#are things finally getting heated?

[apomaro-mellow]

Part 3

Do yall got a favorite cereal mascot? Mine’s the Honey Nut Cheerios bee

Steve watched as Eddie dazzled a field trip of elementary students by having a load of birds up and down both arms, perched on his gangly limbs like branches. This demon, who had shown him more human compassion than his own parents. This demon, who Steve would only be able to be around so long as his wish was unfulfilled...

They were around snakes next and Steve got to watch as Eddie entertained a different group of children by letting a large snake curl around his shoulders after a quick ‘don’t try this at home, kids’. Eddie kept the more adventurous occupied, while Steve got to have a small moment with a boy who was more apprehensive around snakes.

He felt a surge of triumph and warmth when he was able to get the boy confident enough to pet the snake that was coiled around his wrist. The boy lit up like a whole new world had been opened up for him. Steve was beginning to understand the feeling.

“So?”, Eddie asked as they walked the path between exhibits. “What about this?”

“I like animals. And kids. And being outdoors”, Steve said.

“So is it a winner?”

Steve thought about it. “Don’t people usually feel like a...a spark or something? Something that makes it feel like their calling?”

“Is that what you want? A calling?”

Steve nodded. “Something that makes me really feel like I belong.”

“Then we’ll find that place”, Eddie promised him.

“Before we go, can we see the tigers? They’re my favorite.”

As if Eddie was going to deny him anything now. They stood outside the tiger enclosure and Steve watched them move about, lighting up a little when he saw one of them had a cub tailing after it. Meanwhile, Eddie watched Steve. Beautiful, beautiful Steve.

After the zoo stint, Eddie took them through a door that took them back into the apartment.

“We’re here again?”, Steve questioned, back into the t-shirt and sweats he put on that morning. He looked to the door and tried opening it himself, but it was locked shut.

“We’ve had a big, full day. And little mortals need their sleep. And that door only works for me, by the way. Even if you did get it open, you’d be falling through an endless void until it chose where to spit you up.”

“What are we gonna do for the rest of the day, then?”

“Now we get to do what I want”, Eddie waggled his brows and his voice got deep and for a moment Steve felt a bit like prey.

He didn’t know whether he was relieved or disappointed when Eddie sat him down on the small couch and put a movie on.

“So tigers are your favorite animal, huh?”

“Yeah”, Steve replied as the movie started.

“Alright”, Eddie got comfortable next to Steve and grinned. The kind of grin that worried Steve. “Fuck, marry, kill - Tony the Tiger, Count Chocula, the Trix Rabbit.”

For a moment, Steve just sat there, dumbfounded by the question. While Eddie waited expectantly. When Steve finally found his voice, it was in spurts and bursts.

“Why would you-how would you even-fuck?! First of all, Tony is a mentor. He’s a coach, he’s not gonna fuck his players. And I wouldn’t kill him.”

“Okay, you’d marry Tony. Good to know.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“And the rabbit?”

“I wouldn’t marry a rabbit either. Or fuck one.”

“Kill the Trix Rabbit. He’s a cereal thief anyway. So that just leaves the Count...and one choice left...”, Eddie smirked.

Steve took a second to catch up and his jaw dropped. “No.”

“You landed on marry Tony, kill the Trix Rabbit. By process of elimination that means-”

“I wouldn’t fuck Count Chocula!”

“Why not?”

“First of all, he’s a cartoon-”

“Irrelevant to the conversation.”

“Second, he’s not even a real vampire. He’s a chocolate vampire.”

Eddie turned to sit on his side, facing Steve more while draping his arm across the back of the couch. “Are you gonna change any of your answers?”

Steve’s arms crossed as he seriously contemplated it. Eddie knew he was in deep trouble when he could just stare at him sitting there for hours.

“What’re you thinkin’ about, gorgeous?”

“Tony the Tiger would be a good husband. He’s great with kids”, Steve answered and tried not to think about how warm he got when Eddie called him that. “And the Trix Rabbit is notoriously bad with children.”

“Hey, Steve?”

“What?”

“You’re a vampire fucker.”

“Did you put a movie on just so we could ignore it?”

“I was just getting a feel”, Eddie said. “There’s two kinds of people who enjoy Robin Hood.”

“I don’t even wann know what kind of people you’re referring to”, Steve said with a shake of his head. Then a thought occurred to him. “You know, you’re kinda like a vampire.”

Eddie’s brain shot to the moon with what Steve could be implying and where this conversation could take them.

“....Go on.”

“You’re ancient and you need to drink blood.”

Eddie gasped. “Ancient? I don’t look a day over 20 and I have the stamina of a demon half my age.”

“And the blood?”

“Well you know that’s true.”

Steve’s gaze dropped from Eddie’s and went back to the screen as he began. “Speaking of...”

“Speaking of?”

“Don’t you need some now?” Steve looked back at him.

“’Need’ is a strong word.” But ‘want’? ‘Desire’? He was leaning heavily towards ‘lust’ at this point. Eddie’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Steve’s eyes followed the motion. It felt like they were teetering towards something.

Steve thrust his hand out towards Eddie. “Here. Considering that coffee you made, I think your body could use this.”

Eddie took the hand without thinking, let his thumb stroke Steve’s knuckles. There was a prominent vein sticking out on the back of his hand and Eddie wanted to follow it to Steve’s heart with his lips. But as it were, receiving a bite on the back of the hand was probably pretty painful.

Instead, he held Steve’s hand delicately. Eddie held eye contact with him as he bit down in the meat between his thumb and index finger. He was rewarded with seeing Steve’s eyes flutter as he broke the skin. What was even sweeter than the blood on his tongue was the blush growing on Steve’s cheeks.

Eddie only sipped for a couple of moments, knowing that if he indulged, he wouldn’t know when to stop. He licked at Steve’s hand to heal the pricked skin but couldn’t release him just yet.

“You wanna ask me something”, Eddie surmised, looking into his eyes.

“I wanna ask you...for something. But I don’t know if I can.”

“Is it the kind of thing you’ve asked for before?”

The corner of Steve’s lips pulled up. “Not verbally, no. I’ve always just like, put out a vibe or something.”

“Try me then”, Eddie smirked.

Steve looked down at their hands, still in each other’s grasp and slowly put his fingers between Eddie’s. His other hands moved to cup Eddie’s face, his fingers getting lost in that curtain of hair.

“Come here”, Steve nearly whispered as he pulled him in for a kiss.

Part 5

Tag Team

@swimmingbirdrunningrock @flustratedcas @estrellami-1 @weirdandabsurd42 @lololol-1234 @chaoticvictorianspirit @giopandaonice @marklee-blackmore @blackpanzy @kacatshi

@stevesbipanic @goodolefashionedloverboi @panicatthediaz @gregre369 @littlewildflowerkitten @starryeyedpoet17 @envyadams-vs-me @abbiecadabi-blog

@genderless-spoon  @stxrcrossed186 @l0st-strawberry @willowsmelody @bornonthesavage @mxmakessense @roaringgoodshow @potato-of-the-lord @actualwakingnightmare @meccaminayah

[lighthouseas]

will holding mike's face when they kiss and mike holding will's neck when they kiss. that is all

[alongtidesoflight]

i swear my stepdad is so illogical AND stubborn it hurts

[elitehoe]

Hangman came back with the sole purpose of righting the biggest wrong against Swerve. The story and character arc was crystal fucking clear from the moment his vignette aired. But because Bryan is retiring, he doesn't get to do that?? Hangman should never have been brought back for this tournament if this was going to be the result. Like, I'm sorry, but I'm so serious when I say this whole shit was so dumb.

[starw1sh]

having a few posts about scary get some traction has been interesting because damn, I didn't realize some of y'all were serious about hating scary?? like it was ridiculous a year ago, but STILL!? She's hands down the most nuanced pc this season and has gone through a whole ass character arc while becoming a better friend and strengthening the whole party in the process. Argue with the wall.

[daintydoilypon]

Boober Goober update:

He coughs in the morning, but he is cleaning himself, moving about, good appetite, & he's drinking the water that I put cat allergy medicine in. His eye staining is back, but, as seen below in older pics, it comes & goes, so I'm not sure if I should go by that.

He may have to go and get another round of antibiotic shots when these wear off, but definitely not from the people we just went to. Going to our old vet, who now does appointments! Hooray!

[moregraceful]

EVERYBODY SHUT UP!!!!!! PAT SIELOFF IS PREGNANT!!!!!

1. Birthday cake from Sierra and Kelly; 2. Gritty soft serve ice cream cup; 3. Sign for Erik Johnson's 1k celebration; 4. Jersey Devil Christmas tree ornament.

[moonshine-nightlight]

Snapped - Part 4

Mech’s not sure why the aftermath of this mission is hitting him so hard, but he’s doing his best to calm down when Gwen’s presence shatters his control. Now it’s a count down to see if he can figure out how to put a stop to the instincts and hormones that are running wild inside him—before he does something they’ll both regret.

Science fiction, alien romance, male alien x female human, (4 / 4)

Story Status: COMPLETE

AO3: Snapped Chapter 4

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] Part 4 - NSFW

“Who else could it be? There’s no one—” He shakes his head and glares at her, unable to help himself. “There’s only you. Always you.”

Her eyes are wide as she looks at him, genuine shock evident. “Mech…”

The silence that echoes through the room is deafening, even the vents seem subdued in the wake of Mech’s most recent confession. 

It’s only broken when the synthesizer machine beeps, signaling that the compound has been mixed and is ready for use. Mech darts over to it with speed. It’s not going to do enough, he already knows that based on the limited ingredients he has on hand, but it should stabilize the reaction and ideally shorten the duration. 

He refuses to think about anything but the chemistry as he dully loads the dose into a syringe. Shame and fear has crystallized into a shield against the lust raging through his blood that’s proving surprisingly effective. How could he have told her how much he—the sharp prick of the needle as it enters his skin cuts into his train of thought and he lets it. He immediately sets the machine to rigging up another dose. He won’t be able to take it for twelve hours, but hopefully G—hopefully, it can be brought to him wherever he’s isolated.

The diagnostic machine buzzes next and he dutifully walks back over to where it’s been compiling a list of least dangerous medical concoctions to simply knock him out cold. Given how today has gone, he shouldn’t be surprised that nothing has a particularly high chance of either success or safety. As much as he hates this situation, he’s not quite at the level of self-destructive to truly consider taking most of these. Even if he wishes for nothing more than to stop thinking since the ground hasn’t managed to swallow him up.

Movement out of the corner of his eyes causes him to turn sharply. Gwen’s been silent since she said his name in that quietly devastated tone in reaction to his confession. Now he sees she’s taken a step closer for some gods forsaken reason out of her self imposed corner.

“Stay back,” he hisses even as she walks even closer. And gods, is this dose even doing anything? He swears her scent is heavier, more enticing—richer and more appealing in every way. It reaches him with no trouble despite the vents still pulling air out and away from him and her downwind. She looks even more beautiful, her eyes dark and her blue skirt fluttering around her enticingly. “I told you.”

“Hush,” she chides gently. She walks even closer, with a look in her eyes he can’t fathom. Her hair dances in the breeze too, looking thick and touchable, her figure inviting him to see how soft her skin likely is, to imagine it yielding to–

Frantically, he reaches for outrage or worry or anything other than arousal in reaction to her approach. Where is her sense of self-preservation? He backs up, spines hitting the door behind him. “Do you want to leave?” he asks, grasping at straws. Why wouldn’t she say so? They could find some way to shift around the room while maintaining proper distance. He’s told her what state of his mind is. She can’t expect him to understand what she wants from him when his instincts have such a strong hand on the controls of his imagination. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. 

“Do you want me?” she asks, her eyes intent as she takes another step closer. “Without all this,” she gestures with her delicate hand in a circle as if to encompass the room or his heightened state, “do you want to be with me?”

There’s no point beating around the bush anymore, is there? Even if he thought he’d been plenty clear before, he supposes she wants to hear it outright. “Yes,” Mech admits, hanging his head because now she knows it's his fault his instincts picked her. If he hadn’t already thought of her like this, when she saw him only as a friend, then maybe this, this break wouldn’t have happened. “For…” He shakes his head, unable to remember when his feelings became something other than platonic. “I don’t know why today pushed me over the edge, but I promise I can get back under control.” He can’t lose her, not from something so abrupt and uncontrollable. “I can,” he insists desperately.

Her face softens and she must feel some sympathy for him. Gwen’s one of the most compassionate people he’s ever met, surely she can forgive him for this. “Oh, Mech, you silly alien.” She steps even closer and before he can react, her hand lands on his cheek. It feels electric, each point of contact. His worry and frustration and shame all war with his hormones with her so close. His claws dig back into the wall, venom pools in his mouth, every nerve and muscle in his body straining for her held in check only by sheer force of will. “I don’t want you to.”

“W-” Her lips on his silence whatever protest he was going to attempt to utter. His whole brain skitters to a halt, unable to do anything except stay perfectly still and process what’s happening with every sense. Her lips are warm and soft, pressed with perfect pressure against his half-open mouth. Was he saying something? Her wonderful, delicious scent envelops him completely until there isn’t anything except Gwen. Her hand on his cheek is the comfort of home and hearth. The little stroke of her thumb on his cheek is everything he’s ever wanted.

This perfect moment is all his raging hormones need to take over. Mech has Gwen pushed up against the door within a second. He splays one hand around her hip, holding tight as his other hand laces with her free hand to pin it to the wall. He sucks her lower lip into his mouth as he presses every inch of his body he can manage to keep her there. The ache of his cock finally has some friction to satiate it. His whole body sings with relief, the itch and pull and desperation blissfully satisfied with the contact with his mate. Or rather, his soon to be mate. 

With that thought in mind, he skillfully takes control of the kiss, needing to show her exactly why she should choose him. Why he deserves her regard. He shall prove his worth as a kisser and therefore a lover so she’ll have no doubt in her mind that he should be hers. He can’t resist a more substantial taste of her regardless. Mech slides his tongue carefully and deliberately between her lips to slide against her own. He loses himself in the kiss, in giving and taking in as equal measure as well as he can handle when confronted with the reality of her hot, inviting mouth.

Mech distantly remembers humans' more limited lung capacity and pulls back to trail kisses down her neck, questing for where it meets her shoulder. His jaw opens, fangs dripping and scraping along her heaving body. Gwen whines and pants as he touches her and he never wants to be anywhere else doing anything else ever again. He can only think as far into the future as to picture her with his marks on her and his blood boils with desire.

“Mech…” It’s his own naked wonder at hearing Gwen moan his name that breaks through the haze of lust and hormones and instinct to remind him of exactly what situation they’re in. How nothing he’s ever done with his life would have granted him such bliss.

He wrenches his mouth from hers with all the self-control he likes to pretend he has. Panting, breathing in lungfuls of her scent with her still pressed tight to him nearly undoes that, but he holds fast. He can’t get himself to break from her further, but he just needs her to tell him, needs her to reset the boundaries before he goes too far, before he ruins her and himself in the process. 

A puff of fresh air from the vent above allows him to latch back on to his more rational objections. “I don’t need your pity,” he practically spits, doing his best to find something that can force him to back off and salvage their relationship before he’s doomed it with his rash actions and clouded judgment. Luckily, it is an almost sobering thought—the idea of being with Gwen only to have her reveal she put up with his advances solely in an attempt to help him. That would destroy him.

Instead of helping him, Gwen’s eyes flash with incandescent, fierce anger. She shifts in his grip, not letting go or trying to escape his grasp as might be sensible, but to maneuver him where she wants him. She hitches herself up and then grinds down against his thigh now between her legs. She practically growls in relief as the thin skirt she wears and even the thicker fabric of his trousers do nothing to disguise the heat and wetness he feels against him.

“Gwen,” he gasps in true shock even as his body quickly angles his thigh to an even more advantageous position. His instincts are hyper-focused, straining to satisfy his mate in any way she wants him to.

“Does that feel like pity?” she demands, groaning as he moves and tightening her grip on him. “I want you,” she says plainly and everything in him comes to a halt for the second time in a minute. His eyes faintly glowing red ones frantically meet her own. They’re dilated, black swallowing up brown, but her sincerity, the raw honesty in them is crystal clear. “I want you bad. Have done for a while now.”

“Fuck, Gwen,” is all he can manage to almost whine as his mind frantically tries to make sense of the impossible.

She smirks in response, head ducking close to manage a nip at his lower lip and a lick to one of his fangs. Her eyelids flutter at the taste of his venom as she breathes, “Yes, exactly. I need you.” 

He can’t help but give her what she asks, what she needs. Why in the universe that's an ornery, suspicious, antisocial bastard like him, he doesn’t know. But he’s lost the will to keep fighting her. He chases after her mouth, his chest an iron wall against her own slighter, softer one. She doesn’t seem to mind being caged in by his hand, still pinned as his thigh has her hips. She just grinds closer, releasing hitching little breaths and moans as his venom mixes with her saliva. 

His silvery venom is primarily deadly only on his planet, but plenty of other species have reactions to it. Some it numbs, some it hurts, and others it heals. Humanity seems most varied in their reaction, but his understanding is that it tends to fizzle, to buzz. After all, theirs is a race that poisons itself recreationally, sought out toxic plants for the sting to add to their diet, and regularly ingests powerful drugs most races take in only the smallest of doses. However Gwen’s personal chemistry might feel about it, at least it's nothing terrible enough to break their kiss.

In fact, their kiss only breaks when she runs out of air and tips her head back to breathe. He lets go of her pinned hand, an absent minded extra push before he does to tell her to leave it there, and skims his hand down her flank, strokes across the swell of her stomach. She’s so plush and warm under his fingerpads especially through the cutouts of her dress. His claws snag in the material that does cover her. He can’t retract them. He resists the urge to cut through the fabric still keeping the rest of her lovely skin from him, resists the urge to dig his claws in enough to leave a lasting mark, showing any who might look upon her that she had allowed him the luxurious indulgence of touching her.

It reminds him he still might lose sight of his strength, of everything until it was too late. And Gwen doesn’t deserve this, rutting against the medbay wall while he’s out of his mind. She deserves to be courted and treated and to be laid down reverently in a bed of silk. He should be able to touch her without worrying his darker impulses will overtake him and hurt her. “Not in a sane state of mind to do this right,” he growls out in frustration. His head nuzzles into the crook of her shoulder as even in his irritation he can’t resist the allure of the comfort Gwen offers his soul so effortlessly.

“It's you and me,” Gwen replies, her voice sure, “‘course this is right.” She pulls his face out from where he’s hiding so she can meet his gaze. “You think I don’t know what I’m asking for?” her voice is cajoling and challenging, “I dreamed of you, pressed against me just, like, this.” She punctuates each word with a roll of her hips.

He tries to claw back a hold on his senses. He knows he should, knows no matter her words, Gwen doesn’t know. But she’s intent on wrecking him. “Need you to fuck me now, Mech.”

He snaps his teeth together, baring his fangs as his whole body tenses with the urge to do just that. “Gwen,” his voice is strangled. “For graviels, you don’t know what mating—”

“But I do,” she insists. 

“No,” he shakes his head. “You don’t.” He tries desperately to find the words to explain, but there’s only Gwen. His hands clench tighter in the fabric of her dress and he dares not look down for the tears that have to have accompanied the ripping sound. The fabric is no longer covering her well, but hopefully it’s still enough to keep his claws and venom away from her skin. His eyes track a bead of sweat that drips down her neck. He longs to stop it with his tongue. He longs to sink his teeth into where it pools on the curve of her shoulder.

“Yeah, I do.” Gwen finally sounds serious. “I looked it up.” His eyes snap to her own. She raises an eyebrow. “You think I’ve wanted you this long and not investigated what it would be like?” No, he hadn’t. He’d never even thought she might feel the same, might want this too. Had she really done so? He can almost picture her in her bunk, hair twirled around one finger as she scrolls through articles and stories about the rare couplings of human and graviel. He knows they’re out there because he checked too. “How compatible we might be? I want you and all you come with, no matter the scars. Want you so damn much.”

“Gwen.” There’s awe in his voice he can’t control. Even when humans aren’t put off by the venom and how it feels, many are at how it factors into graviel mating. How it seals over the scratches and bites and marks his kind like to leave on their mates, not too deep, but guaranteed to leave permanent marks. 

Her only reply is to grind against the thigh still between her legs. His tail winds itself up her leg to stroke her upper thigh before adjusting her to an even more advantageous position. There is a fearsome look on her face, as if she feels like she’s made more than enough allowances for his anxieties and fears. Like she’s done waiting. “Gonna fuck me, Mech?” Her smirk is wicked, the look in her eyes even more so. Her hair is spread in a messy halo around her head, her skin starting to sparkle with sweat, her body never ceasing its movement, its gentle undulation against his own. He’s never seen her eyes look so dark or so appealing. She looks edible. She arches with the motion of her grind  and one of her hands reaches blindly behind her, finds the doorpad. “Or do I need to find someone else to?”

Something inside him roars at her direct challenge. Maybe it was more than an internal roar because she shudders in response. There’s triumph in her eyes at his reaction. If she’s aware enough to provoke him… The last piece clicks into place and he finally takes her at her word, That she wants him. He’s got no resistance left. 

All he has is a need to make her his in any way he can. In every way he can. 

“Mine,” he growls as he takes her mouth in a ferocious kiss, hands already ripping her dress to shreds and stripping her of it. He barely notices her own hands scrambling at his shirt except that the feeling of her hand splayed over his stomach is nearly as euphoric as his hand closing around her breast. 

“Wanna mark you,” Mech warns. The urge to properly mark his mate as taken, as his is pure instinct. To leave physical evidence of everything boiling over inside him on her skin is overwhelming.

Gwen’s rucked his shirt up high enough that she can reach up, set her nails to his shoulder blades, and rake her nails down his back. The sharp pressure, the surprising sting of her nails, and lingering feeling of her touch send if possible even more blood rushing to his throbbing cock. He groans, arching into her claim. “Yes. Long as I can mark you too.”

“Perfect,” he says reverently into the skin of her neck where he presses a kiss and sucks a mark. “How are you so—”

Her moan of approval as he begins to knead to soft flesh of her breast under his hand is muffled by his lips back where they belong on hers. He grinds his palm down on her nipple and before long his eyes are fixed on where the claws of that hand just barely scrape against her skin. It becomes pink and sensitive as she squirms under his attention.

His claw finally breaks the skin right over where her heart pounds furiously. A short red scratch that he traces back over, venom running into it. She trembles in his arms with a whine as the cut seals shut, the line a subtle white against her skin. A glance in her eyes, fogged over in pleasure, is all the reassurance he needs. He latches onto her other breast with his mouth, allowing his venom to encase her nipple as he sucks. He twists his grip, claws scraping and healing as he does so around her other breat. Gwen practically screams her pleasure to the ceiling, to the whole damn ship if he’s lucky.

Mech wants everyone to know Gwen is getting the pleasure she deserves nearly as much as he wants them to know he’s the one giving it to her. He brings his fangs down to bear, gazing and abrading her soft soft skin. Gwen whimpers. He’d be concerned if the sound wasn’t also accompanied by the wet slick against his thigh increasing. 

Her hands scrabble at his back and her head thunks against the door as she arches, pressing her chest into him with another gasp of his name.

The sound galvanizes him. Somehow finally giving into his desires has helped the fog in his brain caused by this hormonal snap clear. The door isn’t going to let him ravish her the way he craves. He doesn’t want to be distracted by keeping her held up against it when there are far better things he could be focusing on.

He reluctantly lets go of her breast to grip at her hips again with both hands. She whines when he lets go of her tender nipple with his mouth to trail up to her shoulder. Her whole body tenses when the threat of his fangs are brought to bare, like she’s holding her breath. Still she doesn’t do anything more than whimper when he removes his damp thigh from between her legs, hanging pliantly in his firm hold. 

Gwen’s fingers wind their way into his hair, firm but not tugging in protest—yet. Before she can ask about the sudden stop to the way she’d been grinding herself to some sort of peek, he pulls her off the wall with a grunt. Lifting his head to remind himself of what exactly he’s working with in the medbay, he strides over to the bed in the center of the room where Gwen had been sitting only twenty minutes ago, distracting him while he tried in vain to solve this problem any other way than through.

He’ll bring her to his rooms once they’ve mated here, maybe more than once depending on their stamina and his hunger. This’ll do fine for now. She looks gorgeous, Mech thinks as he lays her out. He pulls the remaining scraps of her dress off. His eyes trace the goosebumps that spring up after he backs off with fascination as he methodically begins to strip himself. Gwen seems more than understanding and is eagerly removing the last of her clothing—her panties—with a quickness that betrays her own need. The scent that flows out of her is nearly enough to bring him to his knees. But there’ll be time for that later.

Gwen props herself up on her elbows to watch him with half-lidded, ravenous eyes. His eyes keep straying to her chest, already bearing the red and white marks from his fangs and his claws. He’s never been more proud of anything in his life than that she let him mark her as such. He’s never giving her up.

“I don’t share,” Mech says bluntly as he places a hand next to her hip. He isn’t arguing or retreating or trying to back out anymore. This is at worst a warning, at most a promise.  “This can’t be a one-time thing. I won’t change my mind, not about you. I’ll keep you all to myself.”

“Yes,” Gwen agrees easily. She lays back down while reaching for him, the invitation in the lines of her body obvious. Her fingers wrap around his forearm, the black spines that line it, and there’s no give to her hold. “Mine.”

He vaults onto the bed, over her, without thought and she welcomes him. Her hands map every inch of his skin she can reach, no fear at the way his black spines lining back and arms are standing at attention. Gwen’s touch starts off light as he arranges himself over her, but once he brings their lips together for another mind-melting kiss, she increases the pressure. Mech can feel each point of contact, each finger tip, as she digs them in and drags her nails connecting th black splotches that litter his red skin. 

Mech pictures his skin turning from red to pink, lightning from the force she’s exerting to try to mark him and he grows harder if at all possible. He ruts against her upper thigh with greater intent, getting impatient. All the relief from this much contact finally not enough to satiate his hunger for his mate. His Gwen.  

She must notice because she hums with smug satisfaction into the kiss and those same fingers start to migrate from his back to rest low on his hips. “Gwen,” he groans, pulling back from her lips just far enough to pant her name against her lips. 

Her fingers brush his cock in a deliberate tease, one he’s past having patience for. His hips chase those fingers for a more purposeful grip. Luckily, she seems unwilling to play this game any longer either. Her fingers wrap around him. “Yeah?” her voice is rough with desire and every nerve in his body sings at the sound, at her touch. She strokes down, from root to tip, seemingly not put off by the black ridges and bumps his red cock has that he knows humans don’t. She must really have done her—Mech’s thoughts scatter when she twists her fingers, lubricated by pre-cum the same silver as his venom which leaks from his erection. She grinds the palm of her hand against the sensitive head and he arches his back with a moan that feels like it's pulled straight from the depths of him.

“Fuck, Mech,” Gwen pants, eyes darting from his face to his cock and everywhere in between, clearly unable to decide where to look while Mech just tries to keep his eyes open so he doesn’t miss a second of his wildest dreams coming true right underneath him. “You’re gonna feel so good inside me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Mech hisses even as he presses down on her shoulder, moving up to position himself for just that. “Need to be inside you now.”

“Yeah,” Gwen agrees, lining him up with perfect precision. “Now, now, fuck, n—”

Her words are cut off when she moans as he sinks into her welcoming wet heat. She gasps as he pulls her legs open further with his tail, lifting her ass off the bed to angle his thrust home best. He can’t think about anything except how good she feels, how hot and snug and perfect she is. He thinks he babbles some of that aloud as he pushes in. “So wet, so soft. Fuck, Gwen.”

“Ye-es,” she replies back, eyes closed to better savor the feeling of him filling her in one long inexorable movement. She hooks her leg around his for better stability and he takes advantage immediately. Pushing that much further in, massaging her ass with the hand he has on it, letting his claws dig in to her yielding flesh. She groans at the pinpricks of sensation from his claws and venom, from him finally hilting deep within her.

There’s a split second where there’s nothing but the sound of their labored breathing and the whoosh of the vents. The calm before the storm. Everything outside of them ceases to exist as every hormone is his body cries out in triumph. Mech’s eyes meet hers and he ignites once more. He pulls out halfway, but he can’t seem to exist outside of her anymore and quickly thrusts back in, adding a grind to the end that makes Gwen moan deeply. Her hands land on his shoulders as she pushes against him, matching his movements with a synchronicity he never should have doubted she was capable of.

Her palms push on his own chest for leverage and he gasps at how it feels against his nipples. Gwen picks up on his reaction immediately, her focus zeroing in on her new target. Mech bows his head, overwhelmed by all the sensation his touch-starved body isn’t used to. That of course brings his mouth within range of her delectable neck, all that lovely skin and sweat and scent, all uniquely Gwen. He laves his tongue along her collarbone, fangs grazing and mouth sucking in a random, hazy, instinctual pattern that seems to drive her wild if the way she clenches around him is anything to go by.

“So close, so close, so close,” Gwen chants, her hands moving to his spines, holding on tight to ride out how roughly he’s fucking her with his pistoning cock. The ache of her grip is sweet enough his next thrust has an extra swivel of his hips behind it. “Mech! Mech, please. Please.”

He knows exactly what she’s begging for and he’d rather die than let her go unsatisfied. His tail finds and grinds against her clit with unerring accuracy despite the  desperate motion of their coupling. Her reaction nearly throws him over the edge, the throbbing of her walls around his cock exquisite in their increased intensity. Mech preserves through the sensation, determined to make Gwen come before he does.

Luckily, it only takes a few more strokes and making a calculated tug on her clit for her to call out, “Yes! Me-ch!” The final strands of his self-control snap and he comes on the next thrust, his cock and fangs buried deep in his claimed mate. The ensuing euphoria blanks his mind from anything other than pleasure and he slumps against Gwen, satisfaction flowing through his veins.

Mech eventually comes to and finds himself carefully lapping at the bite mark he made on her shoulder, his venom already having closed the wounds, but leaving them sensitive if Gwen’s hums and twitches of pleasure are any indication. Her hands are running absently up and down his arms and limp spines, sending ripples of residual pleasure through him.

He’s never felt this content before, wrapped around this wonderful woman, still buried in her. He can still feel the unusual lust swimming through his body, but it's more than manageable at the moment. All he wants to do is enjoy this culmination of everything he never thought he would get to have.

Of course, that gratification and laziness only lasts so long. Gwen starts to stir more coherently beneath him and that insatiable desire begins to make itself known once more. 

“Are you hard again?” Gwen’s voice breaks the stillness, bewildered and still sounding a little orgasm-drunk.

“Yes,” he acknowledges, pressing a sheepish kiss to her neck.

She shifts, muscles clenching and relaxing. Mech fights the urge to whimper as she asks, more curiously than anything, “Is that a graviel thing or a mating frenzy thing?”

“I can’t remember,” he admits as a few seconds contemplation where all he can think of is how good she feels and what other marks he wants to leave on her. “Might just be a sex-with-you thing.”

“Hm, good answer.” Gwen rolls her hips, mouth nipping at his neck with a promise that sends anticipatory shivers down his spines as they stand at attention once more. “You’ve got five seconds to roll us over so I don’t knock us to the floor. I wanna be on top this time.”

“Whatever you want, my mate.”

[spiderwarden]

Not me listening to this and always imagining how when Karlach ( @infernaliscor ) chooses death, the scenario in my head is that she shoved Minthara away from her so she wouldn't burn up with her. Then Minthara crying outright as she crawls back over to her and pushes her hands into her ashes and collapses onto her knees. Staring down at what's left of her love, her darling love, and just cries before she barely has enough lucidity to gather as much of her ashes as she can into a leather pouch. Where she then has two swords made from them, two swords that she carries on her back as she goes into Avernus herself, just as she promised Karlach, and enters the blood wars to make Zariel pay for ever laying eyes on her. With Karlach protecting her back just as she did in life ... swords she will plunge into the Arch devil herself, still killed by Karlach even in death.

[hel-phoenyx]

New Year's Eve, part 20

Well you know how it is but do you know how it will be~

Okay enough ominous, still the ongoing story with @corneille-but-not-the-author and @soupedepates, we're in the middle of March and it is time to link all the plotlines back together~

He thinks he's slick, doesn't he ?

Now that he's back at the precinct, hair tied and sadness on his face, working like nothing new happened in his life. Working like he isn't in a kind of journey for self discovery.

I'm sure he thinks nobody saw him. Else he wouldn't have gone out like this. Sadly for him, I'm Odysseus. And, well, when I notice some streets away the little figure of a person I hate with a lady looking suspiciously like one of my colleagues, with the same hazelnut hair and all, of course I get curious.

Didn't take me long to recognize who was under that camouflage. And I doubt he was undercover or some shit. Rather, I think he's undercover right now.

I haven't said anything. Yet. Oh, I could. Drop a little allusion here and there and see how his (?) face distorts. Imagine that, Mayor Warsowar's son, heir of one of the most conservative fuckers ever elected at the head of this city, strutting around the streets in full dress and makeup. The scandal for our little mayor.

I could even make him know I am aware of that little secret and watch how his attitude towards me change. I'm sure I'll get a lot of fear out of that.

Fear is power.

I haven't said anything.

I haven't said anything probably because I remember Thorfinn running towards me crying and shaking and telling me he might not be his assigned gender. Because I helped them find a new name and was behind him for all the steps of the identity change.

Because no one deserves to be forced in a vision of themselves they're not ready to accept.

Or maybe I am just softening.

Ha.

Who knows.

I don't think none of them noticed me, those few days ago. Or Domhildr would not have come to me to "make amends", she says. Feeling bad about destroying my reputation, huh ?

Sad she tried to make up with offering me a blowjob. Ew. Ew ew ew ew ew, just thinking about that is making me cringe. I don't want any sexual shit, and certainly not for you, the idea is enough to make my skin crawl. Fuck's sake I wouldn't even let TYR touch me this way, as if he wanted to.

Well that wasn't the only option.

She also offered me blackmail material on a silver plate.

Things Sigismund doesn't know about.

An judging by the second one, not even Tyr knows all of it.

It would be so easy to drop a hint of two and watch her whole world crumble. How would the oh so virtuous Sigismund Warsowar react when he learns you got pregnant four times from different fathers ?

How would my best friend take the fact you prostituted yourself for a year ?

...

I don't even know.

I hold so much power against you and at the same time your eyes when you told me everything were Brynja's.

Something is ringing in my ears.

Slut.

She had no choice. Just like her.

An abortion at 17.

A miscarriage at 9.

Doing the streets like it's everything you're good for.

Dead in the streets because it was the only thing she could do.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

The tears over the phone.

The funeral I couldn't go to.

The eyes. The eyes. The eyes.

Piano is blasting on my office. I got a few nasty looks from my colleagues, but I don't care. It does work. I've found a newfound affection for Chopin. It helps me focus.

Even if Walpurgis comes to my desk. Like right now.

"Wolffsen, you're up for patrolling."

"What ?! It's not Thursday ! I have files to progress-"

"Don't wanna hear it. Mayor Warsowar is worried about the protest of today. He wants everyone mobilized."

... Of course. Because it's more important to stop protesters rather than investigating the sect that kidnapped your son.

Even Karan af Mundir was not that cruel.

I'm driving the car with my usual patrol companion, and as usual he is silent, watching over the streets with diligence. I'm also following the usual route. Even if Mayor Warsowar wants to protect his precious little castle, I have a city to watch over.

What's unusual is that this time I have music in the car and he looks even jumpier than usual.

"... I've never heard you listen to music before."

Oh hey, the mute found back his voice.

"Therapist orders."

"..... You got therapy ?"

"Yeah, don't you ?"

He was supposed to, at least, after the kidnapping. Not like I cared at the time. Not like I really care today. It's just the reason why I can give him the real explanation.

Can't get judgy when you need a psychiatrist for "physical and mental trauma combine with complex PTSD".

I see on the mirror he's making a face. Oh. So someone skipped the skrink, huh ? Yeah, don't try to hide it. I have always been perecptive of this kind of things.

Because every time I come back home I have to study my father's face for my wellbeing.

The music changes. Moonlight sonata. Beethoven is good too; Apparently he also enjoys it, since his muscles are slowly starting to relax. Good, good, because we're approaching the place the protest is supposed to be held in and I don't want a ball of stress while I check if "everything's alright".

Jeez. Like I even want to interfere. If I could take a day off I'll be with the protesters, maybe even with my black ski mask. Sadly I can't. I need the money, and I need to lay low. Me taking a day off just the day of a protest would be suspicious as fuck.

We're heading to the City Hall.

I already hear noises in front of the mayor's little palace.

Looks like it's getting heated.

"... What the fuck ? Sigismund exclaimed when we got in eyesight of the crowd. This is not a peaceful protest !"

Oh, really ? Boi, if you'd know what I've seen. Sure, there's masked men on top of the procession and some of them are currently shouting at my colleagues, but that's still peaceful. No blows. No weapons. Not even pepper sprays, for fuck's sake.

I roll my eyes and doesn't answer, but Sigismund grips my arm.

"com'on, we have to go."

I snort.

"We ? I think the colleagues can handle a few people shouting."

"They're black blockers, it's dangerous-"

"Yeah, for you if you show up your pretty face, officer Warsowar. Com'on, it's fine, let the people protest."

His face distorts himself in something I have never seen.

Some kind of anger.

What are you angry at ?

Not me, I hope for you.

I'm still stronger.

I could bash your little white brain out of your sorry skull.

I could tell you all the shit your precious girlfriend did.

I could-

I shift on my seat. Lean on the steering wheel. Keeping the fists in check. Right. Keeping the fists in check.

Sigismund is still looking at me.

He's unfastening his seatbelt.

"You do whatever you want, Fenrir. i'm still going."

"Suit yourself. I'm not going out for a peaceful protest."

Even if i'll have to stay on guard. Black blockers were not supposed to be here. at least, not those of my group.

I send a message to Idalia.

"event planned today ?"

She's not answering.

Sigismund is now running towards the protest. The other cops are busy with the blackblockers, and some of them are even harassing the more peaceful protesters. I roll my eyes. I'll have to take care of that, just, give me a minute-

Some people are fighting in the bloc.

Nobody is noticing. The other are either busy with the shouting protesters or trying to make the peaceful ones go away.

And Sigismund is running right at them.

That idiot-

I get out. I'll have to stop the fucker before he reaches the blockers. If they're fighting, a cop trying to interfere is only gonna make them angrier.

The car is locked, I am outside, I made sure it's far enough from the protesters. I have my taser and service weapon on me, even if I'd rather not use them. Last time I had no choice but to interfere in a black bloc, I could use the confusion to throw some of my lacrymo grenades in the CRS's direction. it's not the case today.

My radio is emitting a noise.

"Walpurgis here, says my superintendant. CRS have been dispatched to the City Hall. I repeat-"

Damn it. Who called them ? Warsowar, no doubt. The mayor. Sigismund is too busy trying to interrupt the fight.

It's no use anyway.

Because they will be

Far too late.

A brick flies from the middle of the black crowd.

High above the heads of the protesters.

Right to a man trying to interfere.

I am close enough to hear a crack.

He's on the ground. Blood is flowing from a wound on his head. It doesn't seem that serious, now that I've reached him and tased everyone trying to get close, but at this rate, he may lose far too much blood.

Seeing Sigismund is down and unconscious, the other cops jumped into the melee. Everything around me is now blurred by screams and hitting sounds and I'm sure I even saw some people with knives.

Blood is tainting my hands.

Idiot. Trying to stop a fight while forgetting to protect your head. Why the fuck must you interfere in things you have no power over ?!

Now you're unconscious and bleeding on the ground while I am next to you while I could profit from that chaos to bring down Sarovar's reign.

"I have one man down, I shout in my radio, trying to keep my cool. Call an ambulance for the City Hall. I repeat-"

Fuck, that's a lot of blood. Head wounds always bleed a lot. He's gonna need a blood transfusion.

Com'on, fucker. You can't die on me like this.

Not for a meaningless goal.

Something flies towards me, too. I jump on the ground, try to avoid it. I don't know how I end up on the body below me, barely breathing blood flowing hair all red

I just remember

The pain in my right arm

And then only red and orange in my vision.

I regain some sort of consciousness in the ambulance. Apparently I am not in a serious enough state to be laying down on a bed. It may be because I am high on adrenaline. People in white coats are everywhere. Not around me.

My arm is bandaged. Why ? I don't feel anything.

"what.... the fuck..."

No one is really paying attention to me.

I kinda get why.

I see hazelnut in the middle of all this white.

They're talking about warning the family. About the danger.

Danger on his life ?

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I still have my phone.

No message for Idalia.

Too late to care.

I have to do something.

Because

Because

They won't warn her, don't they ?

She's probably not in his emergency contacts, at the hospital.

Just like I wasn't.

And I was right next to him.

Right next to him

Before I lost him

For something that feels like forever.

Warning.

I have to

Something stabs my right arm. I shout in pain, and one of the med workers turn towards me.

"Don't move your arm ! The wound needs to rest-"

"Fuck off. I need to have this call, you hear me ?! Go away !"

They would like to preotest, but something is making a bolted noise on the other side, and he leaves me alone for a while.

Can't move my arm. Texting is out of the question. Fuck. I'm not even sure he will answer. Fuck.

I dial my own emergency number.

Com'on. Pick up, pick up, pick up pick up pick up

One time. Two time. Three times.

Please, pick up, I have to

I have to do something right for once.

Something finally clicks at the sixth attempt. A cold, cold voice is heard through the phone.

"I hope you have a damn good reason to spam me, Fenrir."

I've never felt so relieved.

He hasn't got me blocked. He still chose to pick up. Even after everything.

How ironic that he is now my only way of communication.

"Al-hamdulillah you've picked up."

"Wha- I've never heard you speak in Arabic before, especially not to thank God ? The fuck is happening, Fen- is that ambulance sirens ?!"

The cold is getting more and more frantic. but I don't have time to sugarcoat it. I don't.

"No time for this. Is Domhildr with you ?"

"Huh ? Yeah, actually, she is. We were chilling until going to the protest, we were about to leave, actually-"

I can hear a feminine voice asking what is up. Perfect. Just perfect. I don't even have time to be angry.

"Bad idea. It exploded. No, don't interrupt, I say as he is about to talk. Listen. I was on duty, and Sigismund was, too. He got hit with a brick. On the head."

Silence.

I can't stop talking.

"We're headed to the hospital. Both of us. Thought I had to warn her about what was happening"

Because no one will.

And if he does die

Please don't die on me

She won't even have time to see him before any funeral.

The silence is still there.

I'm done talking.

Tyr takes a deep breath.

"Okay. We're leaving. No, don't go to your bike, Domi, I hear a little further away in the phone. It'll be quicker on my motorcycle. I have a spare helmet."

I hear some frantic talking on the phone before Tyr's voice comes back in the speaker.

"We'll be at the hospital as soon as possible. Be here to explain yourself."

I have a tired smile.

"That's going to be complicated. Doctors may want to see me, too."

"Huh ? Why-"

"Metal pipe in my arm."

"What-"

I hang up.

World is spinning around me.

Adrenaline is running out. I feel so tired. Probably lost a lot of blood, too.

I barely see the hospital when we're finally discharged.

The white-haired doctor takes one look at us before sending us in two different rooms.

I can read on his face how worried he is.

Not for me.

I saw worse.

Did I ?

Did he ?

The emergency room closes behind him. Those doors now hiding the son (?) of the Warsowar.

[aphicidi0]

i'm so happy rn and i love my life.. im writting a silly essay, drinking some hot chocolate on my breaking bad mug, eating yummy food, i feel handsome as fuck, my bestfriend said i look so much happier and healthier, life's good :)

[scribesofcalamity]

A quick small piece of vent art.

Avoid the tags,I am putting all the Blegh stuff there. Things are rough right now and have been for multiple weeks….but I am holding on. I’m going to try and do sketches for the rest of the people I want to hit for art fight. I’m going to catch up on my work and keep doing well. I’m going to have a good weekend with my partner. I’m going to be ok. It is going to be ok.

[coriander-candlesticks]

I realized recently (read: today as I'm writing this) that while I associate certain specific fiber arts with Athena (knitting, weaving, dying, and spinning), I associate crochet specifically with Apollo, though Athena's there too, of course. I think it's because it's more free-flowing: I can freehand something with crochet more easily than I can with knitting, both because I've known it longer and because there are fewer Things To Learn, unlike knitting which has a million different techniques that may seem interchangeable but actually aren't and that all affect the end product in a pretty big way (looking at you decreases & bind-offs). Because I can free-hand crochet more easily, and I grew with it the same way I did with drawing, they have similar vibes. Knitting and weaving, on the other hand, have steeper learning curves imo and are way more structured- and I associate more solid (dare I say rigid) structure with Athena. Embroidery and cross-stitch are kinda in their own floating category, maybe because I do them less and therefore have weaker associations with them over-all. I associate hand-sewing largely with Hestia, though again, Athena is always also there, because I associate it with mending, altering clothing, and making home items (ex the quilted pillowcase I've been mentally turning around in my head for the last few weeks).

Interestingly, I find printmaking specifically to be associated with both Athena and Apollo. It leans into the latter's domain, of course, the same way crochet does Athena's, but the structure you need in order to layer & print properly without hurting yourself, ruining equipment, or fucking up you edition seems reminiscent of Athena. Dyeing, especially making & using natural dyes, feels very much like an Athena thing despite it 1) feeling similar to painting or using inks and 2) being a trial & error process that's honestly pretty free-flowing if you approach it a certain way (especially if you do solar dyeing, which doesn't necessarily need some of the more meticulous processes you need to boil-dye something).

[caterjunes]

i know my body is doing its best but christ alive.

[a-shadowedvales]

when jane's powers return in season four (and because they were regained by her confronting and accepting her past, rather than being retraumatised with it!) they're stronger than they ever were. when she starts getting a handle back on them, she very quickly comes to realise not only have they affected her, but her mother, too. one of the biggest losses that came about with her losing them was the fact that she could no longer visit terry in the void; while there was no real communication there, it did allow jane to sit with her, and gain a little more connection than she could in the real world. when she first visits the void after their return, it takes her three hours to find terry, something that is both unexpected and incredibly worrying. but when she does, it's something of a miracle. jane's increased strength and control over the void actually wakes terry up from her catatonic state, but only in the void. there's no way to help her mother physically, but she does do so (unbeknownst to her) mentally. terry is reborn in jane's newfound control over the vale of shadows; she becomes the woman she once was, and while her body remains frozen in a "good dream", her mind connected to jane's own allows her some freedom. jane is able to speak to her mother in the void, is able to be held by her, and while it's still unfair and jane cannot stay in there forever, it's something. this only lasts for about eight months, as each visit slowly begins deteriorating terry's physical and mental state, and jane's health begins declining after spending hours upon hours in the void each and every day.

when jane finds out these visits are actually killing her mother on the outside, she deems to stop, but terry expresses the importance of them being able to speak, that she'd prefer to die on the outside, if it meant she could have just a few months with her daughter like this. terry and jane's connection was always so strong, which ultimately led to terry "waking up" in the void, but even jane's newfound strength cannot save her from the harsh realities. each visit nearing the end of those eight months, terry fades more and more, becomes weaker in the void, and her real body eventually gives up. jane's in the void when her mother eventually passes on, and physically feels their connection weaken, like some part of her suddenly becomes lost in the shadows, a part she'll never find again. jane falls into a depressive state for weeks after her mother's death, given she's technically lost her a second time, but soon comes to realise she was lucky to have even shared those eight months together. it was better than nothing at all. there is a proper burial and funeral, (and when jane dies, she's buried next to her mother) which allows jane some sense of closure. she never fully recovers from losing terry, nor from the fact that she never had a proper relationship with her, but she does eventually find some peace with it all.

[why-bless-your-heart]

Okay.

I’m doing it.

I’m doing the dishes.