#anyway i still think if there is a god then he is a real bastard. which i think is actually what Gnosticism is!

[hitlikehammers]

oh golden boy (don't act like you were kind)

part i : you were mine but—

for @kultiras at the ❄️ Winter @steddieexchange 🖤🩵

Arguably the sharpest knife in his chest about this whole fucking shitshow?

Eddie thought they were doing good.

Like: so fucking good.

Eddie thought they were on the cusp of…that they were building something.

He’s such an idiot. Such a…

A heartsick fucking idiot.

But if he’s gracious—which he’s not, least of all to himself—when he puts all the pieces together, lines the evidence up and analyzes it, thinks of it in terms of a narrative that he can understand and recognize the flaws in, where he’d rewrite the ending or tweak the rising action so everything slides into place realistically, cause and effect in balance just right: Eddie can see that the way this has all shaken out is fucked up. So, so fucked up.

Because there honestly hadn’t been any signs that they weren’t laying the foundations of something long-term, something lasting; that they weren’t in this deep and rooted, strong and committed and serious in a real, tangible way, and, just…

Forever. Eddie was…he was playing for keeps, here. He thought, he just, he thought—

Fuck.

He just…really believed he wasn’t alone in it all.

Again: idiot.

It’d started so fucking predictably, really, because if there’s one thing that Eddie clocked about Steve Harrington from the get-go of actually getting to know him versus operating on the popular-gorgeous-jock framework he’d distilled the guy down to in his head before 1986: the one consistent thing he’d figured from what he’d heard and what he’d seen put together was that: Steve Harrington?

Bastard’s protective to a fucking fault.

So when he blinked back to the land of the living with Steve goddamn Harrington at his bedside? Standing guard, looking a little haggard—like he cared, at least enough to worry—but still fucking devastatingly pretty, good god-

When he woke up to that, Eddie was surprised and also: not at all surprised.

The way he lit up when he saw Eddie was conscious, like world was less before that moment and something right slid back into place? Eddie…Eddie felt like his body was pretty wholly broken but that fucking cracked something down his middle, decimated parts of him in new ways that hadn’t been already devastated on another plane, were sitting ripe for wholesale ruin.

He’d let Steve blame the breathiness that’d overcome him on coming back from the brink of death, because Steve didn’t need to know the sensations, the emotions, that were running riot through Eddie’s veins.

But then it hadn’t stopped.

Steve standing guard at his side became a constant, like Eddie couldn’t quite comprehend save that it felt like his body was knitting itself around the fact of this more-than-good dude and Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that, save kind of just…poke curiously at the new shape of everything he was for it, and once he worked through the fear of the unfamiliar in it?

To kinda…savor it. Roll around in it and relish.

Probably it was gonna be short lived anyway. Probably it was gonna go away when Eddie finally got out of here. Only made sense to soak it up while it lasted.

And it was one of those early days, where Eddie was soaking it up and before anything possible beyond the bubble of middle-space they were existing in inside Eddie’s hospital room was even hinted at. Steve had gone to check on Max while Eddie grappled a bit to look down at himself a little better under the handkerchief that the hospital deemed sufficient as clothing, and he braced for the worst because it felt like the worst and what he did remember at all from the scene of the inter-dimensional mauling definitely aligned with being ‘the worst’: but it was honestly mostly bandages and pain.

Eddie didn’t…on second thought he didn’t know if he was ready to see what was underneath just yet, so he was actually kinda grateful that his hubris about it all didn’t immediately have a chance to floor him, especially when he was alone because he’d thought it’d be easier to stomach if it was just him—but the prospect, the bullet dodged, lodged in his throat and proved him kinda instantly wrong for the sharp cut of bile rising in him, and the violent jump of his pulse right behind it.

His hand had gravitated to his chest, though, like he could keep his heart from cracking his ribs that way, and he noticed that…even the light pressure ached, so he looked down a little more carefully, didn’t think the little fuckers had concentrated their attacks on the center of his chest so he tucked his chin and tried to see what was causing the sting—maybe just like, general area tenderness after playing buffet table to fucking…flying hellspace rodents but—

No. No: even from this weird-ass uncomfortable angle, Eddie could see the outline, coukd make out the dark stain of a bruise.

In the shape of a hand.

And listen, Eddie wasn’t foolish. He knew that everyone busted ass to get him topside and to a hospital. And that probably involved…stuff he didn’t want to really dwell on too long in terms of the nitty-gritty of his own mortality. He was also very much aware that Steve had played a crucial role, even if the man himself didn’t stand up and declare it. The kids didn’t have any sense of a fucking filter, so.

Eddie knew.

But Eddie then started tracing the splay of fingers on his sternum, his heartbeat so fucking heavy under even just the brush of his nails as he followed the outline of the purpling over, and over, and over, imagined what it would take to make that kind of an impression on his skin because Eddie was fucking pale, yeah, he marked quick—but not that dark.

Not that deep.

“Shit.”

Eddie’d startled, snapped his attention to the doorway where Steve had reappeared, looking a little breathless as he took Eddie in, came quick to his side and leaned to look closer at the monitor next to him and oh: Eddie hadn’t realized that the beeping was so loud, so fast. Hadn’t realized his heartbeat had ratcheted up quite so high.

Not that he was surprised.

“Shit, are you okay,” Steve barely breathed, eyes so goddamn big about it as his hands had kinda hovered, as he’d tried to figure out what to do, how to help, because that was what he was always doing; that’s who he was to his core, and Eddie…

“Oh god, let me call the nu—”

“Don’t.”

Eddie’d half-moaned it, god: scratchy but desperate as he reached for Steve’s hand and he…

He suspected he knew exactly how big that hand was; what shape it’d make to a fucking T. But he needed to see

For sure.

“What are you,” Steve’s brow had furrowed in that way Eddie was becoming increasingly aware he wanted to kiss smooth, and he started to ask it as Eddie grabbed to uncurl his grip from the bar at the side of the bed but Steve gave up fighting quick, focused on stopping Eddie from moving at all instead, from stretching the way he was against the precarious threads holding him together as he reached for the neck of his gown again, still loose enough from where he’d pulled the back up, left his ass out against the sheets to bare his breastbone, the mess of the tattoos on his chest more grisly after everything than any horrors he’d gotten inked before but—

This was a different kind of horrifying thing. Not least—maybe most—because it was entirely possible that it was also the most beautiful, sacred thing to ever touch Eddie’s skin. To ever beat through Eddie’s fucking veins.

“You,” Eddie let go of the last breath he could wrestle out before his lungs seized up too tight, because then he was watching it happen, watching Steve’s broad palm as it hovered over the imprint, shivering when Steve’s warmth made contact: eclipsing the bruise near-perfect, just like Eddie knew deep down it fucking would.

His heart took the hint and started shivering under Steve’s hand immediately, like it had something to prove.

“Ed,” Steve’s voice was wispy, choked a little; eyes too bright and Eddie feels like there must be so many kinds of dying, because he’d felt one keenly under that angry red lightning; this was a wholly other thing.

But felt just as keenly life-or-death.

“You,” Eddie whispered, the words, the truth, the feeling of it all too fragile, too precious to disturb, and he wondered if his heart knew Steve had pushed the bruises down around it to save it, if that’s why it was so unbridled and unabashed in hammering against that touch, that touch—

“I think I heard you.”

And Steve? Big eyes framed with those feather lashes, stretched wide and all made of shine and earnest fucking feeling?

“You didn’t…want to lose me?” Eddie’s voice had been so small, so so small because he did think he’d heard that, and the wisps of recollection, of a frantic but resolute voice demanding of him: what he was able to collect and try to tie into a whole matched up when he paired it all with Steve in his head, but what if he was wrong?

What if it was all just fever dreams and wishful thinking on his deathbed, what if Steve had no investment in him beyond keeping the Party safe in its entirety, no exceptions; what if Eddie was fucking wrong and showed too much of his hand with this, with Steve’s palm pressed to his thrashing heart and—

Then Steve was brining his free hand to Eddie’s cheek, fucking…cradling it like it fucking meant something, like he could matter and—

“I couldn’t lose you.”

Oh.

“You,” and so many possible ways to end that thought had swam through Eddie’s head—you barely know me, you can’t possibly care if I live or die, I cannot matter one fucking bit in your universe, so why would it matter but Steve’s hand was warm under his, and Steve didn’t pull away, only leaned in, only stayed close enough that Eddie could feel his breath on his skin and Steve could chart the way Eddie’s heart took to pummelling his already-taxed ribs but it didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter because Steve held there, so careful of the pain but nothing short of steady, devoted, a soul-sworn guard of that heart under his hand like it did matter, like Eddie did…

Like Steve ever could—

“Stevie,” Eddie would probably have flushed if the situation had been anything but what it was. If his heart wasn’t racing into Steve’s touch at the chest and just under the jaw where Steve’s thumb pressed almost proprietary, almost like a shield but also like a welcome, like the idea of Eddie’s heart beating into him wasn’t a dealbreaker, and fuck, fuck—

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Steve breathed out against him, prickling dangerous across his skin and Eddie’s heart leapt a little, fuck; more than a little and Steve felt it, front-row-center, couldn’t not feel it but he just leaned closer still, and Eddie was front-row himself to the catch in Steve’s inhale, undeniable and unapologetic as he murmured low, turning into Eddie’s cheek a little and Eddie maybe resented how it forced him to pull away,until his lips brushed the tip of Eddie’s jawbone and drew a whole ass shudder down his goddamn spine.

“Just know,” Steve gasped there, fucking…panted and hell if it didn’t catch in Eddie’s blood like pure bliss; “just know why.”

And fuck, but Eddie could only press in to the warmth of Steve’s lips where they moved for the words alone, let alone what words; what Eddie thought maybe they meant—

“Me too,” Eddie rasped a little, because fuck him, man; this was something…something else, swelling up in his chest so strong and Steve had to be able to feel it where he still held against him, palm to his galloping pulse at the source, feeling the life he coaxed back into the world.

“Does it have to make sense just yet?” Eddie asked, knew he sounded too hopeful, too desperate, more than he’d earned, than was safe but his heart kept knocking against that hand, so fucking insistent and who was he to deny it, to try and wrestle in into being less when he couldn’t even hide it, when it was evident to the man it was leaping at; for.

“I don’t think so,” Steve mouthed more than spoke where his lips dragged wet across the stubble on Eddie’s cheek.

“Then,” Eddie tipped his head, tried to catch Steve’s eyes, aimed to reason, to convince but the moment he moved, Steve dipped his chin just so to take Eddie’s lips, to kiss so hard, so complete with what felt like it couldn’t even be reasoned as less than all of him, because how could less than all feel like this—

Fucking impossible.

And Eddie couldn’t shy away��as Steve kissed him breathless, left him gasping; Eddie couldn’t shy away from the sense that he was being killed and revived all over again, endless and unbreaking, and it was perfection.

Jesus fuck.

And the kicker was that…weeks passed. A whole month, close to another. And if anything changed it was all for the better, for the more and Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it, if he was entirely honest. He…the bruise healed, y’know? That brand above his heart but—

He didn’t need it anymore. That was the thing. He didn’t need to see.

He was very fucking aware. Every minute of every day. He was…so aware. It could kill him better than those bats, it was so big and so much, and so quick, but with all that, probably because of all that: Eddie’d never felt anything even remotely like what it meant to shake off sleep and have Steve Harrington kiss you to wakefulness, to hold you for the nightmares as much as the news of small victories on the road to recovery: never wavering.

Never leaving.

When Eddie got the go-ahead to continue his rehab outpatient-style, his original conviction that all of this ended at the latest upon discharge was immediately challenged, because Steve had become so much more than he’d started as, but Eddie still worried. Made himself sick over it.

Felt like an indefensible monster as Steve rubbed his back, brought him soup, tended him like Eddie didn’t cause his own suffering, and all for the terror of losing the very man who was there, without question.

Then he signed himself out, and Steve drove him home.

Save that Eddie recognized where they were headed and…he only knew one person in Loch Nora.

“Your uncle’s still in the motel by the plant,” Steve had explained what Eddie already knew but hadn’t put together when Eddie raised an eyebrow in askance, wholly unsure how to process any of this, any of this; unsure how to hope in the face of what he was seeing, held against what he was wishing.

“Government’s being fucking assholes about setting you up with someplace appropriate,” and something in Steve’s tone had made plain that he was not just very clear on what constituted ‘appropriate’, he was probably actively involved somehow in holding the people in question rightly accountable for appropriate, and nothing less.

And Eddie…he did say he didn’t need a mark you could see on his heart, didn’t he.

“You need the room while you get better,” Steve murmured as he killed the engine, and lifted Eddie’s hand to his lips, pressed his mouth on the knuckles, nuzzling a little, eyes closed and Eddie…Eddie didn’t know what to do.

The only saving grace was that he didn’t have a monitor to rat his ass out when his heart started trying to escape orbit—fuck just his ribs, how pedestrian—this time.

They sat in a living room that looked like it was once absolutely pristine and still was, mostly, but up close Eddie could see little snags on the sofa, could feel the texture of the fabric different under his fingers for scrubbing out a stain. He suspected four infamously unmannered teenagers were the culprits. The remaining stiffness of the cushions was good for the way his body was still working through being gnawed apart, but he was gone far enough to kind of immediately hope he’d see how they wore with love and use and maybe something more once they got there, once Eddie’s body cooperated again, because he…Steve brought him home.

And maybe they didn’t have to stop when Eddie left the hospital. Maybe he didn’t have to lose.

He’d only made it shortly past the best fucking grilled cheese he’d maybe ever tasted, and he didn’t think it was only because it was his first meal without an aftertaste of sterile in too fucking long—but he only lasted a little more than an hour before Steve’d helped him to a guest room on the first floor that’d obviously been reworked for him, from the way he could reach the bed from just inside the door, to the fucking posters that he knew for a fact Steve wouldn’t have had on hand, and Eddie’d giggled a little wetly at the Ozzy one, because he figured the man steadying him at his side would never be anything but intertwined with the Prince of Darkness in his mind, now—but Steve, who’d more than proven he was so far beyond any kind of king, won hands down. By a landslide.

And who could have seen that coming?

“Careful,” Steve chided him gently as he guided Eddie slowly down to the mattress and made to tuck him in, and the word was so warm, so warm but Eddie had to…

He had to reach. Again. He needed Steve, he…needed.

The handprint on top of his heart didn’t need to be a thing he could see, but he needed Steve to…know some level of what he was feeling, of how much was inside him already, and growing, the momentum building and he didn’t want to feed it, didn’t want to let it run if he wasn’t going to have someone to catch it, to run with him but he also didn’t think there was any chance to stop it, now, he didn’t think he could trim it back or tame it from consuming him and he wasn’t sure he’d even want to if he actually had the power because it was the best feeling he’d ever known, even if it was terrifying, even if it could hurt him more than anything he’d ever known and—

“I don’t want to be alone,” was what spilled from his lips with Steve’s hand above his heartbeat as it pumped so goddamn hard it couldn’t be denied, it couldn’t be misconstrued, and he didn’t want to sleep alone, didn’t want to lose what he’d rebuilt himself around all these weeks, he—

“Good,” and Steve leaned down, cradled Eddie’s face and tipped him up to kiss him full, hard, one hand still on his chest because that was the mark, the promise, the fight for all that this was and all it could be like a fucking vow and Eddie melted for it on sight, on contact.

“Because I’m not leaving,” and Steve brushed the tip of his nose back and forth against Eddie’s, his smile like honey in his tone as he pecked Eddie on the lips one more time before stretching his hand to follow him across the bed, to crawl to the other side and slide in next to Eddie, to carefully arrange him against Steve’s body, to wrap around him with so much care, to touch nothing too tender and everything safe to hold as Steve tucked his face against Eddie’s neck and kissed behind his ear as he breathed:

“Never gonna leave you all alone again.”

And Eddie believed him.

Eddie believed him.

And when, weeks later when Eddie was hurting less and moving more, perched in the corner of the couch that was starting to give a little under persistent weight, starting to feel like it was meant to be used and lend comfort; as Eddie was poking at campaign notes for the gremlins, pen caught between his teeth, he only paused when he felt the gravity of a familiar gaze settle on him—not immediately, because he liked just existing in it, feeling its heft, but after enough moments to satisfy him he looked up, met those eyes and felt them in his goddamn soul as he asked:

“What?”

And Steve had just kept on staring, the bare hint of a quirk at the corners of his lips spreading to the full sunrise of his smile.

“You fit, here,” and he’d said it so simply, so…much like a truth, a fact of the universe—Eddie Munson fits, belongs in this place, this space, this home, this life—and then the smile dimmed ever so slightly, cloud cover across the shine as Steve shifted a little, crossed his arms loose but still as a barrier over his chest: “if you want to, I mean—”

And Eddie sat up straighter, and he reached both his hands out to Steve because:

“I want to,” it was all he wanted, really; it wasso far beyond his wildest dreams but it was real, Eddie could see and touch it, taste it, feel it through his blood when it pumped, tracking through his whole body, filling up his heart overfull and magnificent and he as just…

“Sweetheart,” he took Steve’s hands and tugged him down to sit next to Eddie, settled him so close; “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want that.”

He leaned back, wholly prone and never once letting go of Steve’s hands, never once doing anything but keeping them laced together and anchored, locked tight and Steve matched him, followed him as Eddie drew him to his healed-enough chest to settle right at the center, to hear Eddie’s heartbeat for the declaration it was, it already was in its entirety:

“You fit here.”

And he did. They both did. Their worlds had shifted, grew around the shapes they made together and after not-long-at-all, they fit so fucking well that it was bespoke to their cells, they’d never fit anyone else. It was quick and it was heady and it was fucking right.

For months

And then it all went to shit.

Because Steve decided what should have been expected, honestly—that Eddie wasn’t worth the hassle, that he wasn’t right for Steve, that Steve’s staggeringly-expansive capacity for love was wasted to hell on this low-life dipshit who couldn’t even graduate on his third try at high school, who maybe didn’t have a murder charge anymore in the legal system but would never wash it clean from the court of public opinion, who was…trouble. Always trouble.

Not fucking worth it.

It’s just…Eddie never thought Steve would stop wanting him. He maybe went in reticent at first, but Steve had loved so hard out the gate that as soon as he knew he was allowed, and welcome? Eddie didn’t hesitate to meet that love beat for beat.

He just never imagined his love would ever be unwelcome; that that's how his heart would break.

What breaks in the moment, though—the heartbreak is constant, and unfortunately proving to be kinda fucking unending, really—but what breaks now is…possibly the handle on the front door for the way someone’s banging and jiggling it back and forth like the first time it didn’t give against the lock was just a fluke.

He frowns, considers waiting out whoever’s enough of a dick to knock like that but apparently not so witch-hunty to throw a brick through the window—which: Eddie will take progress, he guesses—but when a concerning creak sounds from near the hinges, Eddie thinks of Wayne, and how his uncle doesn’t deserve a broken front door, so.

Heartbroken or not, Eddie has to drag himself to deal with…this.

Then he’s throwing the door open and…this is—

“We need to talk.”

This should have been expected. There’s really only one little asshole who’d assault his door with that much…determination.

“Henderson—” Eddie huffs, because he knows he needs to set a date for them all to get together, he left the campaign they were in kinda dangling on a thread when he didn’t hold the gatherings at St—

Well, when their regularly scheduled venue became too much for Eddie’s heart to handle.

Which: okay, fine, he gets it but like, he can’t care as much as he maybe should when he feels like this, and the kids need to fucking take a chill pill and if they can’t understand, then at least they can just shut the fuck up for at a couple more weeks while Eddie licks his wounds and sees if they decide to finally scab over enough that he doesn’t keep with busting them back open every time he breathes—

“About Steve.”

Eddie’s heart shudders just to hear the name. He’s avoided hearing it for weeks, now; it hurts too much.

He hears it enough in his own head, in his dreams, in his nightmares when he see the worst, in the cadence of his fucking pulse because his heart doesn’t know how not to be Steve’s, kinda feels like it’s not interested in learning, will never be anything other than what it is now, forever, and—

“We need to talk about what you did to Steve.”

Wait.

Wait, what he did to—

What?

for @kultiras🖤

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divider credit here

[gowns]

both my grandmothers (my only remaining grandparents) aren't doing too hot... they're both in their late 80s and have always been fairly sedentary / don't eat well, AND (this is the most potentially lethal part) they're both stubborn as fuck and won't accept help from anyone ever. this has led to things like my mom's mom falling down and breaking her fragile bones multiple times, and my dad's mom is still DRIVING even though she has increasing vision and hearing problems. on top of that, they are both showing signs of "sundowning," getting increasingly confused and losing their memory.

i recognize that i'm totally made out of the same stuff that they're made of; i am also a stubborn independent prickly bastard and this will undoubtedly be my fate. they're so happy being alone and living in their own space, and they REFUSE to go live in a home or have hired help.

and yes, i keep telling my parents that eventually they get to override their parents wishes, because my grandmothers should NOT be continuing to move around the world in a way that is actively endangering themselves and others. but no. my mom is still afraid of her mom, and my dad is still afraid of his mom, they have all this TRAUMA and WEAK BOUNDARIES and etc that makes it difficult to "keep it real" with their parents.

and... lo and behold... i am also made of the same stuff that my parents are made of... so strong, and yet so weak... so hard to look into the eyes of the person What Gave You Trauma and say "hey buddy, can i be honest with you," and then proceed to be honest with them.

--

anyway it's probably my grandmas' last holiday season. that is a really depressing thought. if they live another year, they will be in a markedly worse condition -- who knows what they'll remember, how much they can move around, by next year.

my dad's joke to me, after seeing his grandmother deteriorate, which he repeats to me often: "i swear to god, the moment i start losing my mind like that, i want you to take a baseball bat to my head! bam! take me out! don't hesitate, just do it!"

--

i've been thinking a lot about jokes and how they function as a release valve for fear, uncertainty, and tension

there's a delicate equation as to how much fear and uncertainty goes in and how much humor comes out

the way my father acts it out, too -- a guy who was ruthlessly beaten by his parents and grandparents -- "the moment i look at you and say 'what's your name again?' just grab that steel baseball bat and wham, wham, don't make it more than two blows, swing for the fences!" --

there has to be something therapeutic for him in this vision of cartoon violence death! the way he repeats it, like a prayer!

[giantkillerjack]

Oh I have consumed too much Christian discourse I need to have gay sex immediately

[vaguenotions]

Oh, yes, I just love your unannounced sleepover where you both come back from the bar after carefully avoiding telling me that's where you were going, and also neglecting to tell me when you'd be home! I definitely do not want to knock you on your ass and take a bat to your dome! That would be rude and unnecessary :)

Oh yes, please do start talking about shit amongst yourselves and make me feel isolated and othered in ny own room! These moments are what I live for, of course. Naturally. Who would ever have any issues with this arrangement at all?

[ladyempty]

Yandere Maegor, Daemon and Aegon I reaction to Reader running away and marrying someone else and having children?? Please 😭😭

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life. | ° | English is not my first language. |

Aegon I

Aegon Targaryen I is the definition of a conqueror, courageous, intelligent and ambitious, with a friendly and captivating personality, easily lovable and admirable, but with few close friends. A certain air of enigma surrounded his figure, making people try to unravel him, attracted like moths by his light of monarchical dignity.

The king was comfortable and accustomed to sycophants, women dragging themselves for crumbs, or simply a single night in his bed. He was unfamiliar with something denied to him. He had "conqueror" in his name for a reason that went far beyond the submission of the other lords.

So it came as a complete shock when he was so bluntly denied when he approached you at one of the numerous banquets hosted by the royal family. At first, Aegon couldn't even process it, the features remained the same with a gentle smile and analyzing eyes and no words uttered. Like a person who was suddenly punched and in the first few seconds didn't understand or simply didn't know how to react. He just narrowed his purple eyes and watched you leave in an elegant bow.

The first time he was seriously denied, you hadn't done it to pique his interest, but rather to preserve your own honor, not wanting to be just another king's case knowing that he would return to Rhaenys at the end of the day. He admired this. If his plans were to push him away, you were not successful, you only made a dangerous obsession settle in your being.

He began to pursue you subtly, with gallant and courteous gestures, he urgently wanted to erase the first impression you had of him. Forcing the Targaryen to reveal his personality beyond the superficial, rambling for countless hours about some common interest and constantly summoning his presence, whether to read to him while I work or simply enjoy his warm presence.

And when his barriers were still not lowered, the king had to resort to more drastic measures, asking for her hand in marriage and making it clear that he would not accept being denied.

You would be softer when you were a wife and had duties towards him. The conqueror thought wrongly. Never in a thousand lifetimes did he expect you to run away. As soon as he found out, Aegon simply went crazy, the image made up of himself falling down the moment he threatened to destroy the entire seven kingdoms again if he didn't get you back.

Stone by stone, leaf by leaf. Everything was meticulously investigated by the countless guards spreading even through the most forgotten places by the gods. The Targaryen king became somewhat paranoid and easily irritated by his disappearance, not even Rhaenys could calm him down or change his mind. It was two years of pure torment.

Ah... When he finally found you in a small house in pentos... Married and obviously pregnant... It was like the world was open beneath your feet again. A loving feeling of betrayal. How dare you? Did you think that pathetic man could love you more than him?! How stupid.

He coldly killed her husband and none of her tears and pleas could change his mind. His heart was partially darkened by his betrayal. He won't forget anytime soon, you'll have to regain his trust to have the slightest amount of freedom. Countless guards will follow you closely, if you are even allowed to leave your quarters.

And your son? Don't worry, Aegon will assume paternity of the child even if it comes with rumors about having deflowered you before the wedding. It didn't matter. He just wouldn't let you mother a bastard or have that other man as a part of your life. Aenys was his heir anyway.

Maegor, The Cruel

You were certainly a very unlucky person to have caught the attention of the Targaryen king who was called cruel. You probably met at an event organized by him to celebrate one of his conquests, reaffirming his power and sovereignty as king, or you were one of his wives' ladies-in-waiting.

Whether you were from a big house, small house or even a commoner. It didn't matter. You were his the moment the king laid eyes on your enchanting figure.

Maegor was a man of few feelings, he didn't truly love any of his wives, it was lust mixed with the rational thought of creating heirs. But you were different, there was something special that made Maegor feel a bubbling sensation in his chest, a pleasant and addictive warmth like he had never felt before. It was something unfamiliar, one that he felt slightly hesitant to demonstrate or how to handle. But he just knew he wanted you and he would have you. At any cost.

Maegor was far from the definition of courteous, he knew little about the gallant arts or gentle love. Therefore, he had little knowledge about the courtship, the little he knew was from his mother's advice, who only knew about these things from the poets who surrounded Rhaenys.

Either way, he is not discreet. He doesn't even make an effort to appear less intimidating than he is. His eyes are fixed on you no matter the moment, his intimidating and darkening presence looming over you like a shadow. Once he even gave him a white fur coat, an animal he himself killed. It was his way of showing his interest. Something raw and rustic, without words, just proves to be worthy of you.

Either way, he wouldn't wait long. The moment he gets tired of waiting and the itch that grows in him is not relieved, he will attack. Demanding her hand in marriage from her, leaving no room for disagreement. He didn't expect you to run away in the middle of the night... Stupid little bird. Did you think he wouldn't come after you?

The man flew into a rage the moment he found out, destroying everything and everyone in his path, no matter if they were his wives, servants or important masters. Everyone should pay for his blinding rage. He turned the seven kingdoms into hell looking for you. A thick layer of blood, smoke, ash and corpse covering every corner of the kingdom.

And when he found you... Ah, dumb little bird, did he think he could hide for another year? Never.

He killed her husband the moment he saw the man, not even bothering to give him a painful death to pay for his crimes. He was as furious as a bull at the sight of any trace of red. He never thought about seriously hurting you, but he would have to punish you in a certain way to put you in your place. But his angry thoughts strayed the moment he caught sight of her swollen belly with a child.

A baby, that could and should be his. It was someone else's... It was an unforgivable betrayal. He could never fully forgive you. He would never forget or leave you alone for even a second.

He wouldn't kill the child, he would keep you away until you gave birth and then pretend that the child belonged to his lady-in-waiting, even if it was his child behind closed doors. It was a good way to keep tabs on you. Do you love your child? So better obey, you don't want something bad to happen, right?

Do not worry, dear. If you want to be a mother and wife so much, who would Maegor be to deny you that? You would be two things very soon.

Daemon Targaryen

Daemon was never a man to love madly, he fell in love a few times. He rolled from bed to bed without a fixed commitment, just looking for momentary fun and vague pleasures. He indulged in his desires without shame. Bad luck for you to have been so captivating. He was hooked on you the moment their eyes met his.

Any slight affection he ever had for other women and men was forgotten. For you he felt love. Real love that went beyond lust. After all, he had never touched you intimately and he already had such overwhelming feelings.What was it if not love? You were his only thought.The first thought when waking up and the last when going to bed.

And Daemon had no intention of hiding his affection. His hands constantly find their way to your shoulders or start from your waist, a touch that lingers on a simple handshake and a look so intense that it would make anyone else tremble in fear.

As expected, rumors were created questioning his honor and how terrible the prince was. When his father went to confront him, Daemon just smiled mischievously and just said he would marry you. To everyone's great surprise, after all, the Targaryen had demonstrated his unhappiness during his first marriage.

But you weren't like that woman uglier than a sheep. You were perfect in every aspect and in the very definition of the word. Something to be admired every day.

It was a strong, stunning blow when you disappeared during the night, your maids only finding cold, wrinkled sheets when they went to wake you up that morning.

Where in the seven hell were you? He would find you... You couldn't run away.

He destroyed, killed, tortured and threatened. He spent days flying with Caraxes to every corner of the seven kingdoms just to find you. Unsuccessfully. A long year without having your favorite addiction... You.

He drowned himself in e wine while you were gone, nursing a bubbling rage and constantly exploding at everyone, scaring even Viserys, who thought he had seen the worst side of his brother.

But nothing lasts forever. He found you. He invaded your home in Essos without hesitation. He didn't kill your husband at first because his stunned mind simply refused to understand that you had betrayed him in such a disgusting way.

But the moment she saw the little newborn baby in her arms. He understood everything.The black sister ran through her pathetic husband without mercy, blood spatter staining his robes in small crimson droplets.The cold, darkened eyes like never before were directed at you.

For a moment you feared for the baby's life, placing the small bundle against your chest to protect it.

"Don't worry, I would never hurt our son." He smiles as he says each word slowly. He would legitimize that child as his and didn't care what he would say. A good way to keep you behaved and not tarnish his bloodline with bastards. Obviously he would love his own children more with you, but he wouldn't show it so openly. You're lucky the child looks so much like you…

[beardysuits]

Closer to Dad pt 2

Part 1 found here

I can’t believe it, I’m uncle Rob! I was still getting used to being a solid 50 pounds heavier, probably even more to be honest. When I dressed up as Rob, I had chosen one of his older football jerseys to feel his stomach pressed against his beefy belly. Each step I took I could feel the fabric stretch to accommodate my new form. I patted it, feeling the jiggle ripple through the rest of my abdomen. This was going to be a fun day.

Normally it would have taken me about 15 minutes to get from Rob’s house back to mine, but with my new longer legs, and the amount of excitement built in, I made it in half the time. Stepping up to the front door, my heart was racing in anticipation. I haven’t spent real quality time with my dad in what felt likes years. To go from being the scrawny son he essentially ignored, to becoming his best friend and brother, was a dramatic shift. However, I let out a long breath of air and pounded on the door with my strong fist. 

Dad, I guess I should refer to him by his first name now, Mike, opened the door and looked at me inquisitively. He wasn’t even wearing his usual jersey, just a green t shirt and jeans, his hair messy, with the locks shining in the golden sunlight. 

“Rob? What are you doing knocking on the door? You haven’t done anything but stroll in like a bastard for years”. Shit, of course I should have just walked in. Rob’s been coming over to our place for years now to hang out with my dad. I chuckled to try and cover.

“What and not take you up on opening the door for me? Fat chance,” I told him with my best uncle Rob impersonation. He rolled his eyes and ushered me in. I think I can still play this off. Coming into my home as Rob made it feel like a brand new experience, like I was stepping foot for the first time. Though that may just be because I’m about a foot taller and my perception has greatly shifted at this new height. 

“You want a beer?” Mike asked, closing the door behind me. 

“It can’t even be 8 am,” I told him without a second thought. His eyebrow raised again. 

“What took you so long to ask?” I asked him back. He scoffed and wandered off to the kitchen. My heart would not slow down. I can make a couple of recoveries, but what am I supposed to do when he actually starts talking about football? Mike came back, and tossed me an unopened can. I popped the tab and took a swing, almost spitting it right back out. Fuck me, that’s what beer tastes like? At the tender age of 20, I was just shy of getting myself any alcohol of my own. Though also, at the tender heart, I was too chicken to sneak one of my dad’s to try before today. 

Thankfully Mike had his back turned to me, otherwise he surely would have seen me grimace from the taste. 

“So, game’s not for another hour,” he said, coming back from the kitchen again, this time holding the entire box full of beers. Oh god do I have to drink all of those? I can’t even stomach one. 

“How about you make your lazy ass of some use and help me stock the fridge? Especially since you didn’t bring any of your own,” he continued. Was I supposed to bring something? I’m clearly an awful guest. I followed him downstairs to his man cave, one which I rarely stepped foot in. 

It was what one would expect of a middle aged man who was obsessed with football. A once plush couch now worn out from years of ass being met with it, a small beer fridge along the side, massive flat screen tv along the back wall. If you pick up a copy of “Man Caves for Dummies”, you’d find this on chapter one. Mike shoved the box of beers at me and I waddled off to the fridge to stock up. Not like there was much space anyways, he always kept it pretty filled. 

As I was finishing up the bottom level of the fridge, I felt a hard smack against my ass, almost causing me to shove my whole head into the fridge. 

“Hurry up slowpoke, I wanna get these chilled before the game starts,” Mike said, pulling another beer out of the top shelf. He already finished the first one? I was too distracted to even drink mine, now so aroused at my ass getting smacked, and being ordered around by my dad. Don’t get me wrong, I was used to him ordering me around before, but this time it was playful. It didn’t help that my new cock was pressed against the silky material of my jockstrap, hidden under Rob’s set of Wranglers. I was chubbed up since I came in his body earlier today, but the touch of Mike, and the material sliding against it, made me rock hard. 

I adjusted my pants to help try and mitigate how much of my cock showed and closed the fridge door behind me. 

“Just giving you time to remember how I got the good ass genes from dad,” I told him. I turned and shook my ass at him, smacking it myself. Fuck Rob’s butt really kept up some perk since his old military days. 

“Please, the only thing you got from dad was a bad back and a receding hairline,” he said, chuckling to himself. He took a swig out of his beer and I decided to mirror him. This time, I knew what to expect and choked down the ale with less effort. This actually wasn’t too bad after a while. He reclined back on the couch and kicked his feet up on the corner L of the sofa. He was wearing his basketball shorts and his calves were showing. I never looked at my father in a suggestive way from the implication alone, but I wasn’t me right now. Even as his brother it felt like I was somebody entirely different. 

I could admire how strong his legs looked, especially when he stretched one of them out to pop his knee. The shorts rode up and a brief glimpse of his thigh bared itself to me. This didn’t help my need to hide my raging boner at all. He turned his attention from the TV and looked at me. 

“What are you waiting for? Permission?” He asked. I sat on the opposite end of the couch from him. We had an hour until the game, and I immensely regretted not doing more research before I took over Rob. Mike tried to engage with me about the team, sports, players, and I did my best to rebut against them with jokes and more general comments. He definitely knew something was up though. I drank through the whole thing, feeling my new belly slosh as it contained nothing but beer. The jersey I was wearing started to feel even tighter as I felt my stomach expand to accommodate. 

“Jeez Rob are you okay?” He asked me, minutes before the game began. My consciousness was starting to fade some, the alcohol finally starting to kick in. I had to have been 6 beers in by this point, only taking so long due to Rob’s large build. 

“What do you mean?” I asked him, blinking slowly to orient myself. He finished his last bit of his drink and threw it into the closest trash can. 

“You aren’t yourself. No idea what I’m talking about, stumbling through any conversation, it’s like I’m talking to…” he shrugged, “well, Timmy”. That made me snap into focus. The original plan when I took over Rob was to talk to my dad about anything but football, and hopefully, make him actually like the real me. 

“What about Tim?” I asked him. He cracked open a new beer. 

“Well you know, he’s a good kid, but I just don’t get him. Always up in his room all day, toying around with those little figures of his.” My figures I paint as a hobby. Something about bringing those little guys to life brought me a lot of calm. I didn’t even think my dad knew they existed.

“Have you tried connecting with him about what he likes?” I asked him. I knew the answer, but wanted to hear him admit it. 

“Yeah,” he said. Liar. “I mean, kind of. I just don’t get it. You known when we were growing up we were outside, running around the woods, getting dirty. Tim he just, I don’t know, is just a shut in. We didn’t grow up like that, he actually did things. Like when we kidnapped the Connors’ dog and posted a ransom to buy snacks in the summer. I mean you know, we did a LOT together. Tried new things, grew closer. He doesn’t do anything, just toys away and plays on that damn computer”. 

Ouch. Can’t say I’m surprised though, it’s about what I expected him to feel. 

“But I wanna connect with him, you know. I want to be his dad, not just his father. I taught him to ride a bike, hit a baseball, how football works. Then he became a teenager and just dropped all of it and became a different kid.” I was about to open another beer, but wanted to be as much of myself as possible. 

“You know Mike, I think he may have always been like this,” I told him. He raised an eyebrow in response. “I think, he just wanted to be the person you wanted him to be so you’d love him. But, he found out that he wasn’t happy doing those things, so he just decided to be himself, and hope you’d love him anyway.” 

Mike was silent for a long time, not even taking another drink. 

“That is, at least my theory,” I said. He shrugged and pondered. 

“I mean I do love him, no matter what he does,” he finally said. “He’s my son. He can be a pro athlete or build and sell a computer for a living. I just figured since we had so much fun together and have great memories, that’s how he should do it too. But, maybe I should try and see how we can do what he likes more.”

I could feel the tears well in my eyes. Fuck Dad, why couldn’t you just tell me that. 

“Thanks Rob for just letting me- are you crying?” He asked. I wiped the tears away and hid my face from him.

“No no, just, fuck it,” I said, looking for a new beer. 

“You fucking softie,” he said, a hearty laugh escaping him. “Here, for you listening to my bitching.” He leaned over the armrest of the sofa for a little while and finally pulled out a new can. He tossed it to me. Raising his own, he opened the tab. I did the same, only to be met with a flare of foam dousing me. He cackled and slapped his knee. 

“Fucker!” I yelled at him, already becoming inhibited from all the drinks. “Gotta change this fucking shirt now,” I told him. I could feel the words slurring as the alcohol came on harder. I stood up, stepping back to try and regain my balance. I grabbed the bottom of my jersey with both hands and yanked it up, my head stuck in the hole before finally tugging it off and slamming it to he ground. 

I looked down, once again admiring Rob’s hairy chest and beautiful pecs. The years of service he did performed wonders on his body, which he didn’t give up on as he reached middle age. 

“Give me a shirt,” I told him, trying to make it to the staircase. 

“Rob fucking sit down, you’re fine,” he called out to me. “Let that shit dry and just be half naked for a bit you puss.” I walked back and fell back on the sofa. My cheeks were flaring up and I could feel my heart pounding from the exertion. I put my hand on my chest to feel the heart rate, and couldn’t help but squeeze a little, feeling the pec succumb to my own touch. I chuckled and looked over to my father, who was looking at me intently. I chuckled to him.

“What?” I asked, losing sight in trying to pretend to be Rob at this point. He smirked. 

“Nothing, just, all this talk about our childhoods is making me just remember the good old times. You know know, the Connors dog, the woods, the…. late night talks. Ones about girls, and who was hot in my grade, who was hot in yours. How we’d-“ he pulled his own shirt off and threw it on top of mine. “Try to figure out what would make them feel good”. 

I admired Mike’s body, not as toned as mine, but certainly he took care of himself as he aged. He own chest displayed a gorgeous set of fur. How did I miss out on just how beautiful he was? How did I not get these genes and looked more like my mother? How is he looking at me so… sexually? He slid down the L of the sofa, laying his head against the back cushion, throwing an arm behind his head to rest it. His armpit was shadowed in a dark bush, which I can only imagine smelled of a strong musk. 

Wait what the fuck? This is my dad, or my brother? He’s family, but I did jerk off my own uncle just hours before. He’s my dad, but he’s also not making this weird. He’s.. he’s.. fuck he’s sexy! 

“Game’s about to start,” I told him finally, not taking my eyes off his physique. 

“They’re playing the Buccaneers, I know how it’ll go,” he said. He got on all fours and crawled to me. Judging from the look in his eyes, the beers had taken their toll on him as well. We were now face to face, mere inches from one another. I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he leaned in and planted his lips on mine. I pushed back a bit, but he wouldn’t let me break away. His tongue slithered forward and traced it along my new one. I gave in and wrestled his with my own, my lips moving in sync with his. He placed a hand on my chest and squeezed at my pec, the warm touch juxtaposing with the shivers which shot through me. 

I took my hand and placed it on the back of his head, brushing my fingers through his salt and pepper hair. As I gripped at it, he became more aggressive and reached for my throat. He wasn’t rough with it, but placed his thumb just below my Adams apple, pressing firmly. My breath was ragged from his force, and my pants had grown so incredibly tight in futile attempts to restrain my cock. My other hand went on the lower end of his back, guiding him to press into me, the fur on our chests entangling. 

He slipped his mouth away from my lips, running them down my neck, kissing me as he lowered himself further down this stolen body. When he got to my belly, he took extra time to take both hands and rub them across it. He worshipped my stomach, kissing at it, gripping, and without a single word, making me know it was his. His hands ran down my stomach to zipper off my hands, toying with it. I spoke back to him with my dick, flexing it to tell him it needed to be released. 

He looked up at me and smirked, lowering his head down again to lick at my bulge. It was torture, I needed to produce it to him and have it slide down his throat. I reached my hand down to get to my pants, but he immediately snapped and grasped my wrists. 

“Uh uh,” he hushed. “Remember, I’m making you the girl here. And a good girl, lets the man do what he wants.” He released my wrists and finally got his hands back on my zipper. He zipped it down, before finally finishing with a flourish and pulling the Wranglers down to my ankles. He worked to get them kicked off my feet, before being met a silky pink jockstrap, which could snap at a moments notice. It was absolutely soaked in precum, and my dick had pushed it to its limits. 

“What the fuck Rob? You sporting these now?” He asked me. I smirked at him. 

“Was just remembering the good times,” I told him with a wink. He seemed to hesitate, almost snapping back to reality. However, the lust must have taken over, as he proceeded to take his tongue and lick up the precum which topped off the jock. Just feeling the tip of his tongue hit my cock made me groan involuntarily. 

“Shut up, Tim might be home,” he told me. I wouldn’t worry about that, I wanted to tell him, but no words could form at this point. He proceeded to lap at my bulge, seeming to suck off any of the pre which had accumulated. Just as it seemed he was about to pull my jock off, he backed away. Fuck, was something wrong? I looked up and saw him working on getting his own pants off. He was struggling, barely able to move at all. 

I assisted him, leaning forward and not taking the same slow care he had given me. I yanked the pants off and discovered two thing about my dad. One, he liked to go commando. Two, he had an impressive cock. Veiny, hard as a rock, and long enough that I knew he could rub out a prostate without even going halfway in. If he was the surprisingly soft and sultry type, I was the ravenous one. I had never actually sucked a dick before, but had watched plenty of films to emulate what others had done. I gripped the base of his shaft, which despite how large my new hands were, still was an intimidating beast. 

I licked at the head of his cock, tasing the musky aroma come to life as the sensation of manhood trickled down my throat. He tasted amazing, his own precum starting to mix with the sweat he had built through the day. I licked my lips, lubing them up as I began to take his entire cock into my mouth. The years of study had prepared me somewhat for what it took to take him, but practice made perfect. At first I almost gagged and vomited the half dozen beers which still waved in my stomach, but as I got into a rhythm, it became easier. He leaned his head back and didn’t say a word, but moans were suppressed from his closed mouth. 

He raised both arms up, showing off his pits. The smell permeated through the air, filling my nostrils. He must have not showered in the past couple of days, as I could smell the usual scent of my father embody the room. It motivated me to work harder, pushing my lips to the base of his balls and holding them in place. He grabbed the sides of my head and thrust his cock back and forth, skull fucking me as a growls began to erupt from him. 

I thought he was about to coat my throat with his cum, but just as he was about to finish, he threw my head back and pushed me to the other side of the sofa. I looked up to find him jerking himself off and staring at me seductively. 

“Turn around and show your big brother that hole of yours,” he commanded, sitting up on his knees. I did as he was told, getting on all fours and facing away from him. I felt the couch move below him as he crawled to me. He spit, and the sensation of his saliva against my hole made me shake. With one hand, he spread my ass cheek to the side, and with the other, I felt him guide the tip of his cock. Pressing against my hole, I gripped at the fabric in the couch, my knuckles turning white. 

“Easy,” he told me. “Remember, just like we used to practice.” He pushed the tip and my hole reluctantly allowed him in. It was a shock of pain which made me scream. His hand quickly shot to my mouth and covered it, muffling my howls.

“I told you to shut up,” He said. He kept pushing his cock further in, still holding my mouth closed. He inch which slid its way in made me try to yell louder in and louder, but his calloused hand pressed harder against my lips. There was a sensation, a pop. Immediately I stopped yelling and groaned again, this time in ecstasy. 

“There you go lil bro,” he told me. “Just like riding a bike”. He pulled out some and pushed his way back in. Fuuuuuuck. Fuck he was so god damn big! He pumped, his cock rubbing against my prostate. Each thrust sent electricity coursing through my body and out the tip of my cock. I hadn’t touched it in ages and wanted to pump in unison with him, but too much of me was just holding on to the couch for dear life. His thrust began to increase in speed, with no room in between for rest. 

“Fuck daddy’s gonna cum!” He yelled out, clearly not worried about the noise anymore. He put a hand on each of my shoulder to steady himself. 

“Cum in me dad, cum in me!” I yelled out, my lips free from his grasp. 

“FUCK!” He yelled out, pushing his balls deep against my bare ass. I felt his cock twitch with his pulse as wave after wave of his cum shot deep into my colon. I counted it out, each pulse getting weaker and weaker, before finally all I could feel was my dad’s stomach resting on my back as he caught his breath. He slid out and fell back on the couch, his legs spread, and while now limp, he cock rested beautifully on his thigh. 

I laid on my own back and marveled at him, so gorgeous even just lit by the TV glow. For a second I was worried in his post nut clarity, he would realize what had happened. Instead, I could hear him snoring, somehow already passed out from the exertion. I took the opportunity to finally whip off the jock strap and pump my cock, which had been lathered up in a concoction of my precum and dad’s saliva. 

I felt his cum begin to leak out of my hole, running into the couch. I grabbed a small handful and rubbed it between my fingers. It was thick and a stark white, prime for breeding. Prime for lathering up my cock further and… lathering… That, gave me an idea. Releasing my cock, I stepped to my pants he had discarded on the floor. I fumbled with the pockets until I found it, another vial. 

Inside was the lotion I had made to slip myself into Rob. I was worried it would wear off while I was here, making me be ejected. So, I brought an extra container in case I had to sip back inside. But, what if I went a step further? Both of us were already naked, so I took the opportunity to pour the contents all over Rob’s body, just as I had done in my real body. 

It was a miracle there was enough, as Rob was twice the size as my original body. However, I finally stood in front of my father, silk, lathered up, and ready to experiment. I was just as careful as I was when I took over Rob’s body. Fingering my dad’s hole and enlarging it. Making it able to take one finger, then two, three, until finally my whole hand was inside of him. I think all of the drinking had sedated him, as he wasn’t moving a muscle from all of the activity. 

I pushed further, finding the process to be much more difficult than last time. Previously, I was going from a short, lanky form, barely 150 pounds into a man twice my size. This time, while my father was hardly a small man, had less room available to take in Rob’s body. I worked carefully, pushing both arms inside, before taking a deep breath and plunging my head inside. This sensation was the same at least. Pitch darkness, a tight sensation, the beating of his heart echoing around me. The issue was, Rob’s chest was so fucking massive, I had to really push to get inside. 

I could still feel my feet outside, so I used them to prop myself up and force myself in further. I could only imagine what it looked like out there. The towering form of Rob, chest deep inside of my dad’s hole as he tried to slam his entire body into him. However, with each thrust, I could feel my body being encapsulated by my father. Eventually I found my whole upper body inside, and I worked to stretch myself out. It was like I was trying to slide into a latex suit that was two sizes too small. Every crevice of mine was suppressed and pushed inward. 

It was constricting, my father’s form could barely contain the man who had at least 40 pounds of muscle on him. But surely, I found a way to get both legs inside and curl my feet in too. I felt the hole close and Rob’s body completely be closed in. Having done this once already, I had an idea of what to do next, but the size difference made it all too difficult. I did learn however from last time to adjust my cock first and not cause a panic. With both arms still not in position with my dad’s, I took my cock and slide it into his like a sheath. 

Before I aligned them though, I experimented and pulled back and pushed in again. I did this a few times, feeling like I was fucking the inside of my father. It was too good, but I had to push on, the constriction was getting to me. I aligned both feet and legs, arms, hands, and finally head. I slithered my tongue into my father, and pushed the top of my head into his. With one final force, I pushed my cock into the tip of his and felt the transformation complete.

I opened my eyes and surveyed the room, my head groggy as I felt the alcohol trying to hold me still. The glow of the TV still reflected off the walls, but more noticeable than that was the smell of my father’s musk right next to me. I looked to my left and found his armpit right next to my face. I inhaled deeply, now aware that I was my dad! I liked at his bicep, knowing all the while this tongue just moments ago was worshipping me. I sat up, trying to orientate myself. 

Everything was the exact same, though now I could see just under me was a pool of the lotion and cum which soaked into the seats. I rubbed my dad’s hole, and found that some of his cum was still leaking out from me. I brought it to my face and lapped it up. It was salty, tinged with the potency worthy of breeding. 

I took another scoopful of his, I guess, MY own cum and lathered up my new dick. As I never did actually finish while I was just Rob, I still had a sizable load to get out. I pumped my dad’s cock which had sprung to life once more. I smelled at this pits as I did so, lapping at his biceps and worshipping my new body. 

NSFW version found here

From the excitement of today, it didn’t take long before I could feel the eruption coming. 

“Fuck I”m gonna cum!!” I yelled in my dad’s voice, before finally letting out the build up of cum spray all over me. Despite getting off just earlier today, it was a cascade as I coated chest. The fur absorbing every drop and sinking into my chest. My cock was bright red, pulsing as each drip soared into the air. But it was over all too soon, and I was left with just myself, the smell of cum, musk, and the football announcers quietly speaking. 

I looked down at myself, proud of the mess I had made. Though, I did wonder what this meant. Was I stuck as my father, with Rob gone forever? Would I get ejected as Rob? As myself? The lotion had lasted this long already, I wonder how much longer I had. If it wasn’t long, I wanted to make the most of it. Slowly, I raised myself up and stood, looking to dress myself up. There I found the jockstrap I had Rob wear, still damp. I stepped in and shimmied it up my legs. 

It was cool at this point, and made me shiver, but it was so good to be reunited with it. I rubbed my hands over my body, coaxing the cum further into my hair and admired the nice bulge my dad gave the jockstrap. Maybe if I can keep this up for a bit, I’ll have to have dad pick up some new clothes…Something with leather perhaps. 

--------------------------------

A bit of a longer story, but hopefully that makes you all enjoy it even further! Would love to hear from all of you as to what you'd like to see more of as I try to get back more into my writing.

Thank you all!

[fixyourwritinghabits]

How to Handle Critique

I’ve got to admit, I wish I was one of those beatific saints that could take critique with a grateful smile. Instead, I am constantly suppressing a horrible little gremlin at the back of my head hissing at anything from legit plot critiques to grammar corrections. I’m well aware I used that comma wrong, GOD.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very good at suppressing that gremlin, but the little bastard is still there. He exists because even though your brain knows critique can help, it also knows you worked damn hard on the thing being critiqued, and goddamnit, isn’t that enough???

Anyway, here are some tips on getting that gremlin to shut the hell up.

It is okay to be upset. You worked really hard on this thing, and now someone’s gone and pointed out all the things that suck about it. You cannot control how you feel about one thing or another, but you can allow yourself to feel that way and let it pass through you. Let your critique partner you’re taking time to reflect on it, and go for a walk. Do something else. Let those feelings pass through you before you get back to the page.

Give yourself time. Don’t feel like you need to correct things right away (unless they are minimal grammar tweaks). Some pieces of feedback might take awhile to sink in, especially when you’ve got a whole novel to wrestle through. Set it aside, think about something else for a week or so, and get back to it when you’ve reset.

Get a second opinion and/or ducky friend. It can be very hard to tell the difference between good and bad feedback sometimes. Someone who means very well could give feedback that just doesn’t work for you, and someone who doesn’t give two shits could have spotted that fatal flaw right away. You can bring in a real third party or just make use of the old rubber duck technique, where you talk through the issue with a friend or a Naruto poster telling you to Believe it. Working it out out-loud is a really effective technique to figure out what needs fixing and what doesn’t.

Guide critique-givers toward the feedback you want. I, a person who prefers straightforward fantasy and sci-fi, cannot give the fine-tooth points on how a romance novel should work. However, I can give feedback on what works for me and what doesn’t story-wise. Giving your beta reader or critique partner a list of questions to look for will help avoid vague feedback based on how they don’t like the genre. There are many ways to do this, but consider using the following as a base to tailor your own questions:

Did you get a good sense of the setting? Did the worldbuilding make sense to you?

Was this story clear? Where there any parts that seemed confusing?

What characters did you like and why? What characters didn’t you like?

Did any parts of the story feel slow or repetitive?

Did the beginning draw you in? Did the middle keep you engaged? Did the ending feel satisfying?

If you were to write [insert plot point here], what would you do differently?

Again, all of the above questions are up for debate depending on your goal, but we are rarely taught how to give good feedback, and a guided feedback session would work better for you than a free-for-all.

Figure out what kind of advice doesn’t work for you. It is really hard to give good feedback sometimes, even with guided questions. It can also be really hard to figure out why some feedback doesn’t click with you, and that’s a matter of digging deep to figure out what you really want. You may lean toward characters who are horrible fuck-ups, but your partner prefers more steady characters who always strive to do the right thing. Your characters, therefore, may never click with this person, no matter how much they want to help you. And that’s okay! Figuring out where your critique partner is coming from can help you figure out what parts of their feedback isn’t working for you. Sometimes the only thing you can do is thank them and move on, but you might also want to guide them to focus more on the plot or the worldbuilding when looking at your work.

And last, don’t focus on grammar. It’s great if they point that out, but if you end up changing everything, trying to fix that first is a waste of your time. Grammar tweaks last, plot points first.

And, I dunno, give yourself a treat to get that horrible little mind gremlin something else to focus on. Sometimes patting those bad feelings on the head and sending them away can help way more than ignoring them.

[aychama]

L: I told you to leave me alone

R: I know Sir, but I'm your advisor and I (unfortunately) have to supervise you too.

Raymond sighed as he read the papers in his hands while following Leshy.

L: Do you think I need your supervision? I was doing just fine before you arrived. I'll continue to do so. Leave

R: I can't. We still need to go over a lot of things, we're far behind schedule to discuss real matters which is urgent, I need you to sign the agreement of imported goods from Anchor Deep and the people in the neglected villages are revo-

L: Fine! How many!?

R: Pardon?

L: How many papers, Raymond?

Leshy turned to him with a momentarily anger. To him, Raymond was simply, yapping.

R: Uh, about... 1, 2, 3...

He began counting, sounds of the paper coming to Leshy's ear.

R: 86 papers, sir.

L: Well good luck to you with that. Just copy my signature.

R: Wait, me? Sir I can't just decide on the matters of the whole kingdom!

L: Aren't you my "advisor"? That's your thing, to decide.

R: Yes, I give advice! I don't rule over a kingdom!

L: Too bad so damn sad, I don't feel like listening you talk about dumb problems I won't be paying attention to anyway.

Leshy chuckled a bit and walked towards his work room. Raymond followed right behind, a bit panicked by the king's nonchalant decision. Leshy closed the door behind him, Raymond nearly making it inside.

R: You can't just ignore it! I promise it won't take long... Don't you care about your people? They are suffering! They are doing their best but barely surviving with what you let them have! Not only that, you've added taxes when I was gone!

L: My people are doing fine. You're worrying too much for something so lame, Ray. If I'm really that shitty of a king, go on. Fill my "so important" papers. And I thought you were smart enough to think that.

Raymond rubbed his temples after setting the papers aside. He took a deep breath. Leshy just sat one of the comfortable chairs and leaned back.

R: (God, I prefer hell over trying to convince this man child to do anything) It won't be long before everything breaks down to chaos if you continue to neglect your duties, sir.

L: ...

R: Maybe the other crowns were right about you after all...

Leshy immediately got up and turned towards Raymond.

L: What did those old bastards say about me?

R: Just the usual sir.

He smiled. Good thing Leshy was, well, blind.

R: That you were too young and naive to understand how a kingdom works. The red crown even said he was surprised that you haven't got hunted by your people.

L: That... Grim faced cat! You know what!? I rule my kingdom just fine! I'm the best king out there! They wish they were me! I can rule their kingdoms along with mine if I wanted!

R: Yes sir. You could...

L: Read me the damn papers Raymond! I'm gonna finish these papers faster than any of those living corpses!

R: (Works every time)

___________________________

It was night time when they were able to finish all those papers. Raymond had lit a candle long time ago to read better and Leshy seemed to listen.

R: This is the last paper... It's, it's over

L: Finally, for fuck's sake...

The worm yawned and leaned back. Raymond put the papers in order and set aside, before leaning back like his King.

R: Sir your profanity.

L: Ray I'm too tired to care.

R: You're right... I should be too tired to ask.

L: What's the time?

R: The moon is up by a hand. It's too late.

L: You don't say.

The advisor yawned and drank a glass of water. The King on the other hand rubbed where his eyes should be. It was rare but, sometimes, his eyes would bleed again, his wounds so easy to tear open. The cat panicked at the sight, immediately his tiredness vanishing by worry that overtook.

R: You're bleeding!

L: Don't-

Leshy hissed at him when Raymond tried to touch his face so he backed away. Raymond looked at the blood with sadness for his King.

R: Does it... Does it still hurt? Does it hurt bad?

He asked with a shakey voice as he reached for Leshy's face again. Surprisingly, the short tempered king didn't pull back the second time. He leaned to the touch, to the feeling. Raymond's palm got bloodied as he wiped it.

L:Not anymore. Not like the way it used to...

R: It's good... I think. Is it just pitch black..?

L: People assume so. But no. My vision is my thoughts. I can see just, not in the way you'd expect

R: How so? How can you just- See?

The King chuckled at the advisor's weirded out question.

L: I already know what something looks like. I know colors, I know shapes, I know sounds, the materials, the feelings. And, if you know it like I do, it feels like your whole imagination is your sight.

R: That's... Not as bad as I thought

L: You think about going blind?

R: No, heh, of course not... I think about, how hard it must be for you.

L: You think about me? Now that just makes me shy~

R: My King-

Raymond gave a tired and short giggle as he blushed. Even though he hated his job, he didn't hate the worm necessarily.

L: What? Can I not be curious about why you think about me Ray?

R: With all due respect, that's not the point, sir. I work for you, it's natural that I worry for the one I'm working so close with.

L: And somehow I'm someone you must worry for? The levels you bring me down to.

R: You make it sound like everything is just fine! Is there really nothing bad about being blind?

L: There are bad sides of it of course

R: Like what?

Leshy smiled, putting his hands on top of Raymond's.

L: Knowing I'll never actually see you

AU8WUW8UQOAPAAJUDJDAAAAAAAASAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

HELLO???? THIS IS SO GOOD?!?!?!?!?! How dare you send me this awsome gift as an anon 😭😭😭 Thank you so much omg I didnt think such a simple drawing would inspire someone to write something like this!

THANK YOU ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[suzukiblu]

Tim?

Tim did not actually mean to kidnap an alternate reality's version of Kon.

In his defense, he'd had very limited time in that reality and everything in it had been going to shit and . . . well, everything in it had been going to shit.

Also, Lex Luthor had been a lot more heavily involved in that particular reality's Cadmus, and fuck it if Tim was ever going to leave any version of Kon with that bastard.

With any bastard who could ever look at Kon and call him "it".

"Ow," Tim grunts into the dirty pavement of what he hopes is his own Gotham as blood drips out of his mouth, and feels Kon's fingertips brush very, very tentatively against his back. He's a little too dizzy to lift his head, but he figures it doesn't matter. Like it's just . . . it's fine. They're not in Cadmus and Kon is safe and Tim is . . . conscious, at least, which means he can work with the situation.

Whatever the situation actually is, anyway.

Kon's hands flatten against his back, which is a very familiar tell, and Tim immediately feels the even more familiar embrace of TTK wrapping him up.

Less familiar is the impulse to find said embrace adorable, but in Tim's defense, this Kon is physiologically about ten years old and so far every single thing he's done has been either adorable or heartbreaking or some terrible combination of the two.

"Robin?" Kon asks anxiously. "You're okay, right?"

"M'okay," Tim mumbles blurrily, because it's more or less true. More blood drips out of his mouth and splatters on the pavement. "All okay. S'fine. You hurt?"

"No," Kon says, still sounding nervous. "Dunno where we are, though."

"Should be Gotham," Tim says, forcing himself to lift his head enough to check and nearly laughing as he recognizes their surroundings as the exact part of Crime Alley that he got interdimensionally yanked out of seventy-six hours ago. "Yeah. Gotham."

He pushes himself up enough to look over at Kon. Kon looks very small crouched down next to him with buzzed-down hair, barefoot in pristine white lab scrubs with a shiny metal cuff stamped with an identification number locked around his wrist. "13" features prominently on it.

Tim wants to melt it into slag.

"Is it your Gotham?" Kon asks.

"No clue, but I'm hoping," Tim says. He thinks about getting to his feet but he's pretty sure he'd throw up if he tried. Or fall over. Or both?

Probably both, at this point.

Oh well, he figures, and pushes himself up. He doesn't vomit, surprisingly, although he is very definitely sure that Kon's TTK is the only thing keeping him from falling over.

No reason to look that particular gift horse in the mouth, Tim decides.

"I need coffee," he says as he gives Kon's shoulder an appreciative pat, because the caffeine withdrawal is real. Also he needs medical attention, probably, but also-also he needs to come up with either a cover story for the ER or an explanation for Bruce and therefore caffeine can't hurt.

"Uh, okay," Kon says skeptically. "I don't think Starbucks or anything is gonna be open right now, though, it's pretty late."

"God, what did Cadmus teach you, kid," Tim says despairingly, making a face at the thought. "Starbucks is a punishment from God. We're going to the nearest twenty-four diner and I'm ordering roofing tar. And we're getting you a hot chocolate. Do you want a hot chocolate?"

". . . yeah," Kon says, biting his lip. "Um. I mean, I dunno if I'd like it, though."

"If you don't like it, we'll get you something else," Tim says. "But I haven't slept or eaten properly since I left my reality and I need coffee before it becomes a legitimate medical emergency."

"Shouldn't you get, like, real food, then?" Kon asks skeptically. "Not just coffee?"

"Coffee is food," Tim lies reflexively.

". . . I don't think it is," Kon says, squinting up at him suspiciously. "Are you taking advantage of me being too stupid to know if coffee's food or not?"

". . . we can get something to go," Tim says, wishing he'd blown up a bit more of Cadmus on his way out of that fucking cesspool of a reality. "You're not stupid. Luthor can choke on a fucking cactus for all the shit he kept saying to you."

"I mean, I didn't come out right," Kon says uncomfortably. "I'm not as smart as Dadd–as Lex is. Or as Superman was."

Tim pretends that Kon wasn't about to say "Daddy" for both their sakes. Just . . . yeah. At least for the moment, anyway.

Luthor was a lot more heavily involved in that Cadmus.

And horrifyingly.

Tim tries not to think about the way that Luthor had kept touching Kon. All the little too-deliberate points of contact he'd made time and again and too often.

Much too often.

Tim hadn't seen anyone else even so much as enter Kon's personal space the entire time he'd been in that godforsaken lab, and every single time that Luthor had made a gesture like he might touch him, Kon had tensed in something that couldn't decide between being fear or anticipation.

It'd made Tim want to burn the whole fucking lab and every single LexCorp-owned building he could find to the ground.

He'd settled for interdimensionally kidnapping Kon and destroying all of Cadmus's systems and DNA samples as thoroughly as possible. C-4 had been involved.

A lot of C-4 had been involved.

Possibly that had been a slight overreaction, but fuck if Tim cares. Just–Clark had still been dead, and Cassie hadn't had powers and Bart hadn't been in the time period and Tim himself hadn't even existed, for whatever reason, and apparently neither had Cissie or Greta or Anita or Slobo, and Bruce had already had his hands full with Damian and Dick had been off-planet and Jason had also still been dead and just–

Options had been limited, alright?

Options had been limited, and by that point Tim hadn't had time to go check and see what the Kents were up to or track down Lois Lane or Jimmy Olsen or even just tip off the Justice League or the Titans, because by that point he'd been in an examination room with a Lex Luthor who was stroking a frightened Kon's face with one hand while holding a syringe that was glowing kryptonite-green with the other and Tim had just . . . he'd just made some choices at that point, okay?

He'd made some very decisive choices.

And some very decisive commitments.

Or at least one very decisive commitment, anyway.

[hellish-sunsets]

You're an Asshole - Pt 4 - Morning After

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

Summary: Adam hated dealing with the morning after fucking someone. He was usually so careful, making sure they went to her place or a hotel or something, just so he can leave before she wakes up and avoid the whole thing.

Warnings: Cursing, Sexual themes

Word Count: 1,349

--------------------------------

He did not plan this out properly, did he? 

Now, the original plan in his head was simple. Prove he wasn't an asshole, win her over, maybe fuck her, and move on with life the same awesome bastard he had always been. 

But then he was stupid and brought her back to his apartment. 

Usually he would go to their place or something, leave before the bitch woke up and avoid the awkward ass morning after. They were all one night stands anyway, what did it matter. But he couldn’t very well leave when it was his own apartment.

He guessed it didn't matter. She'd probably think he was an asshole if he pumped and dumped and all that work pretending to be a better person would be for nothing. He was stuck.

He… probably should care more than he did. He hummed, nuzzling into her hair as he thought. 

He had slept better last night than he had in a long fucking time, and it didn't suck waking up to someone in his arms. Especially when that someone was so fucking hot.

B8t what should he do now? He wasn’t about to make her breakfast or some corny shit like that. He could stay here, pretend to be asleep until she woke up herself. Leave what to do to her. But what if she wanted to snuggle or some bullshit like that? 

… he supposed he could suffer through it. Just this once. 

He shifted the golden wing covering her, almost unconsciously pulling her closer, an arm draped over her waist. They got a blanket on themselves sometime in the middle of the night, though he didn't remember grabbing. He didn't remember changing positions either, but they did. It was probably all her, safely snuggled into his chest. She probably just grabbed the blanket or something. 

He sighed, letting his eyes flutter shut. He would wait on her then. 

He drifTed in and out of sleep until, eventually, she did wake up. She made a sleepy noise, then stretched herself out under his wing, white wings spreading out behind her before resting there on the bed. He kept his eyes closed, but he could feel her lips land under his jaw, then on his cheek. 

He let out a sleepy hum, letting his eyes flutter open to look down at her. 

“‘Morning.” He mumbled, and she giggled, her lips pressing against his neck.

“Good morning, Adam.” She hummed back and he could feel her smile against his skin. Shit, that shouldn’t turn him on so much. But then she was pulling away, sitting on the edge of the bed as she stretched her arms and wings. It was the perfect chance for him to admire that hot ass body of hers in the morning light, all soft edges and tempting curves. 

Yeah, he could totally fuck her right there if he wasn’t afraid he’d scare her off or something. 

Still, he laid on his side with his cheek propped in his hand as he watched her search the floor for her clothes, smirking at himself. He couldn’t help but feel like he was the shit, pulling such a fine piece of ass after so much work, so much time and shitty concerts playing the nice guy. Or at least not quite as bad a guy. 

The real question was how long he could keep it up. Or if he wanted to. Surely he had proven his point by now right? 

“Hey, where’s the bathroom?” Her voice broke through his thoughts and he glanced up to see her with her clothes bunched up in her hands, and god she really did look great with her tits out. She should go shirtless more often. Or all the time. He smirked at her, letting his eyes roam her body greedily. Nah, but then those other fuckers would get to see her like this too, and he wouldn’t have that.

“Down the hall to the right. ‘Course, if you’re looking to shower I could always help…” He teased, but she was having none of that.

“Nope, not showering here. You and I both know we’re not going to get very clean.” 

“We’d get there eventually, we would just have a bit of fun too.” He gave a shrug, sitting up in the bed. 

She sighed, but he couldn’t quite decipher what that meant. Was she disappointed? Going to give in? Or something else? Who was he kidding, of course she was going to give in! After the way they fucked last night, there was no chance she’d say no now!

“Nah, I really gotta get going.” She finally said. She smirked when she saw him scowl, but shrugged in a ‘watcha gonna do?’ way and vanished through the bedroom door towards the bathroom, leaving him alone in his bedroom. 

He heard the bathroom door shutting and huffed, stomping out of bed to put on some sweats. 

Fucking bitch, not even pretending to care, just up and leaving. What, was she going to ghost him now? This is why he should never have brought her to his place. At least then he could just leave before she got the chance to kick him out or something. 

He paused and took a deep breath. He was being an asshole again, wasn’t he? He needed to be sure to keep these thoughts to himself. He shouldn’t be getting upset anyways. If she just left and ghosted him, then he didn’t have to pretend anymore and could just take the win like the badass he was. 

He heard the bathroom door again. He expected the bitch to just walk out, but those footsteps were heading back to the bedroom instead. 

She looked disheveled as she walked in with that fucking smile, cleaned up a bit but definitely still in need of a shower. He should probably take one too, now that he thought about it. He had that shitty meeting later today. 

“Uh, so I gotta head out, shower, eat something, stuff like that. Got band practice today. I’ll see you later, okay?”

And she sounded so damn happy and chipper, for a moment it seemed like she actually meant it, the seeing him later. Perhaps she wasn’t going to ghost him after all. Which brought up the question, why was that the first thing he thought of? Why did he jump to being abandoned so easily? 

… he didn’t feel like thinking about that. Instead he gave her his most charming smile, which he was sure wasn’t that good considering they had just gotten up. His hair was probably a mess, he was only wearing those sweats he put on, and again, he really needed that shower. Still, she seemed to brighten regardless. That was only natural, of course. He was the fucking best, even if he was a mess. 

“No problem, sugartits! Rock on, and text me later, yeah?” Wait, sugartits was probably the wrong thing to see. Woman considered that an asshole nickname, didn’t they? He’d have to try something else next time. But she was still smiling, so it couldn’t be so bad. 

“Hell yeah, text you later!” She said with a wave and headed out. He followed her footsteps until she reached the door and that shut behind him. 

… yeah. Yeah, that wasn’t too bad, as far as morning after’s go. They had a great night, she didn’t seem disgusted or upset in any way, and she probably wasn’t going to ghost him. He supposed he would just have to continue the game a bit longer, keep policing himself and prove he was a good man, as exhausting as it was. It would be worth it if he got to tap that ass a few more times before she got tired of him. God, he was getting hard just thinking about it. Well, harder, it never did go down from earlier. 

He smiled to himself and collected some clean clothes so he could take that long ass shower. He was already looking forward to that text from her later on.

[luxcuriousao3]

Dove: A Zombie Ghost Story (Chapter Three)

Summary: He didn’t truly know if he was the only one of his kind, but he’d never met any other infected that seemed even remotely conscious. They were all just mindless husks enslaved to the brutal whims of the virus. And he had been slowly but surely turning into one of them, before he’d found her. His little dove. Word Count: 3176 Warnings: still no smut, flashback to semi-graphic noncon which can be skipped, the section is in italics with the middle and end marked by a singe asterisk (the triple asterisk denotes a POV change as usual) Notes: hope the few of you who read this enjoy it as much as I do XD AO3, Masterlist

Ghost’s little dove seemed determined to get herself killed.

He hadn’t felt so afraid since he’d been bitten, when he saw her run into the cabin without so much as peeking inside first. And then her scream—God, her scream. For once, he was glad he couldn’t sleep, because he knew it would haunt his nightmares if he did.

The infected that was trying to eat her was dispatched easily, though not before it got unacceptably close to taking a bite out of her pretty face. He immediately crouched down to check on her, thinking of nothing but making sure there were no bites hidden beneath her clothes. He didn’t consider how she would feel about him touching her—and he didn’t consider how he would feel, either.

She was so warm.

He could feel her body heat even through her long sleeves and his gloves, and it was addicting. He wanted to pull her close and press her against him, to let her warmth chase away the cold that lingered in his very bones ever since his undeath. And he almost did just that—but then she shrieked like a banshee and kicked him, clearly trying to get away. It hadn’t hurt, he couldn’t feel pain anymore, after all, but he’d let go instantly anyway, backing away and trying to apologize. All that came out was a wet gurgling noise though, so he stopped, just silently looking down at her where she still sat on the floor, staring up at him with so much fear and confusion that he would have given anything to be able to comfort her.

Johnny would know what to do, he thought, and once again, he couldn't help but wonder just who this Johnny was. It was the only name he seemed to recall, from before. And it was only after he’d found his little dove that he'd remembered it, remembered the name that went with the disjointed sense memories of bright blue eyes, a deep Scottish burr, and the scent of clean soap.

“You’re real. You’re real, and you’re not eating me, and you’re— you’re protecting me. How? Why?”

His dove’s words brought him back to the present, giving him a spark of hope. She finally understood that he wasn’t going to hurt her, that he was keeping her safe. He groaned quietly in agreement, to let her know she was right and not just imagining things, but he was unable to answer her questions. He didn’t know how he had managed to hold onto pieces of himself, after his death. All he knew was that he was one bloody stubborn bastard, always had been, and always would be. He liked to think that that had something to do with him managing to fight off the virus, at least a little bit.

As for why he was protecting her… well, he was lonely. And he was fading, succumbing more to his instincts with every passing day in isolation. He wanted human companionship so fucking badly, and he could already tell that it was helping him remain himself. He felt more present, more alive in this moment than he had since the day he’d been bitten.

“You... Do you understand me?” His dove whispered after a moment. She sounded like she knew the answer, but he groaned softly in response anyway, awkwardly jerking his head up and down in a nod. His jaw wobbled grotesquely as he did, and he reached up to steady it, not wanting to disgust her any more than he already had, not when they were finally making progress.

She sucked in a sharp breath, big brown eyes growing impossibly wider. She looked shell shocked, and Ghost didn’t know what to do to change that. He’d never gotten this far with a human, before…

“Are there more like you?” She asked haltingly, after a moment of tense, heavy silence. “That— that are— whatever you are?”

Ghost carefully shrugged his shoulders, but at the same time, he held his jaw in place, and then jerked his head to the left, to the right, and then back to the left. He didn’t truly know if he was the only one of his kind, but he’d never met any other infected that seemed even remotely conscious. They were all just mindless husks enslaved to the brutal whims of the virus. And he had been slowly but surely turning into one of them, before he’d found her. His little dove.

“Oh,” she whispered, swallowing thickly. It drew his attention to the pale, bruised column of her throat, and his clouded eyes zeroed in on her pulse point. He could hear the thrum of her heartbeat, just underneath her soft looking skin. Her blood would taste thick and sweet on his tongue, he knew, and it would be so warm, as warm as she was. He sniffed deeply, groaning softly at her scent, and he felt drool pool in his mouth and leak out, down his chin. That, along with his dove’s small flinch, snapped him out of it. He quickly wiped the drool away, feeling embarrassed.

Slowly, she got to her feet, wincing as she stood up straight. She tried to dust off the dirt on her clothes, only to look distinctly horrified when she realized that black, congealed blood from the zombie that had attacked her now stained the stiff, pale pink fabric. She gagged when she accidentally touched it, and for a second, he worried she would throw up. She couldn’t afford to lose the little food left in her stomach, not when he knew for a fact she hadn’t eaten since before he found her.

He grumbled quietly, bringing her attention back to him, and then slowly moved towards the door, so as not to startle her. He picked up the corpse as he did, bringing it outside and moving it out of sight. He returned quickly, only to find her peeking out the door, watching for him. If he could have, he would have smiled. It was clear that at least part of her didn’t want him to go.

That part didn’t stop her from retreating rapidly as he approached, still maintaining a two metre distance from him at all times. He closed the door behind him as he re-entered the small cabin, then moved past her, deeper inside. He checked the single, tiny bedroom, but it was clear, just like he’d expected. He did find a thick quilt folded neatly over the end of the bed, and he picked it up, bringing it back to his dove.

She was in the miniature kitchen area, now, all the low hanging cabinets flung open to reveal bare, dusty shelves. She was currently trying to climb onto the tiny sliver of counter space to reach the higher ones, and Ghost growled disapprovingly. She startled, whipping around to look at him in fright. He held out the blanket as a peace offering, simultaneously moving closer. After a moment of hesitation, she snatched it from his stiff fingers and then backed away from him once more as she wrapped it around her shivering form.

Ghost opened the cabinet that his dove had been reaching for, and let out another growl—pleased, this time—when he found a solitary can of what he assumed to be beans, based on the faded picture on the label. He couldn’t read the words on it, and the reminder of how thoroughly the virus had destroyed so much of him made the hollow space in his chest ache faintly.

Once again, he offered the supplies to his little dove, and this time, she accepted it a little more graciously, a little less like she expected it to be a trap. Her fingers brushed against the fabric of his gloves, and he suddenly wished that he wasn’t wearing them so he could feel her warm skin against his own.

“Thank you.”

The words were so quiet, that without the virus’s enhanced hearing, he doubted he would have caught them. But he did, and his foggy eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. She didn’t notice how happy she’d made him, though, too busy pulling back the tab of the can and scooping beans directly into her mouth. She moaned in pleasure at the taste—clearly, she was even more hungry than he’d thought, if a can of cold beans caused that reaction—and a low sound grumbled deep in Ghost’s chest as a very human emotion stirred inside him in response. He stood there in shock for a moment as he watched her suck her fingers clean, before it faded into self disgust and he jerked his gaze away, walking back to the door to stand watch, like a good dead guard dog. Because that was all he could ever offer her, his sweet little dove. That was all he should ever want. To protect her. Not to fuck her. He was a revolting, decaying monster—his outside finally matched his insides. She would never have desired a beast like him even before, and she certainly wouldn’t now. He was depraved for even thinking about it. Perhaps the virus had twisted him in more ways than he thought…

***

Lelia devoured the can of cold beans like it was the most delicious meal she’d ever tasted—and she grew up eating at michelin star restaurants regularly. But she hadn’t eaten in days, and she was starving. Andrew had always taken half her rations, claiming she didn’t need them anyway if she was going to stay thin and pretty for him. Lelia had stopped getting her period soon after, and at first, she’d been terrified that he’d finally managed to get her pregnant. But the test she’d managed to get her hands on had come back negative, and no other telltale symptoms had cropped up. She’d finally worked up the courage to ask one of the other women on the base about it, and she’d given her such a pitying look before telling her it was probably due to starvation. 

That was when Lelia had realized that how Andrew treated her was no secret, to the other people on the base. He must have realized it soon after, too, because that was when he’d started trading her body to the soldiers for bigger rations and longer shower times.

That was all she had been worth. A little extra food and a few more minutes of hot water…

*

It had been only a month since the dead started walking, but already, Lelia wondered if those who died in the initial chaos were the real lucky ones.

She’d thought her life was difficult before, as Andrew’s wife, when she’d been living on a large estate, constantly draped in the finest jewels and dresses, sleeping in the most comfortable beds, and being waited on hand and foot by a host of servants. Yes, Andrew had been cruel, the bruises on her body and the constant ache between her thighs were testament to that. And no, she hadn’t had a lick of freedom, not even allowed her own cell phone, or to leave the estate without his permission. But that was nothing compared to the utter hell her life had become.

She and Andrew now slept on a bed hard as a rock, and the food they were given to eat was limited and flavorless, if not outright disgusting. They had no household staff to do all their menial chores for them, and their lives had been stripped of all the conveniences and luxuries they’d both always enjoyed. Lelia had struggled greatly to adapt, but Andrew had taken things much harder.

He was angry all the time now, and he had nothing to do other than take his frustrations out on her by either fucking her or beating her. Nothing she did could calm him down anymore, all the tricks she’d learned to do so were now worse than useless. Even still, he held up appearances whenever they were around other survivors. Which was why she hadn’t been expecting him to do this.

They stood outside the Sergeants’ barracks. There were three of them, she believed, but she’d never interacted with any of them, as Andrew didn’t like her talking to other people, especially men. He had been trying to become friends with them, as he often complained to her about the privileges the soldiers got, and how he wanted in. He hadn’t been successful, though, with his father’s money now unable to compensate for his lack of charm.

So Lelia was quite confused as to why they were here, and why Andrew had such a grim but determined look on his face.

Nonetheless, she played the part of dutiful wife, her hand in Andrew's as she waited patiently while he knocked on the door. When it opened, showing all three sergeants inside, Andrew turned to her, cupping her face in his hands, and looked at her with… not remorse, but maybe regret. Like he didn’t feel bad about what was about to happen, but wished it hadn’t gotten to this point.

“Tonight, the good Sergeants here are your husbands,” he told her, words heavy with meaning. “Do you understand?”

Lelia did. Lelia understood very well. But she shook her head anyway, tears pooling in her eyes.

“I’ve been good,” she whispered, heartbroken. “Please, Andy, I’ve been good!”

“So be good again tonight,” her husband said, voice hard, before kissing her forehead and letting her go. He turned to the soldiers, looking unhappy but resigned. “Use condoms, and be careful around her stomach. I’ve been trying to get her pregnant.”

Lelia wanted to scream as the soldier closest to her took her arm in his big, meaty hand and dragged her inside the room. But she said nothing. She couldn’t make her mouth work, because she wasn’t inside her body. She watched as the soldiers took her all night long, one after the other—even all at the same time at one point—but she didn’t feel a thing. Not until the next morning, when she returned to herself. Her whole body was in terrible pain. She was on the cold floor, naked and covered in dried semen, as the sergeants snored next to her in their bunks. Lelia got up slowly, gathering her clothes and carefully putting them back on. Then, she left, wandering the halls with a pronounced limp and a dazed expression on her face until she ran into one of the other soldiers, an Officer. He grimaced at the sight of her, gently taking her elbow and leading her to one of the toilets. He wet a rag and gave it to her, letting her clean the semen off her face—she’d not even realized there was any on it—before bringing her back to Andrew, who was passed out in their bed, an empty flask next to him.

It would not be the last time her husband let the soldiers use her.

*

Lelia sucked in a shuddery breath as she set the empty can down on the tiny, two person table in the kitchenette, shoving the memory away viciously. She immediately grimaced and wrinkled her nose, casting a glance at her new undead… companion. He smelled awful, like rot and decay and death. The beans she’d just eaten almost came right back up, and she covered her mouth and nose, trying to hide her impolite reaction. She’d smelled him before, of course, but now that she actually had something in her stomach, it was all too apparent just how difficult being around him was going to be.

Would she stay around him? And when had he become a him and not an it, anyway?

Probably around the time you realized there was something still left in there of the person he used to be, a voice inside her head responded to her unspoken question. The thought made her sad, and she felt a wave of sympathy for her zombie. She couldn’t imagine what his existence was like, stuck in a body that was falling apart, feared by the only people who could understand him, and unable to talk to them, to tell them he meant no harm…

“What’s your name?” She asked him quietly, almost taking a step forward before she thought better of it. He still smelled, and she still needed her meal to stay down. Getting closer would only tempt fate more than she already was by remaining in the same room as him.

Her zombie looked at her slowly, and though there was no expression on his masked face—she was unsure he could even make one, with his broken jaw and missing lips—she still got the distinct impression that she’d surprised him. She immediately felt bad. He’d saved her life twice now, three times if she counted the food and blanket, and she was just now asking his name. She should’ve done so the moment she realized he was helping her.

Her zombie lifted one arm up to his neck, grasping something and then pulling it up over his head before holding it out to her. A silver chain with a set of dog tags dangled from his gloved fist, and Lelia inhaled deeply through her mouth before walking forward, holding her breath as she accepted them from him. She retreated quickly, trying to suck in air as subtly as she could while she wiped the grime from the dog tags with a corner of the tatty, checkered cloth that was laid across the kitchen table.

“Riley, Simon A.,” she read aloud. Beneath that was his rank information—Lieutenant. She looked up at her zombie, and gave him a small smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Lieutenant Riley.”

Her zombie grunted, jerking his head back and forth hard. His jaw quivered from the force of it. Confused, and a little bit afraid, Lelia backtracked.

“I–I’m sorry, do you not want to be called that?” She asked nervously. All the soldiers back on the base, or at least the ones she talked to (meaning the ones her husband lent her to) insisted they be called by their proper rank. Though whenever they used her, they demanded she call them Sir… Lelia swallowed, feeling the beans threaten to come back up for an entirely different reason. She wouldn’t call him Sir. She wouldn't.

Her zombie approached her, seemingly agitated, and Lelia flinched, taking a step back. He stopped, watching her for a moment, but didn't come any closer. He just pointed at his dog tags again, and Lelia looked back down at them, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his name and date of birth. Her eyes widened a bit when she saw the year he was born—1981, he was the same age as her mother—but she didn’t let herself get distracted. She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment, before trying again.

“You want me to call you Simon?” She half guessed, half begged. When he nodded, she let out a relieved sigh, her small smile returning. “Okay… let's try this again, then. It’s nice to meet you, Simon.”

[callmeajorallie]

Got bored, made some art in regards to ii 16 & 17 but the gkgg au instead (With text)

(Without text)

On other news, here's a rant about this au because why tf not + this au has been my hyperfixation for months now despite the fact it is literally a roleswap au & just things I have been pondering ever since ii 15 came out (Which for those who don't know what the gkgg au is, here. Because you'll need context to understand half of this.) I kinda always thought Mecintosh would be the one to side with Paintbrush, because I don't really think 4s would turn on Cobs, but then again, with how Cobs relationship is portrayed in the au, it is hard for me to see any of them breaking off from him (Besides 4 but it was more like Cobs broke off from him). Next, there's the whole ending thingy, which god damn would the endings be different tenfold, my source? Now I couldn't find the exact post, however, I do recall when swap Sliver was revealed (fulfilling the role of Candle), he was given a backstory as to how he discovered the shine or something (My memories fuzzy okay?), & that it was stated that him & knife were brothers, now why is this important? Simple, as much as we're aware, Cobs did not create the contestants. With this backstory supporting the fact, albeit this post I am referring to could be very much outdated for various reasons. But my point still stands until proven otherwise, so take it with a grain of salt Now, another thing that would change things tenfold is gkgg mp4's motives. Why would he delete the contestants (Also I'm pretty sure the explanation as for how bro's able to do so is the same), does he view them as an obstacle? Does he want to reconnect with his creator who he pushed away by being emotionally inept? Is he doing it because he can & he's just being a massive bastard? Who knows, I don't. Anyway, I could see mp4 telling Test Tube & Baseball that they aren't real to turn them against Cobs, with the statement being complete bullshit but bro has enough evidence to back it up. Also Mepad going against mp4 because bro wants answers & 3gs singing the future is so yesterday because mp4 needed to distract him somehow from everything else going on. Anyway, that was my rant about an ii roleswap au that has consumed me for the past several months at least The gkgg ii au belongs to @maxphilippa, supported by @burgycreeper405-blog (I am scared for my life if Max or Burgy finds this my social anxiety will not be able to handle it)

[miss-dollette]

Wake up call for ballistic Team Black and Rhaenyra Stan’s.

TW: Opinions and bad language.

Rhaenyra “rules for thee, none for me” Targaryen. Rhaenyra “Aegon wants to usurp my throne” but when it comes to my obvious bastard sons… nah, they’ll get this land and titles because they’re trueee Valeryeon’s (meanwhile, there’s actual Valeryeon’s who’d step up to the mantle but can’t ’cause Rhaenyra’s daddy is a fucking moron who doomed his family).

Whether Rhaenyra Stan’s want to admit it or not, Rhaenyra is a hypocrite and makes some of the most dumbest mistakes because of how spoiled and shortsighted she is. She doesn’t seem to care about consequences and constantly reaps what she sows.

She had a choice in marriage to any lord in the kingdom, which would have been a massive political advantage, but she blew it and had to marry a guy who wasn’t even straight. Not only that, she had a choice in having three bastard kids. Westeros literally has forms of birth control that she could’ve had at any moment. But noooo. Rhaenyra didn’t think ”hmm having kids with someone I’m not married to will have massive consequences and would essentially arm my enemies with more ammo on why I shouldn’t have the throne. I live in a culture that’s horribly misogynistic and everyone already doubts me because I was born with a vagina. But I’ll have two more kids even though they’ll be targeted the rest of their lives.”

What a top mind you have, Rhaenyra!

Ooooh, and i hate when she was like “now they see as you are”, bitch, what? “Now they see you as you are” - you mean a woman trying to get justice for her bullied child, who was now maimed by one of his bullies? Omg, can you imagine what Rhaenyra would have done if Jace had been the one to have his eye removed? And Viserys would have 100% let her. Matter of fact, he would have encouraged it.

I think at that moment, Alicent knew her children’s lives were in danger. Even if she hadn’t done anything at that point, besides essentially being the perfect queen and somewhat bad mother (who’s a perfect mom when you’re forced to marry and have kids before you’re even 18), her rightfully royal children were in sooo much danger, and it was proven at that moment.

And Daemyra is so god damn mf stupid. Daemon. Is. Loyal. To. Himself. And. Ceraxes. Rhaenyra is essentially a tool to put his blood (and himself) on the throne, and that’s pretty much it. He’s a complete psychopath, pedophile, and power hungry. Just because he treats her well sometimes, doesn’t mean he’s not the same Daemon who killed his last wife.

Every Rhaenyra Stan is like “Rhaenyra would never let anything happen to Alicent and her kids :)” but let’s be so fucking fr right now - Daemon would definitely kill them. Why the fuck would he ever let Otto Hightower’s kid, grandkids and great grandkids live, and even have the slightest chance against him? And Rhaenyra would let him. He literally choked her, and she’s the heir to the throne and he faced ZERO real consequences for that.

Okay, so hypothetically, let’s say Rhaenyra wins the throne, and all the Greens are dead. No one is that much of a threat to Targaryen rule, and Rhaenyra is to become queen officially. Daemon is king. Daemon. Is. King. And they still live in Misogynistic ass Westeros, and Rhaenyra is still a woman. You know how easily Daemon could just pull a “Give me that crown, everyone wants a king anyway and they’ll obey me ‘cause I’ll fucking kill them with my giant ballistic Lizard like I’ve always done, but now I have a massive military who is also fucking misogynistic. You’ll have my heirs and that’s it. Thanks Rhaenyra!”?

Rhaenyra would never let Daemon go. She needs him. Even she said it. So what would she do if he wanted the throne? Nothing. He’d kill her if she fought against him. Mr. Daemon “I murdered my first wife to get what I want” Targaryen.

And before anyone calls me a misogynistic team green or whatever, no I’m not Team Green, I’m just tired of how Rhaenyra Stan’s pretend she’s some sort of saint and the perfect character. If this doesn’t apply to you, don’t bother with lecturing me.

Rhaenyra is not Daenerys, and never will be. Just because they’re both girls and aspire for the throne, doesn’t make it a #girlboss moment. Rhaenyra wants to continue Targaryen supremacy and rule over the small folk just like her ancestors before her. She’s a super spoiled brat who doesn’t care about anyone’s pain, and wants to use everyone else as her pawns. So, more like Cersei than Daeny.

Is Rhaenyra someone completely evil? No, but she’s a huge idiot.

Also, I do sympathize for both sides, but Rhaenyra and her fans just make me want to rip my hair off.

I wrote this in 20 fucking minutes so pls don’t get on my ass about spelling errors. Bye.

[greeneldritchfurby]

yknow what... Here's a list of Hatchetfield Rarepairs that I think are neat!

Some l've thought up, some may already exist.. Either way I think about them constantly, and I need to share my brainrot.

23oz Chai - Paul 23 / Ted Spankoffski

- workplace crush but, plot twist, one of them is a clone

- Ted confesses, and Paul 23, even though he's unsure if the real Paul would go along with it, accepts anyway.

- everyone in the office reacts to it in shock, and they are convinced it is an elaborate prank. (Its not)

Cat Sweater - Charlotte / Melissa (Charlissa)

- Melissa supports Charlotte through her rocky marriage. Sapphic feelings ensue!

- They bond over their love of cats!

- Crazy cat lady and her sopping wet cat gf!

Dirty Boy - Mark Chasity / Boy Jerry

- Two repressed religious men grappling with internalized homophobia!

- A lot of gay denial and religious guilt in this one!

- Also, Jerry's nature rubs off on Mark a little. Maybe they go a little off the walls together!

Donnapiro - Donna Daggit/ Detective Shapiro

- They start out disliking each other, Shapiro not liking how Hatchetfield News reports crime and Donna despising Shapiro for getting in the way of their journalism

- Slowly, their competition becomes incredibly homoerotic.

- Enemies to lovers, reporter x detective yuri. Solving crimes and being sapphic!

Fast But Pricey - Barry Swift / Frank Pricely (Priceswift)

- I have little justification for this one but.. ldk, I think they would be fun together.

- Frank is just really lonely, let him have a gay lover.

- Their relationships moves fast. (Barry is in a hurry! And Frank is so alone he doesn't mind.)

Latte Bottay - Zoey Chambers / Emmdroid (Zoemdroid)

- They bond over a dislike of the real Emma!

- Zoey is surprisingly chill with the robot thing.

- This also works pretty well with 23ozChai. Paul 23 gets his work crush, Emmdroid gets her work crush, its a win win! bonus wlw mlm solidarity!

Nibblinda - Nibbly / Linda

- Linda treats Nibbly to fine meats and sweets. In return, Nibbly eats her dad and protects her. Overall, a pretty sweet deal!

- Perhaps, they get a little blood on their hands.

- Linda chews people out (figuratively), and Nibbly bites them (literally)

Plastic Cars - Gerald Monroe / Tom Houston

- Hear me out.. Divorced dads realize they are gay... for each other.

- Tim gets a new dad, instead of a new mom.

- Again, I must stress.. middle aged men in love!

Sheiloway - Sheila Young / Miss Holloway

- This is ooc as fuck but the enemies to lovers calls to me.

- They both get someone to confide to about the struggles of lord shenanigans and near immortality

- wlw witches!

Showstoppers - Henry Hidgens / Pokey

- Theater nerds who will murder at the drop of a hat.

- I mean, Pokey did include Show Stopping Number in Inevitable, so that's a little gay.

- They are both just.. really gay tbh.

Spoiled Cat - Linda Monroe / Charlotte Sweetly (Charlinda)

- I think pairing a mean rich lady with a sweet, but this close to losing it, lady is very fun.

- Tbh, I just think the day Charlotte dates a woman is the day her entire world changes.

- Also, I think Charlotte should be allowed to be a little mean for once. Linda would help her be more assertive.

Tentacle Bastard - Wiggly / Ted Spankoffski

- Wiggly steals his brother's toy, and gets more than he bargained for!

- Wiggly tries to scare Ted with his big scary octopus form. It does not have the intended effect!

- Wiggly keeps trying to terrify Ted, but jokes on him Ted is into that, and that flusters him. However, Ted's unabashed bastard confidence has an unexpected side effect: Wiggly catches feelings

Webworship - Webby / Karen Chasity

- Karen finds a new god(dess) to "worship"!

- Unsatisfied wife summons a goddess for some company, and the goddess doesn't mind!

- A little bit of religious guilt in this one, as Karen goes against her beliefs by beginning to "worship" a new god, but its still mostly wholesome!

[lynn-tged-posting]

tged webtoon ep 168 spoilers and thoughts that IM NOT LATE WITH FOR ONCE! KIND OF! YAY! and more below the cut

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OKAY. OKAY CAN WE TALK ABOUT THESE TWO PANELS WITH LLOYD AND JAVIER REALLY REALLY QUICK. i would save this for the end of the post since its closer to the end but im super impatient okay what else can i say. LOOK AT THE WAY JAVIER IS LOOKING AT HIM

HE IS LOOKING AT HIM SO DAMN FONDLY. WHAT THE FUCK. THERE IS WARMTH IN THAT GAZE I SWEAR TO GOD IM NOT CRAZY. "you're such a terrible person" AND HES LOOKING AT HIM LIKE THAT. WHAT. WHAT. WHAT. crazy. CRAZY.

the adaptor knew what they were doing . i swear it . like "yeah thats MY evil boyf. he's back to being evil and lively and his perfect bastard self." I SWEAR IT I SWEAR IM NOT CRAZY

this is proof of llovier. im so serious dont even joke lads

back to the top!

not much to say here lloyds expression is just so real sobs yeah . yeah,,, older gens having goofy ass back and forths over things that really arent the main issue here is universal

like i dont quite remember what season theyre in now but its past winter by this point and based on the two panels showing the time of day they had to have been arguing about this for AT LEAST FOUR HOURS 😭 LIKE WHAT THE FUCK (idk how accurate that estimate is im notoriously bad at time but still. a long fucking time) these BUFFOONS

also lloyd being dramatic as hell is so fucking silly HAHAHAHAHHAA

AND THEN THE LORDS FUCKING STARING AT HIM WHEN HE BRINGS UP THAT HE HAS AN IDEA. HELPPP all eyes on lloyd now !!! what brilliant idea do u have next thats absolutely totally not secured through lowkey social engineering!

so so SO happy w how confident he looks here heehee :3 whats with the pose tho lol is that a reference? maybe?

anyway they plan to make a train thru the pantara mountains? vantara? pan,,, idk what the correct translation is ive seen vantara and pantara

also lloyd just knowing exactly how to talk to those old ass political lords and understanding how to string them along idk what it is but i really really like that, it makes sense to me personally

i figure that thats probably something suho just Had to pay attention to back in korea, idk how korean politics works exactly but i imagine the principle of "person in charge can make or break a lot of things" still stands

so like it'd make sense that he pays attention to whoevers in charge of the finance stuff, which political figures care about money, and where that money goes, bc if they fuck with the funds for education thatll directly screw him over. idk if korea has financial aid but whatever equivalent that is that allows suho to get scholarships n stuff so he can stay afloat, if someone comes into power that will negatively affect his odds of getting that funding, he'll need to know and prepare! though maybe this is reaching a little too deep it might not be That Serious lmfao

again i really like how many of these confident / plotting expressions have been showing up IM SOO SO SO HAPPYYYY my schemer my little scheming guy he's BACK HES BACK

the two of them also look really really nice here in these two panels for some reason. i think im going crazy. i dont know why i like these panels its just. !??!?!?!?!??! like javiers hair is completely messy but idk i just ?!?!?!?!? im completely aro so its not like an attraction or anything but idk!?!??!?!?!

finally our first look at the overworld demons!!! these two kiddos seem super cute i really hope they dont . misunderstand or anything and that lloyd and javier can have some fun and heartwarming moments with them,,,, more sillies and soft fluff please!!!!! thats all i ask!!!!

okay that's all! not much to say this episode is just really really cozy to me. ok well as cozy as "lloyd frontera making evil expressions" can get LMFAO it feels like build up into the next section and im really excited to see what he's gonna do with this train idea and with the overworld demons...!!!!!

there was a notice at the end of the ep that the artist is taking a small break for their health so no ep next week, but there'll be one the week after i believe. we must be patient!!! rest well artist!!!!

that's it ill see yall in. two weeks? ill probably have some other yap post for the hiatus week idk, it depends on how my schoolwork goes. see yall then!!!!

[harleys1nhawaii]

MAYBE

pairing: dabi/todoroki touya x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of sex, smoking, etc.

wc: 2k+

a/n: its crazy that how many thoughts of him there are in my head yet i can't fucking write anything. there isn't 1 damn day i dont think about him and this should be a mfkng crime. i am SICK AND TIRED i love him more than anything. anyway, enjoy<3

dabi knows somethings wrong. he can't really point out what it is or name the pain, but he knows he's doing something wrong.

or maybe, he's pretending. he is a cruel villain that'd take hundreds' life in a heartbeat with no remorse, set the buildings ablaze with no sign of guilt. he was a bad person who did bad shit, that's for sure. that was who and what he was. he had to be real heartless to have done all of that, hadn't he? he had to be some kind of sociopath who lost the ability to feel ages ago.

then why he felt this way? like he was hurting.

he hated that.

he hated having that agonizingly stinging pain in middle of his chest. like he had been stabbed a thousand times yet still couldn't die. almost as if he couldn't even bring his feet to move to walk. as if he would rather do all the stupid bullshit than feel it.

he was afraid because no matter how he pretended like he didn't care, maybe he really did. he was scared to death for the first time in forever because he knew something was terribly wrong but he didn't know what it was. he was scared because now he was feeling his feelings after claiming himself to be no longer able to do that, and he wasn't used to it in any way. he had no idea how to deal with it.

or maybe, dabi was scared.

dabi was scared to lose you. he wished he didn't feel that. the guilt. the guilt of all the times he had treated you like you were nothing but just a sex partner to him. all the times he acted like he didn't care. all the times he pushed any slight of intimacy away and ignored all his feelings. and all of those times he gave everything in himself to not care about how you felt, about you.

he sighed deeply and closed his eyes shut. where did all of these took him to? other than hurting you, hurting himself. he couldn't bare the idea that he loved. what the fuck did that mean? he had a will to reach, a long path to walk through. he couldn't waste his dear time on pointless romance shit and none of the troubles it brought with itself.

he needed to be sane, as if he hadn't lost it ages ago. but he needed that. he needed his mind. with no one other in it to keep him in the same spot of life for god knows how long.

dabi was angry. no, he was fucking furious.

how could he drop his guard like that? how could he let you get into his heart? you two had promised to be nothing but just sex partners, with no fucking strings attached. this was what it should've been. 2 people that had nothing to do with each other's business and life other than satisfying each other when needed.

then why he wanted more? why couldn't he bare the feeling of guilt everytime he left you all alone? this should've been what was right. he had a life to live, places to be and shits to do. he couldn't be with you all day. and why would he anyway? at the end, he was the careless one. the reckless, the nonchalant vile villain bastard.

he had to be. he knew that if he allowed himself to feel, he couldn't turn back.

then why? why why why why? he wanted to smash his head against the rock he was leaning on. what the fuck was wrong with this? what the fuck was wrong with him? why couldn't he stop thinking about you? why did he want to hug you, why did he want to kiss you so damn bad?

his hands trembled, almost making him drop the cigarette he was holding between his fingers. his jaw clenched in sync with his left hand, making it go into a fist. silent curses came out under his breath, once again, eyes closed shut.

maybe, dabi loved.

dabi loved the way you made him feel. like he was still breathing even while he was holding his breath. like he had a reason to keep going and fight with the heroes harder, knowing he had a place to be after all this distress ended. like he had a reason to wake up and get done his grueling businesses, repeating himself continuously that maybe you two will meet that night.

like he was living.

dabi hated that to the bone. but oh, dabi loved that more than anything. he had tasted how it felt to be alive and now he knew he wanted more. he needed more.

dabi stood up as he threw the almost burnt out cigarette away. this time, he didn't stumble as he walked, nor did he feel his legs giving up on him. this time, he knew where he was going and his chest didn't fill up with the same old worry and pain.

because this time, he knew he needed you with him and he wasn't afraid of it. he needed to be there for you and hold you in his arms like he always wanted to but could never had the boldness in himself to attempt to. he needed to kiss the wounds of yours that he caused to appear and patch them up to never reopen them again.

dabi walked faster, ignored the sounds of honking horns rising from the cars he walked past by, ignored the world.

dabi needed to reach you.

dabi needed you.