#but it's floating around in the back of my mind

[sceletaflores]

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent. 

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts. 

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more. 

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you. 

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved. 

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure. 

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist. 

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain. 

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer. 

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours. 

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow. 

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest. 

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt. 

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

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[dunmeshistash]

I've been having a bunch of ideas kinda float around my mind like little screensavers that I didn't feel like putting on paper, but one of these ideas just so happened to hit a corner, and it gave me an idea for what might perhaps be a bit of a silly (and oddly specific) question, but one I was very interested in asking nonetheless. Especially after reading your long post on the Demon's perspective of Laios' backstory. I really hope you don't mind.

While my memory's a tad blurry on how the scene played out in detail, I still find Laios' confrontation with the demon to be one of my favorite scenes. Definitely top 5. It's the one where Laios secretly orders Izutsumi to execute him at the slightest hint of suspicion. That one. I think that scene is among my favorites because it's both a perfect demonstration of Laios' remarkable cleverness hidden underneath all that lack of social skills, but it's also the perfect demonstration of how utterly terrifying the demon is.

At first I was under the assumption that Laios had it all under control, but the Demon's frighteningly gentle with how he twists Laios' very thoughts in a way that frames him as some sort of misanthropist, and the Winged Lion's words seemingly foil whatever plan Laios may have had. It made me think that Laios had failed, and Izutsumi's orders to lob his head off may have been a fail safe because he didn't know if he could successfully thwart the Demon's plans.

However, after finishing the story, extras, etc; I started thinking that perhaps failing was all part of Laios' plan, too. At least partially. Perhaps he realised that the only way to outsmart and ultimately best the Demon, was to let the Demon win. Perhaps he concluded that the only way for him to stand a chance against the Demon was to lose, to be at the Demon's mercy, to have his words utterly twisted; because he couldn't just make the demon "think" he had won. The only way for the Demon, the embodiment of hunger, to think he had won, was for him to actually win.

Maybe he ordered Izutsumi to… how do you put it… "artificially shorten his lifespan" because he knew the Demon would use his love for monsters against him, and would manipulate him into wishing to become the Ultimate Strongest Monster. His recent addendum (that the Ultimate Strongest Monster can eat desires) seems to support this theory, if I remember correctly. However, I can't remember for certain. Maybe his plan was to trap the Demon in his body and kill it that way? I genuinely can't remember.

So, I was wondering if you'd be interested in answering this oddly specific and mildly stupid question: How much of Laios' interaction with the Demon was planned, and how much was him fucking around and finding out? I'd love to know your thoughts on this!

PS: Laios rocks the swag he dons as king. Would happily serve under him. PPS: I hope you have a wonderful rest of your week, Mr. Morbius! Thank you for this awesome blog. You're cool.

Hello!!!!! Yeah!!!!!! The question Kabru himself would rather not know!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Same as Kabru I decided not to think too hard about but Kui definitely gave us hints that this could be the case, I don't think Laios "planned" to fail from the start, he strikes me as a very optimistic guy (as you can see with how he first thought the confrontation with Thistle could go and how he STILL tried to talk to him instead of fighting) but I think he did "prepare" somewhat for the worst case scenario, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst?

Like I don't think this part of his plan was a misdirection I think he really hoped it could be this simple? So this was plan A (although he realizes this is too optimistic I think he hopes it will work)

This part tho I'm pretty sure was partly a misdirection for his teammates, since he asks them to help him get his mind back only to tell Izutsumi to kill him at the smallest hint he lost his mind, so I think this was plan B as in "If I become the lord of the dungeon kill me so there's no more dungeon lord" which was the original canary plan

Which again is kinda confirmed by this thought bubble

I think this was plan C

He knew he no longer wished for a country where humans and monsters could coexist (because of what he saw) so I guess he had *some* idea that becoming a monster was his other wish and added that as a fail safe if plan A and B failed? I don't think he could have guessed the Demon would use his body but maybe he thought he could use the nature of the demon against him (granting his desire to become a monster even tho the monster can eat him)

As Marcille and Kabru realize tho, that might all be a coincidence and he really thought plan A or B would work lmao. WHO KNOWS Laios' mind is a mystery

I'd recommend rereading chapter 88 if you want to go thru Laios' whole plan and how the demon manipulated him, it's a great chapter (87 too with the demon origin story)

[endereies]

FEEL BETTER YET? - MS

No Nut November - Day 7

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ When you are on your period, Matt is always there to look after you

Every month you endured pain like no other, your abdomen puncturing you from the inside out. It was only 3am but it felt like you had been up for hours, tossing and turning to find any relief. Painkillers failed to aid you and if you moved too much, spurts of nausea floated around your body.

The one thing you were concerned about was not staining your boyfriend’s sheets underneath you. You had already changed a few times in the night, at that point it was better to stay there. The entirety of your body was pushed against the radiator, locating any lingering warmth you could without having to manually do it yourself.

It was agonising, the fact this had to happen at all to you made emotions sky rocket. The trembles of your body matched the way your breathing shuddered when your stomach clenched.

Just as another tear fell, the light above you flickered on.

“Baby? Fuck…are you okay?” Matt was by your side in an instant, his touch giving you the warm you desperately were trying to clutch onto. He was quietly analysing you and the scene in front of him as his concern increased. Each time you wanted to speak smoothly, the sharp pains constructed you. It just made you whimper in pain and it broke Matt’s heart.

He was used to you having rough periods, but this was on another level. You could breathe. You couldn’t think clearly, your mind fogged with the sheer agony within.

“Why aren’t you in bed baby, you could’ve woken me…you know that…” His tone was gentle and made you sob a few more tears before any words left.

“I- I didn’t want to bloody your sheets..or uh bother you…” You looked away once you saw his face twist into one almost filled with guilt. Independency was idolised by you, he saw it in everything you did. But he wanted to take care of you, this was the small sliver he had and he was going to use that.

“I’ll be back, okay? Just two seconds my love.” Just as quickly as he spoke, he left. The light above remained on, a signal he was still there. Rustling was heard in the distance but once the pain surged it was hard to focus on. Everything was too much. Towels bunched up around you, trying to protect you from the pain, no matter how much it didn’t work.

The sharp pains in your stomach had only gotten worse, even after medication. Every time that Matt crossed your mind it only made you feel so needy, clingy. Like a burden.

Matt returned quickly with his hands full on certain products you couldn’t quite make out. “So first off, I got the chocolates from the fridge I saved for you, and some of those sweets you like to chew…” The packets were held up as he showed them off to you. “I got some of the stronger medications for if you needed to top off with them, uh, I grabbed your socks too and just made a hot water bottle for you. I know last time was a little too hot, so I put some cold water into it as well. “

His gaze finally met your eyes, staring at the pile with tears forming. It was obvious you weren't blinking so that you didn't cry. You knew if you had tried to speak, your emotions would quickly be revealed, if they weren't already by your expression. Your lips switched into a small smile, full of gratitude towards him.

“I- Thank you…really”

“Anytime, I mean that. I just want to be here for you, no matter what.” You let out a small chuckle, allowing yourself to finally give into his efforts to take care of you, you needed it in the moment. Not that you’d admit that to him. He quickly placed the items on your his bed before returning to your side.

One arm reached under your knees while the other supported your back as he pulled you to his chest. It was warm and it was safe. You almost forgot about the pain. Almost.

He lowered you onto the mattress on your side of the bed before handing you the hot water bottle, along side your medication and a drink. He wanted to look after you, not overwhelm you. Matt pulled back from you, climbing under the duvet alongside you.

“I don’t want you to worry about the sheets or bothering me, just worry about yourself. You’re my priority and I never wanting you to think that ill ignore your pain. Never ever will I do that to you sweetheart.” His voice was barely heard over my breathing and a part of you wanted to ignore it, you couldn’t.

Subconsciously your body drew close towards him, the heat of the bottle inching closer to his skin until your head lay on his shoulder. “Feel better yet?” You nodded slightly. The pain had subsided, the bottle and his words warming the aches away.

“I love you, you know that right?” A soft smile covered his lips, placing a light kiss on your head.

“I love you too..”

This was what you needed.

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerrss @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @jassturn @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @ribread03

© ENDEREIES 2024

[stevesgother]

The 4th - S.H

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.2k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI NSFW, cursing, drinking, characters are all of age, takes place after the events of ST3, slight exhibitionism only bc they’re technically outside, it’s that slightly awkward but endearing sex you have when you fuck someone you like for the first time. It's realistic. Sue me.

AN: first time writing smut, i'm so nervous. fast times au?? If you squint?? the last half isn't proofread bc i simply cannot bring myself to read my own smut

‘American Woman’ by The Guess Who blares loudly from a twin pair of Hitachi speakers stationed on Steve Harrington’s back deck. On the hottest day of the year, The Party had decided to congregate at the only non-public pool they had unlimited access to.

To his relief, Steve had been assigned to grill duty again. The cherry red bikini you had sauntered through his sliding glass door wearing was starting to seriously inconvenience him. He had his Ray Bans on, albeit low on the bridge of his nose, to disguise where his gaze had been lingering all afternoon; the large propane grill hiding his lower half.

Lounging poolside on your towel, you hear before you feel a large ‘SPLASH’, and suddenly you’re soaked head to toe in overly chlorinated pool water.

“Ugh! Henderson!” you scold as you stand to replace your now drenched towel. The cheeky boy looks up at you from where he floats in the pool and mouths a half-hearted ‘Sorry’. 

“Steve! Would you happen to have an extra towel?” you shout to him as you hold up your ruined one, shooting him a deadpan expression. “Yeah, ‘course,” he sets down the grill tongs and awkwardly shuffles his way inside, keeping his back to you. Weird, you think.

Steve caught one look at you, hair wet and dripping, water beading down your neck and disappearing among the curve of your breasts; nipples taught from the sudden shock of cold water and visible through the fabric of your swimsuit, and he was grateful for the reprieve inside would offer him.

After close to 15 minutes of no Steve and more importantly, no towel, you decide to venture into the spacious house yourself. “Steve! – Oh!-” you startle as you run chest to chest into him, both turning a corner. “You scared me,” you chuckle awkwardly with a hand to your racing heart, “I was just wondering where you went,” you chuckle awkwardly.

“Yeah no, sorry, I just uh- got distracted,” he says, avoiding contact and handing you the fresh linen. You glance down, and notice the slight tent in his maybe too-tight swim trunks. You feel the heat of a rosy blush crawl up your cheeks, and a sudden flip of your stomach. Were you really the reason why he was acting so strange? That felt incredibly presumptuous of you.

“Well um…” you trail off, trying to keep your cool, “thanks. For the towel, I mean.” Steve had never made you feel so awkward and uncertain before. Something about the newly exposed skin and the salty smell of sweat mixed musk that radiates off of him from this proximity making your mind short circuit.

 –

When the cookout had dwindled down to just the adults and the sun dipped just below the trees, a joint had started to be passed around your small circle. “Well, we should probably head home,” Nancy announces in her usual demure tone, grabbing Jonathan’s hand helping him to stand. A chorus of goodbyes echo throughout the group, eventually leaving just you, Steve, Robin and Eddie.

An exaggerated yawn escapes Robin as she declares she’s exhausted and needs Eddie to drive her home in his rinky dink van.

“C’mon man! I just rolled this joi-”

Robin cuts him off with a harsh clear of her throat and an even harsher jab to his ribs.

“I. Really think. We. Should. Go.” She punctuates each word with a forced smile. Why was everyone acting so fucking odd today? You try to send her a panicked glance, fearing the potential awkwardness of being left here alone with Steve.

Being best friends with both of you, she was well aware of the searing crushes the two of you had on each other. This barbeque was her opportunity to light a fire under your asses to do something about it.

“That’s okay, Rob. Go home if you’re tired.” Always the gentleman. Right now you could kick him for it. If Robin notices your glaring, she doesn’t acknowledge it as she rises to her feet and heads toward the gate leading to the driveway.

“Bye losers!” She waggles her fingers at you as they make their exit, sending you a subtle wink that sets your cheeks ablaze. You now know without a doubt that this was intentional.

A hand on your knee as he says, “I can walk you home if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. We can finish the joint at least,” you smile timidly at him. Free weed wasn’t easy to come by these days, what was the harm in staying just a little longer?

–

2 hours later, you’re lying shoulder to shoulder on the rough concrete surrounding the Harrington’s pool. The joint had been snuffed out on the ground between you an hour ago, but with your thoughts dulled like this it was becoming increasingly easy to bask in the space you two had created for each other. The desire to turn heel and run with your other friends had long fizzled out.

“Hey, what was up with you today?” you ask after a few minutes of comfortable silence, “You just seemed really off,”

He looks suddenly nervous, “Oh I uh– I don’t know. Julys’ always a weird month for me, I guess,” he lies, carding a hand through his hair.

Taking the hand that’s not in his hair in your own, you ask, “Are you doing okay?” When he turns his head to meet you, your sincerity makes him blush - neck to ears. Your faces are closer than he thought they would be. He can count every eyelash from this proximity.

“Yeah– you know what,” He clears his throat, “I’m actually really warm,” he sits up clumsily as he pulls his shirt over his head by the collar, ruffling his hair and exposing the constellation of freckles and moles he has spattering the skin on his toned back.

“Okay–” You go to stand with him but he’s already dove into the pool. When he breaches the surface, he shakes his hair out like a dog and grins at you. You can’t help your eyes wandering to the dark patch of hair covering his chest. You’re starting to feel that warmth he had been complaining of.

“You gonna come in? Or just stand there and gawk?” He laughs as he floats over to you.

So you peel your shirt off and watch him stare intently as you unbutton your shorts, letting them drop to your feet. A less than elegant swan dive and you’re disappearing under the artificially blue water. The sudden coolness of it shocks you, sobering you up a bit.

You’re much more graceful than the boy when it’s your turn to come up for air, gently pushing back the hair that sticks to your face. He swims over to you unsuspectingly, then in the next breath and with a mischievous grin he lifts your body over his shoulder and essentially bodyslams you back under the surface.

More than the gesture itself, what shocks you the most is the warm expanse of his broad shoulders caressing you. You both emerge laughing, “Asshole!” you swat at his chest playfully.

When the laughter dies and fizzles out into an anxious energy, the air is filled with a sort of anticipation. The two of you are bobbing in the pool, faces no more than an inch apart.

“You have got to stop looking at me like that,” you whisper, breathlessly.

Just then he surges forward and presses his lips firmly to yours. The kiss is close-mouthed and chaste at first, giving you a chance to pull away. When you don’t take the opportunity, he deepens it. Your wet hands move to hold his face, breaching the water with a small splashing sound and his strong arms hug you at the waist, bringing you impossible closer. Pressed up against him like this you can feel all of him. The scratch of curls on his chest, the bulge of his biceps around your middle, the hard length of him pressed against your thigh.

Gasping into the kiss, you give him the opening he needs to lick hotly into your mouth, eliciting a breathy moan from your chest that sends Steve reeling. He starts to slowly kick his legs, swimming to push your back up against a vinyl clad wall.

Your lips move to lick the vein that runs down his neck, then up to a spot just below his ear. He groans when you take his earlobe gently into your mouth. Grasping your cheek in his hand, he forces your face out of the refuge his neck had provided from his intense gaze.

“Can I touch you?” He shudders when he speaks, having dreamt about this exact moment for years. Your response is an enthusiastic nod and another searing kiss to his lips - plush and pink and made for your own.

Steve’s knee moves to rest bookended between your thighs, keeping you open for him. In the water, he can’t feel how pathetically wet you are beneath your bright red bikini bottoms. You’re thankful for that, but even so, the whine that you release when his swift fingers push aside the fabric and start slowly massaging your clit is enough to give you away.

Your grip on his shoulders tightens, leaving small crescent shapes in his perfect skin. “Oh!-- God, keep doing that,” you pant.

“You like that, baby?” Steve tries to sound suave. Mr. Confident. King Steve. Honestly, he’s terrified. He has half a mind to stop and ask you to pinch him, not entirely convinced this is even real. But the sweet, sweet sounds you’re making are enough to persuade him otherwise.

“Yes! Ah– please, don’t stop,” you beg, even though you don’t have to. Steve’s positive he would do just about anything you asked of him right now. You have the sudden urge to return the favor, reaching down between your two bodies and palming him through his swim trunks.

“Oh -- my God, don’t,” he warns, the sheepish smile on his face signals to you that he’s not actually uncomfortable, “I’ll come in my pants like a damn teenager,” he gives an embarrassed chuckle.

Growing desperate for more, you say, “I want you to fuck me.” with an impossible finality. It makes Steve’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Wh-what?” He needs to make sure he heard you correctly.

“Steve. I need you to fuck me. Now.” Your voice is slightly muffled as you begin to press open-mouth kisses to his neck again.

“Oh my God,” The boy sounds absolutely wrecked already, barely able to contain himself. His hands fumble blindly for the ties on your bikini bottoms and he pulls when he finds them. Unwrapping you like his very own Christmas present.

You pull his trunks down and over his hips, just enough to fish his red and swollen cock out, careful to not let them fall to the bottom of the pool lest someone have to dive and retrieve them. You line him up hurriedly with your entrance, but he stops you with a hand on your wrist.

“Are you sure about this?” His brows furrow in that way they always do, when he's unsure. He has a crinkle above his nose.

“Yes” you half moan before getting a look at his face, “Wait, are you?”

“Yes! Yes– of course. I just– want you to be sure,” He kisses you softly after he asks

It’s so tender, you feel so safe with him like this. You fear you might be falling in love.

“I promise, I’m su–Oh!” he slides into you without warning, nearly knocking the breath out of you. He lets out a guttural groan into the space where your shoulder meets your neck as he starts to keep a steady rhythm.

“God, you feel so good,” he pants into your open mouth, “i’ve wanted this for so long,”

His words have you keening. He wraps his broad arms fully around you now, hugging you close as he pistons his hips into you. Repeatedly hitting that spot inside your walls where you need him the most.

“Oh, Steve!” you moan loudly, no longer concerned about the neighbors hearing you. The pool water begins to form waves from Steve’s thrusting and splash up onto the concrete beside your head.

“Fuck, say my name like that again,” you can feel his hips stuttering slightly.

“Steve!” He whines directly into your ear when you say it, you never would’ve thought he’d be so vocal.

“Touch yourself baby, I’m close,”

You do as you’re asked and start to keep a frenzied pace on your sensitive bud. Having both kinds of stimulation, mixed with Steve’s sweet praise, is sending you closer and closer to your edge.

As you reach your high, Steve can feel your warm pussy clench around him, making him hurtle towards his orgasm with you.

With a strangled cry, “fuck- I'm cumming,” You finish together as hips slow and he rides out his orgasm with you. His body curls in on itself and he trembles slightly. You run a warm, soft hand through his hair and down his back, soothing him through the intensity of it.

“Shit- my parents are going to kill me,” he laughs and kisses you again.

Maybe you did like swimming. Just a little bit.

tags: @daisy-munson, @megxplryxb

[thesassypadawan]

Dancing In The Moonlight (A.J. x GFReader)

Summary:  It’s tradition…  The two of you poolside…a bottle of something sweet and strong (just like your man)…while listening to all those old, cheesy songs he loves…  That’s just how you celebrate another successful job…

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s sooo much of the smut.  Fun from behind, pool smex, brief appearance of hat, and… A.J.’s big, fat dick.

Notes: A little something for a lovely anon! It was truly a pleasure to write this! I'm sorry it took more than a hot minute to get this done, but I wanted to put all the extra love into this! I had a lot of fun with it, cannot not emphasize that enough!  Hope you like it and to see more of your lovely requests in my inbox! 💗

- Dancing in the moonlight...  Everybody's feelin' warm and bright…

- The familiar tune pours out from the open patio door.  Floating on the crisp night air.  Creating the perfect tone for a romantic, moonlit evening.  All that’s missing was your ‘partner in crime’.

- Checking your phone for what easily had to be the tenth time in the last hour, a slight frown crosses your face…no new messages.  “Where are you, Jay?”  You sigh softly to yourself, resting your chin on top of your folded arms…gazing up at the stars.

- This had always been your little tradition.  The two of you celebrating poolside.  Listening to his favorite songs.  Sharing a drink or two of something of his choice.  Helping him ‘unwind’ after another successful job…your frown turned up into a wicked grin.

- So consumed by your own thoughts you don’t register the sound of a soft splash, a voice calling to you.  Until small waves lap gently at, firm chest presses against your back.  And an arm reaches past you, setting an amber colored bottle and his hat beside the pair of empty glasses.   “Sorry, doll, that took longer than I wanted.”

- Humming, you practically melt into him.  Head lazily tilting to the side…eyeing up the spirit he brought.  “Strong stuff.  Must have been a rough one.”

- Hand comes to rest on your hip, giving it an affectionate squeeze.  While long fingers push your hair to the side.  Lips brush your neck; peppers your skin with tender kisses.  Low, gravelly voice mutters.  “Yeah.  Don’t wanna talk about it.  Just wanna relax…enjoy ya.”

- “Mmmh…”  You coo, a thrill coursing through you.  As you shift forward, hands grasping at the towel below.  Legs spreading apart, hips wiggling in invitation.  “Think I can manage that…”

- Teeth ghost over, nibble the shell of your ear.  “Figured ya could…”  Big hands pull on your waist, urges you up on your tiptoes.  “Always so good for me…”  Fat tip prods at your bare cheeks, teases at your folds.  “Treatin’ me right…”

- Mouth falls open, breathy moan slips out.  “Because you deserve it…would do anything for you.”  Upper body rises up, intent on thrusting yourself onto his throbbing length.  But…

- Calloused fingertips trail, grasp the back of your neck.  “I got it.”  Softly pressing you down, keeping you in place.  Pushing himself into your tight cunt, achingly slow.  “Don’t have to rush.”

- Bottoming out, hips flush with yours.  A.J stays buried deep within, not moving.  Tracing faint patterns, placing tender kisses along your spine…leaving goosebumps behind in their wake.  “We got all night, sweetheart.”

- “I know, but been waiting on you for week.”  Tightening from his sweet, gentle treatment.  Tiny gasps, little mewls spill from your lips.  As the burning desire inside you only grows stronger, more desperate for him to…  “Need you.  Need to feel you.  Need you to move.  Please.”

- “Mmmh, since ya asked so nicely.”  One last searing kiss between your shoulder blades and his hips begin to rock, roll.  Moving at a sensual, almost torturous pace that has your mind thrumming in pleasure.  Fingers weakly clutching at the towel; pussy fluttering, clenching hard around him.

- “Fuck.”  Lightly squeezing your nape before mapping a path up your thigh.  Dipping inwards; teasing, grazing…circling your neglected nub.  Groaning when he hears your low, needy whine.  “Weren’t kiddin’, were ya?”

- “No,” you hiccup, sigh.  Feeling his full weight press down on, pins your smaller body against the edge.  While he surges forward, somehow sinks his cock further into your warmth.  That familiar coil in your stomach wound taut, that molten pleasure pooling in its pit.  “Always need…always want…always miss you.”

- Increasing his speed slightly; the waves swell larger, lap louder.  “Good to know.”  Fingers swirl your clit faster, tug on it a bit rougher.  “Means you’ll be waitin’ here for me…every time.”

- Breaths come out in soft pants; wispy puffs of air merging together, rising up towards the starry sky.  “Ready to celebrate…”  Bodies trembling from the cool breeze, from the raw intimacy that’s easily and oh so quickly overtaken you both.  “Savor the moment…”

- Burying himself one last time, you spill over the edge together.  Him throbbing and twitching, stuffing you to the brim.  You clamping down, milking him for every last drop of that delicious heat. 

- And as A.J. showers you with words of admiration, loving praises.  Sways slowly, back and forth with you to the music.  Staying connected.  You know that you two will sip on another drink…dance to another song in…

- It's such a fine and natural sight…  Everybody's dancing in the moonlight…

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @lotte08, @rafeswifeyy2, @exsamlockwood-kate, @sythethecarrot, @fuckmyskywalker, @everydaydreamer, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @fredswrite, @xhunnybeeex, @vaderswifey, @adorbzliz, @lesnby23, @starsoldier077, @thesilentreaderrrrr, @khoatic-with-no-energy, @poppysunderthestars, @maggyskywalker, @gracescorner, @onlygoodatbeingbad, @lulu-lux, @bigaoibhe2024, @miumia, @moonlxght-tyler, @juli007, @chrismus48978731689, @dietcoke-lover, @polly-xo, @eviekj, @cocobear18, @anonymous1996s, @coooooooooochie, @anthonyromero45566, @bladeloverblog, @jarofer, @olivia82827jsnms, @jaynech028, @arabellaamore, @supernatural-lover, @niyahnotnia, @peyton3328, @ethere4lbts, @jasperanddaisy, @lachimolalaloveeeeee, @sold1erboy, @generalgalaxyfury, @t-bag2, @ttdrake, @gardenfairy-33, @jameskellysgirl, @maddis0n4, @war-and-chaos, @slutforoldermen, @oneaftertheotherone, @cherryhwaa

[clockwork-ashes]

Of Fire and Poison - Part I

Read on Ao3

Summary: Prompted by one of Elain Archeron’s visions, the Night Court decides it’s time to remove Beron Vanserra from Autumn’s throne. Azriel must learn to tolerate being in the presence of his oldest enemy, but he comes to find that spending time with Eris is not what he expected.

Note: My first time writing a multi-chapter azris fic!!! I’m very excited about it, so thank you for reading <3

Tag list: @the-darkestminds / @secret-third-thing /

Azriel’s shadows whirled around him, dancing in time to the low music that seemed to float in an eerie echo from the ballroom. The howl of the string instruments rose and fell like waves against the shore, creating an effect that inspired even the most unwilling of guests to participate in a waltz. 

Azriel had always found it captivating, but even his undivided attention remained on the strained interaction between his brother and the heir to the Autumn Court. 

The High Lord of Night walked with a feline grace, maintaining his carefully crafted role while in the confines of the Hewn City. He offered his spymaster a subtle nod as he approached, stopping just in front of the carved wooden doors of the large room. 

Azriel inched towards him, protecting his brother’s back and using his own body as a way to block the entrance. 

Careful. 

The one word scraped against the iron wards of his mind and Azriel had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. 

Rhysand ignored Azriel, speaking to Eris just as his hand came up to grip the silver doorknob. He didn’t look back at the other male, but without a doubt, his brow was arched and his chin was tilted in question. “I trust you’ll behave,” he drawled. There was a warning in the tone that only Azriel seemed to recognise. 

Eris shrugged even though Rhysand couldn’t see the gesture. It was a smooth lift of his shoulders, the expensive fabric of his jacket pulling with the movement. “I make no promises,” he said, voice rich as whiskey. 

No more words were exchanged as Rhysand swept through the doors, shutting them behind him with a soft click, the lock falling into place shortly after. Eris scrunched his nose, most likely annoyed at the lack of faith 

Azriel was expressionless, waiting in a silent battle of wills to see if Eris would be the first to break the silence. 

Eris traced the rim of his wine glass with an elegant finger, golden rings flashing. He seemed to wait until Rhysand’s footsteps faded completely and the only sound that lingered between them was the orchestra’s haunting music. A vicious scowl tugged at his full mouth, familiar. 

Azriel watched, observing the way his shadows twisted and spun eagerly at the prince of Autumn’s booted heels. He kept his arms crossed over his chest and his wings tucked close to his back, silently conveying his confusion at their strange behaviour. 

Eris seemed content to pretend that the shadows weren’t even there, treating them as if they were nothing more than a gentle wind. “You have nothing to add?” He asked, snorting in a way that was unbecoming of a male in his position when Azriel didn’t respond. He lifted his glass, the muscles in his throat working as he drained its contents. Red curls kissed at the sharp cut of his jaw, striking against the bone white pallor of his skin. 

Lips stained crimson, Eris licked at the wine. Azriel watched the slow path of the other male’s tongue, forcefully dragging his gaze upwards to meet clever amber eyes. The torches in the small space flared, and his shadows scattered at the brightness. 

Eris raised an auburn brow, a knowing expression falling over his sharp features. Flames flickered, and the scarlet of his hair shifted so that it looked wine dark. “You’re going to help me kill my father.” 

Azriel frowned at the ease with which Eris declared his plans, no remorse in the steadiness of his voice. It was enough to make him uncomfortable, being spoken to so directly. “My High Lady wants Beron to be stripped of his power.” 

Like the woven sounds of streams and breezes, Autumn shifts to Winter. 

Of fire and poison, dry leaves rustle when a king falls.

The cold earth sleeps, and the breath of night flows like death. 

Azriel didn’t add that it was one of Elain’s visions that had prompted the Inner Circle’s urgency. 

“She believes I’ll be a pawn, easy to control?” The way Eris asked his question revealed no bitterness, simply interest. 

It took Azriel a moment to remember they’d been speaking about Feyre. “She believes you have Prythian’s best interests in mind.” 

Eris scoffed, tilting his head like a wolf, predatory. “And so the Night Court only upholds their end of our bargain when it best suits them?” 

“Be grateful, prince.” Azriel couldn’t help the rough growl that escaped along with the words, but Eris didn’t seem too bothered by the obvious disrespect. 

Azriel watched as the other male tilted his glass, glancing into its empty depths briefly. The diamonds along the arch of his ear sparkled like stars in an evening sky as he placed the glass onto the ancient table that separated them. 

Eris dipped at the waist in a mocking bow, holding Azriel’s gaze as he spoke, his words meant to be a taunt. “I expect you’ll be the one coming for me.” 

Azriel nodded once, feeling his face heat at the comment. “I’ll find you so we can work out the specifics.”  

Eris winnowed from the room without answering, nothing but embers remaining in his wake. Shadows whirled in the empty space where the prince had just been, and Azriel was left with the impression that they hoped to see him again.  

[hiddendreamsstuff]

Content: time called, intentional overdose, compressions, defibrillations, intubation, devastated lover.

I found you in the tub with an empty bottle on the side. Your head has slid down the side of the tub and your nose is just above the water. Your hair floats around you. I don’t know if you expected me home or not- but here I am, finding you in this state. Terror washes over me.

My initial panic quickly dissolves into action… I call 911 immediately and give them the address. I pull the drain on the tub and I lay the towel out. I put my leg in the water, shoe and all, as I reach under your arms and hug you in towards me pulling you over the edge of the tub. I would have fallen over if not for the rubber of my shoe catching me, but my phone falls into the water with 911 still on the line, as I step out and lay you down to the ground. Your perfect body is completely still and I freeze again watching as your unmoving breasts gaze back at me.

Again, I am pulled to action and find myself on my knees with my ear just above your breast, my cheek on the soft skin and breast tissue itself. It is no surprise that I hear nothing, but my terror increases. “How long have you been like this?” I think to myself, my own breathing quickening. I quickly override my fear and move to your mouth and open it while lifting your neck; with my other hand I pinch your nose and seal my lips onto yours before blowing in. It does not seem you have ingested water as the breath makes your chest rise and fall, but your wet body is glistening under the harsh lights of the bathroom.

Now the moment I have been dreading…. I straddle you and place the my heels of my hands between your nipples and push down hard on your sternum. I immediately feel your ribs bend and crack. I let out a whimper, but push myself to keep going. “One two three four five six seven eight nine ten…” I count outloud trying to keep my mind focused on the movement and not the panic.

Tears stream down my face as I continue compressions followed by more exhalations into your lungs, your chest rising into mine as I do so. I put my ear to your naked chest just to be sure there is no pulse, as if that was not obvious already. “Nothing… nothing… fuck!” I whisper. I continue pressing deeply into your chest pumping your heart, your stomach rising into my own pelvis. I realize I have no other tools to save you; the ambulance is supposed to be on its way, my phone still in the tub I can’t tell how long I have even been doing this…. “Come on baby…” I scream out loud, but think to myself “how could you do this to me?”

I continue this process for what seems like forever until I hear the sirens followed by the front door being banged in. I don't stop, even though ever muscle in my body is burning and my heart is pounding. As I am breathing into you again, a medic pushes me out of the way and puts an ambu bag on you while a woman starts pumping your chest hard and fast. It is only out of shear exhaustion that I let them take over- I dont have the strength to fight them... I fall backwards into the side of the tub at your feet and let out a blood curdling scream, which does not phase your rescuers at all.

Your body is under their control now as they begin hooking you up to the monitor with leads and they assess your airway. They quickly decide to intubate you because you have been down for at least 15 minutes, which really means I have been working on you for 15 minutes prior to their arrival... who knows how long you have really been unconscious...

The woman continues pumping until the man takes a plastic hook and places it down your throat followed by a tube. He yells, "I'm in" and the woman begins pumping again. Another medic is monitoring your heart rate on the screen. They yell out for the woman to stop compressions for a pulse check. "Not shockable. Continue compressions," they say.

The medic notices the bottle on the floor and starts to question me about how much you took. All I can do is shake my head that I don't know. "How long was she down before you called?" I shake my head again. I am totally useless now that I have stopped working on you. The medic shakes their head, "Lets try some Narcan...," they say as they take a syringe out of the bag.

The woman never stops pumping and I am mesmerized by the continuous up and down motion of the compressions. . I watch your breasts cave in towards each other with intrigue. I barely notice the man who is bagging you at this point, but see your chest inflate occasionally. Nothing feels real right now.

After the medic inserts the syringe in your arm, followed by another they say, "epi is in, narcan is in- continue compressions for 30 seconds and we will do a pulse check and switch positions". Compressions are paused and the man and woman switch places. "Okay, we have a shockable rhythm. Going to shock her at 200j!" The medic takes the paddles and places them on your chest. "CLEAR!" Your chest jumps jump off the ground, your tiny breasts peaks of a mountain.... you fall back to the ground. "Nothing, shocking at 300! CLEAR!" Again, I watch your torso shoot up to the sky and fall back down. "Nothing continue compressions!" The man takes over and forces your chest into the ground even harder, crushing your chest and my soul at the same time.

I whimper and cry quietly as I watch. The team continues this routine for another fifteen minutes after the first round of shocks. They shock you two more sets of times, give numerous syringes of drugs, and endless compressions before the medic says "We have been working on her for 20 minutes and there were 15 before that. She has been a-systole for 8. We have shocked her 5 times at 360 and she is maxed out on drugs. Her total down time is unknown" says the medic... The others stare at them unsure what to say as I continue to be motionless in the corner of the room. "I think we have to call it" says the woman as she compresses your chest, having switched back to her initial position. She stops pumping and slowly pulls her hands back across your chest, her fingers brushing your nipples which are hard and erect from the cold air.

"No! NO! YOU CAN'T STOP!" I scream as I jump up and put my hands on your chest and start pushing down violently. The woman places her hand on my hand and says softly, "She is gone baby. I'm so sorry" as I continue pumping for a moment. I then collapse onto you, my head on your chest; my tears drop onto your breast and roll down the side. A police officer who I did not even notice had arrived tries to pull me off of you, but the woman stops him. "Let her be for now" she says as she strokes my hair from above....

[whyohwhydoris]

This is actually a really important point. The traditional role of Dungeon Master is often classified as "try and kill the players" but that's a stereotype born of munchkins. The traditional role of the DM is to present a compelling challenge, and then let the characters puzzle out a solution. This is why D&D still has the remnants of ideas around downtime. The way modern D&D is written, downtime makes no sense. The attitude and character of prepared adventures is much more along the lines of the constant action. It used to be that the adventure existed in the context of a broader world. You were a group who tackled a problem, and then you went back to your lives of being local nobles or reclusive wizards. That's why you have spells like Legend Lore which had casting times between minutes and weeks, reflecting a combination of magic and of research - and drawing from how Gandalf disappeared for years as he researched the Ring in Lord of the Rings. It isn't a coincidence that many of the named spells in D&D are utility spells like Tenser's Floating Disk or Nystul's Magic Aura. It's also not a coincidence that older additions had more robust up-casts for utility spells. While more limited, in AD&D 1e & 2e, a spell like Tenser's is scaled to the caster's level. Even with the same spell slot, a 10th level wizard can haul around 10x as much as a 1st level wizard, so long as it fits on the 3-foot disk. And for spell where the up-cast is tied to the level of the spell slot, this is still true: In AD&D 2e, fabricate adds its volume again for each additional level. So, what is now a 4th level spell that can only ever effect the exact same amount of stuff even if cast at 9th level, but used to let you effect that additional volume on an upcast. But, you can't put a dice-value on that, so you just kind of don't see it now. Never mind how weakly some upcasts scale. A 9th level magic missile does 11d4+11 damage. Meteor Swarm does 40d6 to as many ever creatures as fit in 4 forty-foot radii This lack of scaling of utility mechanics has killed lateral thinking. Sure, I can arm 1000 picts with plate armour, shields, swords, and javelins in a month with my level 10 black-smith wizard. But I'm "wasting" higher level slots to do it. And, where spells have the ability to create a permanent change, they take so long that the DM can A) fuck you over with a random encounter, and B) make no narrative sense any more. Modern D&D is a game where a month of down-time is a lot. Because you're have your Aarakocra player pointing out "Hey guys, we can't take a year off to do this, I might be *dead* because I created my character as a 25 year old, and they only live to around 30." It fosters a dearth of creativity.

It bears repeating how much of an anomaly the WotC D&D occupation with providing "balanced" encounters to the extent where every edge characters can gain over their opposition needs to be somehow accounted for in game balance. D&D is multiple different games, but the most stark internal division is between the TSR and WotC eras, where the previous one was not built around the expectation of encounters that need to be overcome in a specific way to "progress" and characters and their opposition were never really thought to be balanced.

Encounter balance only really became a goal with WotC D&D and even though it was at first and still is pretty much all over the place, there very much is an underlying philosophy of designing encounters to account for the party's capabilities and, on a character level, every possible edge characters might gain being accounted for. This was the clearest in 4e (a game explicitly built around these assumptions), but it very clearly informs the design of 3e and 5e: characters can't just go and make friends with a wolf, man. You gotta spend character-building resources on your character so that they may gain the Animal Companion feature and thus have permission to have a wolf. The wolf animal companion is placed on the same level as an extra sneak attack dice or a bonus feat or a new daily allotment of spells, and by this point you should see what I mean by the balance being kind of all over the place.

And as stated, that type of approach to game design is actually anomalous when you consider it within the context of RPGs as a whole. Sure, D&D has a disproportionate effect on perceptions of RPGs, and since there are many new designers coming in with expectations created by WotC D&D that type of design is becoming more and more common. And D&D's biggest competitor, Pathfinder, also very much subscribes to that philosophy of game design.

In Mythras a character can just join a Shamanic cult and learn the skills necessary to practice Shamanism and bind a predator spirit they have befriended into a wolf to thus gain a spirit companion who now has a corporeal form, and none of that requires the expenditure of character resources that need to be somehow balanced on a budget, nor does it somehow affect considerations of encounter balance. It's an edge that the character gained because they did the thing in the fiction. The only expenditure required was for the character to do it, and the time and resources it took for them to do it.

And most trad RPGs are balanced more along the lines of Mythras than they are of D&D.

[sexy-monster-fucker]

👉 👈 🥺 for the pining prompts, what about number 8 with lee russell? (i love the way you write him!!)

yes yes yes!!! Also thank you so much I’m glad you like the way I write for him :))))

Lee Russell x Teacher!Reader

#8: Glances that linger on longer than intended.

also @dichromaniac you're a saint for making this GIF I am in love

~~~

Smitten. Completely head over hills. Practically floating on a cloud of blushed cheeks and awkward laughs every time you were together. Butterflies levitating you above.

You had transferred from a different school to take over the science teacher position at North Jackson High.

That was when it started.

Being guided around the building by one of the Vice Principals, Lee Russell. Tall, eccentric, and extremely handsome. Starting off your interaction with a compliment.

“Nothing would make me happier than showing a beautiful new thing like you around,” Lee grinned from ear to ear as he placed his hands on his hips. You could not deny the heat that rose to your cheeks with his words.

You followed him around the school. Stopping at showing you all the important parts of North Jackson High School. Cracking a joke or two along the way. Showing you your classroom with the lab connected. Admiring how much space you were given. Ending your tour in Lee's office.

"And this is the most important place in the whole building. My office. If you ever need anything done, or just want to spend a little time with me," he winked, "Right here is the place for you, my dear!"

"You really are the sweetest, Mr. Russell," you swooned.

Catching the attention of Neal Gamby from the hallway.

“Lee Russell, you fake ass bitch,” Gamby laughed. You saw Lee's face turn a shade of red you had not yet seen. His teeth clanked together as he bared his teeth at his coworker. "You've got this poor girl convinced you're some sweet guy. Hah! Please, you are an a-grade liar, Mr. Russell," Gamby cackled.

"Shut the fuck up, Gamby!" Lee rose to his feet fast. Catching you off guard with the sudden attitude change. Not bothered by it, just a little surprised.

Lee’s eyes darted back down to you, noting the way your brows pushed together at his demeanor. Softening his stiff shoulders and putting on a smile as to not scare you away. “Sorry about that, sugar. Sometimes I lose my temper,” he smiled at you.

“Sometimes?” Gamby began again.

“Get out of here!” Lee pointed.

Gamby stomped his foot like a child before leaving the two of you alone. Slamming Lee’s door behind him. Both of you exhaling in relief.

“So,” Lee questioned, “Got anything else you need to know?”

…

A few weeks had passed and you were growing into the rhythm of North Jackson High School. The utter lack of professionalism from your coworkers was your hardest adjustment. Your fellow teachers attempting to welcome you in at their lunch table, but finding yourself not enjoying the conversations. Unable to stop thinking about Lee. Anytime he was in the room your full attention was on him. Admiring the eccentric ways he dressed, the frosted tips of his hair, and how he let no one get off easily.

Since you had started, Lee would often visit you at the end of the day. Coming by your classroom to check on how things were going. Making sure you were comfortable. You adored his visits.

But as you got later in the year, Lee’s attention had gone elsewhere. Not stopping by as often. Having more important principal responsibilities to tend to. You did not mind, you just missed him.

No matter. You still had his attention. It had become a tradition now. When either of you walked down the hallway at the same time, you could not take your eyes off each other. Not often did you find yourself in the hallway at the same time, but when you did…

You walked from opposite sides of hallway. Unable to look away as soon as you caught each other’s eyes. Time slowed. Hazel eyes locked into yours. Body still moving with the motions of hallway traffic, but your attention was his. Watching as a closed mouth smile crept across his face, cheeks turning pink. Feeling like a teenager bumping into her crush in between classes all over again. If you could capture a moment in time, it was this. Mutual exchange of longing looks. A silent understanding that you shared feelings. Smiling brightly as you finally got close enough to each other to pass in the hall. Both of you turning your heads to keep your eye contact going.

Heart fluttering in your chest. Hand going up to grip at your shirt over it. Thinking that maybe it would calm the feeling down. You hurried back to your classroom. Waiting for your next class to join you. Mind running wild at the moment you had just shared.

Later that day…

You sat at your desk grading papers. The end of day announcements had just finished over the intercom. Getting slightly flustered when Lee’s voice took over your class room. Unable to forget how his eyes fixated on you so often. Waving off one of the lingering students in the hallway when you heard a familiar southern drawl.

“Why the hell are you hanging around Miss Y/L/N’s room? Boy, it’s late in the day, get out of here,” Lee’s sass hissed off his tongue at the student.

Arm resting on your door frame now. Bright white teeth meeting your gaze. Your cheeks bright with your crush for him.

“Hi, Mr. Russell,” you smiled ear to ear.

“Oh, call me Lee, sweetheart. No need for you to be that formal with me,” he continued his smile as he entered your classroom. Closing the door behind him. Nonchalantly touching some of the things that decorated your classroom as he closed in on your desk. Large hands splayed out on it in front of you.

“So, what’s a young thing like you doing tonight?”

Your body radiated heat. Stuttering and stammering awkward noises. “N-Nothing. I live alone and don’t know many people,” you awkwardly laughed.

“I wanna take you on a date,” Lee was so straight forward. Butterflies danced in your stomach.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. You’re beautiful and I want to get to know you better. We can’t just keep eye-fucking each other in the hallway,” he laughed.

You grinned. Flustered at his proposal. Giddy like a young girl getting asked to prom. Unable to believe he really was that interested in you.

“I’d love to, Lee.”

~

{tags}

@boydcrowderapologist ~ @toogaytofunctiondangit ~ @megangovier ~ @justme12200 ~ @castle-of-ruin ~ @its-in-the-woods ~ @itsyellow ~ @hiddlebatchedloki ~ @iwmflbb

[itmeansiris]

The Solar System Legacy Challenge: Shopping Spree Gen 1 pt.80

When the group of women and Dite left to go shopping Kiersten and M joked the whole trip about going to the Brindelton Bridal shop to find bridesmaid dresses and fit Winter for a wedding dress. Winter protested the whole way. She'd even threatened to seal their feet to the ground with magic if they so much as set foot in the store.

Instead, they headed for the Halloween store to find costumes for the Spooky Day party. Inside, Winter and M immediately started trying on outfit's. Kiersten walked around with Dite looking but not trying anything on as M and Winter posed in front of the shop's many mirrors.

Winter: Check it out. I'm an angel.

M laughed wrapping her arms around Winter's shoulder.

M: You might be growing an angel but you sure as hell aren't one. Nice touch with the white wings, when did you learn to do that?

Winter: A trick I learned while training Adrianne on wing control.

Dite raced over hardly able to contain her excitement.

Aphrodite: Mom I think Kiersten found the perfect costumes for you guys. Hurry, Come see!

M and Winter changed out of their ridiculous costumes and headed over to the mannequins where Kiersten and Aphrodite were waiting. When they got closer M realized what they were looking at and Winter gasped.

Winter: I knew we were going to be good friends.

M: Wait. There are only 5. What about you and Rufus?

Kiersten looked at her a little sheepishly.

Kiersten: Rufus and I already have our costumes. Sorry M, we've been planning them since we got our invite in the mail.

M: It's okay. Me, Kason, Winter, Peyton. We need someone to wear the last one.

Winter: I have someone in mind.

With the costume debacle settled, they yanked the costumes from the rack and quickly checked out. Having fulfilled their immediate shopping needs Kiersten headed home. She'd gotten a text from Rufus and the boys but promised to come over to M's tomorrow to hang out again. Her and Winter shared a hug before she took off.

The rest of the group wandered the mall for a while. Winter eventually veered off, stopping in a maternity store while M and Aphrodite took a couple of graceless laps around the indoor ice-skating rank.

M eventually bowed out having spotted Winter at one of the café tables. Not wanting to risk further injury, on shaky legs, she half walked, half skated towards the exit hugging the rails closely. Aphrodite, ever the perfectionist, was determined to master the ice so she stayed a little longer.

M: Sweetie, I'll be over at the table with Auntie Winter. When you're ready we can head to the equine store.

Mercury joined Winter at the small table, the café was void of other patrons, likely due to the light snowfall that had begun outside. Winter was fiddling with a small grey box that had a clear screen and something floating inside.

M: What is that thing?

Winter: Stupid physic box they gave me with my purchase at the maturity store. Seems like a pretty useless thing to give to an expecting mother.

M: Or a spellcaster for that matter.

Winter tucked the toy away in one of her shopping bags and turned her attention back to M. The café started to fill up around them and a waiter approached.

Waiter: Hello ladies. Can I get you anything?

They politely declined. The waiter smiled and moved on to the next table greeting them with the same warm tone and bright smile to match her floral attire.

M: So are you gonna tell me when you found out you were having baby number four was it?

Winter groaned resting her head in her hand, yet she was smiling.

Winter: When you say it like that it sounds sorta crazy. We knew since your dads funeral. I was kind of suspicious, my magic was starting to stir without good reason.

M: How did Peyton take the news? I never imagined him a father of four though I guess I never imagined you with four kids either

Winter: He took it as well as the other three times honestly. He hardly blinked an eye. He just smiled and went on like it was a normal day.

M: He's grown up so much in the last 10 years. It's amazing to see who he's become.

Winter: Look at you all smiley and happy. You would never believe there was a demon terrorizing your life.

Mercury's smile didn't fade. She sat forward, arms resting on the table, and stared at them with a hint of sadness.

M: I'm just happy to see you is all. It's been far too long, I need to make it my business to come and see you more. Now that Zoh's a toddler he can handle the ride to San Myshuno.

Winter: Newcrest.

She corrected. M shook her head and huffed.

M: Right, Newcrest. It's so strange, you guys not living in the city.

Winter: It was weird at first but the kids love it and it's a better space for them to practice their magic freely without someone getting hurt or something getting broken.

M saw Aphrodite approaching, so she stood.

M: Well San Myshuno or Newcrest I'm coming to see you.

Winter stood and hugged her friend.

Winter: Don't be so hard on yourself. I'm not saying don't come but cut yourself some slack. You've been where I'm headed and traveling with 4 small kids would have been a disaster. It made since for us to travel to you. I love you Mercury.

M: Come on. I promised Dite we would go to High Horse Fashion.

Winter: Violionist and a horse wrangler. I wonder where she got that from? Spirit maybe?

M chucked and shrugged her shoulders as they headed for the door.

M: I have no clue.

Aphrodite pushed the large barn-like doors open and darted inside ahead of her mother and aunt. She ran over to the far wall staring at all the equipment lining the shelves.

M: Dite don't run in the store, please.

Winter: I'll look over here.

M stood behind her daughter when she broached an interesting question

Aphrodite: Hey mom do you think I can start getting an allowance?

M: I don't see why not. Any particular reason you're asking now?

Aphrodite pointed up at a coat hanging high on the wall.

Aphrodite: I want to buy that coat.

M smiled ever surprised by how Dite displayed her growing maturity.

M: Absolutely kiddo. Now I think we should find your riding clothes.

Instead of heading home after they finished their shopping spree, Winter suggested they hit the bowling lanes not ready to end the day. When they arrived Dite went upstairs to the kid's arcade where she would likely play Don't Wake the Llama as opposed to an actual arcade game. Winter and M checked in at the desk retrieving the overly used standard red and blue blowing shoes but never put them on. They sat by their assigned lane never bowling a single round, They sat talked losing track of time until Aphrodite complained she was ready to go home.

Winter spent the night with M. Kason always the gentlemen, offered up his place in bed and agreed to sleep downstairs on the sofa for the night. Winter tucked in that night thrilled at the time they spent with her closest friend but slightly relieved that she would be reunited with her husband and children in a few hours.

Previous Next

Beginning

Builds

Gallery ID: Abaybay514 High Horse Fashion is a retail 30x20 lot

Gallery ID: Mandykay77 Halloween Costume Shop is a retail 40x30 lot

Gallery ID: keongemini1 Brindelton Bay Mall is a retail 64x64 lot

Poses

@ratboysims sitting emotions & Parent and kid poses

@simcredibledesigns shopping bags

@plazasims Halloween set

Mods

@littlemssam Allowance Mod

[thereareotherwaysofpersuasion]

The Storm of Vengeance Which Consumes

Yeah. It's that scene. The swiss cheese scene. The Sushseidon scene. But it's Poseidon POV with a lot of internal emotions. This was written as part of a personal series I'm working on where one of my OCs is looking into Poseidon's history and experiences this memory.

A lot of this was inspired by the various fanarts/animatics I've seen. Such as Gwendy's use of Hermes' sandals, HAH Studios' Get In The Water (specifically Ody's hand on Horseidon's nose), sloansloan's Ody pulling Poseion's hair. So if you're reading something and are like "hmm, this seems familiar" it was probably inspired by something. The discorporation is part of the lore in my series.

Enjoy!

Words: 2300 Warnings: Torture (obviously), graphic descriptions of violence, uhh. Yeah. It's that scene, soooo Characters: Odysseus and Poseidon (with various others mentioned/referenced)

Anger consumes his heart, his mind sharp and clear on the currents of vengeance. The mortal escaped him once. But not this time. His shadow consumes the single man on a raft, his towering figure of water imposing an air of terror. At long last, it will be over. At long last, he will have his revenge. 

“We’re both hurting from loss. Why not leave this here and just go home?” the mortal offers, pain in his features as he pleads. 

The words make the god hesitate. The anger that has carved a home in his heart leaves his chest aching. The minuscule hope that he could let this pain go, that he could be free from it; it tempts him. Could it really be that simple? And yet— “I can’t,” the near broken voice of Poseidon leaves his mouth. 

The mortal dares to raise a hand in offering. A soft gesture. 

And despite himself, the god leans down towards it, ready to receive it. He’s desperate for the relief from the storm, desperate for it to finally be over with.

“Maybe you could learn to forgive,” the mortal offers a gentle smile. 

He stops short, his face a mere few feet from the mortal. What is he doing? Is he, the King of the Seas, swayed by a few silver words and a decade of chase? Is his resolve so fragile? His eyes sharpen. “No.” He pulls back, his form cracking and growing as more water rushes up to join his form. 

The seas grow rougher, almost becoming like solid glass pillars. The wind swirls around harder, creating tornadoes of water.

“Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves,” he declares his mantra once again as he raises his trident, spinning it before plunging it into the water. “Die!”

The water shatters into thousands of rugged pieces. The raft on top of it falls into the depths. 

He watches the mortal that has evaded and outsmarted him at every turn finally sink beneath his power, finally drowning under his wrath. A sharp sense of satisfaction stabs at his heart, adding to the burden of vengeance he carries. But he counts it as worth it. Because he finally did it. His mission is complete. His anger is satiated. 

At least it should be. Why does it feel like he’s not done? He killed the man. He enacted justice. For his son’s pain and his own pride. Why does he not feel satisfied?

The wind continues to whip around, stringing out his long wet hair. The storm rages on. Both outside and within. At long last, he turns to leave.

“Poseidon!” a voice screams in anger behind him.

He turns, his eyes widening. 

The mortal floats high in the air, windbag in hand and Hermes’ winged sandals on his feet.

Fury fills the god as the mortal has once again escaped his demise. He bares his teeth and turns fully around. He barely gets to raise his trident before he feels himself being pummeled. 

Though the mortal’s weapon can’t break his skin, the speed at which each blow is delivered leaves him dazed. Like six hundred men are beating his body. Like the souls of the mortal’s lost crew have come back for revenge of their own. Water is knocked from his form in showers of droplets from every strike. His eyes try to track the mortal, but he’s nothing more than a blur in the air.

In the span of a mere few seconds, his form has been beaten down to its smallest height. His concentration has been shattered, his vision spinning as he falls from the sky, landing on a rocky outcropping.

The first thing he notices when he opens his eyes is the storm of his design raging around them. The second is the mortal standing at the rock’s edge, looking out at the consequences of his actions. A twisted sense of irony and victory worm their way into his heart despite his aching body working to heal itself from the borderline magical onslaught. 

And he laughs. 

“You idiot,” he spits at the mortal, pushing himself up by the rock behind himself. “Can’t you see? You sealed your fate just to beat me!” he continues laughing. The pitiful thing about mortals. For how clever they think they are, their hubris will always be their doom. “You really thought you could control my storm? That it would bow to your whims, King of Ithaca? You will never get back! And it is all by your own hands. Just like the lost lives of your crew.”

The mortal’s head slowly turns towards the god drunk on power. “You’re going to call off that storm,” he growls as he stalks towards him.

A scoff leaves the god. “Or what? You can’t kill me.”

The mortal bends down towards the golden trident laying between them. “Exactly.” He picks it up.

The trident shines in the hands of the descendant of Hermes.

The god’s eyes narrow in confusion at the statement. But as he looks at the prongs coming closer to him, then the mortal’s no longer human eyes, a new sensation fills him. One he hasn’t felt in centuries. The predatory steps unlock something almost human within him.

Terror.

“Wait.” The god starts trying to get up. “Wait!”

But he isn’t fast enough. In his arrogance, he let the mortal breach his weakness. In his own hubris, his own haughtiness over his immortality, he forgot the warning of Prometheus’ fate. Immortality can be a curse.

The metal embeds itself in his chest, pinning him to the rock. For the first time in eons, the cosmos hears him scream. For the first time since Titanchomy, he feels real pain. The sting of a death he cannot have, the tearing of flesh, the warmth of ichor seeping out of his wounds like currents withdrawing from oceanside caves at low tide.

And when the barbed ends are withdrawn, it pulls his body with it until a foot on his stomach stops him. He gasps as the metal is freed, but the relief— if he can even call it that— doesn’t last long. He sees the next blow coming and raises his hand to stop it. 

But the mortal sees this and aims directly for the shoulder.

His arm goes numb, limply falling to the side as he cries out again.

“How does it feel to be helpless? How does it feel to know pain?” the mortal mocks as he dislodges the weapon with a struggle, the barbs getting stuck again and pulling more flesh with them.

His ears burn at the humiliation, his chest tight as he breathes laboredly. His mind is assaulted with the sting of pain, an overwhelming force like none he’s ever experienced before. No one dares to strike the King of the Seas, especially not in a truly hazardous way. No one… except Nobody.

The next stab plunges into his stomach, slicing through muscle and intestines. His own howls join the chorus of wind and thunder.

It is no doubt music to the mortal’s ears as he continues to lay out the god’s sins against him, as he continues to enact his justice.

The god slides further and further down the rock, his eyes and markings glowing as his body desperately tries to heal itself. He’s never been discorporated before. He’s never had his physical form stripped away from him. He’s never experienced the shame of being trapped in his own domain from his failures. But as his body is torn to shreds by the overzealous mortal, he fears for the first time that this may actually be it. This may be the first time he experiences as close to death as gods get.

His power is split between trying to heal himself and trying to start a counter attack. An earthquake, a tidal wave, anything. 

But the mortal, once champion of the Goddess of Wisdom, accounted for that too. And he strikes where he knows it will hurt. The soft flesh of the abdomen, the already broken ribs and pierced lung, the knee, the other shoulder. Every blow breaks the god’s concentration, keeping him trapped against the rock. “Look what you’ve turned me into!”

The god can’t help but comply, staring up at the monster of a man he made. A mortal pushed too far, a man immeasurably beyond his breaking point. It’s almost in slow motion as the god’s gaze fixates on a droplet of rain washing his ichor off the mortal’s face. He can only breathe laboriously, unable to attempt to stop the trident from sinking into his collarbone.

The mortal grabs his hair, pulling the god’s head back to look at him. “Look what we’ve become.” 

His eyes sting, his throat raw from his screams. He’s lost the strength to even try to turn his face away, to fight back for control of his head. The warm vengeance that kept him on the shores of Ithaca for ten years has been transferred into the mortal, leaving the god cold and broken. 

Like a forest that has been consumed by wildfire, leaving fragile dead trees in its place. Like a hurricane that levels towns, like tidal waves that wash everything that was once held dear out to sea. The god has lost everything. A new monster was birthed from his storm of vengeance. 

And even when he thought he finished it, even when he got what he wanted, it didn’t feel like enough. He was left disappointed, unsatisfied. Killing the mortal didn’t end the storm. His revenge has consumed them both, eating them alive as the god’s father had once devoured him.

Up until now he thought Zeus stripping him of his divinity and enslaving him to a mortal king was the worst blow his pride could be dealt. But another mortal king is proving him wrong.

The mortal throws the god’s head backwards into the rock, twisting the trident as he pulls it out.

The god gasps, clutching his stomach. This has to end. He has to make it stop. Before he fully experiences defeat. Before he takes on more shame. “Enough,” he orders.

But who is the king to stop? Who is wielding the trident? And so the mortal continues his assault, reopening half-healed wounds in the god’s shoulder.

The god squeezes his eyes shut, a long groan of agony leaving him, “Stooop!” He feels sick as his voice dips further and further into desperation, pleading with the mortal, begging of all things. He cries out louder, as if the mortal couldn’t hear him the first time over his ranting.

But no. The mortal did hear him. The begs were clear as day. And they were ignored. “You didn’t stop when I begged you!” The trident’s aim is true, an extension of the mortal’s emotions, plunging into the god’s throat and left eye at the same time.

The god’s body locks up, convulsing. His whole head is engulfed in pain, the sharp point that penetrated his eye having sunken into his skull. His remaining eye widens as what would have been his loudest scream is silenced by the prong piercing his vocal cords. The sweet metallic taste fills his mouth and drips off his lips. 

The scene goes black. For a moment, he feels himself slipping away. No. He can’t give the mortal that satisfaction. He can’t let him win. Even if he already has. He barely hears the distant words of the mortal, though is mouth is slowly moving, “You…”

“You told me to close my heart! You said the world was dark!” The mortal makes an upwards strike with the trident, lifting the god’s body off the ground a bit to glare at him.

The god weakly glares back with one blue eye flickering in its glow. “Monster!” he cries out, hoping that will break the man, hoping that will end this torment.

But instead, it just seems to fuel the monster in the man as he rips the trident out. His response to the accusation comes in the words the god was so fond of as he raises the trident, unknowing how close he is to finishing the job, “Didn’t you say that ruthlessness is mercy upon our—”

And the god’s resolve shatters. His own words being used against him are almost more painful than his own weapon. “Alright!” he cries out.

The mortal hesitates, trident raised overhead.

The god forces his remaining eye open, though his sight of the mortal is obscured by rain and blood. “Please,” he rasps, brought to his lowest of lows. Subjected to begging for mercy from a mere mortal.

The mortal grips the trident tighter before dropping it with a clang.

The wind and waves die down as the god’s vision flickers. His head slumps forward as the scene turns dark. He barely feels his body hit the cold rocks. Every muscle pulses in pain. He doesn’t know when the mortal flew off on Hermes’ sandals. He doesn’t know how long he laid there trying to heal. Perhaps Apollo would be gracious enough to tend to him. But as time goes on, no one shows. He’s left alone on the tiny island, laying in his own ichor. Olympus has shunned him, probably mocking him.

The god finally begins to move, though immediately crying out as a sharp pain flares in his chest, a crack sounding like something broke. He lays back down, but the pain doesn’t lessen. His head gets lighter and lighter. His body gets weaker. It feels like fluid fills his lungs. Which shouldn’t be a problem, he can breathe underwater. But apparently he can’t breathe ichor.

There’s no storms for months. The tides are the calmest anyone has ever seen. Not a single earthquake is recorded anywhere. For the God of the Sea was nowhere to be found in the mortal world.

[jadegretz]

Scarlet Witch: Magic and Mayhem by Jade Gretz

The sky above the city darkened as swirling clouds gathered ominously, casting long shadows across the landscape. Scarlet Witch, Wanda Maximoff, stood on the rooftop of a dilapidated building, her red cloak billowing in the wind. She sensed the growing power of the elemental sorcerer, a malevolent force that had been manipulating the weather and causing natural disasters across the globe.

Wanda's eyes glowed with determination as she prepared to confront this new threat. Her mind flashed back to the destruction wrought by the sorcerer's previous attacks: hurricanes, earthquakes, and tsunamis that had claimed countless lives. She knew that this battle would be unlike any she had faced before, but she was ready. The fate of the world depended on her.

The air crackled with energy as the sorcerer appeared, his form shrouded in a storm of lightning and wind. He floated above the ground, his eyes burning with a cruel, unnatural light. "Scarlet Witch," he sneered, his voice echoing with a supernatural resonance. "You think you can stop me?"

Wanda raised her hands, her fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air. "Your reign of terror ends now," she declared, her voice firm and unwavering. With a flick of her wrist, she unleashed a torrent of red energy, aiming directly at the sorcerer.

The sorcerer laughed, effortlessly deflecting her attack with a wave of his hand. "You are powerful, but you are no match for me," he taunted. "I am the master of the elements. The very forces of nature bend to my will."

As he spoke, the ground beneath Wanda's feet began to tremble. She staggered, struggling to maintain her balance as the building shook violently. Chunks of concrete and debris rained down from above, and she barely managed to dodge them. She knew she had to act quickly before the entire structure collapsed.

Summoning all her strength, Wanda created a protective barrier around herself. She could feel the sorcerer's power pressing against her shield, trying to break through. Gritting her teeth, she focused on maintaining her defenses while searching for a way to counterat …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)

[idle-flower]

Amy Madison is one of those things which, like some of the subplots of DS9, I assumed that I'd missed something the first time around and that there was a lot more to it, and was disappointed on a rewatch to find that... no, not really.

Like, I thought it was super-cool that there was this tiny minor character with stuff going on in the background who would resurface seasons later instead of a "remember the new guy" plot! And obviously Willow cared about this girl and there was a whole story there, right? I wasn't religiously watching the show when it first aired so I'd probably just missed whatever her story was!

So then I did a big rewatch with a friend who'd never seen Buffy before and... ehh.

(Now, I never watched season 7 and have stricken it from my personal canon, so that already limits me.) I want Amy to make more sense and to have more story. In those few appearances there are just enough threads of a story that I can totally build a bunch of ideas, but they rapidly diverge from canon.

Because yeah, there's the "Amy decides to delve into witchcraft". Many good reasons why she might, protection from someone messing with her again being an obvious one, dark fascination and love/hate with her mother being another, but she's never given the chance to tell that story.

There's the "Amy back from the dead" which was HORRIBLY disappointing how glossed-over it was. Amy's real-world situation is more fucked-up than Buffy's was! Was she declared legally dead? How many people had any idea what had happened to her? (What happened to that Michael kid who was also in their witch circle? He knew, right? Did he used to visit Rat-Amy?) When she finally went to find her father how did she explain this to him, or did she panic and mind-whammy him because she *couldn't* explain? There could have been more detailed connections here with both Buffy's problems and Willow's problems, without having to go the ridiculous route of...

"Amy's magic druggie problem" Even leaving aside that this entire plotline is horrible, stupid, and horribly stupid, I don't for a second believe that a girl who's been stuck as a rat for years could instantly find the super-secret floating lair of the local druglord. She clearly didn't have that sort of hookup before and it wouldn't be that easy for her to find it now. She's years out of touch! And she should be struggling with magic now. She was not as powerful as fully-juiced Willow to begin with and the trauma of being ratted ought to be giving her the yips. Even if she knew this guy existed and never told Willow about it in high school for some reason, it ought to be a difficult quest on her part to find a way in.

"Amy wants revenge on Willow" A perfectly good plotline idea if they'd actually worked with it in the show, which would require making her more of a major character for a while. Because yeah, getting mad at Willow for 'ruining' her life is plausible, but we need to see Amy's life falling apart first. Even if it's almost-all offscreen because she's not a Real Scooby, it should take time for her to develop this hate-on for Willow. Because at first she'd be grateful for being saved, and then as she slowly realised how screwed she was, then she becomes resentful. Sort of an inverse of Buffy who wasn't happy about being saved and then comes to terms with it, Amy slowly gives up on trying to have her life back and decides to throw in with the dark side.

Just spitballing here. Willow, desperate to prove that she can do good things with her magic powers, de-rats Amy. Amy is thrilled at first but becomes more and more distressed as she realises that life has left her behind. How's she going to fix things with her dad? And Willow suggests magic. Willow takes her home, makes her dad accept everything with a mind-whammy, zap-zap-zap's Amy's long-turned-into-storage bedroom into something cool and modern and witchy, and leaves Amy there, feeling super proud of herself. See, it's easy! Magic really can fix everything! Cut back to Amy, alone in the dark, twitching in terror at the sounds of cats, trying to cast little spells and having them go wrong...

Reverse Unpopular Opinion: Amy Madison

[Reverse unpopular opinion meme.]

This is an interesting one because I think there’s a solid argument to be made that the character of “Amy Madison” does not, in fact, actually exist on the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

By which I mean … look, okay, yes, obviously, there is a character in an early Season 1 episode called Amy Madison, played by Elizabeth Anne Allen.  And there’s a character with the same name in a Season 2 episode, and [in an admittedly weird coincidence] she’s also played by Elizabeth Anne Allen.  And there’s one in Season 3, and a one in a few episodes of Season 6, and one in an episode of Season 7, and all of them are played by the same actor.

But … I mean, come on.  There’s no way these can all be the same character, right?  They don’t have the same basic back story or the same relationship to magic or to Willow; they certainly don’t have anything resembling a definite personality or set of motivations or a consistent character arc.  No, surely what’s going on here is that there are several different “Amy Madisons” in Sunnydale – just like there are several different characters called Anne or Nancy on the show – and in a bizarre in-joke the writers simply decided to cast the same woman to play all of them.

Now, ordinarily, simply being written inconsistently over a handful of episodes and not having anything resembling the same personality from week to week would be no obstacle to having a few die-hard fans.  But – as far as I can tell, anyway? – there’s no “fandom Amy” either.  She never really gets mentioned when people want to talk about how all the Scooby Gang had awful mothers [even though Amy actually did, explicitly and inarguably, have a very, very awful and openly abusive mother!].  There’s very little in the way of Amy/Willow shipping going on here or on AO3 [even though witchcraft is heavily coded as a metaphor for being a lesbian and Amy, one of the first witches we meet on the show, is repeatedly linked to Willow throughout the show’s run].  There are no adorable drawings of Amy as a rat staring out of her cage at Willow and Tara (or if there are, they aren’t getting as many notes as they should be getting).  

No, it looks like most people who are still watching and talking about the show twenty-five years later have about as much interest in poor Amy Madison as the writers did.  She’s a plot device.  A punchline.  A cipher.  A blank slate.  She’s whatever the plot requires her to be to further the stories of the actual characters on the show, and she’ll never ever be anything else.  Which is a little sad, if you think about it.  I think Amy – or, well, most of the different Amys: The Killer In Me’s smirking evil-for-evil’s-sake Amy I’m not so sure about – deserved better.

[As I write this the thought occurs to me, belatedly, that I might be one of Amy Madison’s biggest fans.  Pretty grim news for her if so.]

OK. Enough stalling.  Five positive things about Amy Madison [with, as ever, the usual caveat about the comics, which I’ve still not read anything about and still don’t exist].

Witch, Amy’s debut appearance, is a solid episode!  One of that season’s best, I think (though not, of course, one of its very best).  And I think the duo of Elizabeth Anne Allen's Amy Madison (and Robin Riker as her mom Catherine) is a big part of why that episode works: no, they haven’t got a huge amount to work with, but I think they both do a pretty good job switching between evil witch Catherine and innocent victim Amy.  Catherine’s bodyswap spell foreshadows (albeit unintentionally) the bodyswap artifact that the Mayor gifts Faith in This Year’s Girl / Who Are You? and I’ll always have a soft sport for it because of that.  And I really like that the episode ends with Amy alive and hanging out with Buffy in a way that suggests that they are going to stay friends, even if we don’t see any evidence on screen that that happened.

Sarcasm aside, I’m really glad the writers brought Amy back in the second season.  To me, part of the appeal of the high school years are the recurring minor characters – I talked about Principal Snyder before, but also Jonathan and Devon and Percy and Harmony and … yes, Amy too.  The show obviously doesn’t care about her very much, and you have to do a lot of mental gymnastics to fill in the missing pieces of her story and make her arc make sense (why is she starting to do magic in Season 2?  When does she start hanging out with Willow?), but … well, I do care and I have done those gymnastics.  At least Amy didn’t end up like Marcie Ross or Buffy’s old flame Owen or any of those poor kids who must remember eating Principal Flutie. 

I’ve been reading a few old interviews Elizabeth Anne Allen gave recently (here and here, for example) which I think have some pretty interesting insights into how the character of Amy developed.  Had you ever heard there were persistent rumors at one point that Amy was going to be one of the starting regulars on Angel?  It’s mind-boggling to think about a world where that happened.  Allen seems to have put a huge amount of thought into her character, too, at least for her first few appearances, which … uh, I guess makes me feel a bit shitty about those opening paragraphs. [Not enough to delete them though…]  Also in one of the linked interviews she says that she “hopes she won’t be a rat much longer” – and that’s an interview she gave before the Season 3 finale had even made it to air, which made me pretty sad to read.  Forget appearing on Angel, imagine if Amy had been de-ratted in Season 4.  Imagine if Superstar was about Amy instead of Jonathan.

There is a second or two in Season 6’s Smashed – no more than that – when Buffy and Amy are catching up again (“How have you been?”  “Rat.  You?”  “Dead.”  “Oh.”) and you can, if you’re quick, delude yourself into thinking that the show is going to do something interesting with the obvious parallel it’s just set up. Willow has now not only brought Buffy back into the regular human world [and left her struggling to live and find meaning as a college drop out with a dead mother and an absent father last seen on screen about five years ago], she’s also brought Amy back into the regular human world [and left her struggling to live and find meaning as a de facto high school drop out with a presumed-dead mother and a presumably-now-absent father last mentioned about five years ago].  Surely this must be deliberate?  Well, no: the show doesn’t do anything with this idea ever again, because Marti Noxon had very different [worse] ideas for Amy’s character this season, but if you pretend it might be about do something like that it’s a pretty exciting couple of seconds.

The fact that “Amy Madison” exists as a (technically!) canon character means that I can write (or daydream about writing) fanfiction in which Willow has a friend in high school who is also a practising witch. One with a vague but miserable home life, who is secretly in love with Willow but too afraid to admit it (and so she keeps professing to be interested in men who she can’t possibly ever expect to date, either because they’re unpleasantly vile toward women or openly gay or both). And I can do that while, just about, pretending that I have not created the most embarrasingly psychologically revealing OC you ever heard about in your life.  Thanks Amy!

[willowfae82]

The Witcher fic idea: Edwardian/Steampunk AU. found family/family of choice. G/Y/J friends-to-lovers and back again.

Geralt: retired mercenary turned single father in want of a tutor for his sweet, misunderstood, daughter Ciri. no one really asks how he came to be her guardian; there's rumor of a promise made when he worked for Ciri's grandmother as a bodyguard/confidant.

Ciri: outspoken will-o-the-wisp. her mother died under mysterious circumstances and she finds herself a ward of Geralt, who's Doing His Best™ but just doesn't know wtf to do with a teenage daughter. she eventually comes to love and respect her Mom and Two Dads. after some Minor Drama™ involving her 'but daddy, i love him' relationship with Dara.

Yennefer: a quiet, confident woman who's past made her grow up faster than she should have. Yennefer takes on tutelage of Ciri on the word of her mentor, Tissaia. She's made her own way determined to show the world that she can do anything she wants regardless of her circumstance.

Jaskier: a down on his luck artist. he'll do whatever it takes to make a name for himself. he's a lady's man or a man's man (he makes no qualms) who follows his own code. he's well-traveled because he's of higher social standing but he wants nothing to do with his family's money or name. he's had no-strings-attached affairs with both Geralt and Yennefer, and maintained friendships with both.

Geralt, Yennefer, and Jaskier rekindle their relationships and form a Queer Poly Triad

[skitskatdacat63]

For everyone who wanted bullfighter Nando when I mentioned it the other day, here you go :D

+ this one I don't feel like coloring yet(imagine he's in Ferrari colors!!!)

[theyamjam]

dump of some oc stuff !!!!