#apocalyptic thunder

[tuji-art]

ancient art of an apocalyptic truck!

[salvadorbonaparte]

Something slightly freaky happened to me this night. I was full on sleeping and dreaming when there was just the loudest noise I have ever heard in my life and I suddenly became lucid and went "wow, a lightning just struck our house, I should probably wake up" and just instantly found myself in my bed and there was actually a heavy thunderstorm outside that I had been previously unaware of within that dream. I fell back asleep again and when I woke up this morning I questioned if this actually happened but my mum also heard that loud ass bang. Now we're pretty sure it probably struck a house nearby and not ours but like at that moment that night I was not just convinced it was our house it was like I somehow knew it? Or felt it? Which is of course bullshit but it felt really freaky. I know your brain simply filters out noises when you sleep but is still aware of them. but it was so weird to go from being unaware I was in a dream to being absolutely unquestionably sure we had just been hit by lighting (even though I was probably wrong).

[chronivore]

Thunder Road Vendetta

[lumberwoof]

can't stop thinking about What if This Storm Ends? by Snow Patrol wrt Friskarm

[e-turn]

Hmmmmmm

is that just me or

Part 14!

I think that's the end of the episode:)

This part was originally much shorter. But then I saw this post and...ahh...it changed my brain chemistry forever~

Also! Today is a funny date. Because exactly seven months ago, I drew a silly little comic about Leo in a mug. And posted it on Tumblr, thinking it was a little joke I'd forget about the next day~

Part 1

[fairyysoup]

easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again. 

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever. 

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you. 

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world. 

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing. 

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you. 

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you. 

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt. 

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture. 

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough. 

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you. 

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him. 

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else. 

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me. 

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.” 

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?” 

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.” 

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.” 

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.” 

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur. 

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear. 

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.” 

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t. 

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now. 

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected. 

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin. 

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier. 

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate. 

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is? 

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet. 

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window. 

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes. 

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins. 

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?” 

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now. 

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder. 

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again. 

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan. 

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs. 

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue. 

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief. 

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.” 

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.” 

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it. 

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again. 

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you. 

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap. 

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness. 

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head. 

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it. 

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does. 

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down. 

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet. 

To keep you quiet. 

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.” 

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table. 

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other. 

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss. 

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear. 

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.

[amongemeraldclouds]

no take backs

As the earth collapsed around you, your sworn enemy decides to confess his feelings for you with a kiss. So when the world doesn’t end, what happens next?

Jess Mariano x f!Reader

Warning: 18+ only MDNI, fluff, slight angst, unprotected sex, piv, v!fingering, reader has anxiety (only plays a small part in the story), earthquake (no injuries)

Author’s note: Based on this request then I expanded on the concept. This fic is set after he left Stars Hollow.

✿ Masterlist | ✿ Jess Mariano Masterlist | 2.4k words

“Just because I’m letting you drive me home, does not mean we’re friends,” you huffed as you climbed into the passenger seat of Jess Mariano’s beat up car. Vintage, he called it. You’d never admit it, but you found it cute how he was proud of it. To him, it was his key to freedom, going anywhere he wanted whenever he wanted. Except for when nature had other plans.

“Well, a coworker could take his other coworker home, okay?” He said, closing the car door as he slid his keys into the ignition and started up the car. You relent and gave him your address.

It was just your luck that the Earth’s tectonic plates decided to shift in ways that damaged your car, but not your mortal enemy’s. Perhaps it was karma and you were being encouraged to make amends with him in the name of world peace. Try as you might however, the word “peace” and Jess Mariano just did not fit.

It certainly did not feel peaceful being trapped in a car with him. Your cheeks blushed as you remembered how soft his lips felt against yours and the eager way they moved as if it was the final thing he would ever do in his life. And for a few moments back at the publishing house, tucked safely beneath a table while the world shook violently around you, you were both convinced it was your last moments.

It was confusing. The way your heart hammered and you didn’t know if it was from fear of dy*ng or the way his kiss invaded your entire being. From the moans it elicited from your throat, to the air it stole from your lungs, and the butterflies that rushed in your stomach. It was hard to tell if it really was just an earthquake or the mind-shattering truth that your enemy might not actually hate you at all.

Then it was over too soon. The air felt cold without him close to you and he was pulling you up from under the table.

“So we’re just not going to talk about it?” You asked, piercing the awkward silence.

Jess just shrugged and spoke casually, “talk about what?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, of course he wasn’t going to make this easy for you. But he had no right confusing you with a kiss after constantly making your life a waking nightmare.

“Jess, you kissed me,” you deadpan, addressing the elephant in the room. “Coworkers don’t kiss other coworkers.”

“A lapse of judgment in a life-threatening situation,” he dismissed, keeping his eyes straight on the road.

Your mouth curled, the sweet aftertaste of his kisses turning sour. You fumed in silence as you looked outside the window with unfocused eyes. You weren’t sure what you were more upset about: his denial or your disappointment - having to face the horrid fact that you also didn’t hate your enemy.

“Shit, the road’s blocked,” Jess drew you out from the thunder of your thoughts as you looked at the cars lined up ahead. It was like a scene from one of those post-apocalyptic films you’ve seen and dread sank in your chest. Perhaps you should stick to watching cheesy rom coms because this pessimism was not helpful at all.

“Can we go somewhere else?” You whispered softly, anxiety bearing down your chest.

Jess looked at you with concern. “Sure, let’s find somewhere we can park until things get better,” he replied with an equally soft tone and you hated it because he knew all about your anxiety and penchant for panic attacks. You didn’t like being weak around him, not if he could be sweet and caring only to take it all back when you’re fine.

He parked the car in between buildings, sheltered from the wails of emergency response vehicles and the rush of people trying to go home. You exhaled after going through rounds of breathing exercises to calm your anxiety.

“My my, a secluded alley. Jess Mariano, whatever do you plan to do with me?” You quipped, mildly accusing him or m*rder when the other meaning dawned on you, something that made you blush. Well, it was too late to back out now.

He smirked, “whose to say you’re not the one who wants to do things with me with that line of questioning, huh?”

“I wouldn’t do anything if I was the only one who liked it,” you hedged. Perhaps life was too short to keep denying your feelings. If there was ever a better time to learn that lesson, it was now. You just needed him to admit he felt it too.

“I don’t like the idea of being k*lled, thanks,” he scoffed as he plastered on a smug smile.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” you looked outside the window, an idea forming in your head.

“It sure is getting hot,” you comment innocently as you undid the top buttons of your blouse. Jess’ eyes followed your movement and you don’t miss the way his breath hitches.

“Better get comfortable, right?” You said, adjusting the car seat to lean back and you felt your blouse open slightly to reveal your cleavage. You were not going to make it easy for him to deny his feelings.

“Stop that,” Jess demanded while his eyes told a different tale of desire and longing.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied lazily. Two can play that game.

That’s right Jess, you thought, here’s a dose of your medicine. You continued, “this is much better.” You leaned your head back and stretched on the seat, aware of how your skirt inched up your legs.

You let out a satisfied moan, sighing in pleasure at thoughts of getting comfortable. If by comfort, you meant the satisfaction of derailing Jess’ denial and stubbornness. His eyes traced your legs then followed your chest when they rose and fell with your sigh. 

Jess grunted and you bit back a smile. “Okay, fine. So I kissed you,” he admitted.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You said it meant nothing, so why would it matter?”

“I never said it meant nothing, I said it was a lapse of judgment.”

“There’s a difference?” You raised your eyebrow, challenging him to continue.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he steeled himself. To Jess Mariano, telling the truth meant peeling back the layers of his sarcasm, which was as painful as stripping off his skin.

“You know when they say the world is about to end, you’d think your life flashes before your eyes. But all I could see was you. And it wasn’t just because you were in front of me. God, I closed my eyes, and all I could see was still you. Laughing at your own jokes, greeting everyone with a smile, typing away on your computer. It would be such a shame if I didn’t get to kiss you if that was the last thing I’d ever do, damn it. But then the earthquake stopped and we were fine.”

Your eyebrows creased as you let his words sink in. “Is it really so bad that we survived?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, “I don’t think I could ever survive you. You frustrate me because you’re just so…you! You’re not someone I could just kiss once and get out of my system. I’d always want more and then I’d inevitably screw it up. It was better that you hated me from the start.”

His eyes burned with untold stories of heartbreak and self destruction. Despite all the ways he infuriated you, you wanted nothing more than to hold him. You had a feeling you were just seeing who he truly was beneath his smug smiles and his devil-may-care attitude.

“Jess, I don’t hate you,” you confess. “Don’t just make it one kiss,” you continue, allowing yourself to be just as honest as him. “Have another one, and another, and heck - have all of me!”

He looked at you in disbelief, as if he wished for the stars and he was told he could have the whole damn galaxy. A spark of joy and hope ignited something wild in him that he no longer let himself think of past regrets and mistakes.

He inched towards you, looking into your eyes for permission and you bridged the distance in response, kissing him. It was fiercer than when you both thought you were on the brink of de*th, because this time, it was a celebration of life and the possibilities that lay ahead.

You felt it when he sucked on your bottom lip and you moaned in pleasure, a small sound for all the words you couldn’t say. How all those time spent hating him was just a shield from your admiration of the man who took destiny in his own hands and never let the world define him.

The man who wrote stories and downplayed them through luck and how ink fumes must have altered his publisher’s minds to pick him. He never once acknowledged his talent, but secretly you did with the way you underlined your favorite sentences and re-read his book as if his words could wrap you in a sweet embrace.

He always kept you at an arm’s length and made your life hell, but it was heaven just being beside him. And you never dared to admit it. Until now, when he’s unbuttoning your blouse as he unravels your secrets. His mouth moves to your neck, setting your body on fire.

“Wait, what if someone sees us?” You ask, a wave of sobriety washing over you.

Jess just smirked, his lips pink and swollen, hungry for more of your kisses. “That’s half the fun.”

You rolled your eyes but god - you needed him. “And the other half?” You asked, mirroring his smirk.

“This,” he just says as he resumes your kiss.

It’s agony when you pull away again just to alleviate your anxiety, “can we at least go to the back?” It’s not much, but it’s better than being right by the windshield.

“Spacious,” he nods, moving away so you could climb over to the backseat. You felt the heat of his stare behind you as you settled in. 

He promptly followed suit until your bodies are tangled again with him laying you down the seat, careful so you don’t hit your head. You bring your hand to his stupid hair and run your fingers through it. His hands return to your blouse and your back arches on instinct when he unclasps your bra and he takes a moment to look at you. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes as he squeezes your breast while he licks the other, planting soft tender kisses.

In his car, the sirens and chaos faded. You were consumed by Jess’ touch, both curious and possessive at the same time. His free hand traveling down your leg as he caressed it, slowly making his way to your inner thigh. You can’t help the way you squirmed beneath him as you held your breath in anticipation. In response, you palm his erection beneath his uncomfortably tight jeans and you’re rewarded with a grunt.

He teased you through your panties and you open your legs for him as he moves the thin fabric aside to feel your soft folds. You bite your lip and try to stifle your moan, but Jess brings his mouth to your ear, “I need to hear you, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” You cursed in response, your mind swimming in a haze of euphoria.

His fingers send shockwaves of pleasure as he spreads your liquid heat, exploring your folds and paying attention to which sensations left you whimpering. He exploited them skillfully, rubbing and teasing, eager to make you a moaning mess for him. You gasped when he plunged his fingers inside you and you arched your back, needing him deeper.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he admires as he pumped his fingers in and out. You moved your hips against his hand, needing more of him. He was finally here, doing things you used to just dream about, secrets stashed beneath soft covers in your moonlit bedroom.

“Jess, please. I need to feel all of you,” you begged and his eyes darkened.

“I’m all yours,” he replied as he removed his fingers and cleaned them off with his tongue. “Fuck you taste so good.” 

You helped him free his hard length and you don’t stifle the needy moan that escapes you this time when he fills you up. He takes a few slow movements before building up to a steady pace, the delicious friction making your toes curl. “You feel amazing, Jess,” you tell him.

He kissed you as he rocked his hips into you, a clash of teeth and tongue. There was nothing gentle in the way you moved against each other, it was pure want and longing crashing into each other. It was months of fantasies finally coming true and desires unleashed building in your core.

The car moved along with you, giving you extra leverage to find your rhythm. The irony was not lost on you that as the world shook around you once again, things were falling into place this time.

Filthy, desperate whimpers escaped his lips and you spread your legs wider, needing him deeper inside you. He squeezed your breast in response and teased your taut nipples, eager to worship all of you. You closed your eyes when you felt yourself teetering on the edge.

“Look at me,” Jess tells you instead and so you do. You see the lust and passion in his eyes and it’s enough to unravel you. Little earthquakes of ecstasy erupt through you as you shuddered against him. He increases his pace, eager to coax every last aftershock of your orgasm. It doesn’t take long before you feel his release warming your insides. He rests his head in the crook of your neck as he recovers his breath.

When he pulls out, you swipe his spilled seed from your leg and bring it in your mouth, enjoying the salty taste. “Fuck you’re so hot,” Jess breathes out. 

You grin. “So this happened. You gonna deny it?” You challenged him as he held you.

“Nope,” he said with a grin. “This happened. You’re mine and I’m yours. No take backs.”

“No take backs,” you echoed as you leaned in for another kiss.

It was perfect. The world could end at that moment and you would not mind at all.

Still you were glad to stay alive. Because then, you could always go another round, and another. So it goes.

✿ Masterlist | ✿ Jess Mariano Masterlist

[tagamantra]

SLIT THE THROAT OF SELF RESTRAINT.

The world ended after the Second World Revolution failed. The Utter Islands is nothing but a divine corpse; humanity its festering maggots. But in an ancient temple guarded by demon bodhisattvas, the murdered martial artist Raxri Uttara awakens from a pool of azure healing waters.

Without memory, without power, but with rage: Raxri scours the archipelago to re-attain their lost martial arts and magicks, which once shattered godly spines. If they don't? The full force of Heaven will crash down upon them.

GOD OBLITERATING VAJRA is a Sword, Gun & Magick Wuxia webnovel set in the Utter Islands, an archipelago inspired by Revolutionary Asia and Esoteric Buddhism. A thundering archipelago where gun mystics duel with charnel saints. Dead gods power karmic skyships. The Latter Day of the Law: Revolution billows through streets and rivers lit by fulgent karma.

In a realm this belligerent, the chance of an amnesiac surviving is near 0.

But what can you do to someone that has nothing left to lose and everything to gain?

WHAT TO EXPECT

[✓] Disco Elysium X The Raid X Ip Man X Ruroni Kenshin X Tsongkhapa's Philosophy

[✓] Slow Burn Wuxia in an immersive Post-Apocalyptic Sword, Gun, & Magick world.

[✓] Multiple POVs

[✓] Brutal and kinetic martial art action. 

[✓] Fucked up relationships and coping mechanisms.

[✓] Some Horror. Some Opt-In Sexual Content. 

ABOUT HINGSAJAGRA

Hingsajagra is the Fantastic Realist world of God Obliterating Vajra. Inspired by Esoteric Buddhism and Revolutionary Asia. Giant cats turned into apartment complexes, ghost horse steeds that tire not, walking giant mechanical armors turned into public transportation, charnel wizards summoning the long-dead, witches wielding the Pureflame of Creation, the Machine God beginning its slick advance into forever progress... the Age of Furor is upon us. The Latter Day of the Law. The Termagant Buddha watches closely.

Art above by @gnarlyghost! Logo by me.

[kyuuumie]

random sfw billdip headcanons (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

headcanons below the cut (๑◕◡◕๑)

🌲 - dipper often reminds bill that he’s human and will die eventually, to which bill either scoffs, claiming he’ll just drag dipper back from the afterlife, or outright avoids the topic, unwilling to even entertain the idea.

⚠️ - bill loves showing off his vast knowledge of the universe, but dipper constantly questions and challenges him, which secretly delights bill because dipper’s curiosity is one of the things he adores most.

🌲 - dipper spends nights pouring over ancient texts and magical lore, while bill lazily hovers over his shoulder, correcting dipper’s translations or making fun of the humans who wrote the texts.

⚠️ - bill’s idea of a date is often something surreal, like visiting a nightmare dimension or exploring dreamscapes. dipper complains at first but ends up being intrigued by the strangeness.

🌲 - dipper is prone to overthinking and insomnia, so bill, who doesn’t need sleep, often floats around the room narrating absurd dream stories or weird facts to help dipper relax.

⚠️ - when they argue, bill tends to get loud and dramatic, sometimes altering reality to prove his point, while dipper stays calm and logical, which drives bill crazy.

🌲 - dipper has a fear of thunderstorms, and although bill doesn’t fully understand why he would be afraid of something harmless, he awkwardly tries to comfort dipper, sometimes making the thunder quieter or altering the storm to be less frightening.

⚠️ - bill will sometimes alter reality slightly, like changing the color of the sky to match dipper’s favorite shade of blue or making stars form constellations spelling out embarrassing messages of love.

🌲 - dipper struggles with trusting bill fully, always keeping one eye open for tricks, but deep down, he knows that bill wouldn’t harm him at this point—if he wanted to, he already had plenty of chances.

⚠️ - bill often has fantasies of apocalyptic scenarios where he and dipper rule over a broken world together, though he’s never shared it with dipper because he knows how much dipper values the world’s stability.

🌲 - whenever dipper has a nightmare, bill immediately senses it and dives in, reshaping the dream into something less scary, though he often makes it weird and chaotic instead.

⚠️ - bill gets incredibly jealous when dipper spends too much time with other people, making passive-aggressive comments or causing minor reality glitches as a sign of his displeasure.

🌲 - dipper constantly acts as bill’s moral compass, reminding him that not everything needs to end in chaos or destruction. this creates a strange dynamic where bill tries (and often fails) to tone down his destructive tendencies for dipper’s sake.

⚠️ - bill warps time whenever dipper is about to miss something important, like giving him an extra few hours to finish a project or study. dipper gets annoyed because it’s technically cheating, but he appreciates it.

🌲 - dipper sometimes struggles with the moral implications of being in love with someone as dangerous as bill, but he ultimately decides that love isn’t always black and white, and his feelings are genuine despite the risks.

⚠️ - bill constantly tries to make deals with dipper, offering outlandish rewards in exchange for little things like affection or time together. dipper always refuses, but bill keeps trying, purely for fun.

🌲 - dipper isn’t afraid to call bill out on his more questionable behavior, and though bill laughs it off, dipper knows that bill respects him more for being able to stand his ground.

⚠️ - bill struggles with human etiquette, often forgetting small social norms. dipper has to remind him not to laugh maniacally in public or avoid turning a small argument into a reality-warping event.

🌲 - dipper finds it hard to express his deeper emotions around bill, knowing that bill thrives on control and chaos. but in rare moments, he lets his guard down, and bill responds with surprising tenderness.

⚠️ - bill tries to cook for dipper but ends up using ingredients that are barely edible. dipper appreciates the effort, even if the food is... questionable.

🌲 - dipper’s natural curiosity sometimes drives him to ask bill questions about the darker aspects of the universe. while bill is more than willing to indulge, dipper always keeps a careful boundary between curiosity and crossing into moral grey areas.

⚠️ - bill sometimes reads dipper’s thoughts and responds to them before dipper can even say anything, which dipper finds both unsettling and endearing.

🌲 - dipper has become so desensitized to the supernatural that bizarre occurrences, like reality warping or bill’s eldritch transformations, no longer faze him.

⚠️ - bill often hints at his ability to make dipper immortal, teasing him with the idea of an eternity together, though dipper isn’t sure if bill is serious or just messing with him.

[valeskawhore]

IMAGINE:

APOCALYPSE AU?? PROXIES X READER (IDEA!)

A/N: This is an idea that I’ve been seeing all around tumblr from my mutuals and honestly, why the hell not? I love the idea of apocalyptic survival. Let me know if this should be a series !!

An eerie creak sounds out behind me as I opened the window, and Dust flooded the dimly lit room as I made my way inside. Exploring abandoned houses wasn't always a typical interest of mine, but staying warm and having a dry place to sleep at night was.

Rain clashed gently down on the roof from outside, crickets could be heard and soon the silence rested back into place when I pulled the cracked window shut from the other side.

This place definitely was not the best, but at least it was dry.

First thing I did was open my backpack, setting up candles and hanging an old sheet that I found laying in the corner, over the window to block out the light.

Repeatedly, I told myself that this was just temporary.

I didn't have enough food to last more than a few nights anyways. Walkers roamed more and more with every passing day, tho winter was coming and it was coming fast.

Hopefully, that would do something to slow the walkers, even if it was just by a few steps, I prayed.

With a sigh, I slowly sat down on the make-shift mattress that I made for myself, hearing my ankles pop in the process because man, I really needed to stretch more often, I'm not getting any younger.

I took off my baseball cap and pulled down my mask to breathe just a little bit clearer, running my fingers through my hair, I noticed how greasy it was. The thought made me disgusted since.. Well, I couldn't even imagine how I smelled and i didnt want to either.

Popping open a bottle of water, I drank my thirst away. Listening to the rain pour, the thunder crack and the sounds of the undead trudging along outside.

As I clenched my eyes shut for a second..

I blocked out the screams, the cries and pleads for help.. The cocking of guns and the growls of the unthinkable tearing and ripping the flesh of the people being eaten alive. My fingernails began to itch, my knuckles on fire, tears welding in my eyes.

“Y/N!!” She screamed, “HELP ME!!” she cried..

I sat my bottled water down, and lit up a cigarette.

“It’ll be ok..” I told myself, “Survive one more day, just one more,” everynight.

“I’ll find you baby.. one day..”

I closed my eyes.. Relaxed my body, breathed out deeply.

“Goodnight y/n” I told myself.

The front door clashed open.

*~*~*~~*~*~*~

“GET INSIDE! GET THE FUCK INSIDE!” A voice screamed. The sounds of the undead gurgled up the last of their life and slammed their heads against the door, screaming. I heard multiple people slamming themselves against the front door, refraining it from opening. “ROGERS, FIND SOMETHING, NOW. WE NEED TO BARD THE DOOR!”

“I-I-M OHN–ON IT!!” Someone stuttered.

I jumped up from my mattress, reaching for my gun and loading in the magazine. I threw the sleeping bag off of me, and unlocked the door. I heard the others rummaging down stairs for something to board the door. I peaked my head out,

Something suddenly rammed against my head, the door was torn open, slamming into my head. I fell back on my ass, and reached around lazily for my gun.

I heard a gasp fall above me, my vision was spinning, but I found my gun and raised it above me at the silhouette. There were two of them, then three, then two, until both shadow figures meshed into one guy. His face was something more,

Two dark brown eyes, greasy chestnut hair, he nose was already bleeding and there was a bandage covering up the right side of his lips stretching to his cheek bones.

He was definitely a young man, 23-24 maybe. Wearing yellow rusted-rimmed goggles, a blue hoodie with a tanned, older jacket overtop, there was a black and gray-ish mask wrapped around his neck and pulled up over his face. The (now) snickering man wore stained blue jeans and some bloodied converse.

His laugh rang out through my skull, pounding against my ear lobes. His eyes became impossibly wide now, canines glimmering in the moonlight as thunder cracked in the background.

With one final sadistic smile,

He picked up his double hand axes and raised them high, His laughter almost screams now, The screams of a hyena, a skinwalker luring its prey.

The young man brought the axes down quickly,

I rolled over with a small scream, doing my best to avoid the hard steel.

I fumbled around on the ground, reaching for my gun.

When I had it in my hand, the man jumped on me and slammed my back into the hardwood floor. The house was so old that dust jumped into the air, and swam around. I clenched my eyes shut and coughed until I could breathe again. I felt his boney hands wrap around my throat, his skin uncomfortably cold and white. I kicked my feet behind him and threw my head back,

The man let up his grip but didn't scream out in pain, his laughter only grew.

I grabbed the boy's hair and threw him off of me, his body collided against the wall,

Because,

His body actually went through it, clashing into the room next to us.

Dust flooded the room once more, and as the psychopath took longer than expected to rise back to his feet, I grabbed my sleeping bag and ran downstairs, contents loosley in hand.

I struggled to throw my jacket on as i ran down the steps,

A shorter figure stepped in front of me, and stuck his leg out, successfully tripping me in the process. I felt my world being flipped upside down as my rib cage cracked against the staircase. I coughed up blood, my heartbeat in my ears as I laid there motionless.

With my vision dark, i could only here throat-ripping screeching from the outside world,

Three figures stepped in my view of the door, I pulled my arms in front of me and did my best to drag my body away. I moaned out in a breath-less cry as I felt the rusted nails sticking out of the wood flooring scraped against my cracked ribs.

Something stopped me, whoever or.. Whatever it was, grabbed my achilles heel and dragged me back in the living room with one strong pull.

They flipped me on my back, blood dripped down the corner of my mouth as I did my best to control my breath. Hesitantly, I reached my hand up and folded my fist into a weak, shaky middle finger, my ‘fuck you’ to the world.

I heard one of them snicker before the tallest one leaned down carefully, dark red painted eyes peered into mine before he pulled off my mask. I had a surge of anger come over me, as I reached to kick him in the balls but he caught my leg, almost expecting it even. His grip tightened menacingly on my thigh, before he gave my cracked rib cage an almost impossibly fast sucker punch.

I coughed out blood on instinct, my body spasming. I held my chest and my body folded forwards, my knees to my chest. “F-fuck you..” I coughed, tears streaming down my face.

His hand, still on my thigh, tightened once more. Leaning close to my face, the stranger whispered..

“What.. do we have here?”

[daengtokki]

For Seubgmin's birthday countdown, could I request an apocalypse scenario where Seungmin is worried about reader coming back late from going out to get resources and thinking something might have happened to her. Like he's worried and catastrophizing and maybe they got into a small argument before she left so now he's scared his last words to her were ones of anger but he was just concerned about her safety going out alone? 💘💓💖💗❤️

Kim Seungmin/gn!reader

wc: ~1.2k

rating: post-apocalyptic fluff

Seven hours...it isn’t that long…eight hours? he thinks. No, not really, considering how long he and the others have taken before. But he knows how uncertain the usual paths in and out are, and how many there are to take. At any moment, one can be completely wiped from the map. Before you get back, he thinks again. The horrible, intrusive thoughts that won’t go away until they run through his mind, so he lets them. It could happen before you even start back home.

“Okay, enough,” he tells himself, out loud this time, and it’s strange hearing his own voice echo in the room. Seungmin heads for the doorway, and peeks outside. The others are here, most of them, crowded around a bonfire, laughing and drinking. Why didn’t anybody go with you? He knows why. It’s because you didn’t ask anyone to go along, because you’re stubborn and used to being alone. And angry at him, probably.

This is all his fault. He sets his palm against his forehead and tries to gauge his temperature, but he’s no good at this. If you were here, you could tell if it went down from this morning, or up, or stayed the same. But it doesn’t matter, he feels well enough if you don’t count the horrible nauseated feeling in his gut, or the tightness in his chest. Sucking in a deep breath takes effort, but he manages.

You’d laugh at him and pinch his cheeks if you saw him so worried, tease him mercilessly until he couldn’t come back from it. Were it anyone else, they wouldn’t stand a chance against Seungmin, but you beat him at his own game every time.

“Please…” he starts again, speaking to the floor as he starts to strip and head for the bed. “Please,” spread eagle on top of the blankets, eyes fixed on the ceilings. “Just come back. I can’t do this alone.”

~

"Minnie…I can call you that? Are you sure?"

"Of course I’m sure"

"Well, I heard you giving someone attitude when they called you that before…when I first got here."

You’re right, he hates the nickname coming from most people. He used to like it, months ago when the world was still in one piece, but everything is different now. There’s not much space left for that kind of softness, not to him. But…

'I did, you’re right. You can call me Minnie."

A roll of thunder in the distance makes his stomach sink and his heart thump in his throat. He can’t think straight enough to figure out if it’s coming from the direction you most likely went.

“You’re not going anywhere with a fever, Minnie. Get back into bed.”

“And you don’t have to go at all. Leaving when you’re mad won’t make things better.”

“I’m not mad”

“You should be. Why aren’t you pissed at me?"

"Because I love you, and I don’t wanna be angry. I was hoping you felt the same."

He stares, frozen. Again.

"No?"

The words never come out, even though he desperately wants them to, so he ends up looking like an asshole.

~

“I love you, too.” Seungmin stares up at his outstretched hand, letting his perception switch from the ceiling, to the jagged scar across his knuckles. Lightning flashes, and he jumps when thunder cracks, much closer this time. “I do.”

The slow start of rain brings everything crashing down on him. You’re out there in this—the thunder, and the lightning. He left you go when he could have stopped you. Seungmin closes his eyes, and he knows his mind will keep going, but the fever will at least put him to sleep.

It does. Everything quiets, and slowly slips away.

He dreams of you, a fever dream…everything is slow and strange. But it’s so real. Maybe he can tell you here, and you’ll feel it wherever you are. But he moves his mouth, and the words stick in his throat. Just like in his waking life. And just like you…your words do come out… Minnie

It feels good to hear your voice, even far away and in a dream. You’re burning up, sweetie…

Seungmin’s eyes open to a blur of light and colors. The lamplight, he can smell the oil. Candles. The smell of rain and something else. It’s you. He knows that scent; you, after working and sweating in the heat all day. Seungmin is feral for it, and everything else about you. Finally, you come into view. You’re drenched, and muddy.

“You’re home.” He smiles. Or tries to. His muscles don’t seem to be working yet. “I was so worried.”

“You were worried? Have you had any water while I was gone?”

No, he doesn’t think he had a drop all day. “A little.”

“I found some yarrow, but then I found more aspirin, so we’ll start with that.”

He and his stupid fever, that’s why you left? "It would have broken eventually," he’s sure, but that’s not good enough for you. “You could have gotten hurt, or lost…or worse.”

“It hasn’t gone down for three days, but it will now. And I never get lost. Sit up.”

Even your softest voice is a little demanding, and he loves it. You hand him two little pills, and Seungmin swallows them down with his first drink of water all day.

“Good boy,” You barely get the words about before he’s reaching for you. Seungmin brings you closer, and wraps his arms so tight around you—he’s not sure where the strength to do it came from.

“I’m sorry,” he tugs at your jacket and your shirt to find skin to kiss, “I’m an ass.” He savors the taste, the salt of the rain, and your sweat.

“No you’re not, Minnie”

He pulls more, and you let him continue. Seungmin kisses and nips across your chest, pulls you onto his lap, and buries you in his embrace. “I was today.”

“You haven’t been feeling well”

“I should’ve told you how much I love you.” Your lips feel cool against his burning skin. He loosens his grip so you can pull away and look at him. “Oh, you’re hurt.” He takes your arm and holds it gently, runs his fingers up and down the deep scratches, still fresh and angry looking.

“It’s nothing”

The heat from his hands and lips probably sting, but if so, you don’t show it. “So I’m telling you now.” Seungmin kisses up your arm and tastes the blood, comes back down, kisses your wrist and your palm. He grabs both of your hands and places them on his cheeks, damp from sweat. “And you’re not leaving my sight ever again.”

“But you show me all the time.” You kiss his neck again, and his cheek, and the tip of his warm nose.

Seungmin holds you there, “can I show you right now?” He asks, but takes a kiss before you answer—deep and messy and fever-warm like the rest of him. “Please.”

“That would be very irresponsible of me”

“But you love being irresponsible,” he says into your mouth. Seungmin doesn’t want to let go of your lips now that he has them back.

“You’re right, I do”

[rei-ismyname]

Storm with Mjolnir

Goddess of Thunder twice over, worthy AF

Thor summons Ororo right at the climax of the Genesis War. She demands he return her to Arakko, but this is a much bigger problem. Also, how TF does Al Ewing write Immortal Hulk, SWORD, Guardians of the Galaxy, Venom, X-Men Red, Resurrection of Magneto, and Immortal Thor either back to back or at the same time? He's a beast.

Cheeky 'Cyclops was right' poster in the background

It all started when Thor returned to Midgard and found it not to his liking. He smote some ORCHIS fascists and freed mutants until presented with an apocalyptic problem only he could solve. Toranos, a rival jerk of a Thunder God.

After temporarily banishing him at a high cost, Thor needed allies! First was Ororo.

Ororo doesn't like being summoned.

But there are forces that even a God must bow to. She zaps the shit out of Thor, though it kinda looks like he enjoys it.

Thor simply asks the lightning to stop then tries to explain himself.

Ororo turns up the heat while Ewing references his own work and gets metatextual with a little jab at powerscalers. Thor flings Mjolnir at/to Storm, leading to the first panel I posted. Thororo rides again!

Loki shows up and apologises for the events of Asgardian Wars in the 80s, then he gets metatextual too. He also portals in Beta Ray Bill.

Loki touches Mjolnir and Jane Foster arrives. The new Thor Corps is born! Very fucking cool.

[yxtubers]

𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

matt sturniolo x reader (fluff)

summary: following the hot summer weather, a thunderstorm brews as you look to matt for comfort and warmth

warnings/notes: none! lmk if i missed something though

requested?: no

> > >

The past few months had been scorching hot. Almost everyday was spent in shorts, bikinis, or crop tops - and a huge layer of sunscreen. The sun always blazed into the living room causing the beautiful rays to paint your furniture golden.

Yet with each passing day spent at the beach, the looming knowledge that a thunderstorm would soon follow grew stronger and stronger.

It’s not that you didn’t like storms, or even the rain, but loud noises had always scared you and LA storms were like no other. They were louder than your typical storms and the volume at which the rain smashed against the windows drowned out any other outside noises.

The streets looked almost apocalyptic - deserted and flooded. Trees were flailing about, causing the leaves and branches to let go of their homes, one by one.

Your kitchen was desaturated, a slight grey hue strewn across your apartment. The fear that something would leak somewhere crawled into your mind and your anxiety grew by the second. Today was already too stressful - a leak was the last thing you needed. Grabbing the popcorn you had just made, you made your way out of the kitchen and towards the couch.

Matt had decided to put on a movie for you two as your date night had gotten rudely interrupted by the storm. He suggested that you two watch a horror movie because apparently it was “too scenic not to”. Which, to be fair, it was true it that the weather was perfect for a scary movie.

On the other hand, you sort of wished that you could watch a silly romcom or something instead. Too embarrassed to admit to Matt that you were afraid to mix a horror movie with a thunderstorm, you decided to give in and let him find one to put on.

Making it to the living room, you plopped down next to him and placed the popcorn onto the coffee table in-front of you. Getting comfortable and snuggling into your shared blanket, you placed your head on Matt’s shoulder as you waited for him to press play on the movie.

A particularly loud clap of thunder sounded, and you all but jumped out of your skin at the sudden break in silence.

Matt rubbed your shoulder in comfort, chuckling at your startled state. “You okay?” he asked.

Not trusting your voice to not tremble, you simply nodded and cuddled further into him.

“We don’t have to watch the movie if you’re scared,” he stated, grabbing the popcorn from the table and placing it on his lap.

“I’m not scared,” you scoffed. There was no way you were about to admit to being afraid of a simple thunderstorm. So, with the last ounce of bravery that you could muster, you grabbed the remote and pressed play.

However, as time passed you seemed to regret not switching the movie to something more lighthearted. Every strike of lightning that flooded the room made you more and more tense. The boom of thunder that followed made your eyes squint shut in discomfort - how could anybody find this relaxing? It felt like a real life jump-scare each time.

It didn’t help that as soon as the thunder stopped, the movie’s score picked up and a creature popped onto the screen.

“Fuck,” you exclaimed, pausing the movie immediately. Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, and your breathing quickened in an attempt to get more air into your panicked body.

You expected Matt to laugh at your shocked state, but instead he grabbed your hands in his.

“Hey, baby,” he said trying to grab your attention.

Turning your dilated pupils towards him, you hummed in response. A simple ‘hm?’ was all you could really even muster.

“What’s wrong? You’re shaking.”

His warm hands found your back as he rubbed up and down, attempted to calm your body down. His other hand tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, hoping to offer some comfort to you.

Your eyes trailed to the window behind him, and you flinched as yet another bolt of lightning struck.

Matt’s eyes widened in realization.

“Is it the storm?” he asked, watching you nod. “I’m sorry I should’ve realized sooner.”

Putting the popcorn back onto the table, he scooted closer to you, wrapping you up fully in the blanket and hugging you close to his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me? You know you can talk to me about anything,” he whispered. His hands caressed your head, making sure to push any stray hairs away from your forehead.

“It’s- I was embarrassed,” you admitted, shoulders relaxing against him.

You could feel Matt make a noise of disbelief next to you.

“I’m not here to judge you. I’d rather you admit that you’re scared of cotton candy than have you deal with it on your own and be uncomfortable.”

You let out a little laugh of amusement, tilting your head to look up at him. His ocean blue eyes were soft as he scanned your face, his hand moving down to rest upon your cheek.

Thumb grazing across your lip, he leaned down to give you a peck.

“You don’t have to be afraid when I’m here, okay?” he mumbled against your lips. “I’ll always be there to protect you from the big bad storms,” Matt added, trying to bring some humour to the situation.

Upon seeing you smile, his own grin appeared on his face soon after. Your head found his chest once again as you sat in silence. His hands squeezed you to him each time the thunder clapped and in the warmth of his embrace, you almost forgot of the storm completely.

“Does this mean we can change the movie?” you asked.

“One hundred percent,” said Matt, reaching for the remote and exiting out of the current movie.

You watched his eyes flick from movie to movie, the blue light illuminating his gentle features. Of course, he was always pretty, but right now he looked like the most beautiful boy in the world to you.

“Hey, Matt?” you whispered.

“Hm?”

“Thank you for being here.”

He turned to give you his sweet smile, rubbing your shoulder. “Always.”

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 18: Amnesia

and the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up | @cassiecasyl Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2,704 Main Tags/Warnings: Memory Loss, Castiel in the Empty (Supernatural), Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Dean Winchester is a mess, Confusion, Dissociation, Dreams vs. Reality, Dean Winchester is Going Through It, Dean Winchester Has Issues, Hopeful Ending, Castiel reaching out to Dean, Dean Winchester Needs Castiel, Castiel Says "I Love You" (Supernatural), Angst, Hurt/Comfort Summary: The skeletons in Dean's closet are divine, but the hole inside his chest sheds feathers, and you know what they say about the thing with feathers.

three card stud | @autisticandroids Rating: Mature Word Count: 4,356 Main Tags/Warnings: Season Six, Script Format, Canon Remix, Pre-Slash, Experimental Style, Dark, Dean-Cas-Lisa Love Triangle, Infidelity Subtext, Mindwipe, Summary: A collection of script excerpts for a version of Season Six that goes a bit differently. Cas and Dean conspire. Lisa is oblivious, and they keep her that way. Dr. Freud always said nightmares were based on wishes, too.

After the Thunderstorm | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4,630 Main Tags/Warnings: Apocalypse AU, angel!Castiel, memory loss, hunter!Dean, enemies to lovers, falling in love, angel grace kink, top!Castiel/bottom!Dean Summary: Thunderstorms are weird in the Apocalyptic World. But they are known as dangerous and deadly. It's one of those nights, and the thunder brings a naked and beautiful man to the Human Resistance Camp. The man doesn't remember his past or who he is. Dean, the leader of the Resistance, will try to help him. They need all the help they can get against the heartless angels.

Remember When | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 11,031 Main Tags/Warnings: Season 8, canon divergence, time travel, memory loss, case fic, slow burn Summary: Trying to find the demon tablet in the supernatural auction, Cas and Dean found Toth, an egypcian god of time. He sees the angel is being controlled by Naomi and decides to help him by putting him and Dean to a test. Sending them to England, Regency era. Or… how Dean has to deal with Emmanuel!Castiel, the angelic loss of memories and his wife Daphne again.

Map to Yesterday | @amaranthhiding Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 23,003 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Universe, Mass Amnesia on Team Free Will, Mystery, Magic, Road Trips, Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery of Identity, Angel Wings, Rowena Is Part of Team Free Will, DCRB 2022 Summary: Team Free Will wakes up with no memory of where they are, or who they are. Left with nothing but some foggy shreds of their identities, they have to rediscover themselves and each other—and team up to piece together what even happened.

Here We May Be Free | @friendofcarlotta Rating: Explicit Word Count: 39,506 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Canon, Mermaid Castiel, Hunter Dean Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Fluff and Angst, Canon-Typical Suicidal Ideation, Amnesia, Magic, Falling In Love, Misunderstandings, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Top/Bottom Versatile Castiel/Dean Winchester, Creature Sex/Monsterfucking Summary: When Dean was eleven, he saw something in the ocean: a boy with blue eyes and iridescent scales. Almost twenty years later, a spontaneous detour after a hunt brings Dean and Sam back to the town where that encounter took place. And Dean can’t shake the feeling that Castiel, the owner of the local Mermaid Museum, looks familiar…

Unveil the Splendours of Your Heart | @thefandomsinhalor Rating: Mature Word Count: 68,868 Main Tags/Warnings: Modern AU, Homeless Dean, Famous Model Castiel, Memory Loss, Trauma, Assault, Hurt Dean, Fluff and Angst, Addict Sam, Protective Castiel, Cuddles, Pining Summary: When a reporter asks Dean, a homeless man with a mysterious past, why he exclusively keeps close to the billboards and posters of a specific male model—the one Dean likes to refer to as the angel with spectacular blue eyes—in a moment of weakness, thinking it won’t change anything about his situation, Dean tells him the truth: it’s how he finds comfort and solace. Something that is difficult to come by. That is until the story reaches the ears of Castiel Novak, the model in question.

Two Worlds Apart | @destiel-pirate-in-middleearth Rating: Mature Word Count: 70,329 Main Tags/Warnings: Amnesia au, Past Castiel/Dean Winchester, Starting Over, Amnesiac Dean Winchester, Falling In Love Again, Mutual Pining, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Nightmares, Dark fic, Meet cute. Summary: After being injured in a car accident and suffering memory loss, Dean spent the last five years attempting to put his life back together. The majority of his memories return, but something still remains missing—something he can't identify—that everyone is hiding from him, something that always remains unanswered. Dean’s past comes back to haunt him when he visits Sioux falls for a business meeting where he meets a stranger named Castiel. Something about the man seems strange and oddly familiar which makes Dean wonder if he knows him. But the guy always denies that. And that marks the beginning of a quest to solve the mystery of his past hidden in between those recurring dreams which becomes more vivid the more time he spends with Castiel which soon leads to a painful realisation and series of regrets.

[elliespuns]

I feel like Joel miller is kind of like the man all the lesbians love. Not romantically ofc but like he weirdly gets along with lesbians more than anyone else.

Whatever the reason, Joel is the straight guy who always seems to find himself surrounded by a coterie of lesbian homies. He's the GBF (gay best friend) before there was even a term for it. All the gay ladies just flock to him, drawn in by his salt-and-pepper beard, his gruff yet gentle demeanor, and those soulful eyes that have seen so much trauma and yet still sparkle with kindness.

Joel may be a killing machine who has fought his way across a post-apocalyptic wasteland, but deep down he's a big softie. The kind of guy who loves carving wood toys for kids and drinking coffe from an owl mug. And the lesbians can probably sense that. They see the real him—the sensitive artist trapped in a hulking mass of muscle and machismo.

Plus, let's be real, he's the perfect wingman. With Joel as your platonic date, none of the gay ladies need to worry about being hit on. He's got that whole smoldering, aloof, don't-fuck-with-me vibe locked down. He's like a human "lesbians only" bouncer. And since he's so obviously straight, they know he's no threat to steal their thunder.

So there you have it—Joel Miller, unwitting lesbian magnet and everyone's favorite heartthrob GBF. The man who won the apocalypse and stole the hearts of the WLW community in the process.

[wifelinkmtg]

There's "spaghetti western" and then there's whatever the hell this Chef Boyardee shit is

Hello! and welcome back to Wifelink. We're talking about Outlaws of Thunder Junction today, Magic's second product in a row set in a version of Nevada, and let me tell you something: I am not impressed. The mechanics are uninspired, the setting is undercooked, the story is overstuffed, and to top it all off the whole thing smacks of settler-colonialism. AND they yassified Vraska, the monsters!

WE WILL GET TO THE HOT WOMEN, BELIEVE YOU ME, BUT FIRST I AM GOING TO COMPLAIN SOMEWHAT, AS IS MY RIGHT AS AN AMERICAN, AS A HUMAN BEING, AND AS A GAMER

The mechanics we've discussed elsewhere, and I will skim over the main storyline except to say that very few of this Big Villain Heist Team-Up gets enough spotlight to justify their inclusion here beyond getting recognizable names on cards, and that Rakdos' presence on the plane alone ought to be an apocalyptic calamity. I appreciate Jace & Vraska going full blackpilled accelerationist, stealing a baby, and aiming to destroy the multiverse & start over (a novel hybrid of Raising Arizona and Doctor Strangelove,) but I also know, sure as the sun rises, that whatever happens with their villain arc will be a underwhelming let-down.

What I actually want to complain about, though, is the setting. Thunder Junction ain't real, and I don't mean it's fictional, I mean it's plywood facades on a backlot. It's the set for a cowboy film. You feel me? This ain't a plane, it's a god damned sound stage.

Lemme go over the facts: we know Thunder Junction has been settled for a bit over a year. A year! - and yet there's multiple towns, multiple railways, and an honest-to-god metropolis. Less than two years and we already have ghost towns! This is not the product of a bunch of people on various planes all individually deciding to seek a new life in the off-world colonies. All of this represents a staggering quantity of people, material, wealth, and labor, being moved between planes, directed and organized - but by whom? For what reason? How, even? The story is totally uninterested in these questions.

One of the few silver linings to the way the Phyrexian invasion storyline ended was that the Omenpaths had a lot of interesting potential! Different planes would come into direct contact with each other for the first time ever! Different technologies, different philosophies and religions, different kinds of magic colliding, coming into conflict, adapting and adjusting to each other. And after a couple of sets where the interplanar contact was limited to one or two particularly adventurous individuals, we finally get to see what interplanar contact at scale looks like here in Thunder Junction... and it just looks like a John Wayne flick. Did people not bring their culture with them? Is there a big rack of hats and boots and dusters right where people step off the Omenpath? Shuck off those old Ravnican rags, kid, get changed. You'll spoil the aesthetic. I mean, it's baffling.

Luxurious Locomotive (art by Leon Tukker). This is one of the few man-made parts of this plane that I can look at and know where it came from: this is a Kaladeshi design. More of this sort of thing would have made Thunder Junction feel more like a real place and less like a Sergio Leone joint.

There's a side story, No Tells, by Isaac Fellman, which I quite like actually: it's about guilt and betrayal and the inevitable regrets of having moved into a queer housing co-op, and one of the things that makes it great is that we know where Yuma came from (New Capenna), we know why he left (the limitations of "be gay do crimes" as praxis under capitalism), and we know what he brought to Thunder Junction with him (cocktails, pool tables, and his co-op's emergency funds). Fellman has written nothing else for Wizards and doesn't play Magic, and even so he's done more to make Thunder Junction feel like a real place situated in a real history than the rest of the story team combined - which goes to show, one, that we should only let trans people write magic story for the next decade or so, and two, that what I'm asking for in terms of worldbuilding is not unattainable, or even that difficult.

And all of this ties into the colonialism, right? Thunder Junction is being colonized, and asking questions about who benefits, who's sponsoring this breakneck settlement of the plane, what they're after and so forth would require the story to take a good hard look at the process of colonization itself, and Wizards is flatly unwilling to engage with anything that thorny in their products. So, just as Ixalan involved a limp-wristed slant reenactment of the Spanish conquest of the Americas - but it's fine because they're the bad guys and they're technically not even trying to colonize Ixalan and they don't win anyway so no one gets hurt! - Thunder Junction is attempting to present a Disneyland version of Western colonialism. Untamed wilderness! Bringing civilization to uninhabited deserts! How cool and heroic these hard frontiersmen and -women are! I'm told they brought in Navajo cultural consultants for the Atiin, a fantasy equivalent, and I hope those folks were well compensated! The Atiin seem cool, and the one Atiin character we spend any time with is well-written, but the Atiin are not indigenous to Thunder Junction. They're not being colonized. And if there weren't anybody being colonized, I'd probably still dislike the colonial vision of a wild land inhabited only by animals, just waiting for us to shape it to our will with railways and violence, but there is in fact a native race of sapients on Thunder Junction, and these cactus folk get no voice in the story, so if they have some kind of opinion on the rapid colonization of their home and the clear-cutting of their cactus forests, we don't get to hear about it.

Prickly Pair (art by Brian Valeza) Too much of the extremely-limited presence Thunder Junction's only indigenous sapients have on the cards is devoted to cactus-based puns like this one, which is pretty distasteful given, you know, the colonialism.

I'm talking about colonialism not because I think that replicating colonial myths in fantasy fiction is an unethical thing to do - although it is - but because you can see, right, that Thunder Junction's lack of verisimilitude is intertwined with the colonial vision of the world at play here, yeah? The story wants to have cool cowboy shootouts and train robberies and it does not want its cowboy fantasy to be complicated by uncomfortable realities, so it has to avoid all of the basic worldbuilding questions that would tell us who the colonization benefits and how they're profiting off the plane, and in the end we're left with nothing but an empty aesthetic, like a duster hanging off a scarecrow, blowing in the wind.

ANYWAY SO WOMEN

To be honest, under the circumstances I'm not really feeling like giving the fine women of Thunder Junction my usual more elaborate treatment, so we're going to lightning-round this shit, which is at least thematic.

Blood Hustler (art by Anna Pavleeva)

Vampire MILF.

Rattleback Apothecary (art by Loïc Canavaggia)

Snake MILF.

Wrangler of the Damned (art by Michal Ivan)

Cis lesbian haircut, good with a rope.

Obeka, Splitter of Seconds (art by Ryan Pancoast)

BIG