckery]

Your abo idea is so good and you mentioned the idea of ford obsessing over who else has helped stan with his heats but what I'm wondering is if ford would obsess over /him/ helping. Wondering what wouldve been different if stan presented when they were younger (then probably dismissing it thinking how their father wouldve blown a gasket) or if stan had called him and told him when it happened or if he had known even when he came out of the portal

I think abo stancest has potential for some fun dynamics and your characterization of those too would make it soooo good omega old man stan who's still just as much of an ass as he usually is and it both drives ford up the wall and makes him a little bit more crazy with his scent

oho you've activated my "i haven't stopped thinking about this idea and have more to share than you asked for" trap card! (and you've given me an excellent excuse to step away from halloween party prep for a minute, so thank you, anon!!) btw this is. so much fucking longer than i meant for it to be, i'm SO sorry.

but absofuckinlutely ford would be as haunted by that thought as i am by this whole premise. i'm putting this behind a cut JUST because i managed to ramble for 1,000 words about this because it is eating me alive. please know that if i hadn't been forced to spend the last several days locked in on party planning, there would already be something more coherent in the works for this lol.

i like to think that when he was younger, ford would've been just. obsessed with the fantasy of it all, right? when he's still heavily embedded in that society and wrapped up in the expectations of how alphas are supposed to be, how omegas are supposed to be. how could he NOT think about the ways things may have been different. what stan would have smelled like with that sweeter omega edge, or how much different, how much wetter, it may have sounded when he overheard him masturbating in the dark when stan thought he'd fallen asleep.

and what a perfect excuse to finally act on those less-than-acceptable feelings he's had about his brother. sure, it's not the done thing, but they're already so close, and they share all their space, and who would really blame him for being completely overhwelmed by all those pesky new instincts when stan went into heat for the first time?

but that's fantasty land, and older ford is the universe's smartest boy, so he knows that's obviously never going to happen. instead, i like to think our super intelligent idiot goes and develops a thing for betas instead, which he blames on the FWB thing he has going on in college with fiddleford and never inspects anymore closely than that. he's entirely too much of an intellectual to be fussed with all that secondary instincts nonesense, after all, and ford is NOT a natural caretaker/pack leader sort, can't stand the idea of some simpering omega expecting him to handle everything for them all the time, so it makes sense that he gravitates towards betas on the blessedly rare occassion where he seeks out a partner -- usually to get over a rut or something similar.

and then....well, there's the whole portal thing. and wouldn't you know it? not a lot of secondary genders in the multiverse! well, multi-genders, absolutely, but it's surprisingly rare to come across anyone else with the specific sort of secondary gender alignments from his universe. but that's even better, because it just separates him even further from the expectations he was always outside the lines of anyway.

of course, when he gets BACK, it's....hard to adjust to finding out that stan did, actually, present after he was kicked out left. but as an alpha. which...that makes sense! it's what they expected after ford presented, right? twins and all that. explains why they brawled right after he got home -- stupid, useless alpha hormones vying for dominance. and because smartest boy ford is so separated from all this by the time he comes back, it doesn't ever occur to him that stan would have to be feigning more than just his name and an ID card to impersonate ford for 30 years.

and why would he think stan was anything else, after all? sure, ford is a little rusty with identifying scents like these nowadays, but he isn't incompetent. stan smells like an alpha. and he sure as hell acts like one -- the worst kind, even. cocky, loud, physical, brash. ford definitely doesn't spend any time at all disappointed by this turn of events. and he certainly doesn't spend any other time fantasizing about bitching stan to make a point about reclaiming his home and his territory. he doesn't strip his dick to that idea at all.

needless to say. by the time things...settle down, ford's made some peace with the situation. he's found enough middle ground with stan that he isn't willing to fuck up rebuilding some kind of (loathe though he is to admit it) pack with his brother over a fleeting fantasy.

having all of that upended again, though? it's like turning a tap on full blast after you just got the damn thing to stop dripping. hard to hold on to the "i prefer to fuck betas" and "i am over this obsession with my brother" mentality when you're face to face with the bedrock of every lewd, overindulgent sexual fantasy you had between presenting and college. and how could he not consider all the things he missed, that could have actually been within reach?

where the hell was stanley when he went into heat for the first time? he wouldn't have known to start suppressents or pheremone drugs before that. did he ride it out alone in the back of that damn car someplace, getting slick all over the upholstery and his hands? did he think about ford to get through it? or did he find somebody to help out? to give him a door to lock or, worse, a bed to share. if he was fucking a stranger through his first heat, did he think about ford to get through that?

what if he'd said something the night he came to gravity falls? hell, by that point, ford can't even remember how stan had smelled that night, not in the midst of the torture and the paranoia and the insomnia -- if he hadn't been in the middle of bill's psychological warfare, would he have noticed that stan had presented? or would he have fallen as easily for whatever drugs stan may have been hiding behind then as he did when he came back?

but if he had noticed, would it have changed anything? it probably would have made things worse if it had, of course. bill knew all about stan and, worse, the fantasy of stan of ford held on to all those years. realistically, it would only have been horrible if stan had shown up on his doorstep halfway being dragged into a heat. but the idea of it -- of fucking stan through it in the basement instead of fighting over the portal and his journals. well, that's a nice thought.

it does beg the question, though: if ford can't remember how stan was presenting that night, there's a chance he hadn't been masking as an alpha yet. and even if he was, ford knows enough about the illicit drug trade to know that it's never a sure thing. did stan ever lapse? 30 years is a breathtakingly long time to be on those sorts of drugs, and they can't have all come from reputable places or been easy to get a hold of. especially in the woods in oregon.

it's clear with the situation now that being off those drugs has pointed and rather immediate consequences. does that mean that stan went into heat in the shack at some point? maybe multiple points? if it happened early on, would he have nested in ford's room, with whatever might have still smelled like him? or did he find someone in town to help? worse, was there someone in town who helped regularly when this sort of thing came up? and most importantly if so, who?

ford has QUESTIONS to say the least, but he is taking all of this QUITE WELL GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES, thank you very much.

[cartoonsinthemorning]

I really like your marchil and stancest arts! Do you have any opinions on toudencest (laios x falin)?

Thank you so much! Anon, let's officially connect the suspicious dots, because I ship Toudencest hard, and I do have, in fact, a lot of opinions. Most likely, the unpopular kind. But before I go into my deranged details rant, here, have a sketch.

Ok, let's go! Laios and Falin have the BEST relationship in Dunmeshi. They understand each other like no other does. It was used as a gag, but: the party getting mad at Laios for saying 'hadn't Falin got eaten, they would have never savored the delicious exorcism sorbet'...and Laios thinks to himself Falin would had understood what he meant-- OOHHH that hit my heart so hard!! That scene meant so much to me! It's TRUE. Everyone, even his friends, misunderstand Laios constantly. But Falin would understand him. It's beautiful. It moves me. Another thing that shakes me to the core: Falin is the only one showing genuine excitement about Laios' passions, interests and discoveries. Like, what I mean is, Senshi does share with Laios an interest about making monster's edible, and later on basically everyone in the story gets mind-boggled about how useful Laios' bizarre knowledge can be- BUT! she is the only one that geeks out with him about monsters. And not out of functionality. No, she's genuinely excited about him sharing new knowledge with her. When she's brought back to life and Laios tells her about monster-eating, her first reaction is basically jumping up and down, overjoyed.

And this is so downplayed. How similar they are, in this regard, I mean. Because most people portray Falin as a poised, soft-spoken normal girl, who's got this unhinged monster-fucker as a brother- ahah- and they seem to forget she is HIGHLY weird too, that her interest and methods are VERY unconventional too! Did people miss the flashback episode showing how she did homework in magic school, basically going into wild, forbidden areas to be in direct contact with the creatures living in there, even if it's considered dangerous, almost blasphemous? COME ON, Laios and Falin share the same approach, no wonder they are best friends! People tend to downplay it, I think, because Laios is the one getting gag-worthy reactions from people- getting yelled at, glared at, etc. But in fact, Falin is just as weird as he is. And it's so sweet how that brings them together, even when they are apart... I also think the fandom largely downplays how much of a bro-con Falin is: she was so clingy as a child lmao, but seriously, she was heartbroken when Laios left home without her- and the thing is, you would expect, after she grew up some more and went to study magic, things would change, her priorities would change. BUT NOOOO, no Sir: Laios pops into her life again years later out of the blue and she drops everything to run away with him. GOD that's so ROMANTIC, she is in LOVE, she is down SO BAD for Laios. What would I give for a detailed fan fic about their travels alone together. Sigh. I think I'm gonna end it here because I went well off the rails-- BUT ONE MORE THING!!! When she was a child and she SO PROUDLY bragged how good her brother is at imitating a dog's bark. God. God my heart. her love is so sweet so precious so immaculate so pure. Ok now I'm done for real byeeeee

[mitchellnman]

I wrote this for you based on the Michael and Martin thing you posted in the tags. It's yours to repost or do whatever you want, you can change it a bit too if you want. Post it in the tags so more people can read it (of course if you want) I hope you like it ❤️❤️❤️🥰🥰🥰

Sharing is loving

Initially Y/n feels a little sorry for Michael when the private lessons start. He's all awkward and embarrassed barely looking her in the eyes when he speaks.

But then she starts to find it interesting, mainly because he clearly has no experience with women. Little by little, she starts to clench her thighs whenever she hears him explain the material to her, and she can no longer even concentrate on what she should be doing.

Y/n then decides to talk about it with her boyfriend, Martin. He just laughs as the two fuck the night away. And when they are exhausted under the sheets he tells her that if she wants to ruin the little virgin nerd he won't be the one to stand in her way.

From the moment Martin gives Y/n carte blanche, she begins to provoke Michael more and more, wearing short skirts and revealing necklines. Feeling her own pussy getting wet whenever she notices the lustful looks he gives her.

He never does anything about it, and Martin just laughs and fucks her when she tells him about what happened that day, unable to understand how the poor guy has the ability to not jump on such a beautiful girl offering herself to him on a silver platter. He would have already spread her legs and eaten that pussy until she cried, which was exactly what he was doing now since that idiot had no ability.

Weeks passed and Michael took no action. Martin lost his patience. He went to the nerd's dorm.

-I don't know what part of the fact that my girlfriend wants you to fuck her you didn't understand. - He said as soon as Michael opened the door and entered the dorm without being invited.

Michael's eyes widened in shock as he walked in behind him as the door slammed shut behind them both.

-W-What do you mean by that? - Michael stammered in bewilderment.

-She wants you to fuck that pussy. - Martin rolled his eyes as he looked at Michael's wall. - Got it? Fuck her until she screams.

-Dude, I'm not going to fuck your girlfriend. - Michael said, blushing, looking at the floor, trying to hide the erection that was forming in his pants just at the thought of fucking Y/n.

-Damn, you're hard just from hearing me talk about her, aren't you? - Martin bit his lips in a mischievous smile making Michael blush even more.

-N-No. - Michael's eyes widened. - I swear I've never looked at your girlfriend like that.

-I know you looked man. - Martin laughed looking at the ceiling. - And it's okay.. no problem at all, I don't mind sharing that hot pussy.

-You shouldn't talk about her like that. - Michael blushed, starting to get irritated by the crazy and disrespectful stranger in his room.

-She doesn't mind. In fact, she likes it. - Martin rolled his eyes. - We both share it, and she also doesn't mind if I eat another girl every now and then.

Suddenly a light knock sounded on the door followed by Y/n's sweet voice calling Michael's name, making his eyes widen and Martin smile widely.

-It's her! - Martin ran towards the closet leaving Michael stunned. - Don't tell her I'm here, or that I came here... just... just eat her pussy already!

Michael stood there without moving for a few moments before he walked mechanically to the door and opened it, his face red and still slightly shocked.

-Is everything okay Michael? - Y/n sounded worried and he just nodded positively letting her in while his eyes fixed on her thighs exposed by the very short skirt.

Michael could barely teach Y/n that session, his gaze wandering from Y/n's tits to Y/n's thighs and then to the closed closet door. He could barely hide his own erection anymore and when Y/n looked him in the eye and asked with those beautiful red lipstick lips if everything was okay, he practically begged.

-Can I fuck you? - The smile that appeared on Y/n's face made his cock tingle.

-Of course you can. - She nodded, already taking off her thin blouse and leaving her breasts bare before his hungry eyes.

-Have you ever seen tits before Michael? - She asked very sweetly and he denied it with his eyes glazed over at her.

Y/n then took off her skirt and panties, slowly opening her legs for his animalistic gaze.

-And a wet pussy just for you? - She sighed, running her fingers through the slit and pulling the moisture to her clitoris. - Have you seen it before?

Michael just shook his head once more, completely enchanted by the sight before him, momentarily even forgetting about Y/n's freak boyfriend hiding in the closet.

-You can touch me Michael. - She moaned, looking at him as she slowly masturbated for him. -I want you to touch me.

And Michael did what he had been wanting to do for a long time. He lay between her legs and sucked a pussy for the first time in his life. It was incredible. Her taste was divine and he wanted to suck her until he died while she pulled him by the hair and moaned his name, begging for more.

He was clumsy and had no technique, but Y/n was loving it anyway since his desire to suck her off overcame everything else.

-Oh Michael, more, more. - She pulled him closer and closer. - Fuck me. Put your cock inside me.

Michael almost came in his pants after that, it took all his strength of mind not to let it happen.

And afraid that he wouldn't be able to do it a second time, he quickly undressed and without thinking about anything else he penetrated her, moaning with contentment as he felt her pussy pressing against him.

Y/n moaned and whimpered as she scratched his bare back. And unable to contain herself any longer with her wet and tight heat around him, Michael came inside Y/n, almost crying with pleasure at the overwhelming sensation never felt before, not being able to be compared to cumming in one's own hand not even in a million years.

And when he fell next to Y/n's trembling body, the closet door opened and Martin came out, his eyes dark with desire as he massaged his own cock. Michael felt his whole body burn with shame as he pulled the bed sheet to cover some of his nakedness. Y/n barely seemed to care, still lying on the carpet, panting.

-What are you doing here baby? - He asked still panting.

-I came to make sure you got what you deserve, but now I need a round too. - He said lying on top of her still dressed only with his pants open and fucking his own cock into Y/n's sensitive pussy that was still leaking with Michael's cum.

-So fucking wet and hot. - He growled, fucking her roughly. - What a delicious pussy you have, my love.

And seeing Martin fuck her in that shameless way before his eyes while Y/n moaned and asked for more, Michael felt himself harden once more and squeezed his own cock under the blanket.

-Let me return the favor. - When Y/n realized she just smiled mischievously and pulling the scarf brought her mouth to his dick. And Michael thought he would die right there.

As Martin fucked her Y/n moaned against Michael's cock, and with the waves of pleasure growing bigger he came a second time in Y/n's mouth who swallowed it all with a smile, then arched her back and rolled her eyes as she came on Martin's cock, who biting her neck tightly came in Y/n's pussy.

The three of them lay panting on the carpet, and Martin turned to Michael with a lazy smile on his face.

-I told you to fuck her, idiot.

Good morning to me, hot damn! 10/10, no notes anon. Thank you for the gift, and for allowing me to share it! I'm glad my late night tired ramblings inspire some folks /gen