#everything is so bright its too bright i need to void

[skaluli]

skaluli throws up the artwork

[gatorbites-imagines]

Yes! Wolverine & Deadpool having a brat off? Both sub brat bottoms competing for reader? Maybe ending up in a 3way relationship

Logan Howlett x Cable variant male reader x Wade Wilson

Headcanons

I like cable, so, cable variant reader. i had a lot of fun writing this, so i hope yall enjoy.

You were a variant of cable, that much was clear when Logan and Wade first met you in the void. The mechanical eye and arm were a pretty clear tell.

And Wade, already knowing his own Cable, immediately started squealing and trying to jump at you to hug you and kiss you all over in the way Deadpool is known for. Of course you throw him off you, maybe even shoot him once or twice, because who wouldn’t.

You and Logan were both pretty gruff guys, with pasts of your own that made you that way, where Wade was just his annoying self. It helped keep everything less tense though, especially in the fight against Cassandra.

In the end, you somehow got dragged along to the big fight, and you being a cable variant got different versions of Deadpool to start fawning over you during the whole fight sequence with them.

After it all was done and over with, you also got dragged along to Wades timeline. You were different enough to his cable to fit in without the universe ripping itself apart, and what could you say, you had grown to like these two, as much as you butted heads.

Blind Al was immediately against both you and Logan moving in, since there was barely any room at all. She did appreciate you being able to cook though, and the fact that you could jump across time to get her cocaine from the future.

In the end, Wade, Logan and you move out together after taking different jobs, and getting paid by the TVA to deal with variants making their way into this universe. You bring Mary poppins obviously.

You couldn’t tell when it all got romantic, neither could Logan and Wade honestly. You all lives together, and you'd left Wade in charge of getting beds, like the idiots you were. And of course he got one of those Alaskan king beds

Wade pouted and whined about how you were both so hairy, and how he was hairless all over so of course he needed to cuddle between you and Logan for warmth. It resulted in some fighting, Wade getting impaled by Logans claws, and you scruffing them both to pull them apart like scrabbling cats.

In the end you guys keep the bed though, and end up sleeping together with you in the middle. Logan has a preference to sleep on your mechanical arm, since he can’t break it easily, and wade just likes to tuck himself as deep into the crook of your arm as possible, always moaning about man stench and how nice and hairy you are.

That always results in you rolling over so your backs towards him, deciding to just spoon Logan instead. And yes, you do notice the little cocky smirk on Logan's lips when you do it, especially when he makes sure Wades watching. Its only when Wade starts rolling on the bed whining like a shot dog that he’s so cold and lonely that you roll back over to let him cuddle against you again.

Logan isn’t the most affectionate guy in the beginning, where Wade is too much. Its clear to you that they’re both acting like this as a defense mechanism, and it takes a long time for you to work them both to a place where they’re more comfortable.

You aren’t too shocked that Logan and Wade both turn out to be cuddlebugs, Logans just a lot grumblier and more catlike about it, where Wade is more like an over excited puppy slobbering all over your face, because he got the bright idea to try and lick your mechanical eye.

What you hadn’t expected was for them both to be so… damn… bratty…

Wade you could see, hell, it was even expected. It didn’t even take him an hour after meeting for him to bend over too much and grind back against you and giggle like a schoolgirl about it. Logan had been a bit of a shock though.

You had assumed you two would need to duke it out for dominance like a pair of bears for territory, but after getting him comfortable, Logan just rolls over and shows his stomach. It left you scratching your head a bit, but you weren’t gonna turn him away, who wouldn’t want to top Logan?

Him acting bratty was an experience though, the first few times. Where Wade was bratty in the way where hed show off way too much, wearing tight clothes or rubbing on you, teasing you any chance he got. Logan was brattier in the way that made you want to throw him over your knee and smack some sense into him, with the nonorganic hand you had.

He started scratching at furniture, leaving your boots and weapons all over the apartment, using up all your leather grease and leaving the tin empty in your toolbelt. It was like he was trying to see which buttons he could press and which he couldn’t.

Maybe it was because of your mind powers, but you could feel the, whatever it was, brewing in the air, growing thicker each day. It got to the point where Wade and Logan mixed up their methods. How the hell were you gonna focus on your guns when Logan was flaunting around in nothing but a way too small towel, and Wade was making a damn mess in the kitchen he wasn’t gonna clean up?

Logan was the first to pick up when they’d gone too far, since hed been hypervigilant about your scent since they started rocking the boat. But Wade very quickly paid attention when you put your, unpolished still, boots on and got up.

They’d both tensed up when you turned your two different eyes towards them, the tech eye flaring in a way they both knew meant business. They were both left floundering though, as you grabbed your jacket and told them to get ready for when you came back, and you just… left.

Both Wade and Logan were lost about that, both expecting you to bend them both over and make them regret how far they had pushed you, but instead they could just hear your heavy boots stomping down the hallway and out the apartment building.

Neither of them were too well behaved, but they were smart enough to at least get naked and prepped, and maybe they helped each other, though it was mainly Wade riding Logans fingers and whining like he was wounded the entire time.

A good hour passed before you came back, smelling like the cigarettes you smoked when you needed to do a more serious hit. Logan could also smell alcohol on you, but nowhere near enough to mean you were drunk. You had clearly just let them be to make them anxious.

Wade got whiny and grumbly when you undid your belt and freed yourself, just tilting your head in their direction as if to say “you gonna apologize to me?”. Logan, being the smarter of the two, and wanting to be first, was quick to crawl towards you and wrap his lips around your shaft.

Wade, seeing this, immediately started complaining and crawling over, trying to lap at whatever Logan couldn’t fit in his mouth, which wasn’t a lot, seeing as Logan didn’t want Wade to get any of you so he pushed his throat to the max.

As they fought for your cock, you just leaned back to watch, and unamused expression on your face as if it was the most boring blowjob you had ever gotten. Even as Wade swapped to lap at your sack instead, since Logan was hogging your cock.

You do end up fucking them both senseless, your telekinetic powers coming in handy to hold the one you weren’t shoving face first into the floor still. It also helped you keep Wades mouth shut, since he became even more of a motormouth with you inside him.

Of course, you also made Wade lick up the drool puddle he made on the floor, as well as making them both lick up the other messes they made. As a treat you let them eat your loads out of each other, because yes, you could be nice.

You weren’t though, so, even as Wade whined and complaining and Logan grumbled and scowled, you used your powers to cage them both up. If they were gonna be such brats, then they didn’t deserve to touch themselves, each other, or be touched by you.

And with the restriction being made from your mind powers, and you being so powerful, you could keep up with it even when asleep. And it wasn’t like they could just pull it off.

It led to even more bratting for the next couple of weeks, both of them acting out in their own ways about the punishment. But you just end up lengthening the period of your punishments, and adding more stuff on top of it.

Surprisingly its Wade that gets taken out of it first, since he could be good when he wanted too, and Logan has a tendency to be extremely stubborn. To no one’s surprise, Wade gloated the entire time he was allowed to ride you, taunting Logan that he wished it was him, but it wasn’t.

You did have to spank him for that one, but Wade didn’t seem to mind that much.

When you finally let Logan out, he’s on you in a second, whinier than you’re used too and rocking in your lap, more desperate than he’s been in years.

After all this you know their good behavior will only stick for a month or two before they’re back to it. you won’t complain though, since you love it. you act like you hate it, but that’s just part of the game, and seeing them compete makes your heart (and your crotch) full. And you all know that they enjoy the punishments too.

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Moonstruck

Werewolf!Logan Howlett x F!Reader

Summary: Reader is a Mutant and her power is the ability to communicate with animals. While she is out admiring the full moon one night, she finds herself in unexpected company.

cw: breeding kink, biting, doggy-style, creampie

a/n: my boyfriend pointed out this is just van helsing 😂😭

~~~

Full Moon.

You always were a night owl. Loving watching the beautiful night sky become illuminated by the glow of a fully circular moon. Stars twinkling as they all danced around their stunning mother. Chill of a midnight breeze pecked at your skin. Kisses of the air dancing along your body.

Everyone else was asleep. But the midnight hours called to you. Alluring you into its dark void. Admiring the fountain in the courtyard and how it reflecting the night sky perfectly. The trees shook as another breeze blew through them. Watching the leaves delicately float to the ground. Reds, oranges, and yellows painted the leaves.

Crack.

The sudden sound of company made you jump. Looking over into the woods for a sign of some kind of animal. The steps were too heavy to be one of your housemates.

Glowing yellow eyes shined through the break in the trees. Harsh breaths being taken in by the creature before you. Maybe it was injured? Or worse, maybe it was hungry…?

“Hello?” You softly called out to the monster in the woods. Hoping it would understand that you were friend not prey. Watching as the eyes dipped back and forth as the creature analyzed you.

A large dark figure sprung out at you. Knocking you onto the grass, pinning you down with its heavy claws. Panting above you as it snarled its sharp teeth at you. Slobber dripped from the sides of its jaws.

Wait—

It looked… human? Wolf-like features complimented its body. Sharp teeth, fur down its arms and around its face, animal-like hands and… metal claws?

“Logan?”

He growled above you. Calming down to take in more details of the creature. Hair similar to his, muscular arms similar to his, adamantium claws just like his, and that familiar necklace he always wore. The realization that this was your close friend washed over you. Your cheeks glowing with heat.

Slowly, you reached your hand up to his face. Touching his cheek softly. His eyes squinting shut as he leaned into your palm. Fear leaving you and being replaced with a different feeling.

“What’s going on?”

“Need… Need to,” he panted on top of you. Words not coming to him the way he would like. Snarling and growling as he fought with himself. Tongue coming out to lick up your neck. Cold air sending chills down your body as it danced across your now damp skin.

“Sm-smells so good. Need to take you,” he growled in your ear. Chest heaving, hot breath hitting your ear. Large, fur covered hands wrapped around your body, pulling you flush against his chest. He began sprinting into the surrounding woods. You tucked your face into his chest. The sound of everything flying past you rang in your ears. Musky smell of his chest filled your senses. Delving deep into your core.

Finally, he slowed down. Completely unable to tell how far he had taken you from your home. Bright, pale moonlight illuminating the ground you stood on. A clearing of a field. Soft, almost unreal grass on the ground. Far away from any pollution of city lights. Able to get a clearer view of the moon and stars.

He panted behind you. Looking over your shoulder. Seeing how his hot breath was visible against the cold air. His yellow eyes sparkling in the light of the midnight hour. Clawed hands gripped you from behind. You shuddered. He towered over you.

“I… need relief,” Logan’s sharp teeth grazed up your neck.

“What can I do, Logan…?”

Large hands roamed your body. Tugging and groping at any piece of skin he could. Shaky breaths mixed with the sound of growls fell from him. Wet lips began kissing your skin. Quickly turning feral, biting the tender flesh. Sucking purple markings into you. Your head fell back into his firm, broad chest. A sigh of a moan vibrating your chest. Thick fingers grazed your aching core.

“Let me… let me breed you,” Logan snarled in your ear.

Chills danced down your figure at his words. Each inch of your body burning where his hands caressed you. Bruising grasp being dug into your hips. Silence shared between you. Unsure what to say to him. Breeze of the night shaking the trees that lined the surrounding forest.

“Please,” he pleaded to you. A whine of desperation on his tone. Feeling his stiff member poke you from behind. You ran your hand up, tangling fingers in his hair. Giving him permission to take you. Your other hand stroked his member. Pulling a grunt from him, hips rutting in your hand.

“Yes,” he cooed in your ear, thrusting himself into your grasp. You turned yourself around, making it simpler for you to give him your full attention. Continuing playing with his member, while your lips kissed up his torso. Planting sloppy kisses along anything you could. Animalistic eyes watched as your hand wrapped perfectly around him. His hand still planted on your hip.

You were shocked at his size. Unable to get the full picture through his clothing, but able to feel how long and thick his member is. Wanting to free him from his confides, but wanting to make sure he got as much pleasure as possible.

“So good,” he praised. Finally able to form more than broken sentences. Voice deeper than normal, gravely with a growl behind every word.

“Let me fuck you,” his yellow eyes softened when yours met his. Smiling up at him. Feeling his lips kiss yours as his hands wrapped around your back to lower you onto the ground. Soft grass pressing into your skin. Logan rolled you over onto all fours. Aggressively pulling your sleep shorts down your legs. Seeing how your soft panties framed your ass, riling him up further. Claws ripping them off you. Cool air wafting over your soaking core.

Logan’s tip prodded at your entrance. Playing in the folds momentarily before delving the head in. You called out to him at the sudden entry. Arching your back at the feeling of him stretching you. This monstrous version of the man you had known was absolutely relentless. Aggressively pounding into you. Curved cock scraping that spongy spot inside you that had you seeing stars. Sound of skin smacking together echoing through the trees.

Sloppy sounds of your wet hole was like music to his ears. Repeated puncturing of his thick head into you had you a screaming, whining mess. Walls clamping momentarily when he would fully sheath himself inside. His name a mantra on your lips.

Logan was a snarling, grunting monster behind you. Cracking his hips into your opening as if he was going to break you. Bruising pace being given by his pelvis. Feeling of your tight walls sucking him back in over and over again made him want to scream. He was enamored. Lost as he fucked into you.

“P-Perfect girl,” he slurred his words. Cock swollen and sensitive inside you. Animal like urges causing him to lean down against your back. Giving himself a better angle to hit into you.

The coil inside you tightened. Swearing it would break any moment now. Ecstasy felt as it was never ending. The way he filled your ache perfectly. How his hands felt gripping at your body. The way his chest hair stimulated your back now.

Logan’s thrusts were growing erratic. Chest heaving with each pop of skin. His balls feeling full and ready to explode. Wanting nothing more than to coat your insides with him. While no one else knew of his secret, you did. And you accepted him with open arms. Doing whatever it took to satisfy his desires. You were his. His cum sock. His fuck you. His girl. Only his.

“G-Gonna fill this perfect cunt,” he growled into the air, “You’ll be so full I’ll be spilling out of you for days.” Logan looked up at the full moon above. The cause of this. Forcing him to act on pure urges. Only desire to breed.

With a few more thrusts and smacks of his balls, you came undone. Walls fluttering and milking his length. Screaming as tears picked at your eyes. Orgasmic glee taking over your senses. Never having been fucked so good.

Logan could not hold back any longer. Shooting himself up inside you when your walls constricted extra tight. Throwing his head back in a howl at the moon. Hot, sticky white filled you. Ropes of him spreading through your insides. Continuing to thrust himself through his own finish. Heavy body slumping on top of you. Cock still nuzzled deep in your warmth. Both of your bodies quivering and pulsing with afterglow. Both of you attempted to catch your breath.

His hands ghosted down your sides. Hairy digits tickling you. He was petting you. Feeling how you breathed. Knowing he had worked your body more than a normal night together. Silently laying in the grass together. He rolled off and out of you. Curving you into his front.

You laid comfortably with your wolflike companion. Still unsure how he got like this.

Too lost in overstimulation to care.

~

[END]

// Thank you for reading! This was a quick AU I thought up and had to write for my October writing challenge. If anyone wants to be tagged in future Fics or has requests, always feel free to message me. //

{tags}

@megangovier ~ @sleepyamaya ~ @flayne ~ @i-voluntears ~

[joannasteez]

starship pain

pairing: cody rhodes x reader , cm punk x reader warning: explicit content (smut) minors pls dni. angst. emotional infidelity? loads of description!!! a lot of space related metaphors. authors note: lovely little request from @harmshake i hope i did your idea some justice. this takes place after mania. somethings are changed and switched around to fit my ideas. so it's a bit of an alternative universe from present kayfabe. the one flashback i have in this has a little red text noting when in the timeline of the year its set in!! word count: 14k tagging: @333creolelady @theninthwonder @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce @crxssjae @coyotegirl-ramblings @luchorgasm @xbriexx @wanna-see-my-lease

...what gives a star it's character?...

temperature

color

mass

luminosity 

size 

...and with the display of such magnificent character, do stars not go about tirelessly with the work of inspiring awe? living wondrously bright amidst the deafening swallow of that deep void called space, so much so, that even with great distance, they exist bold enough to be witnessed. if so, then can we not be stars too? though not as great, can we not aspire, with terrible diligence, to be as breathtaking?... 

and with the conclusion of wrestlemania forty, the philadelphia crowd erupts thunderous. earsplitting even. the american nightmare, cody rhodes, kneeling with tears at the heart of the ring. clutching the weight of the title belt. gold in hand, the newly crowned undisputed wwe universal champion. the hearts, minds, joys and displeasures of the people performing well to revolve in orbit around such star-like greatness.

"your moonsault needs a bit of work still". your father's voice coarse from age. his eyes unblinking. a perfectionist's stare. his penchant for over examination as lively as the sun. existing still even with the residual thrill of wrestlemania. "you're hesitating too much before you press off'. 

you sigh. small enough that it goes incomprehensible. sipping at early afternoon coffee complimentary of the hotel. "it was just nerves pop", you give. because facing rhea ripley for the title, center stage in front of thousands was no easy feat. preparation took a back seat, amongst the lights and screams and hard bumps to the body. it was natural to have a seconds worth of overthought. "the match was fine'.

because it was fine. it was good. great even. two women telling a story with the violent bursting and clash of their bodies. loss be damned. it felt good to withstand the cold. to toil through limitation so fiercely. an easy break of a glass ceiling that worked well to loom above your head for some time. but your hall of fame of a father couldn't see pass the minor inconsistencies. a scrutinizer to the greatest degree. 

"you should come by the gym soon. we can catch up. work through a few things together'". 

catch up and work through meaning your body bouncing off a turn buckle till his satisfaction reached a good, sore, exhaustion. you pivot quickly at the thought of it. at the thought of drilling through moves and the terse cut of his voice. 

you pick up your phone, hearing the shift of feet from across the hotel room. another sip of coffee that plays well over the soft closing of the bathroom door. because your father didn't need to know the details of your latest tryst. especially so soon after the events of the biggest sports entertainment night of the year. everything to him, that isn't the four sided ring, a distraction. 

you smile. "doesn't sound like anything's wrong with my wrestling. sounds like you miss me". 

he softens. blinks his eyes and lets his pride show through a small smile. "any father in their right mind would". 

"so then say it".

"your moonsault is near flawless...", he gives. like relenting but not really. "...and i miss you". 

the bedsheets ruffle behind you. your cue to end the moment before it has the chance to sour.

"we'll talk later", you give. "i have to go". 

"alright. be good".

the face time call ends. gentle touching steps along the carpet of your hotel bedroom before you're slipping under puffy sheets. the philadelphia sun bursting beyond thin curtains to shape his face. blue eyes more sky than ocean under such bright warmth. his fingers quick to pull against your body. slipping up and over with a tender maneuvering till you lay against him like he seems to like. a drawn tune of a hum singing, your weight pressing in to comfort the sore, exhausted champion. his neck craning, rushing with movement to follow the run of your touch over his scalp and across the apple of his cheek. lips dipping into the heart of your palm. 

"did i wake you?", you ask. 

"no", cody gives. voice tired. "my phones been going crazy all morning". 

your thumb caresses just beneath his bottom lip. soft and sweeping. "as expected. the price goes up when you're the champ. so does the attention". 

"is that right?", tone suggestive. eyes a heavy linger along your lips. 

you oblige him. a small sweet reward for all his tiresome effort. your lips, sweet and rich, tasting of coffee as they meet his. a tender meshing before they slip to slot passionate. his fingers curling into your hips. a venture to endear you, moaning lazy as his body forms deeper into the sheets. mouths parting only so his indulgences can lead him else where. wet, tongue led kisses along your pulse. hot breath and the dull graze of his teeth. surely overwrought still by the thrill of the night before. this morning version of him performing with a delirious high. his every touch sure and firm. the hands of a champion. 

"how does it feel?" 

a deep breath. weighing the question with silence. finding a home for his yet to be spoken thoughts in the dip of your neck. the part of his lips there producing a shiver up your spine. 

"good. it feels good". the shine in his eyes threatening to wane. "scary. now i have to actually carry it. do some good with it". 

you kiss him sweetly. a plant of reassurance. "you will". words kind as you roll on your side to face him. catching the beginnings of an etch in of adoration as he fails to look away from you. a semblance of something near unpleasant troubling your chest. like being under the weight of his gaze is too much to bare. 

"thank you for being here". 

"of course". 

"i couldn't get to you properly last night. it all moved so fast after the match. one thing after the other". 

you find yourself ruffling through his hair again. your own will, making to ingratiate your senses to him. like staining the skin to lay a good base for memory. "it's ok. m'here now", mouth on him. an urge that lives with imperfections, your tongue flicking soft, lapping over sweetly till it works away that ambivalent trouble in your belly. urges growing greater by the second till they form with an edge too defined to ignore. eager now, to feel him against skin. the way the mellow heat of him flares under your palm, melting the worry till it runs off into desire. this performance of a great gravitational pull.

regulating yourself to one drink for the night is a testier task than originally thought, but it works well enough. the celebratory buzz of the room filling in where the warmth of liquor doesn't. the philadelphia skyline sparkling the dark chill of the night as the closed in rooftop swells up to a comfortable fullness. wrestling stars at every corner. drinks in hand and simple, cheery conversation. the scene of it all, once a dream, talked of and imagined, now a reality as you maneuver amidst it all.

a firm take to your arm pulls you toward the secrecy of a corner. your lips failing to keep away from a pull up of excitement. heels clicking to keep the pace as you're rounded about a tall column and tucked away behind it. cody pressing in. a lazy little kiss against your mouth that tastes like his drink of choice. the glass clutched in his hand still, attempting not to spill it. 

not so long after your intimate morning did you both part. post-mania obligations too much of a priority to ignore. 

his free hand slips into the slit of your dress. fingers curling into your thigh. a silky brown number that matches his undone suit. his tie loose, his jacket gone and the vest unbuttoned. cheeks dusted a faint pink. his mouth pressing into your pulse. housing there to feel the warmth corralling under the skin. 

and with only a few weeks of this relationship have you confirmed just how affectionate cody is. his every touch made to linger, his smile luminous and his words warm as they work tirelessly to sink into skin. 

"you look", a kiss to your cheek. "absolutely beautiful angel", and another to your mouth. 

you smile. lip tucking under your teeth. "thank you". fingers running to crease his shirt. pulling him closer. the curt shuffle of his shoes clicking forward as your back flushes up into the corner. your eyes sweeping over his mouth. reaching to lick in for a kiss that makes him groan. "you look good too". tasting the bitterness washing his tongue before going in for more. "very good", a purr of a moan floating in that makes his breath hitch before he's groaning soft. a mindless overworking of nerves you're sure. because the weeks with him thus far—albeit fresh—have been nothing short of a teasing game. heavy traveling and the looming possibility of a good passion not yet explored. that trouble in your belly shortening the full breath of your desires. 

you break for air, remembering where you are. he downs the rest of his drink. clutching the glass still. 

"you had a lot to drink?", you ask. wiping at his mouth with your thumb. licking at the residual bits of liquor.

his eyes trailing over your lips. unhurried to meet back at your eyes. "not too much. this was my last. m'tappin out early". 

"good", you give. tugging at the undone part of his vest. keeping him flushed up against you so that the strength of his cologne steeps in. "cause i need you sober. we have unfinished business". 

his free hand still finds itself making a home beyond the slit of your dress. kneading just where your thigh rounds out into the supple flesh of your bottom. a firm squeeze that's all possession. the action risky, but exhilaratingly so. his words toughing out with a groaning. "fuck the party then". 

"no. enjoy it". slipping from under him slowly. "we'll have plenty of time later". 

a final look of promise before you click away. deep tempering breaths that work to quell your own rise of desire. cheeks hot and your body beneath the delicate dress teeming with the memory of his touch. sensations comfortable enough that they leave you wanting. borderline desperate. but yes, what lives of the the draw, the pull of him, all a symptom of simple necessity. his everything sure enough to fall into. a security exacting to an almost bothersome degree. but maybe this full consumption isn't a bad thing, after past failures and flings too loose and undefined. shapeless, wordless things. maybe cody is what you need. your body tucking to lean into the wall that meets the end of the rooftop bar. "gin and tonic", you order. 

soft clutching hands at your shoulder. you turn. bianca belair beaming with excited knowing eyes and a smirk. "you got blondie real red in the face", she starts. slipping up next to you. "no thoughts, just half of a three piece suit and a vibe". 

you smile with her. feeling heat in your cheeks and a swirl in your belly. the intimacy of your relationship with cody no outright secret, but the confirmation of it never really reaching the great private sphere of your friends and friendly acquaintances. because it was business only yours and cody's to keep or share, but bianca is a good friend. closer than most. a former tag team partner. a nxt sister. and the playfulness of her curiosities were always as fun to indulge in as they were to hear. 

"a real nasty vibe", you chuckle. "that man was trying to give ya'll a PLE from the corner. i had to slip away while i could". 

"and i get it cause this brown and gold!?", her hand taking yours to spin you around. appraising the the beauty of your dress and accessories. her fingers dabbing up under an eye and sniffling with faux tears. "i taught you so well". 

"you really did". 

both of you laughing and sipping at your drinks. 

"is it serious?", her tone shifting firm. 

the question forcing you into a bout of consideration you've attempted to stray from on many occasions. but it's crucial nonetheless. a conclusion you'll have to come to regardless. 

"i mean, i don't know". thumb rubbing against the chill of your glass. taking to a silent mull over. the past few weeks or so a whirlwind of affection. secret rendezvous' and late night calls. the tenderness of him working with an endless drive, even amongst the world of work set before the both of you. "we're slow burning it a bit but i think the end goal for him is to have something serious". 

and your wording doesn't go unnoticed, not that you want it to. some part of you maybe looking to gain some much needed perspective. a nudge in the direction you feel is necessary. and she doesn't fail in delivering it. "you deserve something stable. the casual shit is cool but it's not forever". 

you sigh. memory serving well of your former trysts with a different superstar. "i agreed on that being casual".

"you can agree to a lot when you think the dick is good". sipping at her drink. "he's here by the way". 

and if you pretend not be be affected by the possibility of seeing him, of being seen by him, then doesn't that null the existence of the feeling all together? that twist in of nerves in your belly. residual things, like words and perhaps sentiments left to wander the void of space formally known as a very casual but fevered, undefined union of legs and lips. a deep passion left to succumb to the suffocating elements of space and time. 

"i figured he'd be".

his name is a draw. of money, eyes and thoughts. his return causing this gravitational pull of the people, controversial or otherwise. a veteran in his own right. for him not to be seen at a celebration of the greatest night in their business would be confounded and weird. 

"you good with all that though? i know it ended kinda all of a sudden". 

from passion all the time to none at all. hour long drives and last minute flights. apartments and not so high floor hotel rooms. his name seemingly forever written into the slip and work of your tongue. free and casual but still working so sure in that space of passion that the feeling of being beholden to one another felt more truer by the day. living too sporadically—and maybe too unrestrained—still though, to last well enough on its own. because without the consistency of light, how is anything sure to grow? and then in came cody, prying away your attention with the ease and experience of a star born to evoke awe. his light pleasant and safe. 

you shrug. "you live and learn, you move on. i'm good where i am". 

bianca smiles. her arms a nice embrace. "as you should be. m'happy for you".

"thank you", you give. her warmth contagious. your body squeezing into the hug. 

and when she's called away, montez drunkenly whisking his wife to another corner of the room, she parts with an apologetic smile. mouthing "sorry", as her sloshed to capacity of a husband drags her along with him. leaving you to live alone at the end of the bar, newly made acknowledgements of your relationship resting over you thickly. a tight take of adrenaline to your nerves. small sips of your drink working only to occupy your hands. unwilling to decipher the root of such a rush. fear or excitement. either way, the feeling of it drops your belly and leaves the tiny hairs everywhere to stand on end. because this has happened before, drawing too close to the power of a star too soon, burning amongst the void before the possibility of impact. 

shoes click, approaching beside you. his cologne familiar. a scent made to intrigue. memory slipping in to harshen the roll over happening in your belly. of course he'd be here. the self proclaimed 'best in the world', the second city saint, the straight edged superstar. after some months of nothing, cm punk is alive and looking too well for you to stand. 

you sip again. a cool lean up again the wall. eyes patient as they go about examining him whole. his doing just the same. 

he looks good in a suit, much to your dismay. 

"you clean up well", you give. meeting his eyes. standing firm against the heaviness of his gaze. 

"so i've been told", slipping closer. his body leaning up against the bar to rest just as coolly as you have against the wall. a casual disposition so incredibly indicative of your times together. "you look beautiful. nothing new for you though".

"you're letting your grays grow out again". 

"a new era, a new look". his palm smoothening over the salt and pepper patches of hair. a smile running through his lips. "you always did like them". 

a fight to arrest the heat in your cheeks and old memories. "so what, this is about me?"

"such a smart girl", he chuckles. "i love it when you state the obvious". 

you grin at his teasing. "i just had one of the most important nights of my life', shoving up against him playfully. "you can't be a dick to me". 

"you did well by the way". a sincerity that makes something bloom over the skin. a jittered feeling you choose to ignore as he continues. "a nice bag of new little moves and tricks, it was good shit for your first mania. get rid of that moonsault though, it doesn't fit you". 

you scoff. "oh cause you know what fits". 

body bracing for impact just after such a wild take to flight. the words leaving before you can think them over. his shoulders shaking as he laughs. 

"i've had the pleasure of knowing a time or two". 

"oh fuck you punk". 

"i mean...", dark earthy eyes sweeping over your lips. a lazy, patient journey over your body. a show of his appraisal. "...i don't know if you can. given your new boy toy and all". 

"i'm bound to get a new toy if the old one breaks". not that cody is a toy. no. he's no play thing in the slightest. a sudden need to defend him in that right springing up till its thick in your mouth. stitching into words. his every intention appearing precise and laid bare. sweet gestures and impassioned words. his everything lingering long enough for you to notice. "it's a lot more serious than you think". 

"so it seems", voice neutral, but appearing in his eyes to live, these little slivers of disappointment. 

its something not meant to harp on for the sake of your own peace. but they try their damnedest to penetrate. working diligent. enough for the air to feel too warm and thick to breathe in. your barely touched drink a nuisance and the friendly crowd of the celebration too much to handle. and thank God for cody, your attention catching his motions for you. slipping through the crowd to head for the entry-exit doors. a make to leave as he catches your eyes to join him. 

"i should...i should go-"

"that's a smart decision". 

cody's tongue tastes like his drink of choice. room temperature whiskey. the lap of it lazy and patient, aiming to steep into the palate. his lips soft, twisting wet as they go about the work of ingratiating the senses. his hands following suit. a tight journey over the skin, heat flaring up in the wake of such an ardent touch. curling in to leave cratered impressions. his movements breathtaking, your body hoisted up in his arms before you're bouncing into the fluff of the bed. persistent fingers and his mouth ready, tongue dipping into where your body pliantly unfolds for him. your legs spreading with guidance. an exposure to the air that pulls a shiver through the body. 

"so pretty", musing to himself. tongue slipping deep. warm and wet and earnest. groaning from a pleasure that comes with pleasure. your inner thighs suffering under the gripping weight of his touch. a steady hold that keeps you open for him. "been thinkin about this all day". 

you hiss. touch filled with delirium. your belly overwrought and filling in hot. skin breaking away from the chilly philadelphia air. your hips testing their limits. a gentle swing up that catches against the rhythm of his mouth. a sweet suckle to your clit that shortens the air in your chest.

his thumb joins the fray. teases the messy drool of arousal pooling to drip lazy like. a dull circling at that broaches the possibility but nothing more. leaving you with the desire to be filled to the hilt. your pussy pulsing hard against his tongue. clenching about nothing, waiting impatient as he revels in his own play at giving pleasure.

"cody please", voice near broken. a sweet little plea. 

he leaves you spread. watches your little performance of appeal. nails painted a color that leaves a beautiful contrast against your soft skin. slipping sweet at the bud of your clit. holding his eyes. enchantment and lust. the light of his desire bright enough that it reflects beautifully off your skin. curving its way up the body. paints itself warm over the work of your pleasure. melting in till its swirling heavy at the base of your belly. a sensation that grows easy. another groan erupting, surely from that clinging sensation you've bought to his tongue. pulsing and shivering. singing and moaning wispy for him. a full consumption that breaks the resolve you've built so easily. and when his thumb sinks into the fat of your clit, circling deep and persistent, you sink further into the sheets. a sharp "fuck", breaking into the air. your nerves unruly as they go in their frenzy. 

your body drunk, senses beautifully askew. a quick to arrive release that speaks to his determination. 

his mouth messy and slipping over your inner thighs. working to kiss your belly and through the valley of your breast. tongue peaking before it flattens over the perk of your nipples. an involuntary rut in your hips rushing up into him. the sensation like kindling for a fire. 

you taste yourself. pulling your lips to his. the whiskey and that dangerous steep in of your own arousal. his hands nailed into the sheets. your own freeing him from his underwear. hot and hard in your hand. slipping him through slick arousal, to feel how awfully ready he is for you, before you're guiding him in with a desperate hand. head tipping into the bed as you feel the wet split as he goes. a hiss of enjoyment as he deepens, resting just over the end of you. 

cody hums. diving his nose into the scent of your perfume. the stain of it at your neck arresting him. hips knocking in firm. deft and easy. working you open to take him. 

your palms sweep over muscle. to layer over that already laid foundation of memory.  his back taut and strong. nails clawing in as he fills you whole. your lips parting. breaths taken. belly coiling with the threat of release. and here the work of taking him in feels more than good. that troubling knot of ambivalence that once warred beneath the skin, trampled upon with a temporary defeat, as his hips work steadily. 

"you feel so good", a moaning drawl of words. 

an admission that slips its way to settling into thick air. performing well enough to saturate the room. and its true. cody feels good. amazing. his warmth gentle, and his everything near flawless.

the man wrapped in your arms, the reigning undisputed universal champion, is only near flawless. this, a thought that slips deep into your conscience. taking root aggressively so. but are stars not perfect in shape? bright and the enormity of them sensational. great enough in size that the draw of them from within performs well enough to gather equally at every side. a faultless sphere of a shape indeed. and has he not—in spite of your damning early morning sentiments—taken on that part of a stars character? wearing it warm and well. the wrestling world revolving to orbit his dazzling spectacle of victory amongst the mania. then what of it could be so wrong as to call him only near flawless and not flawless simply? the touch of his skin and the pull of his lips gracious even in hunger and looking to consume. a ready made heat not so dissimilar to a great star. 

it's clear. so very fucking clear, amidst the slow creep in of the morning, as your phone vibrates with a call, just where the doubt reeks from. 

'the best in the world' showing up as caller ID. because you never changed the name. because you never had the heart to leave him nameless even. slipping from the sheets, from the comfortable weight of cody's body. a fluffy robe over your skin as you slide the balcony doors of the hotel room open. answering his call. 

those slivers of disappointment in his eyes from last night. performing well enough to disrupt your feelings. like the grand effects of a solar flare. 

"have breakfast with me", he starts. 

no preamble to give you room to deflect. a sigh heavy as it leaves you. his morning voice coarse and unfortunately satisfying. maybe you should've stayed in bed. wrapped yourself deeper beneath the sheets and the lay over of cody's body. 

"we lose a little contact and you forget your manners. that's unfortunate". 

he chuckles. "please?"

"that took a lot out of you huh?" 

"not really". a dramatic little pause, because punk does have a flare for it. albeit in small doses, in his own way. and you can feel him smiling through the phone. can feel the change in tone just before he can give it. "begging is just usually more your thing than it is mine". 

and the truth only hurts, vexes the nerve so, because it is the truth. because it has life. breathing and smiling with the sole objective of tethering itself ungraciously to every little thing you do. 

"can you not?" 

"you like it".

slivers of guilt. peering to look through the glass of the balcony door. cody still sleeping, peacefully unaware. but what is there to be guilty of? the past solely the past. this little phone call but a blip in time. a soundless action amidst the airless void of space. 

"ok, m'sorry". he relents. receiving your silence in full. "i'll stop". 

"i can't do breakfast. it wouldn't feel right". 

"it's just coffee and a little chit chat". 

lies. "i've never had just coffee with you...", memory serving right as the words grow heavy and thick. leaving the tongue less easy than you'd like them to. months of passioned tryst' and rendezvous, from city to city, before and not so long after his return to the company. "...it's always had some accompaniment to it". 

he hums. "i know how to respect a boundary if that's what you're worried about". 

slivers of guilt still. a pang in your chest. the cool morning philadelphia air doing nothing to lessen the heat in your cheeks. "the boundary isn't just for you", admission quick and terse. angered that it had to leave.

this slow to slip along silence. a lazy passing over before he's chuckling again. like the type of amusement you get after a small win. his voice is all raspy satisfaction. "i see", he gives.

"i'm sure whatever you want to say over coffee, you can just say over the phone right now".

"you gonna make me bare my soul over some fuckin radio waves?"

it'd all be a less ceremonious go of words. not so serious. as shapeless and uncategorized as the months were with him. 

"you are notorious for saying things you probably shouldn't, so keep that in mind".

"old habits unfortunately die very hard sweetheart". 

a chill creeping up the spine. riding in along the morning air. "it's almost eight a.m., it's not even a good time to be sharing all this...sentiment". 

"then give me a time and place". 

"i don't know punk, whenever you can get to a target closest to you", laughing a little. the rejection feeling sweet and easy as it leaves you. "they sell journals and diary's with matching pens. that's a good place to put all of your little feelings". 

"ouch".

you stand. watching cody slowly make his way to the bathroom through the glass balcony window. your hand against the handle to slide it open. "i have to go". a quick throw of words before you end the call. pride slowly inching over the skin. 

a successful deterrent.

the “archangels moonsault", a name coined by a collective of your fathers contemporaries. his performance of the golden triangle moonsault habitually flawless. appearing more angel than man as his body soared for some seconds. awe forever struck across the color of your eyes at such a spectacle, so much so, that you wished to live it. and so it went, a song and dance done many times before. the child of a legend attempting to step beyond that harrowing shadow in hopes of creating their own. the awe inspired, attempting now to inspire awe. like the cinematic feat of interstellar travel, viable only through the art of imagination. a play at the impossible, and nothing more. the perpetual falling short of a dangerous aspiration. nerves fraying at the seams and a deep plummeting of the heart. angst, a side effect of near flawlessness. starship pain.

"just keep workin at it", cody said once. watching your frustration after failing to perfect your fathers beloved moonsault. the precision of it lacking. your body insistent on underperformance. resentful of the air.

the encouragement working against its own intention. a bitterness rising to meet your tongue. but the near success of it grows palpable on your fingertips. nagging the nerve endings there so much that it forces into the skin a deep repetition. a cycle of the same thing for weeks on end—house shows, and training, and live events and training, and meet and greets and training, and merch signings and training, and interviews and training, and photoshoots and training—till the system grew faithful. and whichever cracks of free time expose themselves are quickly remedied with cody. because if all these distractions exists, then the time to decipher the bitterness growing on your tongue has no room to live. the ambivalence attempting to sneak in your belly once again, snuffed out by other things. 

and friday night smackdown becomes an interesting state of affairs amidst your little world of moonsault turmoil. cody and punk both drafted, a feud storyline written up by creatives. the new undisputed champion versus the self proclaimed best in the world. a guarantee for money and ratings. which always means good business. your draft to smackdown a grounds for opportunity just the same. a fresh creative direction post-mania. but such good chances don't stop your body's war with itself. feeling the toil of the work, that faithful routine, and refusing to surrender from it's grudge. resentful of the air still. 

but cody remains. his touch heated and sure. a sweet kiss to your skin in the privacy of a dressing room before your first match on the smackdown brand. the memory of his words sticking as you make to kiss him. 'just keep workin at it'. the rush of affection feeling odd. 

"you okay?", his eyes searching. thumb swiping gentle, palm holding at your cheek. 

"yeah", your body odd in it's skin. tempted to leave but feeling the need to stay. you grab his hand. a gentle squeeze of assurance. "i think it's just nerves". 

"you been workin at it hard. it's gonna pay off", he gives. his smile small but bright still. a hand roaming gentle. soothing up your back. 

but the second city saint was, is, never too far behind. posturing himself as the metaphorical rock, adamant on flushing you uncomfortably against a hard place. slivers of mischief in his stride and in coarse perfected words. the smackdown before backlash interesting to say the least. proving itself as the first domino. the main event of the night a strategic volley of words. the returned superstar and the undisputed champion. the knot tying itself about your belly barbarous as it works, watching them dig into each other with dramatic promises of destruction. the usual song and dance of a good promo. waiting for something terrible that affirms the odd abrupt spring ups of guilt and that bitterness refusing to leave your throat. everything of your romance, center stage and dazzling with bright lights for all the world to see. and when the words stop, the crowd jeering for who they hate and loud in delight for who they love, the air grows thick with the way it deafens. 

rough thudding drops of their microphones before that faithful rushing in. fire in their eyes and a close size up of the competition. good drama for the crowd. 

punk breaks with a laugh. similar in an amusement you've heard, felt before. like he's won a small victory. wholly fucking satisfied and happy about it. reaching to whisper something in cody's ear. words that penetrate more than they're supposed to. something a little less fire filled than anger striking bold along cody's expression. like a smoldering yet to come fully ablaze. 

and it is said that for every star, there is a loss of mass in it's life time. a lessening of that gravitational pull. a change of character that threatens its awe. 

his skin warm, but not as balmy. his kiss sweet but the comfort of it waning. the journey to seeing to its ease seeming more painful than letting it be. but the need to try breathes still. living bored and tired and thin, but alive nonetheless. the late hours between the end of the live show and his first official title defense quiet and terrible. all of his little bright smiles and tender touches gone. the beauty of the french hotel drained by this sudden standstill. blue eyes colder and distant. taken by the trouble of overthinking. 

text message | outgoing: wtf did you say to him?

text message | the best in the world: what's my name saved as in your phone? 

your fingers feel weak. tired and unable. the nerves there doing well in fraying at the seams. held hostage by a guilt that refuses to leave.

text message | the best in the world: i'm not really a write my feelings in journals kinda guy, you should know that. i want to see your pretty little face for a chat still. whenever you decide to stop avoiding me. 

text message | outgoing: boundaries remember? or are the new gray hairs screwing your memory

text message | the best in the world: well i figure a little courtesy closure is in order before your boy gets his ass whipped on live television. 

text message | outgoing: closure? can't really close a door that never existed can you? 

a thick, curling cloud of steam rolls into the hotel bedroom from the open door of the shower. a silent invitation to join him—an olive branch living still in spite of his sudden brooding—that your body refuses to indulge. but the air does well in an attempt to suffocate you anyways. skin sweltering uncomfortably. or maybe it's just the ambivalence in your belly and the dull taste of something wrong on your tongue. frayed nerves and this half shaped desire to leave. all of these symptoms living as the summation of...of something that feels too harsh to speak to. your eyes take a steady read over the chain of messages. a once over that happens too many times to happen just once and yet there is no clarity of thought here. 

closure? a type of reconciliation afforded to people once terribly impassioned. and yes, your times with him were fevered. fierce little meetings that left you craving more. but never did the attraction burn so much as to bring about such a heat, that lived closer to something like love than not, or whatever he seems to be feeling. 

but there was that one time in albany. a confusing, charged little tryst. different from the others. his fingers curling in so deep then that he'd bruised your skin, like he was trying to remember you-

"so...", cody starts. a simple word edged with hesitation. bath towel wrapped about his waist as he pads out of the steam of the bathroom. skin wet and tantalizingly inviting. "...you and punk?" and finally it comes. the source of his brooding, his silence. that dejection of touch and affection. 

your phone grows heavy in your hands. plops along the sheets like a weight. "old news", words ironed and pressed. dressed up in a surety, that if spoken with enough, can be believable. because the second city saint is old news. 

his eyes are cold. a gray-blue snatched from the impending roll in of a storm. "feels pretty current", he sighs. turns to the table below the bedroom mirror. searching through a small bag of things. lotions and colognes and clothes and such. his perfect teeth spreading mirthless. "very current actually". 

your body anchors to the bed, and curiosity an anchor in your body. inspires a refusal to move—to go to him, to ease the tension in his shoulders—as the sharp edges of it rip through till it holds deep enough. 

"what'd he say to you?" 

"nothing worth repeating...", hands rubbing about his face. a serum moisturizer. taking up small work as he finds and treads slow through words. tone like that of an interrogators though not nearly as violent. but the suspicion in him bothers to root well enough that it can't be hidden. can't be done away with easily. "just implying a bunch of... of shit. which is interesting because punks not that type of guy on the mic. if it needs to be said, he makes it plain..."

"its a work probably...". tone cool. indifferent. the sensation resting in your belly just the opposite. words spilling, living two fold. an attempt at persuasion overflowing so well that it performs for him and yourself just the same. "...ratings, clicks, views. it's drama for tv". 

"well it feels pretty damn personal". 

"and what?", you scoff. "winning mania wasn't?" 

cody recedes. softens. because winning at mania was personal. business but very personal. the stakes of such a win clinging to the base of his emotions at every breath and turn till the belt rested in his hands. that much you could feel, drawing closer to him in those months—a sweet, innocent friendship born from this great host of similarities—till nearly every moment was spent with each other. his words and his thoughts and his touches becoming more intimate. affections as clear as the perfect beauty of his smile. and then comes the guilt, a drizzle against the air, like the first damning drops before the inevitable chaos of a down pour. your body lighter now. the will to leave him be, to wrestle with his feelings by his lonesome unanchored by the shame of doing so. 

"am i being crazy about this?", he asks. 

you move to him. crossing the exceptional size of the room to embrace him. arms encircling and your eyes gentle. his skin warm and comfortable. your body fighting itself still though, even amidst the vulnerability of him, battling back these slivers of a temptation to leave. "it's a mind game. don't let him win". 

his hands venture. a smooth, sweeping take along your arms till they cradle your face. thumbs tender as they roll at the apple of your cheeks. "and us? this is it right? we're solid?"

your eyes flick to his lips in a means to inspire within yourself some true meaning of devotion. desire and fidelity. your mouth pressing sweetly to the seam of his as you pull him into a deeper embrace. words kept unsaid. buried alive before the work of a damning departure. your tongue soft and slipping gentle. wet and precious enough to elicit a moan. the tension in him waning as he goes, falling further into your show of affection. shoulders unburdened and the heat returning pleasantly to his skin. a performance that convinces only his hesitations and nothing of your own. 

and that lack of conviction reigns over heavily. devastatingly so. failure thundering about your chest, slipping wild through the arms and legs, till it swims heavily about the head. ambivalence working ungracious in the body, like a storm of solar proportions. because cody had done well at backlash, performed greatly against the second city saint as they went head to head in their first of a best of three match. 

but you—your knees buckling just after the press off for the archangels moonsault—do terribly. a harsh botch that leaves your feet to slip, head hitting against the ring before your body can be properly caught. a concussion that blurs your vision for the remainder of the match. 

a number of horrible executions that follow, equilibrium disrupted, all amounting to a slow paced performance. your body resentful, spiteful now too. 

this attempt at a diligent work of resting comfortably in the security of cody's everything, like a roaming out into the hostile environment of space. unprepared and certainly unfit for such an expedition of passion. a fast deterioration of desire and the weakening of a strength to see to its survival. 

this longing for a good and whole and secure thing, a need pulsing your heart strong and persistent, now inverted, though working with the same vigor, to bring you under with a maddening sort of frailty. a self induced bout of muscle atrophy. 

"a break", is what hunter is calling it. his words and eyes this odd, cold meshing of empathy and business. a command that lives without the room to resist and it stings even the strongest parts of your ego. 

punishment by the ether, for aspiring to reach so far, with so much confidence, for something never meant to be had. because stars exist out of reach, with light years of distance, for a reason. 

and the doctor gives a definitive "no" on flying back to the states. a futile joke to follow about getting much needed rest in the "city of love", which in full effect lurches your stomach into a fit so disgusting that it empties. that bile troubling itself in your belly, waiting for its call to action, finally revealing its putrid nature to be formidable and unrelenting. a symptom of the concussion they say, but you know, above all things medically sound, that this is just violent revenge inflicted upon the self. the body taunting the mind for its ill-purposed ambition. trying to fall into something comfortable and love-like with cody was, is, and would always be ill-purposed ambition. 

the air of the suv heavy with that leather interior smell. rolling smooth and slow against the parisian streets on its way back to the hotel. 

cody's finger playing along yours with a soothing caress. a patient concern brushing up the drained make of your face from his eyes. soft music living under the sound of his voice as he goes. "they'll probably clear you to fly in a few days. i can get someone to book a flight for you, and you can just… just be with me...", a gentle tone but living definitive. committing himself to your care. a security you'd always hoped to fully adore. "...and im not saying this like you're unfit to take care of yourself but i wanna help...", his blue eyes looking for a response and receiving much of nothing. a shallow head nod that keeps him rambling. "...i wanna—just let me do this for you. please?", his hand squeezing yours. a feather weight gesture. "let me take care of it, okay?" 

you blink. eye lids heavy with exhaustion. a drained sensation that leaves you too undone for any proper recognition of feeling other than emptiness. your voice hoarse, the acid moving up violent enough that it stole away the fullness of it.

"i hear you cody". 

the last words said to him before his departure from france in the morning. 

an army of texts and calls heating your phone as the sun rose and rested amongst the clouds with a far comfortable distance. a reminder of terribly fated ambitions. water at your bedside that felt like heaven as it settled in and down the body. 

five calls from bianca and encouragement texts of the "i love you" variety. one call from your father and a message that read more definitive than suggestive. "come home when you can", it said. and a text from him. 

text message | the best in the world: heard hunter put you on a bit of a break. im here for you when you need me. 

not if, but when. the confidence even amongst the sympathy, frustrating. an imagining of his cool, more sage than forest, green eyes screwed with pity. the thought of it beating a harsh heat pass skin into blood. rolling in amongst the red till it rushes to anger. a pounding in your skull and a light nausea rocketing the delicate lining of your belly. laid out along the length of a too beautiful parisian couch, your body forced to endure the harsh gravitational pull back down to earthly reality. for there could no longer be an ambitious voyage to that outer enormity, in search of bright, wonderful, comfortable lights. a star so secure in its character that you make no qualms with the threat of it burning your skin before even the reach of full impact. and truly how stupid and cowardly was it anyways? fearful of a different end so much as to suffer with something that just barely scratches the surface of fulfillment. 

fearful of the ill-controlled, imperfect things so terribly that you looked upward in an escape to the stars. 

and though albany, new york is not the perfect choice, it is the most suitable option for what you need. a quiet, reclusive setting that works well for all this wonderfully, amazing, burdensome introspection you've been forced to endure. truths roaming tirelessly about your skull as they look and wait with impatience to be fully actualized. and maybe—agreeing with his decisions against your better judgement and instinct—hunter was right. this "break", needed. a thing that could not be put off on the account of some bruised ego. countless little mishaps and slip ups in ring that had eventually led to a nasty botch during the biggest PLE since mania. the look of it not great for business or your health. but to hear it, to feel the full rejection of it, tears through you something fierce. a complete tattering of your pride till it remained undone in mangled pieces. raw and red and blood filled. and once the doctors give their clearance for you to fly, you leave france silently. without a word to anyone. bags and suitcases packed and ready. the flight to new york like a shipping over into uncharted territory. 

because some truths had made themselves painfully aware already. did not wait for your slow foot drag of a realization. funneling up hot and disgusting with the bile from your empty stomach. 

trying with cody was only a dream, forced and sculpted by your hands and a stubborn will, till it formed with jagged edges. the struggle to fit two unmatched puzzle pieces.  

"your old man'll kill me if he knows you're up here with me and not training with him". a ghost of a laugh living along with the coarse age of his voice. jimmy "the butcher" cruz, a dear old friend of your fathers, and a hall of famer in his own right, sighing agreeably as he speaks over the phone. "but you're welcome any time kiddo. you like my own, y'know that? the gym is here whenever you need it to be". 

"i appreciate you butch", you give. the slow ride to your hotel quiet and familiar.

"let me know if you need anything else".

"will do".

the call drops. a blow of air past your lips working well enough as it plays an odd tune of some mild mannered frustration. a soreness of spirit where the body breathes and functions well, systems and internal processes going on as they should but still there rests this adrift feeling. a weightless sensation. fatigue and an imbalance of any direct thought. confusion. symptoms of the concussion surely, which only do well in leaving you to exist in this dead space limbo. an auto pilot of movement. muscles remembering the weight of things. your suitcases and bags, and the heavy swing back of the hotel doors. memory bruised but alive. because you don't have an explanation for returning to albany. your foot stepping into the quaint beauty of the hotel room like aggressively lifting the unfinished heal of a scab. being here, in this place, like your body is taking the long, necessary journey back down to earth. hot on impact of the surface but ready to land. 

your lips suffering under your teeth and your fingers tingling. a wistful air working about you, brushing up against your skin as a reminder of times past. here in this place with him, before the abrupt end of it all. 

flashback - january 2024 - albany, new york

and it is said, by scientists and theologians alike, that before the creation of everything, there was nothing. whether the world came to be from a Godly "let there be", or this abrupt but explosive expansion across the cosmos, the truth remains here, that we exist not of our own casual volition. and so if this coming into being—a devastatingly beautiful ripple through that forever stretch of space—is as ornate in nature as it is said to be, then how is it that one can exist so unceremoniously with another? passion this slow, steady expansion like that of the universe. his name on your tongue and his grip nestled into delicate skin. eyes fashioned with colors to rival that of those painting the faraway galaxies and the breaths singing between coarse little moaning songs, a great imitation of the wind. surely these are bouts of madness, giving frivolous, near shapeless names, for such heavy performances of affection. 

or maybe it isn't insanity. because don't we always give awful, insufficient names to things we hate. and even more terrible names to things we fear. 

the apple state inn, a small time hotel in albany, new york, is not known for it's size or luxury. a just off the exit, two and a half, maybe three star rated establishment—google reviews and the website beg to differ with one another—with a scarce housekeeping staff and forever stale, day old coffee. always near empty vending machines and a just out of high school receptionist who doesn't know the difference between credit and debit and counts change like they're counting sheep. but the walls are thick and the privacy is immaculate. immaculate enough that it'd be more useful and cost effective to keep from printing do not disturb cards than not. because once the door closes behind him and that roll of his mini suitcase follows him in, you figure—with the way he's nearly suffocating you with his mouth—that he needs all the undisturbed time he can get. 

the cloud over of steam and a stream of hot, prickly, shower water. your fingers sudsy as they comb through the slick, soaked ways of his hair. thumbs sweeping at his nape before the caress behind his ears. these tender little dotting ministrations that make him groan some. a dark, near weightless, trembling sort of song humming up his throat. tattooed fingers feeling stitched into the soft flesh of your hips as the water works to wash away the soapiness of his hair. his nose nudging into yours and the slight height of him leaving this impression about you that he's surrounding you some. working to consume. to prove with a wordless go of his everything that he's the best in the world. 

that thick curl of heat and the prod of his hard dick against your leg don't help either. his tongue jutting against your lips—a little lick that you chase with enthusiasm—as he smooths it over his own. such a damn tease. your body alive and burning with a war of feelings. not so little sensations that burst at your neck and your mouth and your chest and the warmth pulsing between already wet legs. the proximity of him damning to whatever words you used before to name your current state of affairs. because this seems a little more than casual. a little too charged and full of breath and life to be just a fulfillment of those nagging, sultry, desperate, bodily desires. because it's never felt this impassioned before. this slow and meticulous. a strangulation about the heart that makes the muscle somehow pump harder, faster. like if it fights for life, for it's right to be as its always been, than maybe it can survive the domineer of whatever this is.

the soap dissolves from his hair, washing down into the drain. your fingers remaining still. running dull over his scalp. a deep caressing. an act living so well that it forms it's own memory in your fingers. the seam of his lips pecking at yours. tiny, lax, unhurried kisses that work like they have till the end of the expansion of the universe. 

a laugh cuts up from your chest. like it's unsure it even wants to escape. a fear that it'll have to explain itself. 

cool green eyes and a spark of diligence you've only seen him have when he's wrestling. "what?"

"nothing, it's just...", eyes failing to meet him. dim as they take to the littered ink all over his chest instead. "...this is strangely intimate no?" because it is. the usual air of your rendezvous' living with a more curt edge to it. an urgency of spirit. something great and simple and to the point. made and brought about from a deep mutual attraction, but for the pure sake of fulfillment. 

and maybe your words, amounting to this cautioned little question, have put some distance between your bodies. like the air and nerve to say it leaves the both of you just a little more distant than seconds before. and it must have, because he's fastening himself to you. skin pressing hotly over skin, a slow mold, leaving you to shiver up against cool tiling. mouth still a sweet tease over yours. palm sweeping down and under to cup your thigh till it's hitching up into his palm and cinched to his waist. "i take last minute flights to nameless little, kinda three star hotels, to eagerly stick my dick in you...", his hips canting up. nudging at the sensitive bloom of your slit. lips at the curve of your ear. his breath hot and your skin shuddering. "...and i'm not knockin the hotels..", he chuckles. "...i'm just sayin. it's a bit of a journey to make it to you. this whole thing has been pretty intimate in a way for a while". 

you take slim little nips at your lip. "does that bother you?"

an earnest moan escaping as he slots his lips along yours for a real kiss. the gentleness of it turning sharp as his teeth glide to pull your lip. "why would it?...", tongue led kisses. hands cradling him hostage. his mouth tasting like the sweets he indulges in before he meets you. "...our whole thing is a little informal but that doesn't mean we can't have a moment...", nipping a trail to your neck and kissing over the slights as he goes. breath at your pulse and the thick heat of him slotting and nudging still between your legs. "...or moments". his words these actors of persuasion. as if muddying the lines of a casual thing has ever been good for anyone foolish enough to do it. 

"does it bother you?", he gives into your neck. fixing your hips to the wet wall as he grinds into them. 

the air thick still. his hair fine under your fingers as they find a home there. your lips kissing his shoulder. dazed by the sensation of shared little whispers and the hard ride of him provoking your arousal to slip and your belly to roll with delicious quiver. "no", you hum. meeting his hips with a roll of your own. "i think it makes our thing more enjoyable". words shaky and a shitty contradiction to the inevitable. 

because this thing, this flare of a sensation—soldering hot to melt your bones—is neither unceremonious or fleeting. it is that forever expansion, forming from nothing into something after the abrupt snap that wills it into being. a universe of a feeling housed in the fragility of skin, simple sweeping touches and the persistence of his eyes. 

your body is this picturesque take to the sheets. his arms strong, a gentle carry before he's settling to slot between your legs. wrapped up in your thighs and his lips placing delicate. and no, not like the simplicity of it would work in a means to break you, but like the need for reverencing runs deep enough that it'd feel like sin to ignore it. and cm punk has never been a man of self-denial. his tongue curling against yours, sweet and patient. hums of moans and the warmth of him working in beautiful opposition to the cool sheets. his thumb soothing up your jaw, palm cradling your cheek, like he's keeping the angle of your lips just where he likes it to be. control living easy in him. pressing kisses in without the urgency of forethought. 

and maybe the apple state inn deserves a five star rating. a review that speaks to the allure of low yellow lights and that natural smell of lavender stuck to the walls. 

an embarrassing sort of greediness spills over. hips rocking clumsily to rush into the simple glide through of his fingers at your slit. a firm circling with his thumb but still sedated. a measured touch that nearly aches your teeth in anticipation. breaths short and brattish whimpers. your back curling, attempting to steer him to the tight throb of your entrance. 

he's enjoying this. teeth nipping your lips with a small smile. nails digging at his arms in need. "please". a drawl of a whine. 

a gentle, testy, shallow, slip into your pussy makes him groan. raw and unmoderated. your legs falling over the muscles of his thighs, spread for him as he dips and retracts. the lewd little sound of it hot to the ears. "don't rush my process", teeth gripping into your neck. tongue following to sooth. 

you squeeze his arm. digging what exists of sharp nails into tattooed skin. impatience unruly. "fuck your process, i wanna-"

an emptiness. the dip of his lone finger gone, replaced with the swift swat of his hand at your slit. a gasp cutting up quick, your body jostling from the speed and the cruelty of it. nestling then in pleasure that rolls in after. his tongue still at your neck. remedying skin sure fated to bruise in the morning. your clit overly wet and throbbing and sliding messily along the idle way his finger just sits there. resting right over without a mind to do something useful. the second city saint, a bastard and a half. 

his laugh breaks into your skin. a little wry and a little mean. like maybe he thinks you're too audacious. so vulnerable and desperate and still making demands. "you barely know what you want for breakfast sometimes...", he starts. forehead pressed into yours. his right hand playing through the easy slip of your folds and the other tight as they ball the sheets near your head. like all of his control is stored there. knuckle white tight and fighting to stay strong. "...so whatever shit you think you want, it's just you being impatient and greedy. i guess its that only child syndrome shit". 

"fuck you", you cut. nudging your face against his. cheeks roughing over the gray of his beard. defiance rife. 

"oh sweetheart", he sings. a drawl of a tenor voice that makes you shudder. makes your hands cling to him tighter. like your hold there could maybe cause it to wring out more of his voice and breath, warm and sweet over your body. "you got not the slightest idea how much you're gonna eat every letter of what your just said". kissing your mouth harder. tongue sweeping with a less gentler purpose. lips pulling and suckling and nearly suffocating. looking to savor the dirty taste of your words. touch taking an abrupt curl into your pussy. a steady wet stroke that rattles your body with an almost ugly moan. almost. "you been drivin me crazy since before i got on that flight...", tongue lapping at your yours. a stress of a moan working up as he seats his finger deeper. "...been thinking about touching you for days". 

and you rush to meet the feed in of it. an upswing of your hips, urging him just that much deeper. praying for the feel of it along that sensitive little spot inside that makes your skin jitter and your breathing short. your hands cradling his face close. a tough hold in his hair as you suck his tongue. a lazy timeless go if it, nearly falling so well into it that you almost lose yourself. 

"someone sounds a little obsessed", you give against his lips. 

his eyes green but nearly black and piercing. forehead pressed to you still. "unfortunately yes". an almost whisper if not for the bass of it. 

your heart hammering. fearful and exhilarated all the same. 

and you can feel his mouth on yours still, moving and hot and dangerous even as your eyes close for some feen for reprieve. a break from the diligence of his own. but you can hear him, the pry the noise of him takes to flesh, like he's opening up and splitting your nerves at the seams. "want you to show me what you do when i'm gone...", kissing your lips sweetly. a second finger joining the first. burying deep to the knuckle and balancing with perfection the deftness it takes to numb your brain with bliss. clit nudging against the add of his thumb. sensitive and the sensation of it blooming it's way till it reaches your toes. "...wanna see how good you take care of yourself when i'm not with you'. 

that lavender smell soaked into the walls filling your lungs. the tips of your fingers pressing his thumb in till it's flush up against the swell of your clit. control ill suited to your body as you groan in his mouth. 

back curling in with another arch. nipples aching and needy and up against his chest. 

your longing this breathy, moaning, call to action. his mouth quick with a salacious answer, finding your body there. a flat, wide, lick over the twist of it. deep in it's savoring. curling and flicking and smiling about the perk of it as he feels you cling wet to his fingers. the pad of his thumb touched by the throb in your clit and the tight press you lay over it. keeping him there as he drags long and steady through your pussy. a greedy moan of his bleeding into your skin as it leaves him, the ball of your nipple playing in his mouth before he's suckling with tongue and prying with his hot mouth. wringing up the pleasure till it's voicing pliant and needy for him. teetering a line of overindulgence where he forsakes control. breaths heavy and hungry as he moves on to the other. a similar treatment that forces your hips to buck. a harsh, abrupt spurring that slips him deeper. right there, nestling and stroking lewd still. "harder, baby", you gasp. clutching the sheets. control lost. sporadic ruts that feen for that touch again. 

"there?", humming at your breast. fingers just a little more vicious. the sensation sweetening your blood as it heats.

throbs undulating your skin, like the rippling push of something that goes on to last forever. his thumb releasing to let your have at your own undoing. lips suffering under your teeth. eyes glazed and your head tipped into the sheets. chasing that bliss as it waits to unfurl all over. 

"yes", gasping. a tiny, pleading soprano. small and aching as it leaves you. trembling soft under him, the beginning of it rocking into you slowly. "oh God, i-", labored breaths and groaning. your fingers running up sloppy at your clit and his mouth suckling still. fucking into you with a purpose you're sure that entails seeing you go mad. "i'm coming ". 

he releases your nipple with a simple pop of his lips. returning to sweep his tongue through the awestruck expression of your mouth. a sloppy kiss. wet and meshing and a little mindless. pussy drooling still as it steeps and clings and throbs. 

"not sure he'd love hearing you say that but i sure do", a frail kiss at the edge of your mouth. "say it again". 

"i'm coming", you pant. short cuts of breath he presses his lips over. 

a glint to his eyes. gaze cascading over. appraising the state of your unraveling. "and so pretty doing it too". 

you hiss. body collecting with a short hitch, like it means to ease the landing of this brace-less thing. an effort made in vain as the violence of it takes you. his throat humming satisfied, and the work of his fingers going on still to brush up against that deeper, delicate, slip of skin in you that drives you crazy. a bright, pitchy, "fuck", flying off the tip of your tongue as you curl in and lose yourself. a wordless, world of a feeling. an inconceivable burst of color behind the eyes and your lungs fighting for those better takes of air. unruly and exposed. skin teeming with too much of a good thing. the bed dipping and un-dipping, the shift of him living just at the edges of your awareness. the taste of former words heavy and thick in your mouth, like he said they'd be. his fingers collecting your thighs to adjust the way they reveal the mess of you. 

a trail of dainty kisses as he ventures low. a journey over flesh to mark his appearance. a quiver playing your nerves, his tongue slipping to lick long along the full bloom of your slit. messy and drunk, like the careless indulgence of a reward long awaited. drawling moans and the grip in your thighs meaner than any touch he's given you thus far. a drive of his tongue through where you pulse and drip. weak hands near dead, trying their hardest to ease him off. eyes recovering and lazy, watching him go greedy. another hiss through your teeth, one now that indulges. a little less than brutal hold in his hair that keeps him close. the end of an old pleasure making way for a new one. suckling your clit like he did other parts of skin. little bursts of pleasure breaking to the surface, your hips rutting to following the sensation blindly. 

his quickness, a jarring little feat. feeding tongue into your mouth to share the taste of you. your thumbs over his cheeks and your thighs hiking over his hips. the hard heat of him grinding along till it's snug and laying at your slit. 

and even the thought of him slipping in is enough to leave you shivering. 

"how do you want me?" 

"deep". a thoughtless answer. your tongue wetting your lips, aching for it. "just take it, take me. i-", desperate and thin feeling. "please", you stress. 

his earlier words a little clearer. thoughts and imaginations disrupted, having been troubled by the thought of you. his diligence running vengeful. 

and there is nothing exactly satiating about this, about the pace, the life of it, of this. heavy feeling as he makes to stretch you deep. filling to the hilt and nestled comfortably so. like perhaps he was always meant to be there. your throat singing, breathy and filling his mouth as he makes to kiss you. a softness to you, boneless and subdued. the slightest touches made into something bigger and greater. a hand held at your thigh, a smooth reach till its hooking under your knee and the other calm and patience, the thumb of it stroking your forehead. 

"not much for being a selfish prick but i need you lookin at me", he rasps. cool green eyes just a bit warmer under the low lights. gentle and arresting. "so beautiful", like a whisper to himself. "i wanna see em when i'm coming in you", he gives. testing your devotion with a push of his hips. 

something heavy and dismantled erupting in his chest. bass-y and coarse, breathing over your mouth. his lips making like they mean to kiss you but never fully getting to the completion of it. your thighs housing a sweet aching and your ears burning hot, pleasured by the noise of him. the way his body slowly conforms to being taken in. easy and patient and terrible for his nerves. "yeahhh", he drawls, like an agreement of some staggering pleasure made with the self. or maybe a noise of satisfaction made pure by completion. 

whimpers stuttering and cut with short breaths. your eyes glassy and your throat gaining that bit of heaviness. softly trembling, and feeling crazy under the weight of his eyes. like such vulnerability would soon be your end. a quiet sob breaking free, fingers sinking into his skin for dear life. your pussy quivering desperate, clutching hot as he gives a slow, firm, slipping stroke, pressing in enough that it makes you whole. 

terror delighting it self in your bones. pressure in the body heavy enough to make diamonds. a tear slipping tenderly, falling over your cheek, the trouble of another release gathering in your belly. 

he kisses the wet streak along your face. lewd and hot and wet, pussy pulling at him softly to stay. an endearing path being made upon the skin, a light press of his lips everywhere. silent and filled with purpose.  

it isn't enough to let go, to deny the self of a former ambition. solid ground must be met, a full impact made regardless of how unsavory the process is. this quiet, contemplative, stretch of time in albany, not so dissimilar to a travelers great return to earth. readjustments made to air and the gravity. a re-stabilization of things—your walking and your turning and your weight against the ropes of that faithful squared circle and your ego—because a concussion only made your body's resentment more of a hell to deal with. compromise, a great ordeal with the self, a testier thing to endure even. a month of falling away, deep into the recesses of a particularly dark shadow. a host of memory lanes and the diminishing of self importance. FOMO a real bitch and a half to deal with. the frustration buried beneath skin feeling more childlike than anything else, eyeing the others as they roam and enjoy, from the window of your injury styled detention. week after week, nestled at the back of a little less than dingy sports bar, watching your friends and colleagues perform at the greatest arena's and stadiums. 

but the time away made for an easier reclamation, a confession you wouldn't speak well too aloud, lest it proved hunter's opinions right. your head clear of that horrible knock of an ache against your skull and the nausea more than minimal. 

minimal, but not gone. a small swim of it rippling your belly. flowing against the slosh of ginger beer you've become friendly with since discovering the existence of 'porters dive bar'. an albany staple for the city's exuberant wrestling community. the spice of the ginger steeping your tongue and the fizz of the liquid rolling over to test the limits of your stomach. like the first weary steps of a travelers feet back on earth. a fear of failure but an eagerness of spirit regardless. the building back of strength and resistance. a well made sort of exposure therapy. 

your phone pings. another one of his messages appearing. his televised win against cody at an arena in albany, working like a kindling for this abrasive flare styling his words. ego on fire and looking to consume. 

text message | the best in the world: soon i'm gonna stop asking to see you and just show up unannounced. you know i'm close right? where are you?

text message | outgoing: porter's dive bar 

and this here is the full impact. a hypersonic re-entry. soaring past atmospheric layers as the body is once again enveloped by earths gravity. reality styled with its many worldly limitations. rich colors and coarse ground and a pulling weight in your bones. 

talking to him is that meeting of skin against solid ground. the unsavory process. 

your phone pings again. fingers slipping against the screen to reveal who. dread coursing wild and unfettered. a quick washing in your blood that plunges the heart. 

text message | cody r: can we meet sometime soon? to talk? 

text message | outgoing: of course.

you owe him that much. an explanation—regardless of how terrible it will form on your tongue. bile and a lack of brilliance born from guilt.—of your faults and self misguided decisions. but it's all just another step. a heel toe to reclaim familiarity with the earth. building back the strength lost from that unruly lack of ambition, from that great deal of muscle atrophy. 

the wooden chair opposite your booth seat scoots harshly against the floor. his entrance screeching your nerves to wake with a horrible sort of surprise. the cool green of his eyes hidden beneath the curl over of a ball cap brim. shoulders squared and wide and persistent. "you look good", he gives. sitting across from you. "refreshed". 

you settle your phone down. a soft tremble in your fingers as you make to embrace one hand in the other. the feel of his gaze, like the easy thin slice of a razor over thick skin. a surgical opening that leaves you bare to eyes and air alike. useless to yourself and a short ways from uncomfortable. fighting against a painless pain, against that shameful, irritating weakness that comes with vulnerability. fears and slivers of frustration born from this ill-controlled performance. because cm punk, the best in the world, makes you vulnerable. 

you take one of the two ginger beers off the table. sipping at the cool spice of it for some reprieve. "your first words are always about how i look".

"because i'm unfortunately very invested in your wellbeing". 

"unfortunately?" 

"s'not a whole lot of reciprocation on that front". words not minced. eyes trailing to look over the cold glass left untouched. his curiosities moving him to bring it closer. "what is this?"

"ginger beer". watching him sniff at the rim of the glass before he tests the taste. the spice of the ginger and the fizz delightful and cold sober. "reciprocation". the truth of it cutting across the air, to give something deep and sharp and exacting against whatever assumptions he's made amidst his resentments. because while your investments into his wellbeing weren't as vocal as his for yours, they still hold firm in some form of existence. 

"where you been hiding out?"

"our little go to hotel".

he shifts the curl of the brim to reveal more of his eyes. in a manner that allows you to see them well enough. to get the gist of whatever mixture of emotions they take. a hardened sort of confusion styling them now as your answer sinks in. "why there?" 

hesitation. like the stutter of your foot after a misstep. body afraid to fail, afraid to fall after that great coming back to earth. "not sure". 

his nose flares. a fierce movement. and then his jaw. a chain reaction of many things. as if to curb the brunt of his anger. this overbear of a deep vexing, he pulls into the constraint of words. hard eyes and a harder tongue. "you got a real nasty habit of not saying the things you mean and i can really do without it". 

but it was enough, too much even to admit such wrongdoings amidst the court of your own thoughts and imaginations. resentment housed by the body, less sore as the days venture on, but still aching in the skin. felt in the abruptness of harsh maneuvers. swimming knocks in the head and your balance disturbed. those disgusting dull bursts of nausea and a heaviness in your body. exhaustion from nothing. "...and what is it exactly that you want from me?" 

"a little transparency", he grits. "some honesty".  

"i was fine with cody...was on my way to something substantial even', you give. a corral of words you feel were truthful sometime ago. back when the ambition felt sure and not so unattainable. before muscle deep resentment and injury. "we fell away from each other naturally...", words more like a tool. these builders of persuasion. and God what horrible persuaders they were. everything falling off the tongue half made and shoddily voiced. "...but in true cm punk fashion, whenever you don't like something anymore you get pissy about it. threw a dirty little wrench into my relationship to screw me over". 

his chair stresses against the floor. body pulling in closer. fury stored in the pull in of his brows. "you screwed yourself. threw yourself headfirst into bullshit because you're scared. called what we had a thing, because if you actually put a decent name to it then you'd have to admit how you feel about me, and how much that terrifies you...", his tone hushed and curt and piercing. "because cody is safe and easy and if he fails at making you happy, it's no real loss at all right? because you were never really in all the way anyways". 

you feel thin. subdued and quite overwrought by all this exposure to him. "you had time to say something. why wait till when i'm with someone else?"

he sighs. settles into an answer like it's the hundredth time he's come to the conclusion of it. "spent since january trying to get rid of you and it didn't work for me, and you were on live tv botchin the hell out of everything, trying to get rid of me, so i don't think it really worked for you either...so here we are". 

the air thick and the silence loud. the droning of the bar easing in to fill the space. a hard siphon of the energy by words and the confession of not so dead feelings. your ginger beers icy still and watered. a waitress comes, strutting up to your table. 

"you guys need anything?"

"two more of these ginger beers please", punk gives. a small smile as she leaves. 

his eyes the color of garden sage. softer now. flitting over your face with a renewed sense of diligence.

and it's more clear now than it's ever been. he isn't going anywhere. 

your fingers curl, a slow coming together into your palm to ball. multi-purposed, squeezing to live a little in that familiar burst of an ache. bones and muscles flexing as the skin pulls some. a summation of weariness. knuckles breaking against the door to knock. a similar rhythm playing in your chest, because cody could be many things. sad. angry. vexed. indifferent. he could speak wild or terribly soft, but inspire another layer of guilt to lay at your skin just the same. 

"just a second", he gives. bass in the voice and words slipping thick like over his tongue. in that way that he tries to cover some but can't help. 

a shift in your leg, like the anxious pinch of a nerve. a jerk or maybe a pulling. you're not sure what it is, but it's asking to move. to leave. to maybe do this another time. "i can come back later if you want", shouting some over the regular drone of pre-live show buzz. one hand slipping away from the cool metal of the door handle and the other undoing from that ache of a fist. making to about face into the fray of crew members. but he must recognize your voice, even through the thickness of the door. must've settled himself enough in whatever emotions he's living in.

his voice rushing. like he can feel you falling away from this long overdue talk. "no no, come in. i'm good. come in". 

your hand returns against the door handle. cool metal more like an icy burning. stepping into his dressing room like a re-entry into the world of him. his hair retouched to the roots, a cold blonde that pops his already sky blue eyes. his hands roughing with his wrestling boots. blinking up at you silently. mouth parted and slightly lost for words. like he'd maybe rehearsed everything and has now forgotten all the brilliance of it. a sigh leaving with that realization. like he'll have to forsake all the prearranged self made discussion and go about this a little less practiced. "you look well", he gives. with a nod. "the break did you some good". 

"yeah", stepping in further. arms folded over. body overly aware of his appraisal. "that seems to be the consensus". 

his throat clears, brows pulling together before they fall away quickly. this awkward abrupt movement that reveals the slow work of his thoughts. gears oiled and turning and trying out words before he says them. a farer cry from his in-ring persona, where he's suited and pristine and seemingly always ready. the little action of it making him more human to the eyes and less star-like. something you would have shrunk away from before out of fear that it would cause him some lackluster effect, now finding in its own imperfections, very endearing. 

"was it something about me, or anything i ever did that kinda just-...?", his voice falling off. left to motion oddly between your bodies with his hands. miming a separation. like finishing the words, allowing them to live in the air, would cause them to be true. 

"no! no, it was...", trying to find something not so terrible to soothe him with. stepping a little closer to him. arms unfolded. like the honesty begging to leave you for some time has now taken command of your body and it's functioning. "...i wasn't being honest about a lot of things with myself and it spilled over into what we had going on, and i'm really sorry about that". 

and he nods. not like he's accepting of it all but like he gets it. like he's relating to you. eyes softer, made vulnerable by his own truth. "all the...all the asinine bullshit leading up to mania just...", his eyes rolling as he remembers the trouble of it. "...on top of already wanting the belt for personal reasons, it just drove me crazy. and i think in the midst of that, i leaned in on us a little harder than i should've. maybe more than i planned to". fingers scratching and curling up into his hair, going about aimlessly almost. giving himself something to do to remedy the weight of his words. "we have quite a bit in common so...the intimacy was good enough, it-it was easy to just hold on to. i think we were both faking it to make it". 

your throat grows heavy, face warm with the well up of tears. relief meshing easy with the sadness of it all. the both of you willing to settle, if it meant being comfortable and not alone. a heartbreaking circumstance to force upon the self for sure.

"can i...?", your hands motioning for an embrace. 

"of course, c'mere".

his arms warm and comforting as he takes you in. wrapped tightly, with a friendly sort of affection. an earnest touch, made not to linger in a performance of desire but to give solace. sniffling against his chest as he squeezes tightly. 

"don't you start crying for real...", he jokes. "...cause then you're gonna make me cry".

you smile. slipping away from him gently. "well that don't take much so..." 

his eyes roll. grabbing the outer jacket that completes his in-ring gear. 

your fingers sweep under your eyes to rid of the wet streaks. shoulders less heavy and the dread in your chest no longer fighting to consume. making to leave his dressing room. "don't go easy on him either. i need him a little softened up". 

"will do". 

you make a full exit. slipping your phone from your pocket. his name under your thumb as you press against it. memory serving well, thinking of that sports bar in albany and all the empty glasses of ginger beer spread across the table. the vex about his face growing gentler as the night carried on. that line in the sand washed away, the boundary blurred and then made new into something with a better shaping. his cool, pale, sage eyes working like he wanted to remember that moment. like the satisfaction of having you in front of him again without any attempts to break away from him, was too good to simply be lost to time. 

you click to call and wait for his answer. an impatience running in your fingers as you make to join the producers and tech operators at the staging area. 

he answers. a simple, coarse, "yeah", that sweetens your ears.

"have breakfast with me tomorrow", you give. plain and a little demanding. "please?" 

he hums. amusement in his voice like he's smiling. 

"time and place sweetheart". 

[vindoesanything]

𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 “𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛”…

Word count: 723 Warning: Angst, Mentions of death Arlecchino x Y/N

Y/N: Isn't the moon beautiful...?

[A soft, weak voice leaves their cold lips as they address the question to the one they thought would reciprocate their feelings. Their arms slowly wrap around her body in a warm and gentle embrace, holding them close before their demise.]

Y/N: The moon shines bright, even when the darkest of voids encapsulates its entire being...

Arlecchino: ...

Y/N: That's why I love the thought of calling you my "Moon" one day...

[After their unexpected confession, Arlecchino feels their tender hold begin to loosen, reminding her of the inevitable. Their body slowly turns limp as they lean their whole weight further into her body, desperately trying to feel her warmth against their weak frame.]

Y/N: It's getting rather chilly... Don't you think?

Arlecchino: I-...

Y/N: It's okay... You don't have to answer that... I understand...

[Their hands slowly move up to cup her cheeks, using every fiber of their being to show how much they adore her. Arlecchino's eyes gaze down upon the pathetic sight, seeing how pale and weak they are under her cold, apathetic gaze. Despite it all, she blatantly stares at Y/N's soft lips, watching them curl into a reassuring smile, hoping to calm whatever turmoil is in her mind.]

Y/N: I know you have to cut ties with me... I know you have to reach your goals no matter the obstacles that stand before you... But I want one thing from you before I leave your side...

[Arlecchino watches the light in their eyes slowly diminish with every word they speak. In spite of it, she gave them a firm nod, wanting to accomplish one last request before they leave her.]

Y/N: Please... Stay with me... Stay with me until my time ends...

[Regardless of their untimely demise, their smile still shines through as they lean their head on her shoulder.]

Y/N: You are so warm... I want to stay here for the rest of my life...

[As time passes, their grip around her completely loosens as their hands drop to their side, finally ending their time altogether. Now only thing left here is a pale corpse leaning against a cold and emotionless woman.]

Arlecchino: ...

[Soon after their death, her arms unexpectedly begin to wrap around Y/N's body, lowering herself down to her knees with them cradled close to her heart, feeling the need to keep them close despite the things she has done.]

Arlecchino: Why... Why does this hurt so much...

[It takes some time for her to process everything that has happened, and once it dawns on her that the one she had cared for is deceased in her arms, her tears begin to trickle down her cheek, another emotion she had never thought she could display out front.]

Arlecchino: This was never meant to happen... If you would have listened to me you wouldn't have been-...

[She doesn't want to finish her own statement once she gazes down upon the peaceful expression that rests on your face. It was heartbreaking to see them in this state, and the realization that they have thought she never reciprocated their feelings back shatters her heart into a million pieces.]

Arlecchino: Y/N... My sweet Y/N... How I would have loved to call you my shining "Star"...

[Her hands begin to slide up to their cheeks, feeling the need to have them face her, even if it hurts to see them so... lifeless.]

Arlecchino: My... My shining "Star"... Oh why did I have to kill you...

[Those words of regret slowly fill her mind, and this all could have been avoided if YOU hadn’t come out of your hiding place. But who can she blame for all this? They were afraid, it is normal to be… And not only they were afraid for their own lives, but they were afraid for Hers too…]

Arlecchino: Why… Why must it hurt so much… Why?!

[The tears in her eyes begin to trickle down upon Y/N’s cold but soft face, letting every droplet caress their features with a gentle brush of regretful longing. Soon, she begins to caress their cheek with a tender thumb, slowly grazing along their soft features, as every stroke she makes becomes a reminder of who she ultimately killed.]

Arlecchino: My… only… star…

(a/n: Speaking of stars, our galaxy has countless of them! The only reason we can’t see it is because of the light pollution most city has… So go out and find a place where there’s not a single light source that can be seen and enjoy your night! This is Vin, signing out. ;) )

[turning-monday-blue]

I don't know why we never thought to do this before.

Hell, we even keep the ropes next to the gum. The idea was staring us in the face all along.

I kneel on the bed and she slides in behind me, looping the bight under my tits. I close my eyes, trying to shut out everything but the feel of the hemp as she pulls it over my shoulders and around my back. She's tying things a little loose, and it feels weird, but it's probably better that way.

She pats my butt to let me know that she's finished, and I pop up to my knees to give her room to tie a harness around my hips. She fumbles and swears to herself a couple of times, and then swings around in front of me.

"I need you to lay back," she says, before playfully shoving me backwards. I let myself topple, and she continues webbing me with rope. I guess looser ties don't fight gravity very well. Won't be a problem for too long, I think to myself.

"Okay," she says, tying off my hips, "open up."

I let her slip the half-piece of gum in my mouth, but then I think about refusing to chew. What, after all, would be brattier than not playing along? What if I just took my toys and went home? Unfortunately, she's already bound my ankles to the bed, legs spread wide apart, so I have room to grow.

She slides up and looks me in the eye. "Chew."

I do what I'm told.

The flavor is always way too intense starting out, almost chemical, in a way. Its' like when they get the mix wrong in the slushy machine and it's all syrup. Cloying, too sweet, too bright, too fruity. It's hard not to drool blue all over the pillows, but I know better than to actually misbehave.

Like clockwork, as the flavor begins to mellow I feel the telltale warmth deep in my belly. Chewing was a chore before, now it becomes compulsive, thoughtless.

When people write stories about things like this, especially people who've never been through it, they always go on and on about the pressure and the fear and the intensity, but it's never been like that for me.

It does feel incredible, though. They get that part right.

The warmth grows inside me, filling me up, and, when it runs out of room, I begin to grow. I start to lose myself in the feeling of swelling around the juice inside me, when the ropes begin to pull tight across my belly.

I don't mean to, but I arch back and moan deeply, letting a little rivulet of blue dribble onto the pillows. Oops. She chuckles, and we both know I'll pay for ruining her linens yet again.

The feeling is so sharp now, and I lose my mind a little as my skin begins to fight against the hemp. The warmth spreads outward from my middle, spilling into my thighs and my chest, filling everything it can find.

I can feel the knots all over me begin to pull tight as I fill out the webs of rope. I spill out of the gap between the harnesses, and the little part of me that still feels human is silently grateful that we started with something small and easy. The other part of me, the one that's taking over, wants to be squeezed like overripe fruit through fine mesh until there's nothing left but a small ocean of dark blue juice. That's new.

I start to puff through the voids in the harnesses, the cool sensation of the air against my taut skin colliding with the burning where the ropes are holding me back. I start to wonder whether they'll break before I do, but I put that thought away. My breasts are swelling faster than they normally do, even though I only have half a dose in me. They start to obscure my view of things happening lower down, but not before I see her climb in between my swelling thighs.

It's way too soon for me to be leaking, but I feel her tongue against me, and I convulse. soon enough she reappears, mouth stained blue with a look in her eye like I've probably ruined another mattress.

The gum is flavorless now, but I keep chewing. She hasn't told me to stop yet. Still, I feel the growth slow to a crawl. The warmth begins to dissipate, so I give my arms and legs a cursory wiggle.

I'm so full, and still tied down, but I can tell that I'm not round enough. I can't help it. Somewhere, far away in my brain, I know this is a test run, but I keep chewing so frantically, hoping to swell just a little bit more. I almost want to cry.

I'm supposed to be a giant, juicy balloon, not this weird little excuse for an adult human woman.

I guess she can feel my desperate fidgeting, because she crawls up and lays beside me.

"Hey, big girl," she says, wiping bright blue tears off my cheek. "I know you want more, but I think we need to juice you. These ropes look about ready to goosh you to pieces."

I want to say "Let them!" but I know that's the juice talking.

"I know," she says, like she's reading my mind. "It's not fair, but we need to be safe."

I pout harder.

She knows better than to negotiate with terrorists, though. "What are you going to do about it?" she asks, feigning innocence. "You're tied down tight, and too juicy to move." She reaches over, grabs one move my engorged nipples, and squeezes hard. Dark blue juice sprays the wall behind her as I yowl in ecstasy. "Oh no, are you going to squirt on me until I do what you want?" she asks, squeezing again.

"Just cut the ropes off," I beg, trying to think of anything that might free me up to grow safely.

"Sorry, babe," she says, genuinely apologetic. "The rope's too tight now. I don't think I could get the scissors in there without risking popping you."

"I'm going to juice you," she says. "Do you want business, or pleasure?"

I'm too frustrated to cum right now, stuck like I am between one self and another. "Business," I mumble. Fuck orgasms. I'd rather just get this over with.

She smiles gently, and scrambles up onto my massive belly, and grabs a nipple in each hand. Her weight feels amazing, and as she starts to milk giant spurts of juice out of my breasts, back and forth, back and forth, I realize that business may lead to pleasure regardless of how I feel.

Her whole body is swaying with the rhythm of her arms, and I feel a different kind of warmth start to build between my swollen thighs. I can feel every inch of the hemp biting into me, pulling me in so many directions. It feels so good to be her balloon, letting her tease and squeeze as she pleases.

I'm taken completely by surprise when I cum suddenly and violently. I can tell she is, too, because she falls off my quaking body backwards, getting doused by the juice gushing out of me. I'm absorbed by the orgasm wracking my body, and time loses meaning for a little while.

When I come to, panting, I realize that she's nowhere to be seen. Thankfully, I'm small enough now to slip out of the ropes around my wrists and ankles. I sit bolt upright, or, as bolt as I can at least. The residual juice is going to weigh me down a little until my body can process it naturally.

I call her name.

"Down here," says a stunned voice. I look over the foot of the bed.

She's laying there, eyes wide in shock, absolutely drenched in blue.

"Wow," she says.

"Are you okay?" I ask, scrambling to offer her a puffy, light blue hand.

"Look," she says, taking my hand, "that was so much fun, really."

"But?" I ask, trying not to hold my breath.

"... but we have got to find a way to do this that doesn't change my hair color."

[celestiamour]

ft. cassandra nova x f! reader — marvel

╰₊✧ surviving in the void isn’t the same as living┊0.6k words

contains: established relationship, angsty, before dp&w, probably ooc & lore inaccurate in so many ways but uhhhhh

➤ author's note: we need more cassandra x reader, she’s the prettiest bald woman

you stare out into the void, a vast desert that’s a mere skeleton of other worlds you used to explore freely, sitting on the ground and enjoying the fleeting breeze. there’s no point in it really, it’s already been burned into your mind long ago. there’s never anything different about the view, just sand and machinery with the occasional variant minion wandering around. despite being at the top of the food chain with cassandra, you feel like you’re only surviving instead of living, scraping by in a dimension that’s essentially a junkyard for discarded souls.  

the faint sound of whistling reached your ears, but you didn’t bother to turn your head and see who was approaching. you don’t need to when this spot was only known by one other person whom you would always sneak off with for moments alone.

“what are you thinking about, love?” she asked, sitting down next to you.

“nothing important,” you sigh. 

she gently nudged you. “come on, don’t make me use my telepathy on you.” it’s a joke, of course. she loves you enough not to do so, a display of trust to show that she won’t violate those boundaries like the first time you met. “tell me what’s going on.”

“it’s just that… don’t you ever want to leave the void and go back to earth?’

she hummed in response, “i guess i never thought about it, but i don’t think so. i can freely be myself and use my powers here while basically being the empress of this realm. i don’t think i want to leave for a place that would only hunt me down when they find that i escaped and banish me again after a few days. and besides,” she affectionately laid her head on your shoulder, “i have you here with me.”

“right, i know that, but… i can’t help but wish that we could be a normal couple, doing normal couple things… like i want to take you on dates at the beach, go to fancy restaurants, introduce you to my remaining family, travel the world to see all its wonders… i treasure what we have right now, but i want to do so much more with you, even if it’s just stereotypical lovey-dovey stuff…” your smile is pained and you worry if you’re being stupid right now. cass seemed perfectly content with how everything was right now, you had no idea if she felt the same way you did. it was a topic that seemed too sensitive to bring up before, but it’s one that was weighing on you constantly these past few days. 

you did have a point though. there isn’t anything really romantic that could be done in the void, nothing aside from physical touch, long talks and walks to nowhere, watching decades-old films on a beat-up television found a while back that barely worked— it was no place where love could flourish when merely existing was difficult enough.

cass looks deeply into your eyes, the bright eyes of her beautiful girlfriend. not even her girlfriend, she thinks of you more like her wife, a soulmate who was gifted to her after years of suffering hidden under layers of her sadistic and mischievous personality. if she was allowed to go back to the world she was ripped away from with you, she would like to marry you properly and put a ring around your finger as a testament to all you both have gone through.

escape was something she barely considered since it was something that seemed so out of reach and impossible, yet seeing the hope in your eyes sparked a light of optimism she hasn’t felt in years. “maybe one day, and we’ll do everything you mentioned and more… even if we are hunted down by the tva the entire time…”

[kurara-black-blog]

Some random writing tidbit

Description: People seem to forget who and what Lucifer is.

Context: Angel Dust arrives at the Hotel later than usual, beaten and bloody after Valentino's latest tantrum.

I just need to get this out of me.

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

"Do you want me to void your deal with Valentino and get you your soul back?" comes the voice of Lucifer, soft as the hands that heal his injuries.

Angel scoffs, his stomach twisting in the usual helplessness. "If it was that easy, short king, I wouldn't be here, ya know?"

The others look at him with varying looks. Angel isn't sure which one is the worst one. Charlie's anguish? Vaggie's rage? Husk's sympathy? Alastor's indifference? Nifty's manic grin of... Whatever she's feeling? Hard to pick. He just wants to go hide in his room and cry in his pillow.

“Anthony.”

The sound of his living name punches a breath out of him. Lucifer's voice gains an ethereal quality, like there's more than one person talking. Angel thinks he might hear his own voice mixed with the king's. And Valentino's. And Charlie's. And Alastor's. And Velvette's. And and and–

“You forget who I am,” Lucifer's eyes burn a bright yellow, sclera red like blood candy. He holds Angel's previously broken hand in his, his grip not tight but absolute. “I am the king of this realm, everything in here is mine to rule.”

In his eyes, Anthony sees everything. Anthony sees nothing. Anthony doesn't even see. He isn't capable of, he is blind, he can't see but still he looks and watches and witnesses the nothing and everything and the beginning and the end and the middle in between and the middle beyond and and and–

“Do you want me to break this deal?”

"Please" he breathes, his mind too full of thoughts for him to think of anything else. "Please" he begs—he prays.

Lucifer grins, something divine and devilish, as his hand shots up and grabs Angel's collar and pulls.

It shatters, like it was but a cheap old rubber band.

The thing that has kept Angel Dust down for so many years, the proof of his mistakes, the shackles of his abuse, gone just like that. Like a simple breath. Like a butterfly's wing flaps. Like a sigh before bed. Like it was nothing. Angel can't even feel bitter about that. Not when his soul returns to him and its comforting weight settles within his chest and he breathes deeply for the first time in decades and feels alive, as alive as he can feel being dead, which is pretty alive if you ask him.

"There" Lucifer smiles brightly, back to his usual semblance. "You're free. Don't worry, if your contractor comes bitch to you, I will deal with them. Now off to bed you go, you must be exhausted!"

Angel nods, watching speechless as Lucifer, dressed in blue pyjamas with a rubber duck pattern and yellow duck slippers, makes his way to the kitchen, saying something about making tea so everyone will have a good night's sleep.

He's not sure he can sleep.

[mondaymelon]

MERRY CHRISTMAS !!! gifts ensue.

he really went. blep. hi user @ilyuu. im proud of this one so congrats wanderer takes home first gift wooo

lmao id like to apologise in advance as this was brought on because of me but I got super burnt out drawing like 20 of these over the course of 2 days... if you see the quality of the drawings declining ( which you will ) please don't mind it!! thank you.

@anonbinaryweirdo. sigh. i get whiplash whenever you're super nice and then in the span of the next three seconds immediately do something vile

@soleillunne. we don't talk much but from what I know you are such a sweet person omg !! and your works??? dies inside (in a good way). the way you write xiao maks me so. puddle like

@realkavehgf. we agree on one things (amongst others) and that is that kaveh is. kAVEH IS. MALFUNCTIONS PERISHES.

@emphasisondrvgs. you scare me. please take your ranpo and quietly see yourself out LMAO /j

@pjsk-writin. AMIMI ONE OF MY FIRST EVER MOOTS !!! im so proud of mikoto. sighs. straitjackets are smth else to draw .. BUT HES SO. MMMMMM !!!!

@circyexistforcontent AAAHHH HI PRECIOUS. I LIKE YOU BUT I DONT REALLY LIKE DILUC SO. TAKE THIS... quietly throws up

@whats-it-mean. puka puka. head empty. puka puka. please stop your affairs with my mother.

@falors. UGLY SOBS. UGLY CRIES. I LOVE YOU /P SM. WAAHHHH TEARS TEARS TEARS you are the most talented person ever I S T G gRAAAHHH YOU BETTER GET 18412409128410948 FOLLOWERS THIS YEAR OR I WILL RIOT. mwah.

@dustofthedailylife. omg. hi dust... tbh ive been so concerned for you recently with how much life is running you over with a pickup truck so wishing for your improved health soon !! alhaith is a smort guy what can I say

@the-white-void. DEAREST. literally one of the first people I ever interacted with on this platform and you're actually. like. literally one of the sweetest people I have ever met. KLEE IS SUCH A CUTIE FJSFJDK

@kaeffeinee. OMG. m..my kitten- woah WHO just said that. wild shit right there. have something you don't like?? have something that's been pestering you for far too long?? no worries. its the official nag seal of mendokusai !!!!

@lillonvia. sobs. I didn't do the man justice.loud sobs. DFSDDSF YOUR ART MAKES ME WANT TO LIKE DISENTAGRAT INTO GLOWING BALLS oF FUZZ AND FLOAT INTO THE HEAVENS I DONT KNOW HOW ELSE TO DESCRIBE IT. WE ARE SO DELULU oVER XIAO. FOAMS AT THE MOUTH

@absolutelyobsessedkiya. HELP WHY IS MINORI SO BRIGHT.... she's literally shining what. we need to talk more pspsspsp I just now found out that you're a fan of milgram!! remember like last year I was all 'whose that pretty pink person on their pfp??' AND NOW I FINALLY KNOW THATS ITS MUU RAHHHH

@auroratumbles. meow. cat. what a sweetie. I don't even know what my art style is doing here anymore Istg what even. what even BYE LETS TALK ABOUT XIAO LATER !!

@papiliotao. mwah. a kith for you. mWAH. ANOTHER KITH. SJFKSDJFLS GRAHHH YOU ARE THE SW E. E T E ST AND YOUR THE SWEETEST AND YOUR CAT IS THE SWEETEST AND YOUR VOICE IS MAKING ME WANT TO ELEVATE INTO THE CLOUDS AND YOURE SO SILLY EVEN THOUGH YOU DONT LIKE AKITIO SHINONOME

@yinyinggie. hihihi ying !! it honestly amazes me how you're able to juggle so many events and servers at once. im actually in awe. always look at xiao he's so emo and short

@solxima. GRAHHH HI. I DONT LIKE HOW JINGYUAN LOOKS IN THIS BUT. DLJFLSDJ DIES> I CANT DO THIS AN Y M O RE. your honor. hes so cat coded hes so cat coded he's so PERISHS

@yelshin. WAIIIIT NO YOUR NAME GOT CUT OFF> iM SORRY. I don't know why he looks... so r e g a l in this but its definitely giving off oRAtRice MecAnIquE DAnAlySe CARdiNAle .

@vennnnn-diagram. LOUD SCREAMING N O . YOUR NAME GOT CUT OFF TOOOODJSKFLSD JGAIJFAD JKLJFD:LFS. anyways. I need to see nahida smiling more she deserves everything and then some. aranaras are so silly giggles

@lume-nosity. I hold the slightest bit of guilt for putting your angsty ish drawing right next to happy lil nahida buT AHAHAH IT MAKES IT HURT MORE IG. took some inspo from your blog title... mwah ily lume. I WAS SO SCARED TO TALK TO YOU AT FIRST WHEN I SENT YOU THAT MOOT ASK BUT I AM EVER SO HAPPY THAT I DID !!!

th end. im actually so dead lmao my fingers actually were starting to bleed afklsdjfaskdjfklsdjflkasdjflksjflkjowejtoij enjoy your Christmas gifts mooties !! if anyone asks why I haven't been posting fics as promised. this is why. ill be in a coffin for a while please let my soul rest

OH AND FORGOT TO MENTION I DREW THESE BASD ON THE MOOTIES THAT COMMNTED ON MY THINGY LIKE LAST WEEK WHICH ASKED WHICH CHARACTER THY WANTD I LOVE YOU ALL PSPS I PROMIS

[soulofapatrick]

Everything to me - Stiles Stilinski x Female Reader 

Summary: You return to Beacon Hills after being away for a year

Words 2.1K

Warnings: none 

Y/N's POV

As I drive up the narrow, winding trail to the newly rebuilt Hale House, my heart pounds in my chest with a force that feels almost supernatural in its intensity. The familiar landscape of Beacon Hills blurs past the windows, and each turn of the wheel brings me closer to a confrontation I've been dreading for the past year. The supernatural world that once fascinated me had become a nightmare, and the war with the hunters left scars deeper than any physical wound. The most significant of those scars is the bite I received, a mark of the werecoyote now a part of me. The fear of rejection, of being an outcast in the pack I once called family, gnaws at me relentlessly.

Leaving without a word, without a goodbye, was the hardest decision I've ever made. I remember the night vividly, the moon high in the sky, casting eerie shadows as I slipped away. I couldn’t bear to see the confusion, the hurt, in their eyes. I didn’t want to face their questions or their possible rejection. So, I ran. Chicago became my refuge, its bustling streets and unfamiliar faces a strange comfort. An old family friend helped me regain control over my new werecoyote side, teaching me to harness my abilities and temper the beast within. But no amount of control can temper the anxiety coursing through me now as I approach the Hale House.

The mansion looms ahead, a testament to the resilience of my friends. Its imposing structure is both a symbol of strength and a reminder of everything I left behind. As I park the car and cut the engine, the silence is deafening. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white with tension. I sit there for a moment, trying to steady my breathing, but the mix of anticipation and fear swirls within me like a storm.

What if they don’t want me back? The question haunts me, each scenario playing out in my mind. I picture Lydia’s disappointment, Scott’s silent judgment, the pack turning their backs on me. What if I’ve been replaced, my absence a void too painful to fill? What if they see me as a traitor, someone who abandoned them in their time of need? The thought is almost too much to bear, and for a moment, I consider turning the car around and fleeing once more. But I can’t. I need to face them, to face the consequences of my actions.

I barely have time to unbuckle my seatbelt before a high-pitched squeal pierces the air. Lydia’s voice. I turn just in time to see her racing towards me, her red hair a bright streak against the backdrop of the mansion. The next moment, I’m nearly knocked off my feet as she collides with me, her arms wrapping around me in a hug that’s as fierce as it is unexpected. My arms come up automatically, hugging her back, and a wave of relief washes over me. Oh god, I’ve missed my best friend.

Over Lydia’s shoulder, I see the others emerging from the house, their faces a mix of shock, curiosity, and wariness. I know what they must be thinking. I left without a word, disappearing into the night like a ghost. I see the questions in their eyes, the unspoken accusations. But there’s something else too—a glimmer of hope, of welcome. Maybe, just maybe, I haven’t lost them entirely.

A sharp sting on my cheek snaps me back to the present, and I wince as Lydia pulls back, her glare intense enough to make me squirm. “What the hell were you thinking? Leaving like that!” Her voice is a mix of anger and relief, and I can’t blame her for either emotion.

“I—” I start to explain, but the words catch in my throat. How do I explain the fear, the desperation that drove me away? Before I can find the words, Scott steps forward, sweeping me into a hug. His embrace is strong and comforting, a silent promise that he’s still here for me. He murmurs something into my hair, but I can’t make out the words. It doesn’t matter. The fact that he’s holding me, accepting me, is enough.

Scott finally releases me, holding me at arm’s length, and my gaze shifts to the figure standing on the porch steps. Stiles. The one person who knew where I was, who called me every night to make sure I was okay. Those calls were my lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness. We shared secrets, fears, and feelings we never dared to voice before. His sleep-filled voice was my anchor, and now, seeing him in person, my heart aches with the need to close the distance between us.

Scott finally releases me, holding me at arm’s length, and my gaze shifts to the figure standing on the porch steps. Stiles. The one person who knew where I was, who called me every night to make sure I was okay. Those calls were my lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness. Every night, no matter what, we would talk. It didn’t matter if it was a late-night shift for him or a sleepless night for me. We never missed a call.

Each full moon was a torment. The change would ripple through me, and the urge to succumb to the primal urges of the werecoyote was overwhelming. But Stiles was always there. On those nights, he would stay on the line for hours, his voice a soothing presence. He’d tell me about everything happening in Beacon Hills—the latest supernatural drama, mundane school gossip, even funny anecdotes about his day. He had a way of making me feel like I was still a part of their world, even from hundreds of miles away.

“I wish you were here,” I would whisper into the phone, my voice trembling as the moon’s influence grew stronger.

“I know,” he’d reply softly, his voice laced with the same longing I felt. “Just hang on, okay? We’ll get through this together.”

His words were like a balm, easing the pain and fear that came with each transformation. Stiles kept me anchored, his presence—albeit virtual—a lifeline I clung to desperately. He’d talk me through the worst of it, his voice a constant reminder that I wasn’t alone, that someone cared deeply for me.

But talking on the phone is one thing; seeing him in person now, standing just a few feet away, is another entirely. My heart races as I take a step closer, memories of our late-night conversations flooding my mind. The anxiety that had been a constant companion for the past year now mingles with a different kind of nervousness—the fear that the connection we shared over the phone might not translate to reality.

“Excuse me, Scotty,” I mutter, gently wriggling out of Scott’s grip. I take a cautious step towards Stiles, my heart pounding even harder. He stands there, fidgeting nervously, his eyes darting away when they meet mine. His uncertainty mirrors my own, but beneath it, I see the same longing, the same hope that kept us connected all those nights.

“Stiles,” I whisper his name as I stop in front of him, my voice trembling. He looks up, his eyes searching mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. I see the worry, the fear of rejection, mirrored in his gaze, but also the unwavering affection that has always been there.

“Hi,” he says softly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit I’ve come to recognise. The sight makes my heart swell with affection, and I can’t hold back any longer. I reach out, my hands gently cupping his face, forcing him to look at me.

Scott finally releases me, holding me at arm’s length, and my gaze shifts to the figure standing on the porch steps. Stiles. The one person who knew where I was, who called me every night to make sure I was okay. Those calls were my lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness. Every night, no matter what, we would talk. It didn’t matter if it was a late-night shift for him or a sleepless night for me. We never missed a call.

Each full moon was a torment. The change would ripple through me, and the urge to succumb to the primal urges of the werecoyote was overwhelming. But Stiles was always there. On those nights, he would stay on the line for hours, his voice a soothing presence. He’d tell me about everything happening in Beacon Hills—the latest supernatural drama, mundane school gossip, even funny anecdotes about his day. He had a way of making me feel like I was still a part of their world, even from hundreds of miles away.

“I wish you were here,” I would whisper into the phone, my voice trembling as the moon’s influence grew stronger.

“I know,” he’d reply softly, his voice laced with the same longing I felt. “Just hang on, okay? We’ll get through this together.”

His words were like a balm, easing the pain and fear that came with each transformation. Stiles kept me anchored, his presence—albeit virtual—a lifeline I clung to desperately. He’d talk me through the worst of it, his voice a constant reminder that I wasn’t alone, that someone cared deeply for me.

But talking on the phone is one thing; seeing him in person now, standing just a few feet away, is another entirely. My heart races as I take a step closer, memories of our late-night conversations flooding my mind. The anxiety that had been a constant companion for the past year now mingles with a different kind of nervousness—the fear that the connection we shared over the phone might not translate to reality.

“Excuse me, Scotty,” I mutter, gently wriggling out of Scott’s grip. I take a cautious step towards Stiles, my heightened senses picking up every detail. The scent of his anxiety is sharp, mingling with the familiar notes of his cologne and the underlying scent that is uniquely his. But there’s something else, something deeper—an intoxicating mix of love and need that almost makes me dizzy.

“Stiles,” I whisper his name as I stop in front of him, my voice trembling. He looks up, his eyes searching mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. I can practically taste the tension in the air, feel the electric pull between us. His eyes, a rich cognac colour, are filled with a mixture of fear and hope, mirroring my own emotions.

“Hi,” he says softly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit I’ve come to recognise. The sight makes my heart swell with affection, and I can’t hold back any longer. I reach out, my hands gently cupping his face, forcing him to look at me. His skin is warm under my touch, a comforting reminder that this is real.

“I meant everything I said,” I tell him, my voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes widen, and before I can say anything else, he’s moving. His hands grip my shirt, pulling me towards him, and then his lips are on mine.

The kiss is desperate, needy, but it’s perfect. It’s everything I’ve been longing for. His lips are soft yet insistent, moving against mine with a fervour that sends shivers down my spine. I can taste the salt of his tears mingling with our kiss, and it breaks something open inside me. My heightened senses pick up every nuance—the rapid beat of his heart, the warmth of his breath, the faint scent of mint on his lips. It’s overwhelming and beautiful, a sensory overload that drowns out everything else.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he responds in kind, his hands tangling in my hair, holding me as if afraid I might disappear again. The world fades away, and all that exists is the two of us, locked in this embrace, sharing a kiss that speaks of everything we’ve been through and everything we hope for.

“I love you,” he breathes against my lips, his voice raw with emotion. Tears blur my vision, but I smile, whispering the words back to him. “I love you too.” 

In this moment, with Stiles in my arms and the pack around us, I know I’m finally home. Werecoyote or not, nothing will ever tear us apart again.

Teen Wolf Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

@alexxavicry @guacam011y @fandom-princess-forevermore

[sourissad]

Damn i forgot to drop the translation of that fic , shit... I'm not active here like i used to cuz of school and stuff. anyways heres the translation (the fanfic was made by auxy1129 on ao3 go follow them) >>>>>>>>>>>>

The cherry blossoms in late April are in full bloom.

The pale pink petals dance wildly with the morning breeze full of wood fragrance, and finally float in the clear blue sky. As if whispering, everything can be forgiven in the peaceful present.

However, no hints were found. It was mediocre, walking on the depressing concrete sidewalk, and no one stopped to admire it. The car horns on the street were messy and ugly, but the noise was also the voice of people, Kusuo thought.

Anxiety, entanglement, unwillingness, pain... Meaningful and meaningless voices are spinning uncontrollably in my mind. They may be all kinds of life worries and expectations, or they may be bullying, trauma, and depression. The echo creates a huge sense of oppression, and experiencing life over and over again in various voices makes people sometimes feel powerless against the depravity of human nature.

Maybe we're all hopeless.

Kusuo thought, alone in an empty house, with the TV screen in front of him flashing a program that he could no longer stand. His father and mother went on a half-month honeymoon trip, and before Kusuo even woke up, he was buried in the thoughts that followed one after another. Unable to accept it anymore, I decided to skip class. After putting on the germanium ring, it finally turned into the silence that the house should have, and he just needed not to think about what he heard.

Is it growth to ignore those things?

Since he had the ability of telepathy, he was destined not to be an innocent child. He heard too many secrets and ulterior darkness, experienced a process of inconsistency, and lost his expectations for the world from the beginning. This may be the same way that gods hear people's prayers, such as listening to the snow in winter, and it also allows him, who has no emotion, to empathize with the world, even if everything eventually turns to dust after a long time. As a person with super powers, he should be strong and able to withstand it.

They should be saved.

But maybe he has reached a certain critical point after all. He is tired today.

But today, Kusuo repeated it like a mantra.

The sun shines through the window on the ring on the finger, and the silver light shines, and it seems that sinful thoughts have also flashed through. If germanium could interfere with superpowers...

Amidst the chaos, he retrieved enough germanium from the air and turned it into a sharp blade. Silver light shines on his fair and slender wrist, and the blade presses against the skin, leaving a subtle line on it. Kusuo had heard a few people use this method to relieve stress. It was morbid, but it seemed so happy. He didn't think it would bring any happiness, but was attracted by its uncertainty.

Then in an instant, the blade pressed down.

What was shocking was that the invulnerable body was scratched like a white paper, and bright red rushed out, accompanied by pain that was rarely felt before.

Although he didn't feel as happy as he had heard before, before he could react, Kusuo slashed again. His thoughts seemed to be flashing with black void and static electricity, sinking downward from the surface of the body. The pain was unbearable, yet so addictive. He was injured and bleeding like an ordinary person, and for a moment he seemed to have really forgotten his differences. Kusuo's body was shaking uncontrollably, his breathing gradually quickened, and he was sweating profusely.

The carpet in the living room was dyed red with blood, and untimely Manzhushahua bloomed everywhere. He raised the blade and was about to make the next cut...

"Kusuo"

A gentle, yet unmistakable voice came from the limiter.

"Kusuo, put the knife down," Saiki Kusuke said.

...! The blade fell while trembling, but Kusuo's panic continued to increase, he was hyperventilating, and the room continued to twist and shrink.

"Apart from...staring at...me...all day long...you have...nothing else..." What should I do if Kusuke sees me? He wanted to use telepathy to shout at him, telling him to leave him alone, but the two of them were too far apart, and he could only say these words intermittently as he was suffocated.

"Go away..." My head started to hurt.

"Kusuo, it's okay, come to me now, come to your brother." He reassured him word by word. Kusuo also understood and knew that this was an order he could not disobey. So he stood up unsteadily and moved to Kûsuke's side instantly.

Kusuo lost strength and was about to fall down, but Kûsuke caught him and gently stroked his spasming back with his slender hands.

"Kusuo, listen to me, don't be afraid, it's okay. Breathe according to my rhythm, inhale, one, two, three, four; exhale, one, two, three, four. Do it again, inhale..."

Kusuo tried to keep up with the rhythm, but kept failing and coughing. The saliva that flowed down uncontrollably stained Kûsuke's clean lab coat, but he didn't push Kusuo away even once.

He just slowly counted his breaths.

"It's okay...one, two, three, four, spit..."

After a few minutes, the pale pink-purple eyes slowly regained focus, although they were still dazed and deeply tired after regaining consciousness. Kûsuke watched Kusuo's blinking speed gradually slow down and made a decision, "Let's go to bed." He said, lifting the exhausted Kusuo horizontally and heading to the rest area in the laboratory, even though he struggled to move around on his own.

Before going to bed, Kusuo was about to take off his ring, but Kûsuke stopped him.

"Just rest quietly for a while. I will always stay by your side to protect you."

I won't let anyone hurt my lovely brother

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

Perhaps it was the silence of the laboratory, or perhaps the presence of Kûsuke made the atmosphere too comfortable, so Kusuo closed his eyes.

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

He quietly raised his arm that had fallen off the bed. The shocking wound on his wrist had long since healed. Kûsuke finally stopped to think from the chaotic situation.

°. °. °. °. °.

Today should have been an ordinary morning, but in the middle of the experiment, the computer suddenly sounded an injury warning coming from Kusuo's limiter. What kind of disaster could make Kusuo bleed? Kûsuke even turned on the computer with some excitement at that time, but when he tried to locate it, he found that Kusuo was still at home. He felt something was wrong and hurriedly switched to the monitor in the living room.

However, what hurt Kusuo was not the disaster that destroyed the universe, but Kusuo himself, with a knife made casually with super powers.

He had never seen Kusuo display such strong negative emotions, permeating everything with confusion and pain. At that time, for the first time, Kûsuke longed to have the same superpower as his younger brother, to be able to move to his side instantly and stop him before it started; he also wanted to break down, blame himself for his incompetence, and close the stopping lines in his heart layer by layer. Stand between two people. It's a pity that he is still a mortal after all, and he is even the source of the burden on the gods just like everyone else. But they found a way to give him a little rest, using small germanium elements to cleverly compose something to remove Kusuo's defenses. Then, during his rest, Kûsuke will protect him, not as a believer to protect the gods, but as an elder brother caring for his younger brother, nothing more...

Holding the hand that looked immature compared to his, Kûsuke never let go for a moment.

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

The moment he opened his eyes, a dizzying pain followed. The oozing fatigue accused him of dragging him down into the abyss again, but Kusuo did not dare to close his eyes out of fear. Looking around, the light in the room was very comfortable, with a slight warm yellow in the dimness, which soothed the throbbing head. As he looked at the warmth coming from his palms, Kûsuke, who had taken off his telepathy canceller, was also looking at him.

"Are you awake? Are you feeling uncomfortable somewhere?" Her voice was soft, not to wake Kusuo who was still tired, but also as if he had anticipated his headache.

What Kusuo didn't know was that there were heavy dark circles under his eyes. You didn't need to be a superpower or a genius to see how bad he was at this time.

Kûsuke picked up the glass beside him, "Here, it's water. You need to rest more after what happened." The clear and cold water stayed down his throat, and it was then that Kusuo realized how thirsty he was. The robot next to the door quietly served dinner, which was porridge that was delicious, delicious, yet elegant, and sweet coffee jelly. The shallow stimulation was just right enough not to make Kusuo feel nauseated.

After taking off the ring, it was quiet. There were no people or animals within a radius of 200 meters, only kûsuke's deep thoughts.

"Why take off the telepathy canceller?" Kusuo asked.

"I don't want you to feel stressed, thinking that now I will compete with you in this state to let you relax and recuperate. Moreover, I also hope that you can hear me and truly understand my sincerity," he said.

"We need to talk about today's events. Although the wound will heal quickly, this is not the right approach."

Once the abnormal mood of the morning disappeared, Kusuo returned to his original cold personality, and naturally returned to the state of not sharing himself.

I'm just tired, there's nothing to say...

"I know it's tiring to keep hearing people's voices. Human beings are so ignorant and evil. I know it all too well." Even without mentioning a word, Kûsuke accurately mentioned what was bothering him. After all, he is probably the closest person to a god, Kusuo thought.

"but,"

Kûsuke took a deep breath

"Harming yourself is not an option. It will cause harm to yourself and will not solve the problem." Behind the rational persuasion, there is a question that makes you cry.

"Do you know how scared I was when I saw you hurt? Kusuo."

In fact, even without the use of telepathy, Kusuo knew that every word spoken by Kûsuke was sincere, as evidenced by his eyes full of reluctance and twinkling with tears.

"If you encounter a problem that you can't solve, or even don't want to solve, come to me, dad, mom, and even your friends. We all love you, and you know it."

"So, don't do it again, okay?"

Kusuo finally said, "I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

"So don’t tell them what happened today…"

Kûsuke sighed, "I won't tell them this time. But if I see them again, it won't be like this."

"Yeah."

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

Turning around to look out the window, the sky dimmed unconsciously

The clouds at night are so high.

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

In the end, Kûsuke took a few days' sick leave for Kusuo, forced him to rest in the laboratory for a few days, and promised not to challenge him to wear the ring. It took Kusuo a lot of effort to prevent kûsuke from installing surveillance cameras on the streets. Finally, with the return of Kurumi and Kuniharu Kusuo also followed them home.

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

April has finally passed, the flowers have fallen, and the spring has faded.

However, after spring comes midsummer, the season where you and I were born. This summer is probably destined to be extraordinary.

But I know that I have you and them behind me, and there is a place for me to stay as a mortal.

° ° ° ° ° ° °

He holds me as a flower in spring, and never tires of it. After the flowers fall, he always makes me bloom again.

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AND THATS THE WHOLE FIC i really love this one lol, you should totally try to read Chinese fics they definitely hit different!!

[rawliverandgoronspice]

hey! do you have any thoughts on demise as a looser/more fluid/symbolic/metaphorical figure in the context of the story of the series- like thoughts on what he represents, and stuff like what his curse could mean thematically rather than the more essentialistic absolutistic "literal satan" interpretation that most of the (at least western) audience seems to take?

i know he may be somewhat contentious as a choice introduced by the writers especially considering from an outside perspective what he kind of did to the majority of fandom analysis and discourse, but i've been thinking about how it's quite possible the writers had a more paganistic approach to what it means to be a deity and how demise doesn't even really have a NAME so much as he is supposed to be some sort of manifestation/personification of the concept of demise, and maybe also of hatred, and also i don't know, like, what the point of that hatred is or why there has to be demise/what implications there could be of this worldbuilding

hope that was coherent enough to make sense of anything i just said but yeah i was just curious if you do!

Heyy sorry never replied, replying now!! Thanks for the ask!

Yeah it's exactly how I'm taking Demise, and I think what you mention connects more to what little I know and understand of shintoism.

In French, Demise has an absurdly long name and is basically called "The Avatar of the Void", which I think is... interesting? It makes me extremely curious as to how Demise is called in original japanese --because to me, "Void" is about the absence of things more than their destruction. It's about the absence, not the inevitability of things crumbling down that comes with Demise. I don't know which of these concepts are the closest to the original vision (if it's Void rather than Demise I think it recontextualizes everything we thought we know about this world and characters, but in my opinion it feels too incoherent with the rest of the world, so my guess is that it was a poorly thought-out translation --but I might be wrong!), but to me it's all in the title: Demise. The curse is that every golden era must end with a reckoning.

I think the curse is extremely compelling in that mythological sense, the way Demeter and Persephone's tale is about the joy and pain of passing seasons; it's the given cause for this world's fate as it is condemned to rise and die continuously; and that their eternal, bright future will always be opposed. To be honest, I'm not even sure it's a *bad* thing. Conflict is not only inevitable, it needs to rise to the surface instead of being suppressed to ensure things do not remain stagnant and shortcomings are being acknowledged and addressed --which is also partially why the suggestion of TotK's golden forever after really doesn't sit right with me, especially since nothing was learned and nothing truly changed in the course of its runtime.

I think the curse sucks when people think it means that Ganondorf is a generic evil demon man without motive of his own. It especially grinds my nerves since I somehow never hear this argument being made for *any* other villain in the franchise. I know they look alike the most (and TotK didn't help matters here), but I never *ever* saw people arguing that Vaati doesn't have motive, for example. Or Majora. Or Zant. Or even literal nothing characters like Bellum, who by all means looks more like a primal demonic evil acting on instinct than anyone else. Somehow, we get to assume they have internal motives that, while obviously wicked and self-serving, are their own! But somehow, Ganondorf, the actual main antagonist of his series with the most amount of games hinting at his backstory and internal moral code, gets flattened as an evil puppet with no internal life whatsoever. It's genuinely bizarre.

Anyway sorry sorry! Thanks again for the ask!

[a-thousand-attempted-words]

So you wanna write better

Forests!

Dont worry, its not that hard! By the end of this, you'll most likely have some extra juicy ideas on all the things you can put into your forrest scenes (from a certified "I live next to a forest and also studied this" person).

Ive divided this into Emotions, Smell, Sound, Sight and Feel. Scroll to whichever part you need help with!

The literal forest

Forests are places of change in literature. That doesnt mean every forest needs to change your protagonist. But because they are often vast, unclaimable and dangerous - not to mention mythical and powerful, primal and maybe divine - they tend to have an effect on your protagonist.

A place of change (or power) can mean many things, and depending on your story and your stories culture, this might not apply. But generally speaking, a forest is a large and uncomprehensibly complex thing that provides an opportunity to face nature.

But! Remember that this thinking stems from the culture vs. nature debate in literature and you do not have to follow it.

The natural forest

Emotions

By day, a forest looks very different than by night. Its almost a beast in itself, a gnawing machine that does not care for you.

How does your protagonist feel by day, when everything is bright and loud and endless and green? When water gurgles and birds chirp at them. How do they feel by night, when lack of light makes shadows endless and the reduced sounds echo in a vast and uncaring void? Does their campfire provide enough warmth against the elements? Do they have lanterns, flashlights, specialty goggles that allow them to see? The forest creaks and shouts without them needing to witness it, it echoes and enlarges sounds, swallows them too. Are they familiar with that? Does their heart raise at the foreigness of it all?

Horror

Remember that cityfolk tend to be freaked out by forests much more than ruralfolk. Remember that sounds that could be familiar to you (the creaking of wood with heat and cold, the strange chirps of birds, the blubbering of a spring) could be completely foreign to another. Remember that everything Ive written from here on out relies heavily on familiarity. Remember that the size of a forest also determines how calming it is.

How far are you from civilisation? Who could come to help you? Which animals are out there? Which familiar sights arent around you at the moment?

A forest that leaves you stranded and closed off from civilisation is terrifying to everyone who doesnt know the land. It is a maw. It could bite down any moment. A forest without signs, without manmade paths, without civilisation is a place to die in. Or a place to get lost in. The horror of the forest is the forest itself. Its the fact that you dont know it. It is the fact that it is an endless stretch of unknown that does not care for you.

Sound

Forests are incredibly "loud" in a subtle way. There are always birds, insects, the wind in the leafs, the steps of animals over wood, leafs, water. You can listen to some birdcalls online (some of them are super strange) or search on sites like freesound.org for natural recordings of forests to grasp just how much fucking Sound™ there is. Silence in a forest means bad things. Are the animals dead? Hiding? Where did all the insects go? If there isnt any buzzing, are there still worms? Bugs? What happened to the wind? If your forest is silent, thats a choice. Employ it!

Smell

Forests tend to smell "fresh". I know, that degree really serves me. But in all honesty: You are walking through a natural lung. The air is being filtered 24/7. Forests literally breathe like you and I do and they are excellent at it. If you are closer to running water this increases. After rain, the air has qualities of that grass scent you know from your garden. You also smell a lot of rot. Leafs, trees, dying plants. They tend to smell good to us. The only time that rot becomes unbearable is (afaik) two cases:

The carcass that is rotting is an animal of larger size. Small sized animals dont "smell" unless you're very close to them. And most animals that are small get taken by scavengers. You wont find them rotting, because they will be eaten before you get there. Its only once the carcass is so large that it cant be eaten at once or fast or it has some venomous qualities that you will find rot.

The other options is rot in still water. It wont smell immediately, but still water tends to take on scent after a few days. The scent of still water should be familiar to you from old puddles or algae infested waters. It will be ridden with bacteria and - and dont forget about this - larvae! Amphibians and insects love some stiller waters for that stuff.

Sight

This might be easiest: You've probably seen a forest in your lifetime. I wont bore you with "green leafs" and "blue skies". Instead, lets go over some more uncommon scenarios, often forgotten:

Moss. Moss is everywhere. Its on stones, on wood, on treebarks. There are over a hundred different species of moss. Google them. Moss in itself is a little eco system.

Treewounds (also known as tree cancer). Trees get nibbled on. They get scratched at. They have sicknesses. And then they tend to grow in these tumor looking things. Apart from that, they can have gaping open wounds from broken off branches, from birds pecking into them, from insects infesting them. Trees paint the history and the health of a forest. Take time to mention what they look like.

Pathways. Even if no human (or other protagonist species) has ever set food into your forest. There will be paths in the undergrowth. Paths often traveled by many tiny paws. They tend to lead to other such paths, to water, sometimes to good food sources and to gathering places. You need to train your eye a little but you'll find them.

Nests. For insects, for birds, for everyone involved. Clusters of larvae under bark or stone or attached to ferns, swimming in water, nestled into mud. Birdnests placed into treeholes and cliffsides. Holes in the ground that lead to mice, rabbits, you name it.

Feel

What does a forest feel like? That depends. Bark is incredibly textured. It has valleys and hilltops, it swirls under your fingers like a miniature map of cartography. No bark is the same. Birches are flat, fruit trees are coarser and the older the tree, the gnarlier it is. Look at pictures of trees and look at the bark. Stones can be all kinds of coarse and rough but they are so much softer when overgrown with moss. They are almost like pillows. The pathways are often soft soil, compressed by hundreds of feets. They might have stones in them. Waterbeds are muddy and soft, but oftentimes carry pebbles and other uncomfortable rocks in them. Mud itself is like a very soft peeling. Most dirt in waterbeds has been washed clean and soft by time. The newer a waterbed, the coarser it is. The middle of the riverbed will always be harsher than the sides. Mud deposits as sediment after all. Clay feels soft too. Sticking your feet and hands into the muddier parts of a river is always a gamble. There might be something living there. Be aware.

Oh look, a transition

Hope this helps anyone! Have a great day :)

If you have any further questions or suggestions, do ask!

[lungache]

I can't reply to your post but hello if you want to talk about it i would love to hear EVERYTHING about your thoughts on x men mutants dmbj 👀

I'M MAKING THIS A POST BECAUSE I WANT TO SCREAM ABOUT IT TO AS MANY PEOPLE AS WILL LISTEN. Thank you for giving me this opportunity to yell into the void.

So this isn't an X-Mn AU as much as it is a mutant AU because I think mutants fit really well into the DMBJ universe! Many mutants live and work on the outskirts of society, and the tombs welcome those kinds of outcasts. I also think it would be cool to see teams of graverobbers that have a lot of morlock-types, too. Because this is a place where their powers are useful and can potentially make them money in a world that is otherwise inhospitable. I feel like DMBJ has always written graverobbing as a society outside of society.

I have SO many mutant AUS. So. Many. I have a whole different Pangxie one, but this is the big one that I have that I might actually write.

First and foremost, the M9 are families with generations of mutants who got rich graverobbing who have mutations that are just inherently useful in the tombs AND that allow them to pass as non-mutant. I've been cooking up power groups for the different families but would love input!

Wu Xie: Kate Pryde/Shadowcat

> The ability to phase through objects, walls, and people/intangibility. Disrupts electrical fields. Slight levitation.

I imagine the Wu's having powers along this vein: intangibility, like Wu Xie, some have teleportation (I have another AU where he has Kurt's powers lol), and the like. Obviously, these kinds of powers are just OP in tombs. Being able to phase yourself through walls and potentially through any dangerous traps is a god send, you can understand how with powers like that the Wu's became so wealthy. You can get in and out of there in no time. But have no fear! Wu Xie figures out how to make such a powerful tool into a weapon to use against himself and others completely on accident. You can have intangibility but that doesn't cancel out being clumsy and having rotten luck. I think it could also be interesting for him to still be working out how to use his powers in this context for the first few years and then we see him being an old hat at it in his later years.

(Now, these were NOT selected because of any connection between the characters. It's truly a "I wonder how these characters would utilize these powers" kind of deal, not because I think the characters are alike. HOWEVER, I do think the comparison between the two characters is kind of interesting just because there is the stark development from the naive, bright eyed younger versions of those characters who develop into darker, more jaded people. People who have killed. People who will kill again. And all that.)

Pangzi: Colossus

> Body turns to "organic steel" giving him super strength, endurance, and speed. I've been debating making it so instead of being able to turn his body to metal he is simply metal all the time, unlike Piotr. I haven't decided, though.

Stay with me, here: statuesque, shiny, super strong Pangzi. See, you like it, too! You see the vision! Pangzi already has canonical near-super strength, I see no reason not to make it official. IIRC, Colossus is also, like, Heavier. 500 pounds heavy. So it would make those "you're too heavy" comments they always give Pangzi hold a little more weight (ha). It's a power that would come in handy as a tank in a tomb but also come with its own set of complications, too, that I think would be fun to explore. For example, in TLT2, they do a lot of swimming- in his metal form, Colossus can't swim, he sinks.

(I know it LOOKS like I picked Colossus for Pangzi because I picked Kitty for Wu Xie. I promise I didn't. If for no other reason Pangxie actually STAY married.)

Xiaoge: Wolvrine.

> Do I need to explain this one? Immortality, super healing, adamantium skeleton (given to him by the Zhangs), cool knife hands. 

I may have a love/hate relationship with Logan but my love for Xiaoge is pure and never ending. Alas, they do have the shared life experience of being old as balls and having the memories of swiss cheese.

There's something about Xiaoge having this power set and going through incredible trials to become the man he is today that just make Sense for Zhang Qiling to me. He was chosen because of who he is, WHAT he is. He's been boiled down to what he can do and used as a weapon, a tool in a lot of ways. He also has such a complicated relationship with death and dying, something that adds flavor to his title to me? (Has Logan ever met death? I know Wade has a whole relationship with her, and he got his powers from Logan's DNA. Xiaoge having met death would be FASCINATING.)

And? Honestly? I just think Xiaoge should have blades in his knuckles, that just sounds dope as hell and he deserves them.

I know them having these powers takes away some of the DANGER involved in the series. They are way, way less likely to die- which, to me, just means the tombs should try harder.

Also debating between making Hei Xiazi Mystique (the POTENTIAL of him being a shapeshifter is OFF THE CHARTS, plus she is already immortal) or Destiny (precognition, blind character who is able to "see" because she is able to see the future a few seconds ahead). Both are juicy.

I would love to talk to people about this, about other versions of this AU, about places you agree/disagree, anything and everything. DM me? We can chat here or on discord!

[kozykricket]

havent been very active on tumblr, for no reason in particular. anyways, as a risk of rain fan, i must clarify my opinions on the SOTS release

i think we can all agree on "the dlc is great content"

but anyways, its clear to me that the devs are people who care and are passionate about ROR as a series and about keeping ror2 going as well. i mean, hopoo and ghor have said as much! and their community manager seems nice i really dont blame the actual DLC team, because like. its always rude to just point fingers at the people who are just doin' darn good work. point fingers at the executive decision makers i think uh, the unification of console and pc code is... well, ill miss the old codebase, but honestly? the fact they've rewritten the games code from the ground up basically... tells me that they're in it for the long-ish haul. that they dont want to just drop ror2. they want to make their own basis that they can cleanly work on and continue this game into its second life of sorts i guess its like a soft reset of development - everythings jank like early access now. but itll get better is the current ror team the best at making decisions for the game? maybe not, but i really dont think they're malicious

its funny though, because the 2 things i was worried about was "oh gearbox is totally gonna mess up the lore with weird inconsistencies and it wont feel right, and they'll add powercreep" but honestly. imma be real, knowing some stuff ghor has said about his intentions behind the lore (shoutouts to Ghor btw, hes done so much for both the lore and the... well, the creation and foundation of risk of rain 2s codebase as a whole. the more i look into ghor, the more i realize he truly is mr ror2) anyways knowing his intentions with certain things, i can say... the Anniversary Update and SOTV actually messed up lore more than SOTS has, lol. the lores well done in SOTV. the non-lore-important logs kinda suck though, they're clearly unfinished. but i think... what they lacked was Time. Time, to complete the clean unification of code ... and for general polish. so i say we give them what randy pitchfork didnt. lets give them time, aight? im not super happy with the idea of a ror2: bedrock edition future, but... i think if the right balancing tweaks are done, then things can look pretty bright. and they do seem to want to listen to the community (though i doubt randy pitchfork wants them to. heck CEOs)

and as for powercreep? lmao we got the opposite, the items are almost too underpowered.

AS for the dlc content, i think seeker is goated. really fun character to play. chef is... undercooked tbh, jank m1. still havent gotten the third survivor, though i know who it is, and seems pretty well done minus the lack of visual and audio feedback / game-feel i think the stages are fantastic, the music is as always banger, and honestly the items are like. really CLOSE to being interesting. like noxious thorn? a green item that plays with debuffs? very cool. but why is it "on taking damage" and. i dunno, instead of adding more stacks of debuffs, i'd make it spread those debuffs to more enemies! knockback fin should be turned into a void of stun grenade if you have both DLCs on, tbh. so yeah, im. cautiously optimistic for the future. dont fall for all of the doomerisms that the youtubers are trying to spread - they're doing that to apply pressure to gearbox, mostly. which is fair, but its also fearmongering kinda. and like actual devs dont seem too concerned for the games future im just hoping that everyone who has been involved with ror2... has a good future. i dont want gearbox to just cut off the ror2 team, and i hope ghor can find whatever he needs

[shattereddarknessau]

…. *the mysterious skeleton turns to face you*

So… it’s you huh….? I suppose you’re here to listen to this unfortunate backstory? Perhaps here to grant me your pity?

Now……I suppose I could tell you what happened. Not that I highly doubt you’ll be interested……hm? What’s that? …..You are?

…..*sighs* Fine. If you insist. I shall tell you the story of how Rubytale ceased to be. *the mysterious skeleton reaches for the book, and begins reading the story*

“Once apon a time, two races ruled the land, humans…and monsters. The two races were ruled by two leaders King Topaz, and Queen Aquamarine. One day, The Crystal Ruby of Balance grew out of control, causing the entire AU to vanish of the maps, and...” *he stops reading for a second*

Wait a minute….*the mysterious skeleton  turns to the pages, to find false information*No….T-This is not right. It’s all wrong. Nothing in this book is right! It doesn’t talk about the REAL story at all. They’re leaving out the tragic events of his childhood. There was no “King Topaz”, damn those delusional authors. Always spreading lies about history.

…. They’re choosing to forget what REALLY happened to my people. *he disintegrates the book of lies*

I think it’s about time you learn the real story of Rubytale, the true tale.

On day, a selfish soul decided to steal the crystal to absorb its magic for their own greedy desires, oblivious to the horrible fate they have brought upon innocent people.

The crystal was the only thing keeping the world together, it was known to guarded for centuries, people praised the crystal, as if it were a might god, however, the guards had grew lazy over time, letting it slip into the wrong hands.

To the sound of footsteps approaching, the selfish soul dropped the 2,000 year old crystal on the ground and ran away in a panic to save their own skin, leaving the AU and the damaged artifact behind. The guards came back to see what the selfish individual had done.

“Oh the horror, The Crystal Ruby of Balance has been damaged, we’re all done for!!” said one of the guards in a state of fear. In a moment of despair and sadness, they dropped to their knees and begged the magic crystal for forgiveness, but it was too late.

A bright glow begin to emerge from the crystal, blinding everyone in the room, it rose to the sky like a big shining star, and began striking everything in its path.

An emergency evaluation was scheduled that morning, screams of terror can be heard all across New Home City, the crystal blocked the light of the sun itself, causing the sky to become too bright for the eyes…

Broken pieces of the crystal had formed into giant meteors that came crashing down on buildings and homes. By the afternoon, the entire city was destroyed, with some civilians injured and others killed.

The last remaining survivors ran and ran as fast as they could, yet they were no much for the rubies destructive power. No one was spared, and they were wiped out without a trace.

……

….My apologies, I shall keep reading for you.

The queen simply watched, frozen in horror of watching the entire earths population in the AU parish so easily. She knew there was not enough time left, so she grabbed her ten year old son and used her last remaining bit of magic to send him to a safe place somewhere in the multi-verse.

She had a granted him a staff as well known as ‘The summoner’ which will allow him to summon any Sans at his disposal to help him in time of need as well as travel to other worlds.

However, the child couldn’t get it to work, no matter how hard he tried. He was sent to void between the fabric of time known as the “Timespace”, it was like an empty canvas, nothing to see yet.

With his world gone forever and everyone he cared about, he cried for hours and hours, he screamed for help, he sat for hours hoping someone would COME TO HIS AID AND TELL HIM THAT EVERYTHING WAS GOING TO BE OKAY….that he was safe now….that someone now cares for him…

..And yet….NOBODY CAME… “Where is my savior?” he said…

“Where was my happy ending damn it?! I don’t deserve to suffer like this!” The child shouted in a fit of rage.

“The story is incomplete there has to be more to it than this… this can’t be my fate. It just can’t be, someone has to come for me, they just gotta!”

The child repeatedly said to himself every day, hoping to keep his sanity alive, as the the days became weeks, and the weeks became months, and months became years.

The years of isolation and loneliness took every last bit of a motion that poor child had left in his heart, he grew emotionless, dull, unable to smile again. He swore to kill the bastard responsible, and when he did, he would bathe in their blood.

And would you like to know who the child was?

That child….was ME….

The End of Dark’s Backstory.

(P.S The art was drawn by his younger self to explain his POV of the story and how it affected him badly)

Original Rubytale by (rubytale-chapter2)