#but having to do all this shit makes me feel so frail. and i hate it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

withmyloveasyourgarden · 4 months ago

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ALL I EVER DO IS BURN UP FOR YOU

LOKI LAUFEYSON X F!READER

A mishap on a mission, rivals that don't hate each other as much as they pretend to, and a well meaning visit to the god of mischief's door that brings about something you never expected. [18+. Sex pollen/aphrodisiac fic. 6.2K. Re-uploaded from my old blog.]

It starts with an argument.

With you and him hissing insults and bickering like children over who's more suited for such a high stakes mission. With your hands itching to bury deep into ink spilled curls, if only to yank his face back from where it's obnoxiously tilted close to yours and watch those mocking, glacial eyes widen in shock.

You had put the work in, assembled all the information and hunted relentlessly for the location of the weapons lab only for him to sweep in at the last moment and use mortality against you. It's an excuse that strikes a dangerous match in your blood, heats your skin to an unhealthy temperature whilst your eyes narrow to vicious slits.

"You mortals are frail and weak, too easily breakable. I'm obviously a much better choice, what could their feeble minds possibly create that will harm a god."

It makes you nearly scream that the others vote in his favour. Rage, ugly and knotted, sticking in your chest at the insinuation you should be seen as fragile when you've fought for years among advanced tech suits, super soldiers, master assassins and an indefinitely more likeable god.

You're not proud of the way it burns at you, that it plucks at some pitiful insecure string you've tried to bury by pushing yourself harder, always harder.

He's made you feel like you're not good enough to be here despite all you've done and it gathers petty venom on your tongue faster than you can blink.

"Don't come crying to me when you fuck up, I'll be here waiting to laugh in your face when the shit they're packing knocks you of your pedestal."

The words are sharp and scathing, spat over your shoulder before you're storming out and leaving everyone to stare after you.

You miss the arrogant smirk falter on his lips the moment you're gone.

Guilt comes to you swiftly.

You didn't really mean what you said, you hope he succeeds, people's lives count on it and deep down you even hope that he's right and in no real danger.

It's not like you to lose your temper and be so petulant. It really isn't.

It's just Loki.

He's rubbed you the wrong way from the moment you met. His arrogance, his patronising drawl and insatiable need to get under your skin, bringing something immature and half feral out of you without fail.

Before him you didn't know what it was like to hate someone, to have someone manipulate every nerve you have with lithe fingers until there's flames in your blood and violence in your eyes.

It irritates you more that he's so fucking pretty, that his body looks like it's been carved from marble in an artist's quest for divine perfection, and that you'd been attracted to him almost immediately until he'd opened that poisoned mouth of his.

And unfortunately there's still moments where it snags at you like hooks in your skin, where it feels like you could give in to the temptation to claw and sink your teeth into him as he pounds you so fucking hard you see galaxies.

You feel it when he's pressed, hard and unforgiving, against the soft give of your body. When you've managed to incense him to the point he's prowled towards you, anger cracking in his eyes like chipped shards of ice, until your back has hit a solid surface for him to crowd you up against.

It's then that the energy between you snaps raw - hits it's most volatile like it's gathering itself to an explosive peak. You both linger in it, let the moment seep thick in the heat until it edges along the line of pain.

But then someone always eventually draws away and you wonder if there's a dark pit, a chasm of unknown want, in his stomach like there is in yours whenever you do.

When Natasha appears at your door the first thing you think is that she's come to talk about before. You know she sees more than most people and she's always sneaking subtle questions into your conversations about the God of mischief.

The second thing you think is that the universe must fucking hate you and your previous guilt had obviously not been enough to make up for your behaviour.

"You're needed in the lab, they need what you know on the bio weapons made in that place - Loki's been hit with something."

"Hit with what?"

"He said it was some kind of dart."

"Did he say what the liquid looked like? Was it blue or purple?"

"Blue I think, why?"

Shit.

"Good news, he's not going to die a horrific, agonising death from his systems shutting down one by one."

"And the bad news?" Thor grimaces, his brow heavy with concern and thick arms folded over his chest as he peers at you.

"He could possibly die of… something else." You wince, feeling the awkwardness of embarrassment flooding your tongue. "The thing he's been injected with is an aphrodisiac, a really fucking strong one, they basically manipulated it to cause as much pain and discomfort as they could to make victims more pliant to what they wanted."

Thor stares at you for a long moment, face blank whilst you watch him working over the information you've given him, then suddenly he blinks, once, twice.

"You're saying Loki needs to fuck someone or he'll die?"

"Possibly, I'm not– I'm not one hundred percent sure, okay." You sigh. "That's what happened when someone human was injected, your brother is a god. The effects could be different– milder maybe."

"So there's a chance he could be fine?"

"Yeah but I'm not a scientist or a doctor, he should really get… checked...out. Wait– Thor, where the hell is he?"

You hadn't even had a chance until now to notice the presence of a huffy, irate raven haired god was missing from the situation.

His brother had practically snatched you up as you'd ran towards the lab, his face panicked as he'd word vomited a thousand and one questions about the drug, its effects and the danger it posed to Loki.

But as you peer around the suddenly quiet god of thunder now, there is definitely a rather worrying absence - the lab empty besides the doctor.

"Oh, he's in his room." Thor confesses awkwardly, one of his large hands scratching at the the back of his neck whilst he offers you a sheepish smile. "I tried to bring him here but he was somewhat violently against it, he threatened to stab me again."

You snort.

Of course he did, the overgrown fucking child.

Trust Loki to be injected with a lethal substance and rather than be monitored for potential risks to his health he'd prefer to pout in his room.

"Thor, someone needs to go there and bring him down - this is serious."

He grins then, charming and radiant, and god help you because you know it's coming, both of you fully aware of the soft spot you have for your blonde Asgardian friend and the fact you can't say no when he asks you for something so politely.

"I think my presence will do nothing more than irritate him further." He says, soft ocean blue eyes pleading at you. "Maybe you can go and try and lure him out? He's always more easily persuaded when it comes to you."

Highly fucking doubt it, you want to scoff at him. If anything the mere sight of you is enough to set Loki off on a tangent.

But he's staring at you all hopeful and sweet and there's nothing you can do but curse these two gods that have clearly been sent to be twin pains in your life.

"Fine." You grit instead.

You're not sure how long you pace outside the door before he calls to you.

Long enough that he berates you for trying to wear a hole through the floor, his voice dripping in amusement and a tinge of something rough that your mind doesn't register until it's too late.

He's the epitome of composure when you slip inside his room, causing you to frown as you narrow your eyes and scan the length of his body.

He's still in full leathers, his legs stretched across his bed and ankles locked whilst he leans back regally against the headboard.

There's something you can't put your finger on though, something not right about how he looks, not even a hair out of place or a scratch on his leathers to say he'd just returned from a mission.

It's almost too perfect.

"Come to laugh in my face, have you darling?" He drawls, smirking when your eyes snap to his face. "It's a shame then I must tell you I'm perfectly fine."

"They told me you'd been injected with something." You say quietly, gaze still searching for something out of place whilst you edge closer.

"Ah and you thought you'd come and witness my suffering did you? Thought you'd see a god brought to his knees by some mortal drug? Apologies for the disappointment."

You shake your head and stare at him in disbelief. "Loki no." You argue softly. "I came to bring you to the lab, the drug you've been injected with could seriously harm you, you need to be tested and kept under observation."

He scoffs, a petulant thing as he rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest. "I take it my brother sent you in hopes a pretty face would sway me. I will tell you like I told him, I am fine, I have no need of your doctors."

His voice tries for nonchalance, arrogance even, but there's an underlying coldness you detect that seems unwarranted and leaves you feeling frustrated.

"Why are you being so unreasonably stubborn." You grit, your hands curling to fists on top of your hips whilst you stride towards the bed and glower down at him. "We're only trying to help you, how about you try being grateful."

"Why are you being so irritatingly stupid." He spits back. Long legs swing gracefully off the bed and land either side of yours, the blue of his eyes pulsing dark as his lips pull back and bare teeth. "I do not need your help, I do not need some silly little midgardian doctors poking and prodding at me whilst I'm expected to just lie there vulnerable."

Oh.

Oh fuck, you have been stupid.

Shortly after the arrival of his brother, Thor had filled you all in on some Loki's history. Told you quietly, guiltily, that whilst he wasn't completely innocent of the deeds he'd committed, they hadn't been entirely his doing either.

It had been enough to make you shudder, for sympathy to bloom in your heart despite everything, at the thought of the kind of torture that would have to be inflicted upon a god to make him crumble to another's will.

Of course he would be wary of someone wanting to draw bloods and hook him to machines and do any other tests they had in mind. Of course it would bring back terrible memories for him. You feel wretched for not understanding sooner, your eyes softening and the frustration bleeding from your body quicker than it had arrived.

"No one is going to hurt you Loki." You murmur gently, letting his gaze narrow to suspicious slits as he searches your words and face for the barest hint of a lie. "We just want to make sure you're okay, that's all, I promise."

His eyes widen for a moment, expression faltering to something raw and unguarded whilst he stares up at you and your fingers twitch with urge to run themselves along his jaw, over his cheek and through the soft looking curls of his hair in some surprising need to offer comfort.

But then he shutters. His expression turns mischievous and haughty and you can practically sense the sarcastic quip of his tongue before he's even opening his mouth.

"Worried about me, are you darling?" He arches a dark brow, lips quirking into a smug grin. "I must confess I like seeing you all bothered about me like this."

You go to tell him to fuck off, go to spin on your heel and march down to the lab and declare that he's absolutely fine, just peachy, his usual rage inducing self.

But then your eyes flick up on a whim and see the sweat beading along his hairline, dampening the finer hairs and slicking them to his skin.

That isn't right.

You've seen this man fight, witnessed him slice through countless enemies without so much as a stilted huff of breath let alone physically breaking a sweat. It's something he practically prides himself on, ridiculing you for looking like a dishevelled mess whenever you emerge from battle after him.

The next move you make is on reflex, a common habit that you resort to without thought.

You lift the palm of your hand to his forehead to check his temperature, your skin already grazing his before you register his panicked ‘stop–don't!’ and your mind is only capable of offering one thought before the world is suddenly swept out from beneath your feet.

The typically cold skinned god is blisteringly hot.

Loki snarls the second your hand makes full contact and there's a sudden pulse of energy that ripples through the air, stealing your breath and tingling along your skin. You don't realise what it is until he's grabbed you and caged you beneath him.

Magic. More specifically, an illusion.

He's definitely not fine.

He's panting and shaking, his arms trembling whilst he hovers over you, face shiny with sweat and cheeks flushed fever pink. When he peers down at you, you inhale sharply, the blue of his eyes has all but gone - swallowed whole by the hungry expanse of his pupils.

"Loki." You whisper and a violent shudder racks his already taut body, the movement dragging your eyes lower before they snap back to his face as you let out a startled squeak.

His illusion had hid more than you'd been able to realise before he'd tossed you on the bed and now the image of him half naked, in nothing but unlaced leather pants that are doing a poor job of concealing the large outline of his cock, is burned into your brain - even as you close your eyes and take a deep breath to try and calm your racing heart.

Your squeak seems to snap him out of the lustful haze he's in however, a shocked slash of clarity in his eyes when yours flicker back open and pain streaking across his face like it hurts him to drag himself from your body when he pushes away and rocks back on his heels.

"I'm sorry– fuck– I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to." He gasps and he looks so genuinely distraught that you almost reach for him again, only snatching your hand back when his eyes dart to it's approach and he flinches.

"It's alright Loki, I'm okay." You soothe, concerned. "I want to help you if you'll let me, just tell me how."

He laughs then, something croaked and hollow, and removes the heels of his palms from his eyes to stare you down in a way that is mildly flustering.

"You shouldn't ask me that." He husks. "The things I want - if you knew - you wouldn't ask me that."

Well fuck. You hadn't meant it like that, you'd been thinking along the lines of taking him for medical help or running to get his brother.

But now-

There's something about the way he says it, the way he looks saying it, the heat that slips back into his eyes as he mentions wanting, that makes you very much need to know.

It makes your stomach twist in an intense way, a wicked pang of heat spearing through your belly, the beginnings of a fierce craving, and the words are out of your mouth before you can shove your hand against your lips to stop them.

"Tell me what you want, I’ll do it."

He glares at you then, twin shocks of piercing blue glowing from beneath the sweat-damp of his curling hair, nostrils flaring as if you're truly testing the limits of his patience. His head has dipped low, long fingers twisting themselves in the strewn bed sheets in an effort to ground himself as another cruel tremor sweeps through him.

"What I want." He seethes after it recedes, tossing his head back to pin you with a furious look. "I will not take from you, not like this."

"Why not?" You push yourself up, confused, and he hastily shifts back, keeping a safe distance between you whilst anger and frustration crawls across his face.

"Because when I take you I want it to be because you want it." He snarls. "Not because of some warped sense of duty or self sacrifice that you and the rest of your idiotic team consider heroic."

It's endearing, if not more than a little insulting.

You're heart beats a little faster at the fact he's thought about fucking you, fluttering wildly behind your ribs because he seems to want you just as much as you want him.

But the insinuation you'd only be with him because it's your job to save people brings a type of rage thrumming through your blood that only Loki has ever been capable of summoning.

"You think I'd fuck you just because it might save your life? That I'd offer myself to you so intimately just so I could get for a fucking pat on the back for helping you?" You spit, offended. "I thought gods were supposed to be smart, or is it just you that is this extraordinarily stupid."

The situation feels familiar now, the two of you forgetting everything to return to spewing insults and barbs at each other because neither of you know how to deal with the sticky truth, the undeniable hope that the other one might feel the same.

And for a moment it works.

It distracts Loki from his pain, from his reluctance to be close to you, touching you, and in one swift move, he lunges. Knocks you back against the mattress and buries you beneath the weight of his powerful body.

"Careful with that mouth, darling." He taunts, dragging his nose across the curve of your cheek before savage eyes lock on yours. "Or I might be tempted to find something other than your poisonous words to fill it.

You don't rise to his baiting like you typically would, don't hiss and claw at him like a scorned cat because he's too close and his touch is an wholly unwanted offence on your skin.

Instead you do something infinitely worse.

You shock him.

You say his name, soft as silk, legs parting to make room for him to sink against you and his eyes blow wide - stunned like he can't quite believe you're real and inviting him to cover you entirely, to wrap himself around you like ivy, without an ounce of disgust.

"That's what I want."

He groans ragged like you've wounded him, like you've shoved your hand through his chest and yanked at something vital.

His hips lurch up subconsciously against yours and oh, it's enough to make your mouth run dry. The quick glimpse of him you'd had is nothing compared to the feel of him pushing against you.

It makes the tension bloat, electricity crackling upon your skin and you don't know how he isn't half mad with the drug when you feel like you could combust just from this alone.

He makes a rough, desperate sound in the back of his throat when you wrap your legs around him, eyes burning pitch black and starved as he trails his nose along the side of your face and growls.

"Darling–perfect little thing– tell me to stop. I can't– tell me this isn't what you really want."

You remove your hands from their bone knuckled grip on his arms, cradling the sharp lines of his jaw and pulling him down to where his lips just ghost over your own.

"I want you, Loki." You murmur. "Let me make it better, let me give you what you need."

He snaps then, lunges forward and claims your mouth in a punishing kiss, drinking you in so deep that you can barely breathe but you'll gladly suffocate before you even think of asking him to ease up.

You've never been kissed like this before, with such brutal demand and unyielding need that you could split apart at the seams from the raw heat of it all.

You tangle your hands something fierce into the silken depths of his hair, give a sharp tug when he scores the pillow of your lip with his teeth before drawing the tender flesh into his mouth like he wants nothing more than to mark you everywhere and with every part of him.

The pull of his hair draws an inhuman snarl from his chest and his hands turn to steel upon your thighs, fingers sinking in deep and wrenching your legs apart so his hips can slam against your cunt.

"Loki." You gasp, his name turning to a choked moan on your tongue as he licks and bites at your throat, teeth bared against the flushed skin in a terribly smug grin that you cannot bring yourself to huff about.

"That's it pet - say my name - let me hear how good I make you feel." He purrs.

You push at him then, push for control and to take advantage of his distraction so you can flip him on his back and fuck, he looks almost criminally good beneath you. Eyes startled, his lips parted in shock before they spread into a sharp, feral grin.

It's impossible to resist falling back into him, sweeping your tongue into his mouth when he catches you against his chest and swallowing the moans that pour from his lips to yours whilst you circle your hips relentlessly over the thick of him.

He likes constantly being touched, you've realised, craves it, yields to it, a soft note of disappointment always slipping through his gritted teeth when you remove any part of yourself.

So you touch him everywhere.

Your hips remain fused to his and your hands never cease roaming, scratching and tracing every ridge and dip of his body whilst you kiss, nip and lick at him until he's a whimpering mess beneath you.

You slip down the length of his body when it seems like he'll fracture if you take your time with him any longer, gentle hands peeling the leather of his trousers back and down, releasing his cock and wrapping your fingers around the thick weight.

He hisses at the contact, body going rigid and jackknifing from the bed as your thumb grazes up over the leaking head and you begin to stroke him. He croaks out your name like it's a plea to the heavens, his breath falling to ragged pants when you drag your tongue across the slit of his cock before sinking your mouth down onto his length.

"Fuck." He snarls.

You waste no time teasing him, swallowing him deep into your throat and sucking hard, tongue sliding over the thick vein running underneath as he throbs and his hips stammer against your face.

There's words, curses you think, in a language you don't understand falling rapidly from his lips and when your eyes flick up to him his are screwed shut, his head thrown back against the pillows, neck beautifully bared and his fingers wound so tight in the bedsheets it's only a matter of time before you hear them shred.

His eyes snap open to stare at you when you hum in approval around him, his lips parting and a hand shooting out to tangle in your hair. He looks wrecked and it does something indescribable to your chest, your pride, when he chokes.

"Please."

You hum around him again and he loses his composure entirely, fisting your hair tight and rocking his hips hard and fast into the welcoming heat of your mouth. You gag slightly at the assault on your throat, thighs clenching as he hisses through his teeth at the feel of it.

You were dripping just watching him like this, every nerve alight and desperate for his touch, thighs shifting again for some kind of friction and this time, Loki notices.

"You like this don't you, pet?" He grunts. "Fuck, I can smell you - needy little thing - let me help."

From the corner of your eye you catch a faint glow of green and then you jolt. Lashes fluttering as you moan, helplessly overwhelmed, around his cock.

There's a pressure, some kind of energy, swirling at your cunt, the feeling of tight circles being rapidly drawn over your swollen clit driving you mad, as if he's actually dipped his own fingers inside your pants and was skillfully touching you to ruin.

It's so much. His cock driving into your mouth whilst his magic thrums relentlessly against you. Your eyes roll back when he slows this thrusts, matching his pace to that of the phantom fingers plunging inside your walls.

"That's it, darling." He praises breathlessly when you whine around him, eyes never leaving your face. "Want to feel you cum just like this. Taking both my cock and my seidr so well, fucking filthy little thing."

His words strike a match that ignites something cataclysmic in your gut and you're done for. Your orgasm is cresting without hesitance, barreling towards you unapologetically fast until the muscles of your belly clench tight, the intensity making your head spin until your shuddering and moaning around his cock.

It tears a sound you've never heard in your life from Loki, something raw and wounded and so utterly blissed out shoves it's way out of his throat and then his fingers are curling almost painfully tight, yanking you down to the base of his cock as he pulses and spills hot on your tongue.

You swallow him down the best you can before his hands are clawing at your arms, hauling you up to his chest so he can bring his frenzied mouth to yours whilst he trembles.

"More." He bites out.

Pleasure makes him burn possessive.

It makes him roll you over and crush you with him, cage you with his body as his teeth carve marks into your skin and usually talented hands rip clumsily at your pants.

You choke on a half shriek, half moan as he stuffs you full of his fingers - spears you open and strokes you to madness, his voice a dark, lustful whisper snaking in your ear.

"So fucking tight, darling girl - bet that sweet little cunt looks so pretty stretched out on my fingers - be a good girl and cum for me again - cum for me and I'll give you my cock."

God yes, you need it. You'll go fucking insane if you don't.

You think he will break you just like this, that he’ll pull another lightening sharp orgasm from you with his fingers alone, but then he's suddenly drawing them from your slick warmth. Ignoring your frustrated whine to shred the clothes from your body as if they are nothing more than paper and pressing the broad width of his shoulders between your thighs.

He shoves his face into your cunt before you can fully recover from what the sight of him between your legs does to your ego, drives his tongue through the evidence of your previous release and swallows it down with a gut wrenching moan of satisfaction.

It is both worshipful and humbling.

He lays himself at your mercy like you are divine only to remind you that he can have you pleading and praying with a mere flick of his tongue. His fingers curling back into you whilst he seals his lips around your throbbing clit and sucks, making you buck wildly into his grinning mouth as you cry out and rake your nails across his scalp in a way that has him shuddering.

It's rabid and feral the way he eats at you, tongue swirling wet and messy over your clit and his fingers twisting to reach a spot that has your body caving in on itself.

He thrusts knuckle deep until you're wailing. Hiccuping his name as the orgasm builds in your belly with terrifying velocity and then he's nipping at you just a little bit sharply with his teeth, offering that hint of pain that makes the pleasure burn darker, wilder, than it ever has before.

You arch from the bed with a breathless, wounded sound, unable to scream, unravelling magnificently as he groans and licks you through your orgasm like a man that has known nothing but starvation his entire life.

And when it has all plateaued there is nothing left but an unrepentant desire to have him entirely when he slithers back up your body, sharp features endearingly pleased and his pretty mouth still shining with your release as he pushes you back into the bed and slides his cock teasingly against your wet cunt.

You go boneless. Pliant in a way that feels like exquisite submission, that threatens to drive Loki wild.

Your legs part wide for him, pussy fluttering, still pulsing with aftershocks whilst he catches at your entrance and then he's pushing inside you, a guttural moan bubbling past his throat, and the blunt stretch is so fucking good that you can't breathe. So right that your mind reels with it.

He drops to kiss you as you struggle to keep your sanity, nose nudging softly, adoringly, against your own, and when he pulls back his eyes are striking. Endless pools of crystalised blue blown wide with reverence. With deep seated hunger ready to devour you whole.

You both groan as he presses the final inches inside you.

Your legs weave around his waist so you can take him deeper and he inhales sharply, yanking himself out of you until only the thick head of his cock remains. You wonder dazedly if maybe he intends it to be a punishment, that maybe his old smugness is more intact than you thought and he intends you to beg for it, but then he's snapping back into you with a rough cant of his hips that almost winds you, splits you open with a deliciousness that has you gasping.

"Oh my god–" You whimper and it's like any semblance of restraint he was still valiantly clinging to evaporates as his entire body trembles. “Loki–you feel so–fuck–”

He buries you beneath him, snares his hand into the locks of your hair and sinks his teeth into your throat whilst he rolls his hips, grinds them in a maddening push and pull, pressing in so fucking close as if he wishes to never leave you at all.

It's like he's lost to the sensation of you, the tight warmth of your cunt and the praise that pours from your lips whilst he chases that frantic need to be sunk deep over and over.

“I can't–I can't go easy on you–I'm sorry.” There is strain in his voice now, a lovely tortured tone, as if he was losing his head completely.

You cling to him desperately. Nails scoring crimson lines and small crescen moon marks into the milk pale skin of his shoulders as he fucks you like he wants you to splinter, like he wants you in pieces so he can burrow among your bones and make himself a home inside you.

He reels back suddenly, bunches his knees beneath your ass and pulls himself upright. You want to protest the loss of him but then he's grabbing your legs, hitching them higher until they're slung over his shoulders and using your thighs as an anchor to ram himself deeper, so he can punch up into the heart of you.

It's almost too much when his fingers slip to where you're joined, when he touches you, quick and unrelenting, until the pleasure is so intense there are tears of bliss gathering at the corners of your eyes.

It's almost too much when he stares at you like he's completely enamoured and reaches for your face, thumbing away a stray tear before it can slip fully down your cheek with a tenderness that threatens to crack you open. You're whimpering, pleading with him to kiss you, to make you cum, to feel him cum inside you, and the noise he makes in retaliation is low, hungered.

"Pretty little thing, you need to cum? You want me to fill you up?" He rasps - wicked and dripping with a dark shade of longing. He tilts his hips, angles himself so his next thrust plunges into that part of you that makes your cunt spasm and a loud wail tear from your lips. "Fuck - go ahead, let me feel it, let everyone hear you make a mess all over my cock."

His name claws out of your throat on a broken cry, the sound of it jagged, ruined, as every muscle in your body locks up tight until you're violently trembling, bursting wet around him, and everything becomes a scatter of pure pleasure and dizzying bursts of radiant light.

It takes only moments before the same sensation hunts him so closely. Your cunt gripping him tighter, milking him, until he's snarling a punched out curse. The rising crescendo of slapping skin suddenly faltering as his deliberate pace becomes a frantic, savage thing.

"That's it darling - my pretty little goddess - beautiful thing, all mine." He praises before he chokes, folding himself over you and claiming your lips in a messy kiss. Devouring your mouth as you broke and broke and broke.

He ensures you are shattered entirely and only then does he allow his own devastation. His breath stuttering, voice shredding, body convulsing as he fucks you through it and growls your name, spilling, hot and deep, inside you.

It goes on for hours.

Until the desperation has bled from his veins and his skin has cooled to a normal temperature.

It's deep into the night when the two of you finally collapse into the sheets exhausted, the cool press of his body tangled with yours a blissful relief to both your mind and the flushed heat of your own sticky skin.

Every inch of you is raw - littered in marks from his fingers and teeth, the phantom stretch of him still making you ache.

Loki holds you tight to him, draws you close against the sharp rise and fall of his chest and cradles your head like you're something infinitely precious.

He doesn't speak though and you have a feeling his mind is struggling to process the sudden leap in the relationship between you, picking it apart and trying to discover what this makes you to him.

The silence blisters and pricks at you until you can't handle it any longer and you blurt out the first thing that comes to your pleasure-addled brain.

"Well… good to know you're not going to die."

His chest shakes lightly under your cheek and you realise he's chuckling, a soft, light sound slipping from his lips that you don't think you've ever heard from him.

"That drug was never going to kill a god." He scoffs, trailing feather light fingertips down your arm. "But I can see how it would be dangerous for mortals, which is precisely why I insisted on taking your place."

Wait–

What.

You lurch up and twist in his hold to look at him, his eyes, guarded and hesitant, as he watches you and attempts to gauge your reaction.

"You took my place to protect me?" You whisper, inhaling a sharp breath he nods.

There's something blooming in your chest, something you don't want to look at too closely so soon, something that bloomed also when he called you his. But as soft as his gesture makes you, it also bothers another part of you, the part of you that is an avenger and more than capable of dealing with dangerous situations.

You tell him as much and he grumbles.

Something along the lines of. "Do you really expect me to stand by and let something happen to you if I can prevent it? I don't want to see you hurt and mortals are so -"

He doesn't get to finish before you're planting your hands firm against his cool chest and growling. "If you say fragile or weak, I swear I will ruin this otherwise sweet moment and punch you in that perfect face."

His eyes narrow, glinting dark and tempting, and his voice drops to a wisp of coiling smoke.

"You can try, darling."

God, is he really trying to seduce you again.

"Stop trying to distract me." You swat at him angrily. "Next time just come along and work the mission with me, don't get me taken off. Deal?"

He watches you for a moment, arches a brow at the way you glare at him before huffing. "I suppose."

There's barely any time for you to grin smugly at your victory before he's hauling you down and rolling you beneath him, his razor sharp smile gleaming above you as his eyes pitch dark once more.

"Now, how about we seal our little deal."

#loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki odinson #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x y/n #loki fanfic #loki fanfction

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innocent-artery · 2 years ago

Note

hi! if your requests are open could you do anything for patrick verona? like anything lol ill take it

So requests are actually not open right now, but given that this was sent in when they were I saved it for Kinktober. I hope you like it!

Kinktober 31st: I Knew You'd Come Around

aka hate sex with Patrick Verona

1k words

Summary: Hate sex with Patrick Verona. That's it.

Pairing: Patrick Verona x fem!reader

For the sake of avoiding spoilers, extensive warnings will not be given. This story includes sexually explicit material, reader discretion advised.

While reading, I recommend listening to enemies to lovers, a spotify playlist by me!

You hated yourself for doing this, you really did. You hated the butterflies in your stomach for fluttering when he grabbed your ass, hated your hands for tugging him closer by the collar of his, hated your heart for racing at the feeling of his tongue on yours.

That was the general emotion when you were around him. Hate. Hate and frustration and annoyance and pure, fiery arousal.

The last one is the most prevalent as you're pressed up against a bedroom wall, the bass of the song playing outside reverberating on your back. Patrick's hands are all over you, groping and tracing every inch of skin he could find.

"Fucking idiot," you huff in between wet smacks of your lips, yanking at his shirt collar, trying to signal him to take it off.

"Y'know," he starts, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, "for someone who proclaims to hate me so much, you sure are hell-bent on getting me naked."

"They're not mutually exclusive concepts, dumbass." Your words seem frail, and your voice trails off at the end as his fingers tug at the belt loops of your pants.

"Ooh, big words." He purrs, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you doing that thing where you try to sound smart so that I don't notice that you're full of shit?"

"I am not- oh..." Any biting remark you may have had ready died on your tongue as his fingers slipped under your pants and stroked your covered lips, building a dull, throbbing ache between your legs.

"Aw, not so talkative now, are you?" Patrick placed open-mouthed kisses over your neck, nipping gently every so often. "If I'd known this was all it took to shut you up, I would've done this sooner."

With a gasp, your hand snakes up to his hair, fingers curling when the pads of his fingers linger over your covered clit, roaming a little before finding the rhythm that made your head fall back with a thump.

"Atta girl, keep making those pretty noises." He hummed, using his other hand to pop open the buttons of your pants and tug them down to your knees.

Well, naturally, you just had to do the opposite of whatever he told you. So you clamped your mouth shut. But by then your vocal cords had developed a mind of their own, so your hums and sighs were still crystal clear in his ears.

Patrick pulls back for a moment to look at you, eyes darting all over your stony face. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, and you could see the gears turning behind his eyes.

"Shoulda seen that coming. But we'll get you talking."

And you should have known he wasn't all talk. Before you have the chance to scoff at his remark, his hand dips under the waistband of your underwear to trace along your lips, skin to skin contact.

You could feel your cheeks turn hot as he watched you, eyes wide with awe and amusement. "'S such a mess down there, pretty. Little ol' me did that?"

He knew you weren't going to admit it, so he didn't wait for a response. He got all he needed when he saw you react, saw you keen when his fingertips dragged over your clit, resuming the rhythm that set fire in your belly.

"Aw, it's okay," he purrs, tonguing over your collarbone. "Y'don't have to say it. Y'know why? 'Cause this pretty pussy says it all for me, doesn't she?"

That makes your pussy clench, and you know he can feel it. An airy chuckle tells you he definitely can. "Thought so. Can feel her asking for it, begging for me."

You can't help the surprised moan that is ripped from your throat when he sinks a finger in, curling at just the right spot to have your nails digging into his shoulders. Your legs are already weak, and stray hairs are already pasted to your forehead by sweat.

"Fucking hate you," you sigh, but when you're rolling your hips up into his hand it doesn't hold much venom.

"Can't hear you, sweet cheeks, might need to speak up."

"I hate you."

"What's that?''

"I hate you." You can feel pleasure boiling in your gut, seconds away from boiling over.

"One more time," he purrs, pressing his palm up into your clit.

"I hate you! Patrick!" You grasp onto his shoulders as pleasure comes over you in waves, spreading through every vein into your fingertips until you're panting through a blissful afterglow.

"There we go." Patrick wipes a hair that fell over your mouth away, grinning. "Knew you'd come around."

You roll your eyes as Patrick pats your cheek and then leaves towards the ensuite bathroom. The air is suddenly cold against you, and a strange feeling swoops in your gut when his figure disappears from your sight. But he comes back a moment later with a wet rag to hand to you, and the feeling lightens.

For the first time in all the time you've known each other, a thick silence permeated the room amongst the smell of sex. The sound of fabric rustling against skin and the bathroom sink running sounded louder against the tile.

Patrick was the first to speak. "I'm assuming you don't want to be seen together, so I won’t overstay my welcome. I’ll see you around." He didn’t meet your eye, murmuring into his shirt as he buckled his belt.

You didn't respond. You weren't sure why, and you weren't sure what the answer would have been if you had. But Patrick doesn't seem to take offense to it, instead stepping out of the bathroom. You watch through the mirror as he heads towards the bedroom door.

He stops in the doorway, hand on the doorknob. He's wearing his telltale grin and his hair whips with the movement as he looks back at you.

"If you ever feel like hating me again, give me a call."

#patrick verona #ten things i hate about you #10 things i hate about you #patrick verona x reader #fanfiction #smut #x fem reader #x reader smut #x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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zephyrrr101 · 2 months ago

Text

Elizabeth Midford's Turmoil.

Okay, before I go on my rant, there are manga spoilers from the Arcs that are ahead of where Anime is, so you are being WARNED.

It kind of makes me sad that everyone hates Lizzy nowadays. Like idk what people expect from her. She is 14.

Freaking 14!

You know what we are doing at 14? Worrying and losing shit about our exams and not having good looks at 14.

Like, put yourself in her shoes. The girl lost not only her fiance but also two of her best friends, her uncle and aunt who would have dotted on her with how we know Vincent and Rachel were. She lost them all, and then after a month, one of her cousins came back saying he was her fiance, and this went on for three years.

I'm not saying Our Ciel is a bad guy here or anything. He had his own reasons. But think of it from Lizzy's side. This is supposed to be the boy who she sacrificed so much for. The boy for whom she exchanged beautiful heels for flats, appeared frail and girly because her supposed fiance had been scared of strong women since he was a child and she didn't want him to hate her or be scared of her, so she hid away her natural talents so he wouldn't think of her as the same way he thought of her mother. This is the girl who cried while trying to save the supposed fiance from walking corpses because she thought he'd hate her for being able to protect herself and him and not being girly.

Like has anyone thought about the fact there might have been things that Lizzy and Real Ciel might have discussed that Our Ciel wouldn't know about? Like for this instance here, from Chapter 66 when they are celebrating Easter.

This is seriously something to put into consideration that Lizzy is infact talking to him about something that she had told him before the fire at Phantomhive manor. And he doesn't knows it. And she is shocked. And she is shocked to the point that for the first time in what we have read the manga she asks that what happened to him in that ome month that changed him so much.

And then, all of sudden she is reunited with the guy who knows exactly what she and him talked about when they talking of their future. Mind you both Ciel were 10 and Lizzy was 11 at that time.

Do we even put it into thought that maybe Real Ciel might have given her a whole detailed version of what actually happened when he was killed, like how Our Ciel got the Phantomhive ring and all the gruesome details, and God knows would have told her what else?

And idk if you get it or not, but the fact that she's actually beating herself over is that she couldn't find any difference between Real Ciel and Our Ciel, which, again, if you put yourself in her shoes, will make sense that her reaction is right.

Source: Chapter 144

And even after that, her thoughts first go to how our Ciel might be mocking her or not then she tells Edward what she actually thought at the moment.

These two boys who she played with since they were kids, these two boys who were her best friends, and she couldn't find a difference between her fiance and his brother. It's not anything but traumatizing and something that anyone would feel tremendous guilt over. And even then she is feeling far more guilty over the fact that if she had known the truth, she could have ended up hating Ciel because he wasn't her fiance.

Reminds you guys of something?

Source: Chapter 11

She knows she would have turned bitter and we possibly would have seen the same reaction we did when Madam Red attempted to kill Our Ciel. Something which did happen when we saw her attacking Sebastian when he tried to retrieve her from the Sphere Music Hall. And if not that she feels guilty of playing part in what happened with Our Ciel and the Scotland Yard being set on his tail.

She feels hurt, guilty and confused all over not knowing what to do or who to side with because the guy who was okay with her being a strong woman was not her actual fiance but his younger twin.

Overall. Give the girl a break. She's 14, confused, and emotionally traumatized. Get that we love Our Ciel. I do too. But let's not get angry at a 14-year-old girl and allow her the liberty of having emotions like any real 14-year-old is allowed because let's accept it her situation ain't anything pretty.

#black butler manga #black butler #elizabeth midford #lizzy midford #ciel phantomhive #sebastian michaelis #black butler spoilers #madam red

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viridian-dagger · 3 months ago

Text

Seiðr of a Death Singer - 4

Rating: Explicit/Mature - 18+ only! Minors DNI

Warnings: named/minimally described oc, mute!oc, animal death/animal sacrifice (its a fish), witchcraft, Kjartan and Sven and some awful shit they did mention, death, mutilation of bodies (Skade), Uhtred is lowkey in his dumb bitch hours (its not his fault but like. come on man), Skade is really just a warning in herself but also I'm making her more of a bad bitch bc I can and I want to, allusion to madness, curses, emotional progress is made with more than one pretty boy 👀... but then progress is lost with another lmao

Word count: 5k

Author's Note: cross posted on ao3, beta read by @witchoftheewilds and dividers by @zaldritzosrose found here ! please let me know what you think and if you want to be added to the taglist 🖤

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

Røskva spent most of the ride to Aweltun in the shadows of her own mind. The things she could do to spare Uhtred and the rest of the men from any stray curses the other seer might try to throw at them were being meticulously catalogued. But she was truly, deeply afraid; the salves and tinctures she learned from her nan were nothing against chaos Bloodhair’s seer would undoubtedly unleash.

She would have to rely on what she’d learned from Hrafn, things she never forgot but frightened her all the same..

Hrafn had been a frail, elderly seer Kjartan had brought to Dunholm when she was 14. The seer had been half blind, half mad, and nearing death but she had taught Røskva a great many things she hadn’t known before. How to throw a curse, how to give blood offerings, how to show allegiance to the Gods, how to bend others to her will, how to use their blood against them… Some of her lessons had been terrifying.

But in the fear and uncertainty, Hrafn had also been compassionate. She had been teaching Røskva how to sever the ties of a blood bond less than a month after arriving in Dunholm when Kjartan overheard. He had killed her and the old woman's head spent a month on a pike on the outer wall.

She wasn’t sure exactly how willing anyone other than Sihtric would be to help her; Finan and Osferth wouldn't understand what she had to do, and Uhtred’s loyalty to the Gods wavered in her mind as she thought about how close he was to the priest. Sihtric would understand, especially if she reminded him what Hrafn taught her. She had never seen Sihtric so terrified in her life when the old woman had grabbed him by the chin and whispered 'don't fight the call of fate, boy’.

But the closer they rode, the more unsettled she felt. The air felt heavy, and the visions blurred with reality as she fell in and out of them easily. Her only foothold in time was the conversations happening around her and Finan’s chest pressed against her back.

“We will stop here and scout,” Uhtred called out, snapping her out of her haze as the horses came to a stop. She couldn’t tell if the rot and smoke was in her mind alone or if it truly lingered in the air, but it made her feel ill regardless.

Finan had helped her down from his horse before she watched him disappear into the treeline, Uhtred and Osferth looking after him while Sihtric plopped down onto a stump to sharpen his seax. She took the opportunity to slink into the brambles and thickets, ripping plants and herbs out of the ground as she went. She grabbed anything that she thought could be helpful; purple and black

Røskva hated the way her hands shook as she made her way over to the near-frozen stream. Sinking to her knees, she broke up the thin layer of ice on the surface, shivering as the frigid water splashed up, raining droplets onto her skin.

She waited and watched, and when she found what she was looking for, took a breath and plunged her hand into the water. The wriggling, slippery creature nearly escaped, but the tip of her blade found its home between the gills and the fish went still.

“Røskva!” Sihtric shouted, making her jump as he stalked to her side. “Did you not hear me calling for you? What are you—” he asked, but cut himself off when she glared at him.

She pointed at the small, shaky rune Hrafn had tattooed on the back of her hand. Sihtric’s face went pale and he grabbed the Mjölnir hanging around his neck. She saw rapidfire emotions flicker in his eyes before they went hard and cold, determination burning in them.

“What do you need?” he whispered, and she felt something in her soften against her own will as she smiled at him sadly and she shook her head, lifting the limp fish in her hand for him to see. “You are afraid,” Sihtric said softly, and she nodded, not bothering to lie. “It was the vision?” He asked again, earning another nod. “Be swift. Finan has returned with a survivor. They are making a plan, but we will leave soon.”

She gave him a soft smile before turning to the water, digging the blade into the fish and slicing it open with one clean cut, and it took her a moment to find the heart. The warmth from the small organ seeped into her palm, and she felt a small pang of sadness ring through her chest as the life fled from the heart, turning a slightly ashen grey.

She hadn’t noticed that Sihtric had dropped to his knees beside her and made a hole in the frozen ground for her. She gave him a small smile in thanks and set to work, making a nest of fibrous roots, wilting berries, and musky flower petals. She placed the heart inside the nest and piled the berries and flowers high, before covering it with the unearthed dirt. She closed her eyes and mouthed the words she never dared to speak before, but could never forget.

Time seemed to stop as she chanted — the words less than a whisper in the breeze — and she felt the world fall away as the thread of fate was weaved. Gone was the sound of the rushing stream breaking the ice and the smell of frost as she watched the iridescent strand burst from soil and streak out into the aether, and she felt the blood sing in her ears as the strand went taut and latched onto the other’s heart; the curse had been made and would not be broken.

“Røskva, we must return,” Sihtric said softly, breaking her from her daze. She felt as though she was half in a dream still; nothing quite in focus as he took her hands and pulled her off the ground to her feet. “Do you have need of this?” he asked, grabbing the carcass of the fish. She shook her head, walking away from the stream toward the sound of Uhtred and Finan’s voices.

When she stumbled back through the thickets of shrubs, she found a new person speaking to Uhtred and Osferth in hushed tones while Finan stood within arms reach, face hard and eyebrows furrowed. “Did you lot have a good time playin’ around in the water?” Finan groused, sending an annoyed look over her shoulder.

“She was making an offering,” Sihtric lied, his voice even and steady. She would have believed he thought that was the truth if she hadn’t sent the curse herself. She hoped her confusion wasn’t betrayed by the fog that had settled in her mind, but Finan hadn’t spared a glance in her direction to notice anything to betray Sihtric’s lie; his gaze was focused entirely on Sihtric.

“We do not have the time for this,” Uhtred snapped, voice thick with annoyance. “Bloodhair is near and we must move before we lose the chance!”.

“Do not lose this,” Sihtric whispered in her ear, pressing the knife she had abandoned into her palm, before slipping past where she stood and joined Uhtred.

She stared dumbly down at the knife in her hand, wondering how she had been so stupid to leave it. Finan’s gentle hand removing the knife from her grip took her focus as he spoke, voice soft in her ear, as they walked toward Uhtred. “You shouldn’t hide that in your boot anymore, darlin’, it’s too hard to reach,” he said gently, sticking the knife in her belt.

She was about to respond, but her attention was caught by the unfamiliar man speaking to Uhtred, “Bloodhair was there this morning, lord, I swear,” he said, his voice shaking. “He burned the village and took the church.”

“I believe you, my friend,” Uhtred said kindly. “We will make haste, and save what we can.”

The journey to Aweltun was easy and quick, but every step brought a sharpness and clarity to her mind. The village was nothing but smoking ruins, completely abandoned save for a few Danes standing in the yard around the church in the center of town. The sight of the church alone was enough to turn her stomach, but the way rot seemed to seep out of the building into the ground and spread outward, reaching toward them made her heart lurch in her throat.

“Bloodhair is gone, lord, but the devil woman; she is in there,” the man whispered, pointing at the church. She watched the annoyance flicker on Uhtred’s face, but settle into a passive grimace as he looked at the smouldering remains of the village. “Am I still needed?”

“Go find your family,” Uhtred said softly, not bothering to look away from the Danes as the man scurried away. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears as they waited for a sign from Uhtred when he broke the silence, eyes finding hers. “You will not move from here unless you are being attacked, yes?” He asked, voice firm.

She nodded, but gave him a gesture that made a smirk grow on Finan’s face as she walked away, giving Osferth a small smile as she passed him. He gave her a flat grimace in return as he was pushed forward, into the path of the Danes. She knew he was bound to be the distraction.

She watched the three of them communicate silently, Sihtric’s eyes cutting to hers to give a single burning look before finding the others again. Røskva fought the urge to scoff as Sihtric tapped the flat of Finan’s sword with his axe and ran out of sight.

“She said ‘try not to get killed’, but with a truly stunnin’ amount of colourful words for you,” Finan whispered through a laugh as they ran in the opposite direction of Sihtric.

Røskva strained to hear Osferth’s muffled voice, but flashes of blood and death cut through her mind like a white hot blade and she knew she couldn’t stand idly by and watch them be sent to their deaths. At the first clang of metal, she slipped her blade out of its hiding spot and ran to the church, hiding around the corner from the door.

She went completely unnoticed by the Danes as they rushed to the sounds of fighting, and by Uhtred and his men who went from one opponent to the next seamlessly.

Until suddenly it stopped; countless Danes lay dead, scattered around the churchyard as Finan, Sihtric, Uhtred, and Osferth made their way up the steps toward the door.

“Haesten told Beocca she is of the devil,” Uhtred said as she watched Finan try to peek through the window into the church.

“Then it might be an idea to bar the door and burn the place down,” Finan suggested. She hated the way Uhtred’s body tensed at the suggestion; Finan was right, and Uhtred couldn’t see it. “Why not?” He asked Uhtred.

“To Bloodhair she will be priceless,” Uhtred reasoned but something black swirled in her gut. The rot from the witch was taking hold of him; the cursed woman had him in her sights already.

As soon as Uhtred stepped toward the church door, she forced herself to dart out and stand in front of the door. She held the blade behind her back, hands shaking. She would never stand a chance against him or the others — even Osferth would be able to cut her down — but she hoped Uhtred would listen to reason.

“Røskva, what are you doing here? I told you to wait in safety!” Uhtred snapped, eyes narrowing. “Stand aside, we must retrieve this seer.” She stood her ground and shook her head, eyes flickering to meet Finan’s gaze over her shoulder.

“Lord, she doesn’t want us to go in there. Maybe she’s got a good reason for it,” Finan suggested calmly. “Have you been havin’ visions of this place?” he asked.

‘Nothing but death here,’ she gestured in return. ‘Please, leave here. We will die if we stay.’

Finan went pale and made the sign of the cross, “We have to go, lord. Nothin’ here for us but death she said.”

“She would not lie, lord,” Sihtric added softly.

“I do not care! I must bring her to Alfred and we will ransom her to Bloodhair!” Uhtred roared, eyes going wild. He seemed different than she had known him and she knew then that she had cast her curse too late; the seer in the church had bound Uhtred to her. The madness that she had cursed upon her was already reflecting in Uhtred — it would only get worse until she could unbind them.

‘She will take him,’ she gestured to Finan, pleading with her eyes for him to listen, and to disobey Uhtred this once if only to save his life. ‘Burn it with her inside. It is the only way to save him.’

“She said we must burn it,” Finan said, grief colouring his words.

“I care not what a sheltered little witch says! Stand aside!” Uhtred shouted, stepping toward her. She flinched, but pulled the knife out from behind her back, swiping it in his direction.

“You would harm me? After all I have done to protect you?” He asked, stepping back as if she had dealt him a wound. His bright blue eyes shone with confusion and hurt.

‘There is nothing here but death,’ she gestured again in vain, but he simply growled in anger and lunged for her, grabbing her wrist and twisting it roughly. The knife fell to the ground with a muffled slap and the scream of pain caught in her throat uselessly. She felt again like the helpless whelp of a girl that they had saved from hanging just over a week ago, but she felt less safe than she had ever felt in their presence.

“Røskva!” Finan shouted while Osferth cried out, “Lord, please!”

“Enough!” Uhtred growled, “Finan, bind her hands. She is a traitor to me.”

“Lord, she is not a traitor!” Sihtric argued.

“She is tryin’ to keep us alive,” Finan said as Uhtred pushed her toward the Irishman, out of the way of the door. Uhtred ignored them both and despite his protest, Finan bound her hands nonetheless. The binding was weak and loose, and his eyes bored into hers, teeming with regret as he did as his lord bid.

She felt the string of fate she had woven grow tighter as the door swung open with a slow creeeeeeak behind her. Sihtric looked sickened and conflicted as he passed by her, following Uhtred into the church.

“I’m sorry, love, but there’s nothin’ I can do,” Finan whispered, leading her into the church with a deep grimace set on his face.

She heard the mirrored gasps from Uhtred and Sihtric, only seconds apart but equally as unsettled as they rounded the corner. She knew what was coming, she’d seen it already, but nothing prepared her for the smell of death and blood that hung in the air, stagnant and ominous. And the sight was worse than she had expected; the mutilated corpses strewn across the floor, hanging from the rafters, and impaled onto the wall. A Dane stood shrouded shadows against the wall on the far side of the church, but standing in the center of the room, perched against a small table and smirking up at the corpse strung on the rafters, was the woman cursed.

Her blonde hair was matted and wild, tipped in blood, viscera up to her elbows as she held a human heart in her hands. But the worst was the hollow blackness in her eyes that seemed to only appear every time Røskva blinked.

“You are Skade?” Uhtred asked, and Røskva cringed. Using her name did not give him any power over her; it only strengthened her hold on him. The Dane in the shadows reached for his axe but Uhtred and his men all drew their weapons. “You,” he said pointing to the Dane, “you will do nothing except go to your lord and tell him that Uhtred of Bebbanburg has his witch.”

Skade smiled and Røskva felt sick, “I knew it was you,” she purred.

“There will be a ransom to pay,” Uhtred said firmly, ignoring her.

“No,” she smirked, “you will go to my lord and tell him from this moment forth, Uhtred of bebbanburg is cursed. That the witch holds his heart in her hands,” Skade said, stepping toward Uhtred as she showed off the heart in her hand. “And she will squeeze it… and break it,” she said, digging her nails into the organ before letting it fall to the floor with a sickening, wet plop.

The Dane looked between Uhtred and Skade, both of them saying “Go.” Røskva cut her gaze to Sihtric, and the look in his eyes was impossible to mistake; he would never doubt her again.

“It is you who are my prisoner now,” Skade smiled as the Dane squeezed out of the room past them.

“Seize her,” Uhtred demanded, but no one moved. “I said seize the witch Sihtric! Bind her hands!” he shouted, spitting the word as if it was a curse on its own.

Sihtric sprung into action at the snappish tone, hastily unbinding Røskva’s hands before grabbing Skade and wrapping the length of rope around her wrists tightly. A murderous gleam sparkled in her eyes as Sihtric worked, “I have aligned myself with the three spinners of fate and taken hold of your life. You belong to me now—”

“And her mouth!” Uhtred shouted, sounding panicked as he stumbled backward. “I want to hear no more from this foul witch!”

A viscous smile spread on her face as Finan moved, producing another length of fabric to bind her, “—Your path is the path I choose for you Uhtred Ragnarsson and your spirit is mine to torment!” she shouted before Finan was able to silence her.

Despite her now forced silence, Røskva couldn’t help but squirm under the seer’s gaze. It was truly empty save for the malice glittering in their depths.

“Cover her eyes,” Uhtred demanded, and she felt grateful for it as Finan slapped a hand over her eyes and instantly the air cleared of her poisonous rot. For a second, she thought she saw Uhtred’s eyes clear of madness, but with a blink they were wild and unfocused again. “We will take her with us to Aescengum.”

“Lord—” Osferth said, but Uhtred turned and stalked out of the church without acknowledging him. Osferth simply sighed and turned to Røskva, “He should have listened to you.”

‘He is blinded by her,’ she gestured with a halfhearted shrug.

“Osferth is right,” Sihtric mumbled, eyes dark as he stormed out of the church after Uhtred. The discord between them, and the sudden shift in Uhtred’s behavior had her mind spinning; how had she gotten hold of him? Bound him to her before seeing him? It made the knot in her gut tighten in discomfort as she trudged back out into the cold, praying the smell of death and rot didn’t linger. She knew it would though.

“I do not trust her, lord,” she heard Sihtric mumble as she walked out into the courtyard. He and Uhtred were standing toe to toe, frustration evident in both Sihtric’s face and the rigid set of Uhtred’s shoulders; she was almost sure she could see his hands shaking where they were fisted at his sides. “She can ride with me if—”

“I said she rides alone!” Uhtred shouted, rage rolling off him in waves. The anger in his voice made her stop in her tracks; was he angry with her? He had every reason to be, but she hoped he could see now she was only trying to save them the suffering Skade would bring.

Guilt flashed in Sihtric’s mismatched gaze as he caught her eye over Uhtred’s shoulder, and Sihtric deflated as Uhtred whipped around to glare in her direction, his eyes hardening slightly before he turned back around and stomped away, back in the direction of the horses.

“I will hear no more arguments, Sihtric. Put her on the horse and meet me on the road,” Uhtred shouted as he walked. “She better be worth the trouble she has already caused,” she heard him growl as he left.

“Where’s he goin’?” Finan asked as they watched Uhtred retreat.

Sihtric sighed in response, shoulders slumping as he hung his head. “To Aescengum. To Wessex’s aid, as always,” he muttered before grabbing the reins of the lone horse tied to the ramshackle fence surrounding the church and beginning to walk after Uhtred.

Osferth piped up from behind her, his voice so close to her it made Røskva jump. “He does not trust her.”

A cold sweat broke across her skin as she followed after Sihtric, pleading in her mind for him to turn and assure her that they weren’t talking about her, that she still had the sliver of trust she had earned in the last few days.

“Good, I don’t want her on my bloody horse anyway,” Finan scoffed and her heart stuttered in her chest, but she forced herself to keep walking. Shame caused her cheeks to heat and spread down her neck and chest, settling in her gut like acid.

She tuned out the conversation as they walked, trying to find a way to explain to Uhtred why she had tried to stop him, why Skade couldn’t be trusted. But any explanation felt meaningless; she had lost his trust. He had called her a witch with the same venom he had spat the word in Skade’s direction.

“Røskva,” a voice in her ear made her jump, her attention snapping to the source of the voice. She found raw emotion, unhidden and unguarded, on Sihtric’s face, eyes desperate and pleading. “Please, I will help you with what I can, but you must do something. Uhtred is… mad. Not even when Gisela–only when Ragnar–and Guthred–please. You must help me,” he begged, words tumbling out of his mouth in half sentences that made no sense to her.

She could do nothing but stare at him, frozen in shock, and nod.

Relief seemed to swarm him instantly, tension bleeding out of his posture as a small smile grew on his face. “Thank you, I will do what I can to assist. I may be able to get Finan to help as well,” he whispered conspiratorially as they broke through the shrubs, finding the horses they had left; Uhtred’s chestnut stallion was gone already. “When we are in Aescengum, we will make a plan,” he nodded, walking away to his dappled mare.

She couldn’t help but stare after him in confusion; the wild fluctuations in his emotions were unusual. Røskva could find no reasonable explanation other than Skade — her influence was affecting all of them.

“Røskva,” Finan’s voice called out, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Røskva seethed in silence at the disorientation it was giving her, eyes scanning the area.

She hadn’t noticed when the oppressive fog settled on the meadow, obscuring nearly everything from view.

“Røskva!” he shouted, voice booming in her ears. Suddenly, the fog cleared and she found Finan’s concerned face inches from her own, hands hovering over her shoulders as if he was afraid to touch her. “You alright love?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Was that a vision? It was like you were starin’ right through me.”

She stamped out the confusion and settled on rage as she found Skade smirking beneath her gag with her vacuous eyes locked onto Røskva from where she sat, bound by the wrists to the saddle of a horse.

‘We should have killed her when we had the chance,’ she gestured, stomping over to his horse.

Røskva was sick of the back of Uhtred’s head; she had been staring at it, mentally pleading for him to turn around and chat with the group as they rode, but he remained silent and just barely ahead of them as Aescengum appeared ahead of them in the valley. She could feel the weight of Skade’s gaze on the back of her own head, but she refused to give the woman the satisfaction.

“I fear she may have got herself inside his head,” Finan grumbled, his voice gruff in her ear, “We should kill her and be done with it.”

“That will not kill the curse,” Sihtric argued, eyes cutting between her and Finan. She gave him a terse nod, but didn’t try to elaborate. He was right, and even if Finan and Osferth didn’t know it, she did.

“There is no curse!” Osferth called out from behind them. He had gotten the short end of the stick and was forced to tie his horse with Skade’s to ensure she couldn’t bolt.

“And if I say there is no Christian God, does that make it so?” Sihtric snapped back, whipping around to glare at Osferth over his shoulder.

“There is no curse, Sihtric!” Osfterth called back, ignoring the glare. Røskva couldn’t help but feel grateful that Osferth seemed unchanged and unbothered by Skade’s presence.

“I’ve seen a woman throw a curse and the next day a man is dead,” Sihtric said, voice going tight as he refused to look in her direction. The silence that followed made Røskva’s skin crawl; Finan and Osferth were clearly wondering if he had been talking about her.

And Røskva couldn’t deny it — she had cursed one of Kjartan’s men when he offered to buy her and Thyra from Sven and Kjartan. Røskva had waited until the ale had begun to flow, stood on the table, and thrown the curse in the hall, for everyone to see. The men had laughed and jeered, not believing she had the ability to send a man to his death.

But when he broke his fast the next morning, he started leaking blood in every direction. The screaming and panic started soon after, followed by a blanket of silence. The man had fallen dead into his porridge, and she was the cause.

She’d been careful not to show Kjartan her power before then, but rage had overtaken sense. Unfortunately, it had revealed something she wished she could have kept hidden. From that moment on, Kjartan knew what she had been capable of, and knew also when she had refused to carry out his command — a frequent occurrence. The whippings came more often after that, but she took them without complaint. She refused to let a man like Kjartan wield her like a sword when he had one of his own.

“Right,” Finan coughed, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “That is enough talkin’. To speak of it makes it stronger,” he whispered conspiratorially.

As Aescengum rose ahead of them as the sun set in the sky, Røskva couldn’t help but feel nervous at the sight of it; it looked larger and stronger than both Dunhom and Eofferwic, but it looked oppressive and dark in the fading light. She’d never seen a Saxon keep before — the walls were high and made of stone; they looked as though they could withstand a siege for months on end. And the soldiers on the gate wore strange armour and held spears tipped with a glimmering metal.

The thought of the guards turning their spears on them had anxiety churning in her gut, but the gate opened without fuss as Uhtred rode up to them. Røskva wondered how long it would be till the Saxons turned on him; Uhtred was a Dane afterall. Her nan had warned her that the Saxons would only tolerate a Dane for so long before he showed his true alliance — to their God above all.

“Welcome to Wessex, Lady Røskva,” Finan whispered in her ear with a chuckle. She wasted no time sending an elbow into his ribs, smiling to herself at the groan of pain and the laugh that followed. “I deserved that, didn’t I?”

“Lord Uhtred!” A voice called out as they made their way into the courtyard, and fear seized her when she saw the big Saxon who had found them outside of Eofferwic, Steapa. Behind him stood Father Beocca, looking pensive. “The King would like to speak to you.”

“Could we not have a moment to rest, Steapa? We have been riding for days,” Uhtred groused in return.

“I’m sorry, lord, but the King said the matter was urgent,” Steapa said firmly.

She heard Uhtred groan as he dismounted, “Tell him I will be there shortly, I have a hostage to deal with.”

“Let your men deal with the hostage, you are needed,” Steapa said firmly, turning away.

Røskva watched as Uhtred’s shoulders slumped and the burden he wore became immediately noticeable. He bore it with grace most of the time, but there was a weight on him the others did not have. She had seen glimpses of it, not able to put her finger on exactly what it was that plagued him, but now she understood what exactly that burden was: it was King Alfred and the whole of Wessex.

A knife of sympathy twisted in her gut as she watched Uhtred send a pleading look in their direction, eyes seeking out Sihtric, Finan and Osferth, but his eyes passed over her as if she didn’t exist and her heart dropped; she had truly lost his trust. Skade was also not given the satisfaction of his attention — she wasn’t sure if that made her feel sick with regret or delighted that Skade’s influence hadn’t gone too deep.

She watched him retreat toward the stone walls of the burh, but he was stopped by a guard. A dangerous tension took over his body as they spoke into his ear. They argued for a moment before the guard walked away, leaving Uhtred where he stood, still but nearly vibrating with rage.

“Lord…?” Osferth called out.

The cold sweat of anxiety spread across her skin as she turned, eyes immediately finding her and blazing with a rage she hadn’t yet seen. “The King is requesting Røskva’s presence. Now.”

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taglist: @whitedarkmoonflower @blkflowergrl

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lullabyalikpoptarot · 8 months ago

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Jang Wonyoung Perspective Reading

Disclaimer: No facts, just interpretation of the cards and messages I get.

I still wanted to get through my favorite male Kpop idols before I dive into any girl group members, but she was on my radar and she is known as a controversial Kpop figure, be it good or bad, she is talked about and sought after, so thought I get to her. So, of course the song Barbie Girl by Aqua came up for me. On the surface she can be depicted as such. In Korea she is the standard of what people would like to look like whether you agree or not. I do feel there could be more to her story. I hope it isn't as creepy as I think it may be, but we'll see, now to the cards.

Okay, well, this may go the route I was expecting. There is a lot of shame and guilt she feels. She got both the cards of gilded regret and down cast pride. This could be due to hate comments she gets. She may also get comments by people around her that make her feel like shit. Now with the is this me card, she doesn't particularly know who she is. Has she got plastic surgery? It is like she has no sense of self and maybe looks at herself and doesn't know who she is. She is molded to how they wanted her to be. Man, the Barbie Girl reference makes even more sense. She is just confused as to who she really is. There are things she has regretting doing and that she feels shame in. Now with this Bride in a Cage card, the person on the card is rather thin and frail, kind of a shell of themselves, practically dead inside. She may never feel good enough. I am getting the message body dysmorphia from the card, just the messenger, not saying she has it. It is like she thinks about is this really the direction I want to go. She has kind of morphed into their puppet is what I am getting. It is like she is a clone of herself. Who she was she isn't anymore and who she is now, she isn't sure, like she asks herself who am I? What do I think? She isn't sure.

There is like an inner battle with herself. This unwillingness to accept part of herself, probably more so her flaws. She fights anything that goes against her image, not sure what that means exactly. I can also see this card as people fighting for her attention. She prefers the solitude and being alone away from all the distractions. She can pretty much be a loner. There is a secure base she has made for herself, to keep her safe, she does her best to keep to her image. She does not want to fail, look weak, or show any cracks. There is a sense of forgiveness she has for others for maybe what they have done or said to her. I say she is more forgiving to them then maybe herself. Well, the card I didn't want to come out, but was expecting to come out was the traumatized card and that came out. I got hints of this in the Dark Mirror reading. She dealt with some sort of trauma, now is it the mean comments, the surgery she may have to go through, or some sort of abuse, not sure I want to go there. She is trying not to get angry, upset or frustrated about what has been done to her, but to rise above and keep her cool. I have to take deep breaths during this reading, because I am getting what I expected and I wanted to be wrong, now I still can be, but energetically, something is off here. I just want to say when someone gets traumatized, they tend to dissociate to help move on and not relive the past or situation. Like I am getting that wasn't me, that was someone else, this is kind of a coping strategy, this is what I am sensing, no facts.

Okay, love these cards here. I wanted to see a bit more positivity here. She has a strong divine feminine energy. Is she follows her intuition and connect with her spirituality and use her creative energy she can very move through this and gain success in her own right. She may be already doing this. She seems to be spiritually guided and protected at the moment that can help guide her in the right direction. There is something good for her to come out of her terrible past and things she may have faced. As long as she keeps kindness in her heart and communicates from the heart and does not allow this to harden her or make her into a villain, so what I am getting is you know how victims can being villains and repeat the cycle. This tells her to keep kindness within her, so she doesn't turn into that in whatever form that it would be for her. Like she can go on a path to being very nasty and cruel to others, possibly a bully, but she doesn't have to go down that path, hurt people do hurt others, but it doesn't have to be that way. She can break that cycle.

There is some spiritual growth she needs to and can learn from what has happened in her career. She may have had to face the challenges she has to obtain the growth she needs on a personal/spiritual level, but if she dealt with any sort of trauma/abuse not a great lesson to learn as a human. On a spiritual level it makes sense, but no one wants that on a human level, that is a terrible experience to go through. Her life mission is to gain spiritual lessons through her work. Now with this House 8 card, the keywords on the cards are about transformation and Karma. I read it as transforming Karma, so whatever karma she may have, she can transform it and break that chain of cycle.

Both these card numbers come to 11 from this spread. 10 is a closing of a cycle, so I see 11 as a new chapter and beginning for her. To release the old cycle and start new. They are asking her to trust things as they are and that things will align itself for her. To trust that things will work out for her. To kind of look at the big picture. They kind of, I say they, because I sense this is more guidance from the collective/guides, even though she won't see this, they may want us to know lol It is like they want her to look at this from a spiritual perspective to look to why it happened for her, but no to her, very hard to do that on a human level though. They are asking her to be more gentle, soft and kind, once again, to not get too hardened, cold and harsh from what she experienced. Okay, walking in circles here, now ended it with Tarot.

Okay, this 5 of Swords is very telling, a lot of keywords here, so she may be falling for the trap of being cruel to others, or this is done to her, or it is cycle. The keywords on this card are argumentative, hurtful comments, conflict with others, avoidant, challenging to be around and pushes others away. I feel these all apply to her. I feel she tends to keep her distance as much as possible, but can get triggered and say mean things, but this can also be done to her. See, now with the Libra energy, this is like the opposite energy, a need to please others, do what they are told. I can also get the vibe with certain Libra's is that they don't really know who they are, they kind of mold themselves to what other people want them to be. I can see that with her. So, on one end she could say hurtful things, but she always finds a way to make peace, she may be the one to always apologize, even if she isn't in the wrong. Now with the Queen of Pentacles, she is successful and abundant in her own right. Her career is very important to her. She values her career. This may be something she puts above anything else. She would do anything to hold tight to what she has and what she earned. There is a nurturing and giving aspect to her as well. I feel this woman earned and worked hard for what she has achieved and has been through a lot of shit to get there, so I give props to her for that.

Okay, that went how I expected it, of course the first parts were a bit hard, but there were some highlights here. I just hope she works on healing and listens to the guidance to be gentler towards herself and others. Happy I did this, quite fascinating.

#kpop tarot #ive tarot #wonyoung tarot

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coffeebooksrain18 · 5 months ago

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Something I find wild is that the people who love the IC are the same people who hate on Nesta. Now i already know this but we need to go through each ones personality real quick.

Rhys: a male with supposedly enough power to be High King of Pyrithan doesn't do anything for his people. Not even for the ones he supposedly loves because even in that city there are slums that he let his mates sister live in (also I can't remember how to spell it Val I think but whatever). A warrior people he keeps in the worst conditions on his mountain plains because they are just too stubborn even though we don't have a story or see him actually suggesting this to any of the leaders of any camp. And Hewn City, need I say more? They are treated horribly by him and then he wonders why they have a bad attitude when most haven't even breathed fresh air?

Mor: now I kinda like Mor but if I'm honest she doesn't have much depth besides a female who was traumatized and now dresses sexy. I don't care she's a lesbian I'm bi it doesn't matter to me much. If a character is boring i will state that fact no matter the sexuality. And Mor? Well is fucking boring. But also her as a character. She rules Hewn City in Rhys steed on many occasions, she hates how they treat fae females down there, but has she done anything for them? Because I can't think of one occasion she actually helped one instead of berating them and saying they should be grateful. She treats them the way she was treated but were supposed to feel sorry for Mor? That makes no sense.

Cassian: he is pretty much the angry warrior guy of the group. He's the wild dog on a leash just waiting for his master to let him free (Rhys). He treats his mate like shit on his boot and then wonders why she avoids him like the fucking plague. He verbally and at times physically abuses his own mate but were just supposed to brush that off as him having anger issues? He also had destroyed Summer court and has yet to apologize because he was just "drunk and being stupid". Yeah no you destroyed families homes the least you can fucking do is apologize but instead you just bailed.

Azriel: now I still like him though he is on thin ice. If he hurts my baby Gwyn I will be going into the book and bitch slapping him to next week. But let's talk about his character. The silent and brooding to complement Cassians dumb idiot persona. He is the resident torturer, yes you heard that right the resident torturer. And it is even implied he enjoys the job. He is a traumatized person who out of all the IC actually tries to connect and help others because of what he went through. He is often frowned on because he is a Shadowsinger and an assassin. The Illyrains look down on him because he is a bastard. Like I said I still like him but he still has done horrible things were just supposed to forget about.

And finally

Amren: she was powerful and scary until the end of Wings and Ruin. Now she's just a frail female fae with nothing to offer other than knowledge she hardly remembers because she's "Just that old". She had nothing nothing offer anymore other than being the resident rude bitch of the group. She is worse than Nesta and I love Nesta and her bitchyness. She wants everyone to be afraid of her but she doesn't know how to fight and if she does it's been so long we would have to start the training process all over again. She still treats Feyra like a hindrance even though Feyra is supposedly "High Lady". She is honestly just a grumpy old bitch who wants to be a badass but not put in any work. None of the IC have anything to worry about from her anymore other than maybe she knows of something powerful but from her track record she probably forgot where it is.

My point is so many hate on Nesta because she is a Bitch who doesn't care about anyone but forget the IC are literally filled with that type of character. So it honestly just shows they can't look past hot abs in my opinion.

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blushweddinggowns · 1 year ago

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Eddie sighed as Steve fastened the vest around him, still annoyed that he had lost this particular battle. He hadn’t spent a hundred and fifty dollars on the damn thing to go on him.

“You got it for me against the bats, but now it’s you against the bats. It makes sense.” Steve said for the millionth time, taking Eddie’s sigh as the quiet complaint it was, “Don’t argue with me on this. Again. Does it fit okay? Tell me if it feels like it’s going to slip."

“It’s fine,” Eddie mumbled, the irritation he’d been holding back bleeding through, “It’s completely fine despite the fact I don’t fucking need-”

“Eddie,” Steve interrupted, “Stop. You’re doing the more dangerous thing-”

“Angel, don’t lie to me,” Eddie warned, his eye twitching at the very implication “You wouldn’t be letting Dustin do this shit if that was the case. We don't even know what you're up against.”

“I’m only ‘letting’ him because you’ll be there to keep him safe,” Steve sighed as he stepped back, admiring his own handiwork, “I trust you more than anyone to make sure he’s okay.”

“And who’s going to make sure you are?” Eddie asked.

Steve smiled at him. It was small, frail even. So far below the kind of joyous grins Eddie was used to. But it was real, hopeful. Steve pulled him into a hug, holding him close as he mumbled in his ear, “You will. When all of this is over, I know you’ll make sure I’m okay. Won’t you?”

Eddie couldn’t help but smile a little as he hugged him back, “You know I will. But I still fucking hate this. I don’t like splitting up. ”

“I don’t either,” Steve said softly, “But it won’t be for long, right?”

“Anytime is too long.”

“Sap.”

They were still clinging to each other, despite the fact that they were out of time.

Everything was set. The set up on the roof, the bikes on each floor, their escape route secured. Even the journalism room was fortified, with one of the two doors blocked. The other, in prime position to be blocked just as easily, assuming that Eddie and Dustin made it back in one piece. The other three were already at the Creel house, waiting for their signal. There was nothing else to wait for. They couldn’t wait. Not when Chrissy was about to risk her fucking life.

But Eddie still didn’t want to let him go. He never wanted to let him go.

“It’s going to be fine,” Steve mumbled in his ear, “Just… promise me you’ll run if they start to overwhelm you, okay? Even if we aren’t back yet.”

Eddie nodded, even though it was a damn lie. He would just have to hope everything finished before he got to that point.

“I love you,” Steve murmured, letting his head slump down onto Eddie's shoulder, “So much.”

“I love you more,” Eddie mumbled back, “More than you can ever know.”

Steve nodded against him, fully aware that time was up. Nancy was already calling for him, but if anything the sound made him cling to Eddie harder. He gave him one last long squeeze before pulling back, kissing him quickly as he stepped away.

Eddie watched him and the others go, the anxiety about the whole fucked up situtation coming back in full force, strong enough to nearly strangle him in it’s intensity. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Everything after that happened so fast, too fast. Their distraction worked perfectly, every single demon with ears was on their way towards them by the time Eddie had finished playing. They ran straight away, down the steps, down the hallways, with time to spare to block off the other exit in the journalism room. Everything was working.

The bats themselves were struggling against their makeshift barricades, but there were too many of them to hold them back for long. They would have to leave. And leave soon, if they didn’t want to be completely overwhelmed.

“You go first,” Eddie panted as he shoved Dustin towards their makeshift rope, his ears picking up on every sound the creaking wood of the old doors made, “Hurry!”

Dustin listened, climbing up and out of this fucked up world while Eddie lingered behind.

Something was wrong. He knew something was wrong. If Steve and the others had won, then the bats would have already been dead, wouldn’t they? That’s what happened before with the dogs, years ago. They all went down at the same time they finished off the last big bad.

So if Steve was okay, if they had all made it out, if they had won then they should have all gone down. But they hadn’t. They were alive and well, chomping at the bit to get at them. Which meant… that if he left, if he lost the interest of those same vile creatures, they could easily swarm right back to the house.

Right back to Steve. Steve who was almost certainly fighting for his own life against God knew what. And that was assuming he was still alive. But… no.

Eddie couldn’t let himself think of the possibility. Steve had to be alive, and if he was alive then Eddie couldn’t risk running away. Not if it meant risking Steve’s life more than he already had.

And if he wasn’t… then what did Eddie have to lose?

He could hear Dustin yelling at him to follow, the figure of him distorted through the portal. But he didn’t. Instead, Eddie cut the rope clean off, cutting off any way for Dustin to follow him on his impromptu suicidal plan.

He could hear Dustin screaming at him, asking what the fuck he was doing. He didn’t have time to answer, not when the wood was straining underneath the weight of hundreds of monsters. Instead, he skidded towards the other door, pushing away the original furniture they had used to block it. The vast majority of the bats were concentrated towards where they saw them enter the room, their animalistic nature giving Eddie the slight advantage he needed.

He didn’t look back when he bursted out of the room, he couldn’t bear to see the look on Dustin’s face. Instead, he sped down the hallway, listening to the trashing of wings hitting each other, all of them so desperate to get at him that they kept knocking each other to the ground.

But they were following, all of them by the sounds of it. He didn’t look back, instead he kept peddling, praying to any god out there that they would just fucking die already.

But they didn’t. No, they were alive and well as they pursued him. He made it to the gym before the first one caught up, biting down hard into his calf. Hard enough for him to finally crash off the bike and topple to the floor.

Everything was a blur after that, a pain filled blurr of screaming.

It took a minute before they started tearing through the kevlar of the vest. If anything, most of them were focusing on it instead of the open parts of his body, almost like they were desperate to get to the shit inside of him that made him tick.

Eddie couldn’t help but deliriously think that it was a fucked up instinct. The little assholes. But they had won, he felt it as they started to eat into him, no doubt sending his body into shock.

Until it stopped. Suddenly, they were all going limp around him, the rows of teeth in his side staying embedded, but unmoving. He could barely feel the pain anymore by the time it happened.

Eddie laid there, breathing hard as he felt himself bleed out. He tried to move, tried to stand, but his body wouldn’t let him. Instead he was frozen, laying on the ground as he waited for an end he never wanted.

He didn’t know if he did the right thing. Chances were, he’d never know. Everything was fading fast, too fast. Fast enough for Eddie to not even realize Dustin was in the room with him, not until he was lifting his head into his lap, his panicked voice cutting through the fog in his own head.

“E-Eddie?! Eddie, can you hear me?!”

Eddie nodded, his eyes feeling heavier by the moment. But he could see Dustin, Dustin who was already crying above him.

Eddie tried to smile at him, “Hey, Bud.”

“Don’t fucking bid me!” Dustin screeched, panicked hands working to try and stop the bleeding, “Why the fuck did you do that!?”

Eddie knew exactly why he did it. Eddie did it because he was a piece of shit, all the way to the end.

Because he didn’t die to save Steve. He knew that. It wasn’t just to be his savior. Eddie was selfish when it came to Steve, worse than he could ever imagine. That prick of uncertainty, the vagueness of not knowing whether he was alive or dead, was all Eddie had needed.

He was never going to risk a world without Steve in it. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not if ever given the choice.

So he made his choice. He just didn’t have the chance to explain it all. Not now. He had more important things to say anyway,

Eddie swallowed, his voice coming out weak, but there, “Tell Steve, I love him.”

Dustin shook his head, hard and fast, “Don’t fucking do this to us! You can’t do this!”

“Tell him he was everything to me,” Eddie went on, “T-Tell him that he deserves a good life. Make him promise to live it.”

“Tell him yourself!”

“Tell him I’m sorry,” Eddie finished quietly, the words barely escaping his mouth, “I’m so sorry.”

It was… horrifyingly insufficient. No words would make this better. Nothing that could be said would make any of this hurt less. It was so fucking awful. Part of Eddie couldn't believe he was doing this to Steve, leaving him all alone. Every promise he’d ever made to him, broken in an instant.

It was too heavy, too horrible. Nearly enough for him to wish that he would die faster, just to get away from it. And it seemed his wish was being granted.

He felt cold, too cold. It wasn’t the pain. He could barely feel it anymore, his body surely going into shock.

This was really it.

He was going to die here.

from the newest chapter of this fic

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #stranger things #the universe trapped in your skin #fic update #does this count as spoilers?#maybe?

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sunwarmed-ash · 10 months ago

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WIP Thursday/[Sinful Sunday post??]

hey so im gonna be taking time off writing for another job all next week so I'm posting this so you have something to read. DONT WORRY Sinful Sunday will continue, I'll just be busy this sunday and next making that capitalist coin!

This may turn into a fic, it may not. I wrote it right after I finished QAF for the 36th time.

Tags: Angsty steddiegrove, sex work, HIV+ character, violence

"Where do you go at night?"

Steve and Eddie are lying on Steve’s bed smoking weed when Steve asks the question that will inevitably change the course of their relationship, their future, forever.

"What," Eddie asks, trying and failing for aloof. He thought he had been so careful.

“You sneak out, every night. Where do you go, when you leave?"

Lying is the only probable next course of action. If he wants to keep Steve in his life that is. The truth will sever everything they once had.

“Dealing doesn’t exactly fit a normal 9-5," Eddie says. It’s a half-lie.

"You were selling drugs in Lafayette at 3 in the morning? Do you think I’m stupid," Steve snaps.

Eddie’s entire body flashes hot with the amount of detail in that accusation.

"What? No! Wait, how did you- hang on, have you been spying on me?"

"Answer the question Eddie!"

Eddie feels cornered, and that’s never a good place for him to be. Because when he feels trapped, he lies, and he can’t stop. He will say anything to cover his ass, even if its just to survive to see another minute.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you..."

Steve scoffs at Eddie’s attempt at self ownership.

"Why can’t you tell me, Eddie? I mean, after everything we’ve been through!”

Eddie bites into his tongue. He wishes it was that easy. God, does he wish it could be that simple...

“i can't, not with everything baby. I'm sorry.”

“Why not?” Steve demands and now he’s angry. His eyes are lined with tears and Eddie can feel the beginning of the end coming like an approaching storm.

“Because you won't love me anymore.”

It’s the truth. And Eddie hates to even hear the words out loud. Because its gonna hurt so bad to hear it twice. From Steve’s lips. The soundbite will live with him for eternity.

“Isn't that for me to decide,” Steve objects.

“You've already decided.”

Eddie remembers the shit Harrington pulled on Wheeler when she hurt his frail male ego by just existing in the same space as another man. He remembers the hateful way Steve spits the word ‘whore’ because he associates it with his father and all of his sins. It’s how everyone says the word. Like its poison in their mouth.

Slut. Hooker. Whore. But that's what Eddie is. Until he can find something that pays better. Because he has to eat. He and Wayne won’t survive an Indiana winter without heat. And after Eddie was banished and then half-heartedly rewelcome into a unstable healing community, no one in Hawkins treats him the same. Weed sales have dried up. No one wants to hire him for any job. Not even the mechanic shop down the street that is desperately understaffed and Eddie is overqualified for. So what the hell else is he supposed to do? Wayne just turned 68. He shouldn’t need to work 12 hour shifts just to barely support the kid he didn't ask for in the first place. Eddie never should have been his burden. So this is Eddie’s way of giving back. Pulling his own weight so he didn't feel so much like a goddamn freeloader all the time. But could Steve understand that? Steve wasn’t stupid, but he also wasn’t, lets say as morally flexible as some other people.

"I can't- do this Eddie... If you’re going to lie to me." Steve says and one look into his eyes and Eddie feels what's left of the tie between them sever.

"I'm not lying," He insists but its a half truth at best.

"You're not telling me everything, that counts," Steve all but shouts.

"You don't tell me everything."

He referring to whatever the hell went on between Hargrove and him two years ago. Eddie and Steve arent the only people different after an apocalypse. Their previous heated rivalry has all but burned out. So has Hargroves own personal brand of anger. They move around each other like chess pieces, always conscious of the others movement to limit interactions at school. But after school? Eddie’s seen Billy’s camero parked at Harrington’s more than it's parked in the trailer park.

"That's different Eddie,” Steve huffs, scoffs as he pushes his hair back. “and you know it."

"How, how is it different Steve?" Eddie’s never brought it up before tonight. Eddie’s never been one for exclusivity, why the hell should he expect Steve to be?

"It doesn't involve you, or us. This does."

"Right,” Eddie scoffs, “Well, for argument's sake, it is safer for you not to know. For both of us."

Steve is silent for three beats too long.

Here it comes.

Eddie can’t look at him. His face goes numb before the words can hit his ears.

"Then you have my answer Eddie.”

It still hits him like a slap in the face. Steve’s done with him. And it hurts so much more than he anticipated it would.

Eddie knew it was only a matter of time. He knew what Steve wanted in the end, and it was still someone more like Wheeler. A sweetheart. A family. Nothing Eddie can guarantee. Eddie doesn’t have much to say in his defense. So he doesn’t.

"I'm sorry Eddie,” Steve, obviously uncomfortable in the silence, speaks again. “This is just, too much for me right now.”

"Okay,” comes out of Eddie’s numb mouth, even if it's the complete opposite.

Eddie knew a clean break now would eventually be better than enduring their relationship fizzling out slowly. But it doesn't mean the inevitable failure of one more relationship doesn't hurt.

-two months later-

“Munson?”

Eddie blinks, of all the people to find him, here, he didn't think it would be Californian transplant, and fellow trailer trash bad boy Billy Hargrove from Hawkins. He just wants to disappear into the pavement.

Eddie’s feet move to sprint, but Billy’s lighting reflexes catch him before he can.

“Where the hell are you going now, Eddie?”

Eddie rips away from him. He hates the way his name sounds out loud. He hadn’t felt like ‘Eddie’ in weeks. He’s barely felt like anything. More like Nothing and no one. A nameless face in a sea of sex workers, businessmen, and bar patrons that he cycled through every day.

“It’s none of your damn business,” Eddie spits, though it doesn't have much venom. He doesn't have the energy. He's sick, he’s cold, and he’s so fucking tired. He still has two more clients he can’t blow off tonight if he wants to have a prayer at ever getting unburied under his last hospital bill. Billy Hargrove and Hawkins and all that past shit is his lowest priority.

“People are worried man,” Billy says, stopping Eddie from taking more than a step away. “Wayne especially. Don't you give a shit about him?”

Now Eddie is pissed, because who the fuck did Billy Hargrove think he was, telling him about what he should do? Talking to him about Wayne. As if he understood a goddamn thing about their lives! His anger flairs up his cough that only aggravates the pneumonia-scarred tissue and then Eddie’s coughing so hard it nearly knocks him over.

When Billy moves close to ‘help’ Eddie slaps him off.

“Everything I’m doing is for him! You don’t fucking know shit, Billy! How could you, you're just a kid!”

And while Billy was 17 and Eddie was 6 months into his 23rd lap around the earth, he felt so much older. His tragic sequence of life events had aged him decades. He’d be lucky to make it to 24 at this rate.

Billy watches him curiously, putting together pieces Eddie doesnt mean him to.

“Why did you take off Eddie?”

“Why do you care?” Eddie doesn’t really think it's concern he sees in Billy's features.

“Wayne doesn't have anyone else. You scared the shit out of him when you left.”

“Oh and what, you two are bffs now,” Eddie asks bitterly.

Billy shrugged.

“We've been spending a lot of time together, yeah.”

Eddie scoffs wetly. Fantastic. Now even Wayne has his own Eddie replacement. A better, nicer son. If Wayne didn’t need him anymore, well, he didn’t have any more ties back to Hawkins. He should be relieved, but instead he just feels empty. Forgotten. Unwanted. Billy had said people missed him, but the only name he offered up was Wayne’s.

Eddie sniffs up the tears threatening to spill and reaches into his jacket. He takes out the seven hundred dollars and change he’s managed to squirrel away after his last AZT prescription refill and holds it out to Billy.

“What is this?” Billy looks at the wad like its poisoned, and well, he's not entirely wrong, it's certainly dirty money. But its still green. And that’s all the world runs on. And speaking of money, the man he was currently scheduled to suck off is honking at him from across the parking lot, eyeing Billy with violent intent. Eddie needed to move quick before this escalated.

“I’m not coming back. T-To Hawkins, I mean. I can’t, so I need you to give this to Wayne for me. Can I trust you to get it to him?”

Billy finally takes the money, counts it, and then his jaw drops.

“There’s over seven hundred dollars here Eddie.”

“I know,” Eddie sighs dejectedly. “It should have been more but,” but you got stupid and believed some pretty, coked-up twink instead of following your gut. And now you get to live with the weight of that decision, forever… “It doesn’t matter. Just, please make sure he gets it. It should cover the next few payments on the trailer.”

Billy looks at him for a long time.

“What the hell have you been doing Munson?”

Eddie scoffs before the car horn across the street blares loud, startling him right out of his skin.

“Nothing you want to know about. Just please make sure he gets it, and knows, I’m sorry. For all of it.”

Billy’s eyes lower suspiciously.

“Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

Eddie shrugs.

“Because it has to be.” Eddie can’t feel anything below his neck anymore. The honk is starting up again. He’s really pushing his luck now.

“Eddie, come on,” Hargrove begs and why does it sound like he’s actually pleading? Billy’s never had a nice word to say to him or Steve. And now he’s gone for what, a few weeks, and his enemy wants to become best friends? He doesn’t understand this plotline. He’s ready to get out of it.

“I’m gotta go, Billy. Please, look out for Wayne.”

Eddie leaves the very next minute and sprints across the street, just narrowly avoiding being hit by the semi that blasts his horn.

#like i said i may turn it into something more #its been in my drafts for like a year #steddiegrove #i have a little more written so lmk if you want more ill rb with it #metalsandwich #steddilly #harringroveson #eddie munson angst #steddie #angst #billy hargrove #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #find me on ao3 #sunwarmed ash #i post new stuff every sunday #sinful sunday #links in pinned

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scrunglepaws · 6 months ago

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(Key for who's who)

Yeah, the Kits are mostly freaks, just ignore them. dkfjsldsdf The boys in the middle all come from very harsh backgrounds and will do what they gotta do. Y'all know about Nine, his backstory is the same as canon. CT-Mangey grew up in a jungle with dinosaurs+ect megafauna and all his sentient neighbors were super aggressive. CT-Kit grew up as an orphan in poverty, living on the city streets. Sails grew up in a cutthroat, post-apocalyptic endless sea of pirates with few resources. Not 100% sure on all of them, but Sails and Kelpie have definitely taken lives before.

Doing the strength/combat skill ones made me hate power scaling because I kept futzing with them and making micro-adjustments. To settle some of the placements on the strength chart, I asked myself "Between these two, who would win an arm wrestling match?" xD Kelpies have mythical levels of strength, so he had to be very high up there. CT-Mangey is essentially werehog Tails, so that's sort of like magical strength too, plus he's huge. Kit cheats by being a cyborg. I imagine Mangey and Tails have similar levels of strength, but with the arm-wrestling thing in mind, Mangey pulls ahead just a little. Mangey is constantly active as well, while adult Tails spends less and less time adventuring/fighting in favor of being in his lab/workshop. Mangey is just bigger as well. Sails is a bit lower just by being smaller, scrawnier, and malnourished (… D8). Nine is also a lot skinnier and malnourished (more to poor diet rather than overall lack of food), and is even less active than the others. He's more built for stealth and avoiding confrontations. CT-Kit and Folklore Tails are basically wusses. xD They're not specifically -frail- though, so I didn't feel the need to push them aaaall the way to the left.

The combat skill one was a little bit easier, though I still fussed with it. Obviously, Tails has a ton of experience with all of the wacky adventures he's been on. Kit was basically "born" into immediately training and fighting for his life. Regardless if he hasn't used these skills in a long time, they don't just vanish. Sails has seen some shit. This is where Nine drifts apart from his canon depiction (who I imagine has much less skill from being a stealthy lurker). Even though he mostly avoids scraps with others, he does a lot of research/training in his lab just out of paranoia/preparedness. Mangey used to be very unskilled, but trained to learn the various fighting techniques of his Boscage buddies, so he's got some tricks up his sleeve. CT-Mangey is just an overall brute that can defend himself in general scraps, but doesn't have much experience with technique or anything like that. I'm actually a bit unsure about CT-Kit? Despite growing up on the streets, I imagine he wasn't really the brawling type. Instead he learned all of the social cues/ect on how to stay out of dangerous peoples' paths. Kelpie is hella strong and can just smash/chomp you, but… He's never actually been in a fight, I don't think? I mean, who would be dumb enough to try. Folklore Tails is a pansy and I love him for it.

Nine and CT-Kit are from the city. They're smart and intuitive, but being 100% out of their element? Yeah, they dead. Kit's a bit more to the right because of when he and Surge were sort of in the wilderness after Starline died, but they mostly had the amenities of that base. Also, Kit could easily catch fish and purify water if he had his pack. And I imagine the metal virus would be decent at protecting him against most pathogens, so he could get away with eating raw fish. But he's still quite out of his element, so I dunno about him lasting a super long time.

#miles tails prower #tails the fox #kit the fennec #kitsunami #tails nine #sails tails #mangey tails #kaleidoscope au #someplace au #cavetails au #folklore au

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brandwhorestarscream · 1 year ago

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a crackshipp here( for the baby one-shots)

tarn x prowl

Ooooh methinks... Prowl is the one carrying. Usually I'd cast Tarn, but hear me out: pampered captive carrier. I dont know how they got together, I don't know if it was a one night stand to relieve stress or this is a post-war peaceful resolution where everyone is on the same side and everything is a-okie dokie and they somehow started dating. DUNNO. BUT! I can tell you this for sure: Tarn is still a weird obsessive freak (affectionately) and as soon as he finds out Prowl is sparked up he takes matters into his own hands.

He doesn't let Prowl go anywhere without him. It doesn't matter if they're living on the Peaceful Tyranny or in an upscale apartment in Praxus, Prowl does not get to leave his vicinity without Tarn. He hates it. Tarn is obsessed with him, obsessed with the sparkling, and especially obsessed with the baby bump. He can't keep his servos off of it, always trying to touch and caress it and trying to get bitty to kick at him. It'd be sweet if it wasn't so annoying.

Prowl's ready to bite his helm off within the first few days. He has work to do and he cant very well get it done with this overgrown guard dog breathing down his neck and insisting he stay in berth all day! He's carrying, not dying, Primus! He practically has to beat Tarn back with a bat just to get enough privacy to bathe. And even then he stays right outside the door, "just in case". In case of what? Fuck if I know. He's paranoid. That's a decepticon sparkling he's carrying, he needs to ensure top care and safety at all times!

When the baby comes, you can bet your ass it's the tiniest, nubbiest little Praxian, all done up in orange and white with blue optics. Summery orange dreamsicle of a baby. Tarn can hold them in one servo. But before they van meet their sweet little angel, they have to get through the labor first. Prowl snaps a grand total of 8 of Tarn's fingers during the birth, and afterwards grabbed him by the throat, dragged him down with strength Tarn did not know he had, and snarled at him in a voice that would make Unicron proud, "You did this to me! Get the frag away from me! Get out, GET OUT!"

Tarn was promptly removed from the delivery room with his neck dented impressively and broken fingers kinda just dangling there. He gets fixed up afterwards, dw.

Once Prowl has finished possibly the most difficult herculean task of his life (and god knows he's undergone a lot of shit in just the last 4 million years alone), he goes completely limp on the berth and immediately loses consciousness. He doesn't get to see the bitty at first because of this, but the trade off is they're clean and dry when he comes back. They're also crying, doing that soft little newborn bleat that kinda sounds like a wee little goat. His arms are shaking and he can barely lift them, struggling to sit up and mumbling, "My spar'ling... l- lemme sssee'my spar'ling..." slurring cuz he's so exhausted but desperate to see them.

The newspark is carefully placed on his chassis and he turns his face to carefully kiss their forehelm, whispering that it's ok, he's here now, mommy's here... and they calm right down. The feel of his spark so close and the sound of his voice was just what they needed: the world is big and loud and bright and cold and so, so scary, but feeling his familiar presence makes it all ok.

When Tarn finally gets to see them after getting fixed up, they're both asleep, snuggled together on the berth. He truly doesn't mind, just gladly takes a seat to watch them. He's never seen such a peaceful expression on Prowl' face, and is definitely marveling at how incredibly tiny their child is. Listening to the sound of their tiny, frail systems, the way their vents makes the softest little puff everytime they exhale... it makes his chassis feel tight. Overfull. Warm, in a way he never has.

The first time he gets to hold the little dreamsicle he's shaking a little bit. He won't admit it, but he is. They're so small! They fit in a single servo! What if he breaks them, they're so fragile! He's never had to be careful with his hands before, not like this! He's made for breaking and crushing and hurting, not- not delicate cradling and gentle touches like this! Prowl rolls his optics and says he's doing fine. Warns that sparklings can sense emotions so much stronger than adults, and if he's stressed then the sparkling will stress and that will make them cry.

Once Prowl has recovered from birth and the three of them are released, Tarn tries so hard to be a good sire. He wants to be involved but in the beginning, there's really not that much their infant needs. It's just a lot of carrying and hushing and feeding and he feels like he's not doing enough. He's always hovering and worrying, asking if maybe the sparkling needs a bath or to be burped or to be put down for a nap. It's so much less chaotic than he thought it would be and that makes him anxious. Prowl is constantly rolling his optics and telling him it's fine.

Their sparkling is safe, they're healthy, they're happy. Their optics are bright, their spark is pulsing just as it should. They're refueling and recharging well, and they react to our EMs and our spark energy. You don't need to constantly be actively doing something: just being there with them is enough. Tarn's not good at just sitting around doing nothing, but sometimes that's just what a sparkling needs: to just be quietly held for hours on end. That's one of the most important parts of early bonding, quiet, intimate physical contact near the parental sparks. Prowl has never seen someone go quite so stir crazy over a baby before, but it's definitely amusing 🤭

Once the sparkling finally starts walking around, Tarn finally gets what he wanted... and immediately regrets it because they've got a full fledged wild child on their hands. Into everything, waaay too smart for their own good, incredibly curious, boundless energy, and extremely inclined to mischief, the whole nine yards. They're constantly chasing them around, constantly saying, "What's in your mouth?!", constantly pulling bitty fingers out of places they shouldn't be, and no amount of babyproofing can save them XD

#ask game #prowl x tarn #what would this ship name be lmfao

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namgyunation · 4 months ago

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I LOVE HOW WE USE "YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN" CAUSE YEAHHH I DO!! this made my day honestly imgonnacryhelp

not that image help?1-#-* I WAS THINKING THE SAMEEEE

NO WORRIES I CAN SAY THE THINGS YOU CAN'T!! time to ruin the party..boo boo..like,

fem nam-gyu is fine..i love genderswaps and all but..sigh. sometimes people take it wayyy too far. i retweeted something similar to this, like the about feminizing him if my brain remembers it right (i'm too lazy to check rn SORRY) anddd, well, yeah if doing that for fun makes people feel pleased, i'm not hating. even some of my fav artists draw him in skirts and stuff..

but some people don't know when to stop.. especially the thangyu shippers, sorry to say that but, he wouldn't act like a little meow meow all the time. sometimes when he's in the mood? maybe, but other than that..i don't think so,,

anyways yeah not hate or something but yk

wish people would get him like you do

love how your mind works!!

( and YES I READ YOUR FANFICS AS WELL..your genius nam-gyu yaps and all,, heheheh..)

+ combining your other ask!!!

WAIT NO HPW DID I NOT SEE YOUR POST BEFORE SENDING MY ASK UGHH BEEF..BEEF?? I WATCHED THAT I GET WHAT YOU MEANNN WHATTT!! YOU ALWAYS GET THE SMARTEST IDEAS WOAH i've never actually thought about but now it makes..all..sense..okay. deep breaths aauuh (also goodnight i think cause you said it's late!!! don't tire yourself aaananan)

ok so for the first part of ur ask yes i enjoy 'genderbends'. like it's fun to reimagine characters in that way and see what they'd wear + diff hairstyles. that shit's been around forever, and i love it!

(me being a party pooper below the cut. don't read if you don't wanna hear it. please keep having fun and being joyous and doing what you want it's never that serious)

when it comes to feminizing canon nam-gyu, it gets to a point where that's all i see of him and his character, and i get a little bit iffy considering it's almost always done because he's being shipped with thanos. (specifically talking about CANON nam-gyu, i love trans hcs and genderbends and AUs and stuff, i'm not talking about those) and then it's alwaysss just nam-gyu lmao, like damn feminize thanos, too, while you're at it; make it equal, at least!!!! but nah it's just nam-gyu. and then it starts feeling kind of off and even kind of fetishy imo, to see him constantly reduced to thanos's dainty frail girly bottom. i would argue that nam-gyu's pretty damn masculine lmao.

(and yeah ik sweater paws, his little "shirt skirt", etc. all those silly jokes) but like. outside of the jokes. at the end of the day that's a grown ass man with some weird ass toxic masculinity shit going on who is constantly mean and aggressive and always trying to assert himself over others. genuinely think it's just bc he has hair past his ears and than//gyu yaoi but . yeah like bruh nam-gyu is so insecure and hyper-aware about being seen as 'weak'. i like being silly and unserious and having fun, but realistically his ass is not wearing half the things that ppl put him in </3

also gahhh yeah i started out as someone who was a fan of tha//ngyu bc they were my two favs and i thought it was silly lol (i still enjoy it but not as much as i do just them being friends), but genuinely the fandom ruined it for me with how often nam-gyu gets reduced to cutesy little meow meow with no frontal lobe or independent thoughts or feelings outside of thanos

and yeah i think it's fine to have an opinion and voice your thoughts on stuff like that while knowing at the end of the day that it's whatever! when i see stuff that i don't fw i simply shrug and scroll instead of engaging bc i choose peace

ALSO LOL WE ALR TALKED ABT THIS A LITTLE ON TWIT DMS BUT <33333 you understand me MWAH i'm glad u enjoy my endless nam-gyuposting TToTT

AND YAYYYY OMG YOU WATCHED BEEF, TOO..... you see my vision!!!! i loved that show smmm ugh it had me in a funk for like a week or two LMAO. hopefully i can write something about that.....

#inbox #anon

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seth-burroughs · 1 year ago

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my response.

[longest recorded sigh known to man] Hi. [sniffs, briefly looks at the floor, then back into your fucking soul] I... [takes out and uncaps a a half-frozen żywiec zdrój water bottle making sure the logo and brand name is visible, cranes neck backwards and gulps down the entire thing in under 10 seconds] [coughs and sniffs again] As you can not see I've been crying... A little, I didn't do my make-up didn't do... My hair's a bit messy . I've... I'm trying to- write this, in the most humble corner At my 5 billion złotych villa I could find, I'm... On the floor right now, this is my basement, so- [smiles weakly, sighs. expression turns serious] This is different from my usual content. I... Really didn't want to make this post, but... Recent events have- This... Is the hardest post I've ever made. I've got a lot of hate recently and, it has affected my mental health.

I know I'm gonna get a lot of hate for this.... [sigh]..... Recent events have come to light in which- accusations- have... [takes out another water bottle, downs it's entirety in under 9 seconds] [sobs] It has come to light my, my identity as a... Yomi Hellsmile.... Fictionkin in the Rain Code fandom on tumblr. And and- I know that this... Came across as- shock, to all seven of you. This post serves as me adressing a few things, to paint a clearer picture of this whole situation. I... [sigh] I have realized I made a severe and continuous lapse, in my judgment, during the 5 years of which I served as the director of the peacekeepers in the Ward. [sigh] I just... let it get to me man, you know, the immense power granted by the capitalism gods there, but, nobody's perfect, i'm only huma- [stops] [audible gulp] 3 years. 3 years served as the director.

Due to my.... [starts petting my cat] past transgressions and problematic qualities, I've been facing... great mistrust and scrutiny, from the tumble kinmunity, but maybe I deserve it. [sniffs] [takes out another water bottle, downs it's entirety in under 8 seconds] [exhales] I am aware of my sins I've committed by the virtue of being a nasty abhorrent piece of shit villainkin, consciously, voluntarily and actively, despite not having- [flinches as the guy forcing me to write this post tightens his finger on the trigger, a clear warning] I mean, I am aware of my sins and am actively repenting, right now and my whole life from now on. Ok? Ok. [long sigh]

I have had it revealed to me, during my toluene huffing induced out of body experience yesterday, that I cannot be allowed to- exist in this world, nor be recognized by the council as valid, have I not feel guilt and shame constantly for the atrocities I've definitely committed in this life. And I now realize, how insensitive of me was to even list it, talk about it in any way or let it affect me and my life. [takes out another water bottle, lets it flow freely down my thrussy straight into my stomach, finishes absorbing it in under 7 seconds] [wheezes] I did not regret all of my actions hard enough, and for that, I need to simply accept the consequences of my past actions, and I hope you never forgive me. [sigh]

I've let you guys down. For- clearly not taking the obvious choice to simply hide or repress my kintype, or just, stop being kinning them. Just stop kinning them lol. Just stop it, since it's a choice and completely voluntary, and keeping that makes me a bit sus...... so I've been told. And for that, I am so fucking sorry. I'm on my knees right now begging for forgiveness and hoping that you'd kick my frail body for the audacity. [sigh] But.... I wanted to adress my side of the story, too, in this post. This is by no means an attempt at justifying my actions, this segment only serves as an explanation, as to how I saw- to better understand- that if you see how I saw things personally, you'll take pity and maybe, just maybe I'm not saying- believe- nevermind.............

[pauses. hesistates. takes out another water bottle and drinks it all under 6 seconds] [throws the emptied bottle behind me, hitting one of the hostages in his giant forehead, making a thwack sound] I don't remember much, but from what I can make out, I was in a very dark place at that time, when- when everything happened. [sigh] I failed torture college long before and never quite recovered, I've been struggling with my mental health, my boytoy hitman whom I won't name to conceal his identity and definitely not because I forgot, fucking died, all my employees were assholes, m*ske.d fr3a//k, and um- think of something, you're forgetting something, uhhh, fuck..... So you see- oh. There was also the... woman flesh cube incident, which, was what I ordered in a private moment, which should have never become public in the first place. I've already reached out to the victim and we're together aiming to resolve things peacefully. I think. She hasn't called me back. Well, anyway.

Now that we established this- I would like to apologize for executing Seth via firing squad that april. I had no idea he was queer and neurodivergent, had I known sooner I would not be this harsh with him, ever. I would also like to apologize for knocking out like, 2... [sigh] or 3.... of my employees that one day, I was under a lot of stress and pressure in that moment, and it just built up until I lashed out in a very destructive way. [sigh] In my defense, literal terrorists were blowing up my city and I was literally in the process of nearly arresting one of them. I will also apologize for kicking that one guy's body repeatedly, I would say, about.... 38 times, that time, and for that, um... he literally killed someone so I can do what I want actually, and I really- I don't really, remem- but I recognize some of you won't see it that way, and I'm sorry that- that's how you feel. And I apologize for also hitting that guy's neurodivergent boyfriend(?) with the whip later, I was under a lot of emotions still, and I was trying to make myself look more foxy to my subordinates present. But most of all, I would like to apologize for developing sexual feelings towards my shitty boss and arch enemy, m*k0t0 kag//uts/uch1. I did not realize he was minor-coded the whole time

[takes out another water bottle, sucks it dry in under 3 seconds] [meows] so :3 [sigh] no, sorry. I am so sorry, for everyone involved. But please understand, that I had grown and changed a lot since then, and am no longer that person. I mean that literally. I-Im really n- [a hostage gets shot for that implication] [stops] I mean, I want to grow and change from this moment and put the drama behind me- or not behind me really, I know I can never never truly atone for the atrocities. You know, I hope to be forgiven, personally, but if that won't end up happening, I will accept my due punishment to be brought out to public and flogged until I confess my sins and then, oh fuck, roughly manhandled and thrown down to the ground to get stomped on for being a ba- [professional editor's note: the following 6 paragraphs of the post have been deleted for a purely technical reasons]

[takes out another water bottle. it dematerializes in my hand.] [starts fake crying] I j-just... That was all I wanted to say. [sigh] I'm gonna upload this post unedited. [sigh] Before I finish this post, [sigh] I would like to announce that I [sigh] will be personally donating 50 groszy to charity, [sigh] in order to atone. [sigh] Please do not harass any of the people involved. [sigh] I hope you understand... [sigh] Now let us move forward. [sigh]

.........................................................................?

#mine #rain code #yomi hellsmile #shitpost tag #fictionkin #inspired by.... nvm those who get it get it. yeah.

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