#horribly lit and hard to color as always though

[landonkirbyappreciation]

endless gifs of Landon Kirby (21/?)

[rileysluvr]

almost 4k words of john price and throat fucking omg i love old men. this one is a little crazy i won’t lie guys my bad

“Hi, Captain,” you smile, closing the door behind you. “What are you up to?”

He hadn’t bothered lifting his head from the documents in his hand when he heard the knocking on his door, nor to bark a gruff order of entry. He simply doesn’t have the time to. When he catches sight of you in his peripheral, though, with that sweet as sugar voice greeting him like a heaven-sent amusement, he does suppose a short break won’t horribly kill him. You are always reminding him he works too hard, anyway.

Your presence is always sure to cheer him up. Whether it be on a day where far too much is happening for his brain to keep up, or one that progresses so slowly he can actually feel himself aging in real time; you show up near the end, all spry and dolled up for him, and he’s sure to forget all about even the shittiest of days. You’ve just got that sort of delightful energy to you.

“The usual paperwork, nothin’ exciting.” He taps his cigar on the corner of the ashtray in front of him, just next to a glass with a thin line of brown liquid he’d been working on. Whiskey, presumably. “Why?”

The room is lit a dull color, easier on the eyes. He always liked things that were easy on the eyes, yourself included.

The admiration for warm, maybe even domestic comfort like this, comes free with the job, and he’d be a fool to not notice the sweet girl in front of him who fits all the requirements and more. Actually pursuing it, however, without the childish sneaking around; that’s a whole ‘nother ball game, trickled with millions of obstacles of every kind.

“No reason. Just that you’ve been in here a while,” you say as you walk over to him, hands clasped behind your back. “And we all missed you at the bar.”

He drops everything—cigar hits glass, documents hit desk, hardened manner going unnourished—and pushes his chair back. Your eyes instantly fall to see how his legs are spread naturally, big and just begging for you to come closer. You’re not going to pass up the opportunity.

He jeers, arms crossed over his expansive chest. “So you’ve come here to save me, is that it?”

“Maybe not save you.” You step between his knees, wondering when his posture had dropped so that he was leaning farther back, hips forward and closer to the chair's edge. Like he’s showing himself off, welcoming you to take a bite. You’re not going to refuse him. “But I can always try my best to help.”

He’s no idiot. He knows what you’re suggesting; you’ve done it plenty before, without fault. He just wants to hear it in that unabashed and wildly indecorous tone of yours. “And how are you going to do that?”

Bottom lip stuck between your teeth for a moment, balancing back and forth between your heels and toes. Your head tilts down a bit but your eyes stay on his figure, like a cheeky pout.

“Lemme suck your cock?”

He heartily laughs at your proposal. “Right now? While I’m working?”

“I promise it’ll be quick,” you pry, in that dangerously, easily seductive voice of yours. You’re dangerous. You’re the only one who’s capable of breaking the bond between the captain and the work he’s bound and effectively caged himself to.

“You’re a devil, y’know that?” The disapproval in his voice is entirely for show, and you seek out that playful coyness in his tone like it’s your favorite candy. “How do you expect me to say no to that? ‘Specially with a pretty girl like you offering?”

He looks you up and down, from smile to hips, and it’s like his stare holds the power of a thousand daggers, each piercing blade laced with arousal and relentlessly digging into your soft skin. God, you really are just a needy thing for him, aren’t you?

He clicks his tongue, eyes landing on yours after practically stripping you bare in his head. Let him finish his work and it doesn’t have to be left up to the imagination, he reasons with himself. “You can’t wait ‘til I’m finished with all this?”

“But I want to now,” you pout, head tilting to the side and making it far too difficult for your captain to deny you.

You play it up, dramatizing your disappointment with the idea of him so invested in his work rather than what you’re offering. Though, it certainly isn’t entirely a charade; you fear that a few tears may actually prick through if he turns you down. Then he definitely wouldn’t have it in him to send you away.

He glances to each side of the room, thinking on what he’s already sure of. He has to appear at least slightly annoyed, otherwise he loses all authority to a tricky thing like you. An inkling of his hesitation is real, but not for longer than a second.

He sighs, “Alright, then. Knees.”

You give a great smile of pure excitement over victory before doing as he so vaguely ordered, sinking to your knees with a helpful hand on his thigh. Even through cargo pants and a military-green fleece jacket, your mind is doing cartwheels thinking about what’s beneath the baggy, yet so tight around the arms and chest, clothes. And he can’t deny the same thoughts for you, dressed in your issued getup as well.

“You lock the door?”

You shake your head; there’s that cheeky look on your face again, except it’s somehow infinitely better when you’re knelt between his legs rather than standing upright. He’ll take it either way. You’re his favorite vice, by far.

He scolds you with the click of his tongue. “Then you better get on with it, right? ‘Less you want someone to walk in and find you down there, now.”

You giggle, telling him all he needs to know. You wouldn’t mind being caught all that much.

“Oh, you naughty thing…” He shakes his head, “Pretty little devil, like I fuckin’ said.”

You grip and pull at his cargoes, growing impatient. “Can’t help it, Sir. Wanna be your girl.”

“You are my girl, sweetheart.” His big hands soothe over the sides of your head, cupping your cheeks as if you held more value than any prized possession. “You know you’re my good girl, don’t you?”

You nod with a sultry hum, just like you do every time he tells you that. Your hands glide up his thighs and reach up to the buckle of his belt, pulling the leather loose as the clanging of the metal rings in your ears. With his elbow on the armrest of his chair to prop up his head, watching your hands work at unzipping his pants with your big eyes looking right up at his stern ones.

Palming him through the clothing a few times, your mouth watering and lips aching to wrap around the fat, hardening cock beneath your fingertips. You can see the glint of adoration in the blown out centers of his eyes, a smirk crept onto his face. Like a king sat on his throne with prey presented at his feet, and you surely make the prettiest prey.

When you’ve got his cock out, you waste no time in wrapping your fingers around the base and sticking your tongue out flat to lick a languid strip up the entire length of him. He groans lightly, though it turns throatier when the tip of your tongue reaches the head of his cock, precum salty on your tastebuds and a bitterness your body learned to miss after mere days of going without it. You know where he’s most sensitive under your tongue, and you begin to play into it instantly.

He grits his teeth with a quick hiss, though he’s so quick to compose himself. “Haven’t got all night, sweets. Suggest you stop your teasin’ and get on with it.”

You take him in your mouth, head of his cock nudging the roof of your mouth as you work to fit more of him. Relaxing your jaw to get used to his unruly size, earning an appraising mutter of a swear from under his breath. Sucking on him like your favorite flavor of lollipop, drool spilling from the corners of your lips.

Making such a mess before you even take him down your throat, faint strings of saliva tickling your chin and sending waves of cool liquid down his spine when it drips onto skin still untouched and unwarmed by your mouth.

You ease more of him past your tongue until he hits the back of your throat, a muffled moan coming from you having his cock twitching in your mouth. He rolls his shoulders back, actually giving into comfort. “Fuck. Jus’ like that, lovie…take your time.”

Even when he’s off the field, he’s still going to coach you through your tasks like a good captain does. No matter how overbearing it gets, no matter how obvious the cues. You’re his responsibility, and he’s always going to watch after you.

Your hand that’s wrapped around his cock proceeds with languid strokes up the length of what you don’t reach with your lips. You trace a vein with your thumb and bend your wrist a bit; anything to boost his pleasure, and anything to get the chance to consume said pleasure like it’s your first and final meal.

He pushes your fallen hair out of the way, tucked behind your ear so you can better choke on his cock without a single distraction. So he can see that pretty face of yours going all dumb, lips stretched around the sheer size of him as that view he loved more than any.

“Keep goin’, sweetheart, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” His big hands hold the sides of your head in a way that really makes you feel treasured without force. You swallow around his cock and he huffs a heavy breath.

The hand on the back of your head is getting heavier and heavier as you bob up and down on his cockhead, and a sick part of you just wants him to shove your skull fully down and make you to take all of him without a breath to yourself, nor a single care spared from him.

“Christ, this mouth of yours…gonna be the death’a me.”

He reaches forward to pluck his still-burning cigar from the ashtray, tapping it against the glass once before bringing it to his lips. He takes a long drag from the dry, rolled paper, and the sight has your efforts of properly sucking his cock faltering just a bit. His other hand, remaining on the nape of your neck, urges you to keep going with a nice squeeze, so you do.

Smoke spills from his mouth and clouds the air around you, and not once does he take his eyes off yours. The scent of tobacco and burnt paper spins your head around in all the best ways; that smoky aroma that lingered from the moment you walked in the door is nothing but homey.

You swallow around the head of his cock again, and he just about loses it. Every word he says is so breathy and spent, yet so authoritative as usual. “Yeah, keep doin’ that right there, love. Fuckin’ brilliant.”

You push on, doing your best to make him feel good. All you’ve ever wanted was to make him proud.

And he is proud of you, beyond what words can describe.

You’re valuable to him both off and on the field, and the progress he’s watched you make while under his command is mind-reeling. He takes pride in having you on his team, to himself. He revels in the fact that he was the first cock you’ve ever taken in your mouth and now you do it on your own volition almost flawlessly, every time, always with a devoted gleam in your naive eyes that nearly suffocates him.

Your tongue glides up to pay more attention to the tip of him, causing him to muffle a groan between his teeth and shove you back down in an instant, almost too hard. You whine around his length and widen your eyes at the sensation of his cockhead hitting farther than what you had progressed to. A gagged noise fills the space and your eyes squeeze shut, only opening when he’s gently pulling your head back.

“Already strugglin’?” He takes you all the way off his cock and you gasp out. You hadn’t even realized how you were depriving yourself of air, though the shock mainly comes from how uncomfortably empty your mouth has become, so suddenly.

“Let me fuck this pretty throat, love. Y’gonna let me do that?” Care laces his voice and it’s near hypnotizing, so much so you’re entirely deaf to the slightest tone of mockery beneath it. “Be easier on the both of us.”

You nod as best you can with a spinning mind, and it’s so utterly desperate that it would surely bring shame to your name. A pleading mantra repeats itself in your mind, running through every possibility you can think of that consists of him using you in ways both pleasant and torturous, yet all landing around the same area; if he feels good, you do too. And if you’re on the brink of passing out from whatever he’s subjected you to, and you keep going because nothing would kill you worse than to fail him? Well, then he feels pretty fucking good himself.

He leans forward to abandon his cigar; it’s not like he needs both hands to use you however he’d like, no. He just loves to have his touch encasing you, feel the way your head gets heavier and easier to maneuver as you go on. Leaning into him, drooling all over his palms; the more control he has, the better.

The big hand on the back of your neck is moving up to lock into your hair, a snicker being heard from above as your mind goes numb. He spares a quick glance at the door, returning to you as fast as he left.

He’s a mixed blessing; he cradles your face in his calloused palm and collects your hair in a messy ponytail, the roughness of his skin alone speaking volumes of what he’d do for you. How he’d always protect you, before he’s tugging tight and pulling you up to your knees and off your haunches, impossibly and overwhelmingly closer so you can better gag and choke around him without backing out.

You take your own hand from his cock and land it on his knee, giving him full reign.

“Good girl.” He eases you off of him before he’s slowly pushing you back down, this time with added inches of his cock in your throat. Both of his bruty hands encase your head like he’s just come into possession of a priceless jewel, and in his eyes the analogy doesn’t lapse far from the truth. “My good fuckin’ girl.”

He repeats the process until he’s fully fucking your skull like a fleshlight, though ever-so nice with it. He keeps the same pace you had set for yourself, and he refuses to push you entirely down to where your nose would make contact with the ending hem of his fleece zip-up. At least not yet, anyways.

You open up the best you can for him, until you’re scared your jaw will lock up on you or even unhinge. You squeeze a thumb in your fist, curl your toes in your steel-cased boots, ship your mind off to somewhere else. Remind yourself over and over how much you value his pleasure; anything to keep your body from rejecting his bully of a dick in your mouth.

“That’s it, lovie. Easier like this, ain’t it? S’just like I told you.”

You spiritually agree, convinced that this was your true purpose in life. If you aren’t pleasing your superior—the one who has always been there for you to lean on, cry on, save you from your own stupidity—then you aren’t really living.

“Christ. Letting me use this tiny mouth like you’ve got no shame, eh? No dignity?” He laughs in your face, and you’re only able to flutter your droopy eyelids in response, tear after tear overflowing to your cheeks with each blink. He pushes your head down rougher. “It’s a good thing ya don’t…be no fun if you actually gave a shit ‘bout your humility. Your fuckin’ career…just so you can be your captain’s perfect, little fucktoy.”

He’s laughing again; he doesn’t give two shits right now, as he’s pressing your head down and fucking your face harder than ever. He’s murmuring more to himself than anything. “Don’t know if I should scold you or applaud you for it.”

He pulls you off him for a moment and you catch your breath like a madwoman, coming close to choking on the saliva that pools in your mouth. Tears fall freely from your burning eyelids, rolling down your cheeks and dripping onto his cargoes while your pinkened, glassy eyes don’t leave his worshiping ones.

He’s prying your jaw wider and pushing you back down before you can even think.

“Cryin’ and gagging ‘round my cock isn’t gonna make it any better, honey.” He grinds his teeth, telling you sweetly, “C’mon, you’re almost there. You’ve got this, baby.”

Your jaw hurts like hell, a familiar soreness you could never learn to simply get used to. Though, it’s a pain you so easily ignore each time. You suck it up and pull through like the good soldier you are, wishing for it not to go unnoticed by the teacher. And he always notices, just like he does your breaking and pleasure points. He wouldn’t push you terribly too far.

One of his hands falls to land on your neck, thumb reaching around until his grip is fully and loosely wrapped around your neck. Until he feels the bump of his cock moving in and out of your esophagus under the pad of his thumb, protruding up and down beneath his knuckles. It gets him higher than any drink or cigar ever could, even the rush of a battlefield can’t compete.

“Fuckin’ A, sweetheart, that’s it. Perfect, little thing.”

You’re doing too good of a job for him to even think of making a snarky comment about how much you must love having him so deep down your throat. He knows the answer well enough, and it shows through the glistening tears in your eyes and the willing, faithful hands practically anchored to his knees.

His grunts become more gravelly and common as he gets closer to finishing. It’s a prospect that bubbles deep in your belly, like his orgasm was worth far more than any pleasure to yourself at this point.

“Tell me. Y’want me to paint this pretty face?” he proposes, all exasperated but still so fucking cocky. You’re dizzy, lightheaded, every other word that could be used to describe the out-of-body feeling of him treating your body so harshly, in the nicest, most giving way possible. It’s visceral, really.

“Or should I come down this throat instead?” he pants. A smirk plasters itself onto his lips, though you don’t think it ever left in the first place. “You’d like that, wouldn’t ya, sweetheart?”

You can’t even respond, apart from your strengthening grip on his knees and the flexing and tightening of your neck muscles around him. He scoffs above you, but it’s loving. “Throat it is.”

It’s only a few more thrusts of pushing your head down to the base of his cock until his hand is stuttering in its movements, and he’s holding you in place as he spills his hot cum down your raw throat. A deep, long groan emits from his own, and it’s well-earned music to your ears with the way it vibrates in his throat as his head is thrown back. At least, the bits of his high that aren’t drowned out by your own struggling are a nicer gift than you could ever ask for.

You can’t breathe as he does this, and it’s even worse than when he was relentlessly shoving his cock down your throat; you can only think to swallow until he’s satisfied. You can only writhe and cry beneath him and try to savor the feeling of making him feel so good, until you have no choice but to beat your hand down on his muscular thigh to let you up for air.

He listens, but not without a laugh that would make him seem evil if you didn’t know him well enough as the compassionate captain with a warmer heart than most would imagine. He rips your mouth off his cock, yanking your head back at a rate that has you stumbling backwards on your ass and palms on the hard floor, under his old, wooden desk.

He watches on as you feverishly catch your breath, him as well but not nearly as crazed as you, gasping for air with your chest heaving up and down and a hand clasped to your neck. Attempts at blinking away your teary vision, your other hand soothing over your strained jaw; all the while, he’s shoving his softening, spit-soaked cock back in his pants and zipping them up with a predatory visual hold on your pretty form.

Once he’s got his fix of staring and you’ve caught up to a somewhat stable reality, he helps you. “C’mon, darlin’.” He reaches a hand out to you and you take it, smaller fingers being enveloped by his strong ones. He tugs you up gently and matches the action with a benign, “Up here, now.”

You wipe your tear-stained cheeks with the back of your free hand as he pulls you up onto his lap. Your back leans up against his shoulder and the armrest of his chair, legs hanging off the other side like the bridal-style position. He wraps his big arms around you, knowing your head is still far up in the clouds.

“Did such a good job for me, love. Y’know you always do. One of your best goes yet, don’t ya think?” His hand replaces yours with a duty, thumb swiping over and around your lips to clean you up so tenderly. “You feelin’ quite alright?”

Your mind is beyond numb, words that actually spill coming nowhere near what you’d actually want to say; pour your heart out about how much you’d do for him, how much he means to you. It’s all indescribable. “Mhm…always good f’you.”

“Awh, sweetheart.” His face matches yours with a grin, but the broken grogginess in your voice doesn’t go disregarded. “My poor girl fucked her throat raw like she wanted and now she can barely talk, eh? Is that right?”

You nod drunkenly, still with that needy pout in your demeanor that had him babying you like it was his only responsibility.

He brings the glass of whiskey from his desk and to your mouth, pressing the rim against your puffy lips rather harshly. He’s already beginning to tip the glass towards you, so you have no choice but to open up a bit wider and take what he’s offering. “Take a drink,” he tells you, and you listen.

He actually laughs, watching how you wince and whine from the burning of the hard liquor tainting your throat. Similarly to how his cock was only a moment ago. “Atta girl.”

Something about the control that comes with directing your next move, and your innocence to it, your compliance; it all has his mind elated. The only thing he’s sure of is that he likes it, far more than he probably should. You’re gonna get him in some serious trouble, one day.

You adjust your body on his lap so that you can wrap your arms around his neck and press your chest to his, burying your face in his neck to escape whatever was not him. His beard tickles your skin, and his huge, welcoming frame beneath you grounds and stabilizes you so comfortably like no other.

He brings a hand to drag up your back, tracing your spine a couple times before he palms the back of your head to keep you close. Truthfully, he wants to stay like this until morning.

“What now, pretty? Tell me what you need, anything.”

“Just wanna stay here with you.” You nuzzle in closer, attempting to absorb all of him and be devoured by his being. Your voice is muffled and mumbly due to being pressed up against his neck, “Promise I’ll be quiet while you work.”

He chuckles a light, sincere one, words muttered quietly for the close proximity. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

His eyes land on the door to his office; blinds closed, thick wood and metal sure to keep any noise of your endeavors from reaching the ears of any unsuspecting individual on the other side. He squints his eyes. The door is indeed unlocked, but he can’t seem to view that as an issue anymore. So what if someone were to walk in and see the two of you like this? It’s far past the peak bureaucracy hours of the day, anyhow.

His thumb soothes circles on the back of your head, and he can tell you’re calming down more by the second with the way your chest is gentle against his and your pulse has slowed. “I don’t mind that one bit.”

[goldenempyrean]

Twinkling

« Day 15: Fairy Lights »

« Pairing: WandaNat »

« Notes: this was cute to write :) horribly unedited so I apologise :,) »

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“You don’t get it Nat, the lights are what makes it christmas! It’s the one thing I love every year, they’re special!” Is what the feverish witch had yelled - well, croaked to be more accurate - earlier in response when Nat had put her foot down and decided neither of them would be attending the city’s national light switch on event.

Natasha hadn’t said it to cruel or unfair, she did have a point. Wanda was sick. Way too sick to be stood around shivering in the cold, even if she’d worn a coat, the icy bite in the wind would’ve been sure to have left her with the chills. Still, the watery tears that had slipped helplessly down her wife’s flushed red cheeks at the news had made her feel horribly guilty at her decision. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been looking forward to it too, the whole team usually met up. It was always a good night but she simply knew that Wanda would’ve gotten herself 10x sicker in the process.

Wanda hadn’t been said much after that, she simply wiped her tears and taken herself back to their bedroom, shutting the door behind her with a slam louder than necessary - a clear sign she wasn’t in the mood to simply talk things over.

As Natasha stood alone in the dimly lit living room, she couldn't shake off the weight of Wanda's disappointment. She knew it was probably the fever heightening her emotions but the way her bottom lip had wobbled as she tried not to cry at the news had her heart torn into bits. She could’ve leave it like this.

For now though, she gave Wanda space. Fighting back the urge to slip into their bedroom and hold her through the tears. Instead Natasha quietly slid past the room, being mindful of the creaking floorboards that threatened to give away her plan and headed up towards their attic.

Creeping open the attic door, the smell of dry air and dust make her cough instinctively as she crept inside. It was a little dark but it wasn’t hard to spot the piles of boxes in one of the corners. Wiping the settled dust from the top of one, she read the label scribbled on in black sharpie, “Christmas Decoration’s.”

“There we go.” Natasha whispered to herself, as her vision began to slowly come into plan.

She continued to open up the several boxes, searching around in them to grab exactly what she wanted and in the end she was left with countless strings of wire and bulbs.

Back downstairs, she looked around the toom with determined eyes and a softened resolve.!Natasha began draping the twinkling lights around the living room. She carefully wove them through the bookshelves, wrapped them gently around the framed photos on the walls, and adorned the windows with a warm, festive glow.

As each strand illuminated, Natasha couldn't help but smile, imagining the joy it would bring to Wanda. The room slowly began to transform from it’s somber atmosphere into a magical haven of twinkling multicoloured lights, creating dancing shadows and sparkling glows on the walls.

She even took extra care to fashion a cozy nook in their favorite corner, entwining the lights around their shared armchair. The room was now a symphony of colors and warmth. Everything looked perfect and Natasha found herself taking a step back, resting her hands on her hips as she admired her work. She was going to love it.

After a final checkround, the redhead flicked off the lights, the room being consumed by darkness in their absence. It took a moment for her eyes go adjust but when they did, she made sure everything looked tidy before smiling to herself and heading to their kitchen.

Despite her fluffy socks, tiles were cold against Nat’s feet as she padded over to their cupboards to search the shelves. It didn’t take long to find what she wanted. She took careful care of quieting preparing Wanda’s mug. Now hot chocolate would’ve been the go to in a normal situation but she didn’t want to risk upsetting her stomach again after how long it had taken for it to settle the previous night. So instead Natasha made a soothing cup of sweet lemon tea, making sure to add in a generous helping of honey.

Natasha carried the steaming mug back to the bedroom, knocking softly on the door. "Wanda," she called out gently. "Can I come in baby?”

There was a muffled response, and Natasha took it as an invitation. Slowly pushing the door open, she found Wanda curled up under the blankets, looking both exhausted and fragile.

"I thought you might need some warmth," Natasha said, offering the cup of tea. Wanda looked up, her eyes still puffy from crying, but a faint smile tugged at her lips.

"Thanks," Wanda whispered, taking the cup from Natasha's hands.

The aroma of sweet lemon filled the room as she took a careful sip. Natasha sat down on the edge of the bed, watching as Wanda seemed to relax a little. "I know the lights outside are special, but you understand it’s not worth putting your health at risk for.” She murmured, her soft finger coming to trace the spots where previous tears had been on her wife’s cheek, “But I still wanted to make it special for you…”

Without much more of a warning, Natasha slid her hands underneath Wanda, lifting her with ease as she gave a small yelp of surprise before clinging onto her shoulders tightly. She found herself being carried back to the living room but before she could question everything, they stopped as they stepped foot into the dark room. Nat had slipped her a small remote, smiling down with an unmistakable grin.

“Press it.”

Wanda turned her head to cough raspily before she looked up in confusion, “What?”

“Just press it!”

Wanda hesitated for a moment before pressing the button on the remote. Instantly, the room erupted in a breathtaking display of twinkling lights. The rainbow of glow shimmered around them Wanda’s eyes seemed to echo their sparkle as they widened in surprise.

"I... I don't understand," Wanda whispered, her voice shaking a little as Natasha carefully set down onto her feet beside her. The witches gaze moved from the lights to Natasha, her heart swelling with emotion. "You did all this for me?"

Natasha nodded, her eyes reflecting the sincerity of her actions. “I know how much you love the lights, I just wanted to cheer you up a little bit my love.”

Wanda's lips quivered, but this time it wasn't from sadness. "Nat, you're incredible," she said, pulling Natasha into a tight embrace. The room was aglow with warmth, both from the lights and the genuine love between them.

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[kaccvcate]

second autobiographical essay below

The first sixteen years of my life I spent with my mom, and they were honestly the motherfucking worst.

My mom met my step dad larping when I was about 2, he was 16, and she was 26. She got pregnant, they got married, and he started sexually abusing me right away. When my brother was born, I couldn't stand him and was a complete cunt to him (sorry dude, I was a kid and I didn't know better.)

When I started school, I struggled to focus and did very poorly, and my mom and step dad would beat me and take all my things out of my room except for furniture, and lock me in there except to use the bathroom, for months on end, until they thought my grades were good enough. My step dad would come into my room at night and touch me. He would also jump out at me around corners and "wrestle" with me (pretending to wrestle for fun so he could squeeze my tits.) I would struggle and yell, and bite him as hard as I could, and my mom would punish me for hurting him. Sometimes he would do it in front of her, and when I complained to her, she would call me a liar. (His name again: Rigel Cameron Freeman.)

We moved pretty much every year because my parents struggled to maintain jobs. Mainly we lived in different parts of Gainesville, Florida, but we also briefly lived in Raleigh, North Carolina. At school I was usually the only non Christian kid, and I was a complete asshole because my family life was so horrible, so no one liked me and I was bullied constantly. I spent a lot of time in class, and all my time at recess, drawing and making up imaginary friends, or reading books about talking cats (I was very misanthropic, something I still struggle with.) When I was in late elementary to middle school, I made a few friends I still talk to. That was also the same time as my first suicide attempt (5th grade), and when I started self harming.

When I was 12 I dyed my hair red, and my friend's dad named me Red (their family were Irish and Cherokee.) I had been called lots of other names before that, basically something different by each relative, and the only thing everyone could agree on was that none of them suited me (and no one ever called me my government name.) After I was named Red, I dyed my hair every other color you can think of, but my name has stayed the same.

The same year, I moved to Miami, and that began a new isolated phase in my life that led to me becoming interested in magick. My mom had never lived in a major city before, and we ended up moving to a pretty sketchy neighborhood (gunshots almost every night, drive bys, etc.) In our home country (Mississippi) kids are simply expected to fend for themselves outdoors until supper. Now that I was trapped inside with my incredibly abusive family, I had nothing to turn to but the internet (something I'm sure many of us here can relate to.)

I became interested in magic through mythology. I had always found other pre-Christian cultures fascinating, since I wasn't allowed to learn anything about my own, and I discovered through Wikipedia and Google searches that people still practiced the pagan European religions of my ancestors. Through neopaganism, I began to learn about ceremonial magic extremely quickly, feeling as though it was the one piece of my life I'd been missing, finding that I had an innate understanding of something other than visual art for the first time. It wasn't long before I was ready to try my first invocation. I had always wondered if I had a "spirit animal," or a guide, which I knew must be part of my subconscious, and recognizing immediately that I could use ritual meditation to access this, I crafted my first ritual based on some uninitiated wiccan articles I had been reading, and what implements I had laying around. I set out a circle of stones, invoked the four quadrants with a candle at each cardinal direction, laid out offerings of oil, salt, and water, lit an incense cone, and two additional candles for the Mother and Father. My practice is very different now, but my results at the time were extraordinarily intense. When I closed my eyes, this is what I saw:

Dense forest, high on the mountain. It's foggy and overcast, but it's summertime. The rocks are covered with moss, thick and green. I look down at my sandy brown forepaws and know that I am a panther. I begin to stroll, and I can feel the power in my muscles. I'm strong and free.

I opened my eyes, and was back in my bedroom, surrounded by rocks and candles. Shortly afterward, my mom mentioned Scott Panther to me for the first time (I didn't remember meeting him as a baby.) I'm sure it will confuse some that my first experience with a native archetype, my family animal, was through a European style ritual. Hey, think how I feel! I should have been able to take peyote and meet a mountain lion face to face to earn my name, like any decent person. Unfortunately, since I was so isolated, I didn't have the privilage. My connection to the panther is extremely deep - some of my first dreams were of being a cat, and the first time I prayed (age 8) it was to "StarClan," which, for the uninitiated, is the clan of dead cats who live in the sky in the children's book series Warrior Cats (I still like to think my cat ancestors are up there watching.) I've always studied cat behavior and embodied cat energy, even before I had any vision, but in my life that was treated as something annoying and strange by the people around me, rather than the sacred mystical practice it was. When I had cats in my life, I prioritized them, often over my own health and safety. Even though I only have a dog now, I still consider cats to be my teachers. I can't say whether my conceptualization of reality and my experiences is native, or European, but I would guess it's a mix of both, like me.

I started high school at MAST Academy in Miami, a school for "future scientists." My family always discouraged me from drawing or playing music, often my instruments would be taken away or sold, or I would have nothing but lined notebook paper to draw on (I would only get things I needed for school.) Since all I had to decide a "career" on was my passion for non-human animals, I thought I might be a zoologist. It was a lot less horrible than most other high schools in a lot of ways, and a few of the teachers even treated me like a person (cheers.) I started visiting my dad a little during this period, he began teaching me about Jewish mysticism and Kaballah, what little I could understand, and I began to read from his collection of books on magick and the occult.

During my second year of high school, my mom and step dad moved to the Netherlands, and brought me with them. I was too young and shy (scared) to have any fun, and I just thought about suicide constantly. My mom would never stop yelling at me about everything, telling me how l worthless I am. I caught my step dad taking pictures of me as I got out of the shower, and my little brother told me he caught him watching me sleep through the window over my bedroom door (you could stand at the top of the stairs and look right through it.) I became paranoid he was going to start raping me again, like he did when I was younger, and slept with a knife beside me, when I could sleep. (Again, his name is Rigel Cameron Freeman, and he is a computer programmer who works in the video game industry.)

The only positive part of my life during this period was an online death cult I joined, called Les Fleurs de la Mort. I can't talk about our practices in detail, but it lead me to get really into gardening, which was probably the healthiest possible pastime for me. I don't think I've spoken to any of my fellow Fleurists in years, but if any y'all are reading this, meow.

After I turned 16, I got the chance to visit my dad back in Miami (court ordered), and I refused to return to my mom. I haven't heard from my mom or step dad since then, except for a handful of extremely rude emails from my mom before covid, and I hope that's the end of it.

Rigel Cameron Freeman, the pedophile who made my life hell and molested me constantly throughout my childhood, currently has sole custody of my youngest sibling, who's 9. (He was born after I left, and we've never met.)

[yourfatherlucifer]

Outlaw! Kim Hongjoong x Reader

Outlaw!Hongjoong x afab!reader

Summary: In a dystopian world, where you crave an escape, a man offers you it with no strings attached.

——————-

Nobody wanted to be in this dystopian world, you’re not allowed to show emotions, no music, no laughter, nothing. With drones flying around the city, watching every persons move. There’s a story about a group of outlaws, wanted by the government. The leader is Kim Hongjoong, an outlaw and also a good shot. A man with blue hair and good looks but feared by all, his own group too.

Now her. She is ordinary, working an office job, then going home, sleep, and repeat. She had felt as there was a no meaning to her life. Absolutely nothing to it. No love life, no joy. It’s not like you’re allowed to have those anyway. However, she craved it, she needed it.

-

“God, I hate this job,” she had muttered to herself, slightly glancing at the camera, glaring at it.

Though, one wrong move could have her disappear without a trace, no one would know where she went, but would know it’s the government. Meaning she is probably dead.

With a glance away from camera, she sighed in frustration before finishing up her report for the day. She stared at the clock. It was time to go. She tried to hide her excitement to the best of her ability, there was too many people and too many government drones around. Someone who was not a drone was bound to turn her in; if she showed just an ounce of emotion.

As she walked to the door she stared at the WANTED posters once again, it became a habit for her everyday. She wished she could be a rebel but she was just to scared to do anything against the government. Maybe just maybe, if she knew that she had potential, she could actually do something for this horrible dystopia. She left the building with a sigh. Staring up at the night sky, all she could see were the red light posts. Why couldn't they just be regular light colors? Like yellow or white. Not a scary red. But it was just this area that had red light.

As she walked down the road, more WANTED posters appeared on the barren walls of the creepy buildings. She had never seen these people in person but she remembers a day where music blasted through the area. A spiky blimp dropping papers, which she didn't grab as she was scared. She had heard that was the work of the group of Outlaws.

A shiver chilled down her spine. Was she being watched? She sure felt like it.

"Hello? Is someone there?" She called out into the darkness in front her, a creepy alley. Now she felt stupid for saying anything but she wasn't about to let herself be attacked blindly.

As she was about to leave she heard a voice call out from behind. "I noticed you are always staring at my group pictures?" The voice revealed itself from the shadows, however a bandana covered his lower face.

She gulped in fear, as she had never been face to face with an outlaw, especially the leader of it.

Kim Hongjoong.

"I-I...I need to go." She prepared to run, but was stopped.

"Stop. Do not move, get back over here." His soft voice disappeared and turned into a dominant one.

She slowly approached him, head down and a hard grip on her backpack strap.

"I know you are scared, but its alright, I'm not going to do anything, I need you to come with me." His gloved hand reached out her, "Please."

She hesitantly grabbed his hand and followed him into the dark alley, not exactly trusting him but giving him a chance.

Hongjoong had led her to a building with a lit neon green sign on the roof. It had read, 'The Goat Entrance' whatever that meant.

As he lead her to the rooftop, where a goat was sleeping. Odd.

He turned to her, "What can you sacrifice? What can you throw away?"

She became confused, "I'm sorry?"

"I want you join the rebellion, you'd be a good member, I can see the potential in you."

Her life flashed before her eyes, a numb and boring life. She had no one, she was tired of the government, her damn office job too. Maybe she should do this? She doesn't think her life matters away. She knew she could fight, it was something her dad had taught her before he passed away in an underground boxing match.

"Fine, I will join you, I have nothing to lose anyway."

A smirk appeared on his face, "Good, good."

"Welcome to the Outlaws, Miss ...what is your name?" Hongjoong cocked an eyebrow.

She snapped her head up, "Oh, my name is (name)."

He smirked again, "A pretty name, but I'm gonna call you doll, you'll get a codename for when we are out an about."

Hongjoong just knew she had to be his, he had been watching her for awhile. He knew of her father as he has a partner in the underground boxing business. One of his outlaw group members was in it.

Oh he had major plans for this girl, she was destined to be his. His only. Screw the goverment. He's fighting for everything else, why can't he fight for love too?

-

Hongjoong rested his hand on her lower back, inching her forward, what he didn't see is the red creeping up her face.

"Yah, everyone pay attention." Seven heads shot up as they were working on their own various things, each person dressed either similar or differently.

Each guy smirked, "Oh captain, did you get yourself a play thing?"

Hongjoong glared at him and he lowered his head in shame. "Sorry, Joong."

He cleared his throat once more, "No, she isn't my play thing, she's a new member, she will be part of the rebellion. And I don't want a single one of you flirting with her." He gave a look to all seven men that read, 'she's mine'

They all nodded and turned away to continue their duties.

"Come on, let me take you to the rooftop, its my favorite place, as you had saw from the last place.

-

The sun had set, casting a warm orange glow over the dark city. The tension between you had been building for weeks, and tonight, it reached its peak.

Hongjoong's intense gaze locked with yours, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and uncertainty. Slowly, he closed the distance between you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but lean into it.

As his lips brushed against yours, time seemed to stand still. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you in this stolen moment. His kiss was soft yet passionate, a perfect blend of tenderness and longing.

You melted into his embrace, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. The taste of adventure and danger lingered on his lips, making your heart race even faster. It was a kiss filled with unspoken promises and a shared understanding of the risks you both took.

The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent and desperate. Hongjoong's hands roamed your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Every touch, every caress, ignited a flame within you, fueling the desire that had been building between you.

Eventually, the need for air forced you to break the kiss, but the connection between you remained unbroken. Hongjoong rested his forehead against yours, his breath ragged as he whispered, "I've wanted to do that for so long."

You smiled, your heart still racing. "Me too."

In that moment, you both knew that this kiss was just the beginning of a wild and dangerous love story, where every stolen moment would be cherished, and every risk would be worth it.

[daisychains334]

Chapter One

(A/N: Hi everyone! This is the first chapter of a story I'm currently writing. This chapter has violence including blood, death, and a knife mention. I'm not sure what to title this story yet, leave any ideas in the notes. I'll try to update as often as possible!)

It was after the fireworks were over that I killed her. I didn't know her name, but I knew enough.

Minutes earlier, I had been lurking in the soft grass, watching her face light up as reds, blues, and golds boomed, lighting up the dark horizon. Fireworks gave people this childlike quality; like they couldn't help but be enraptured by the magic of it, and this girl was no exception. And I understood; the Fourth of July had always been one of my favorites, which is the reason (or so I told myself) that I too allowed myself a bit of wonder that night.

In truth, it wasn't for that reason-I was just, selfishly, trying to delay the inevitable. I usually did. It should've been a simple job-get in, get out, and take a life somewhere in between, but I couldn't shake the guilty feeling. Maybe this job was a bit inhumane. I mean, it wasn't her fault her father had been in the horrible business of human trafficking. Though it was her fault she'd helped him do it.

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," my mother would laugh. "She takes off after her father, as you take off after me." Stop thinking about her. I took my own advice and directed my thoughts back to the girl. They were a team, her and her father; with her luring them in and him handling the kidnapping. I could imagine her calling out to them, "Come back to my car with me! I have something you'd love to see."

I could see why they'd fall for it, she was beautiful; graceful, tall, and slender, dark-haired and pale-eyed with tiny freckles dotting her face and body. I wonder who she'd be if she'd led a life instead of leading innocents to their graves.

Even after the death of her father, she continued his bloody operations. She was lethal and good at her job, and that's why I needed to do mine, and do it well. No jail could hold her, so finality; death, was the only option.

As the last of the fireworks boomed out, the girl got up, eyes still bright and holding the enchantment the night had brought. The sky seemed empty, desolate, without all the colors that had lit it up just moments before, but the girl did not. She was still transfixed, happy, and she would die that way.

I would give her the merciful end that her tortured victims never got to experience. I was a killer, not a monster.

I approached her from behind, quietly unsheathing my blade. My etched-out initials, W.J., gave me an unwelcome reminder of who I was.

"Who you've always been," my mother said, handing me my birthday present. "You're ten now! All grown up." I opened the wrapping paper and slid out a box. A long, thin knife lay inside, my initials engraved. Lying in wait for me, as if an invitation to the rest of my life. I slid it out of the box, nicking my finger with the tip in my excitement. It hurt and I did not cry. I was all grown up now; I could handle it.

I inhaled a sharp breath, trying to shove down the memory and the emotions that came with it. A good assassin didn't let petty feelings get in the way of a job. Still, my hand trembled as I positioned it to stab directly into her neck. God, just- "Just do it." she smiled encouragingly. "First job's hard for everybody, but you get used to it." I stared down at my first kill, who was shaking and pleading on his knees beneath me. I reminded myself he was a bad man; he deserved this. Right?

Fully trembling now, my hand, almost as if acting of its own accord; plunged the blade into her neck before I could do anything to stop it. And it was done. The blood gushed down her body, staining her white T-shirt and blue jeans with a sea of red. Very patriotic.

The girl was beautiful, even in death. She fell and landed lightly, her eyes closing as she hit the ground. Her face was soft and pale; she couldn't have been older than seventeen. But the crimes she'd committed alluded to someone twice her age.

I wonder who'd come looking for her first. Friends first, most likely, then family. The police would be called, she might even make the front page. I, of course, wouldn't be standing here long enough to watch it all happen.

[hersheythecure]

While moving things to storage I had a couple panic attacks. Uncontrolled crying. Hyperventilating. Chest pains. Bent over ugly crying. It's so painful to watch. My body in so much pain and having to be a vessel for my traumatized parts yearly presentation.

My mind kind of absorbed the realization that it is real. Especially with the autism traits. It started going through our memories and showing me all the times we tried to rationalize concepts and wondered why someone else didn't see it that way.

How we'd try to figure out how a situation could've been prevented. How we'd observe the behaviors and place different behaviors with emotional and logical reasoning to make a situation have a better outcome.

My mind showed me. We are like an onion with our DID. How painful it is to be peeled by life. To have a disorder that hides me away until my brain is fully developed just to show me all of the horrible things my body went through. It's not by choice. It's by design. It's natural. Our brains natural response to mass trauma. Sometimes makes me wonder if autism is enviromental and trauma based or if I had an autistic brain that just got traumatized by life.

I never felt the gravity of "it's so much worse" as my mind revealed my trauma and parts to me. It's always going to get worse with this disorder because you're walking through yourself for the first time. You're seeing every crevice as your body builds resilience and your brain develops. It's like being born and having to mass absorb events that you were not even privy too. Of curse I had a shit ton of psychosis. That's a lot. For any brain. Especially one with multiple dissociative parts. I grieve for myself.

It's so heavy.

And not only am I coming to terms with actually seeing myself in a space in the world but also reliving my miscarriage in high-school. Seeing Chrissy have to go through something so traumatic with no one to speak to. Too afraid to tell her mom. The fear of being kicked out the house. It was so crushing. Knowing that I'd be discarded of for something I didn't even do. Didn't even fully understand. Guys sucked. They'd remove condoms and give us stds. I remember seeing why my teenage self gave up on condoms. If she was so responsible and still got stds and pregnant wtf was the point of using them.

It was not you. You didn't poke wholes in condoms. You didn't refuse to use condoms. You didn't refuse to take care of yourself and get tested. They did. They did not love themselves the way you loved yourself. They did not value their bodies the way you still did. Even if there are parts of us that didn't. They did not have the capacity to understand. We were switching so much we didn't even know. The MDD part was so numb and so dissociated from the world. She felt like a zombie waling around hoping someone would care about her. She'd be inside us crying and screaming and the part in the body would be looking for a male figure to protect hs and comfort us. But even then our brain must've known our dad was who made us this way. Or maybe didn't but now is piecing things together the more we learn about our past.

This world was not fit for me. I wonder if that is how people like me feel. Autistic humans. Disordered humans. I know it felt like I didn't belong here. It made me want to die. It made my little adolescent mind go to places that scared the trap out of us.

I am seeing the positive times though. When we had the dream about Nathan. The night he was conceived. I cried. It was so beautiful. I think it's on main somewhere. Back I'm 2010.

The significance of what we saw in our adolescent. The color of love we described as translucent iridescent water flowing all around us. Wow. Cool. Beautiful. Hallucinations be kinda lit sometimes. It's really just an overactive imagination. If your mind gets split up so many times your mental processes kinda get overused. Especially if different identities are present. You know how hard the brain is working to keep it's human safe while also not knowing wtf was going on. Sheesh. Stella you my dawg. You've always been keeping me safe. Thank you. I did my best.

Idk what kind of mind I have. I just know I don't want to cause people pain. I know I want to be kind to my mind because no one else is there to do so. No one. Just me.

[primewritessmut]

👻 ✍️ 💥 🛏

👻 Is there a new genre you'd like to write?

Sapphic gothic horror. Gothic horror is not my favorite type of horror (it’s slashers, i know, color you surprised) but I do love the idea of a place being terrifying. I’ve also really wanted to play around with a protagonist that responds to a scary-ass house without fear and what the circumstances of their life might be to make that happen. Idk. It’s hard to explain the idea in an ask but I’m sure I’ll be sliding into your DMs about it later.

✍🏻 Which stat matters most to you (if at all!): subscriptions, kudos/favorites, comments, bookmarks, word count, or hits?

Comments are the only thing that supply my brain with serotonin and dopamine so those, I guess. My brain needs all the help it can get.

I don’t think I care about it as a stat, though. I’m not in my AO3 account comparing the numbers or anything. So I’m that sense, I don’t think any of the stats really matter to me.

💥 Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

Wait. Are you calling me out about the wall fucking scene!? Because, yes, I am very excited to write that. I’m actually excited about SO MANY of the projects on my docket for next year. I mentioned the Sylvie/Mobius Variant in another ask so I'll share an excerpt from my bartender/blind dater AU with Loki and Mobius because I'm pretty sure I've mentioned it but never shared anything.

Basically, it's a modern AU with Mobius as a bartender working at the bar where Loki takes all his first dates. He's watched Loki have a hundred disastrous dates and, of course, has slowly become low key obsessed with them. I read a book with this premise that was kind of meh so I decided I'd do it better because nothing fuels me like spite.

So this is the excerpt from their first meeting where Loki has had yet another terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad date, that ends with something on fire.

“And who are you?”

Those brilliant green eyes finally fix directly on Mobius and, despite the circumstances and the soot stains, they’re still filled with defiance. And mischief. God, it’s better than he thought it’d be. “Mobius. I’m one of the bartenders.”

Cards close to the vest, especially when you’re playing against a sharp.

“They couldn’t spare someone with any actual power?”

A condescending smirk starts to pull at those lips and Mobius can picture the entirety of its shape before it’s even halfway there.

“Given the literal fire you lit on the premises, you’re lucky anyone is talking to you at all.”

They lean back and gives Mobius a smile, all teeth and charm. He’s always thought there was an implied threat to bite hidden inside that smile, but also the promise that you might just like it.

🛏️ Is there a new trope you'd like to write this year?

This is so stupid but I'm a sucker for marriages of convenience. I don't know if I'll ever actually write one, but it might be fun to try. Sort of similar to the forced proximity vibe of a barbarian AU but I love the "we have to pretend to be in love with each other OH NO" vibes of it. Bonus points if there's a bi/pan-awakening involved.

[ersatz-colubridae-888]

i did very much enjoy it! i love hearing people express their love for the DLC. it always makes me very happy. i want to try and respond to all these little things said about it, because rivulet is also a favorite campaign of mine (behind saint, of course):

i also never played the original MSC, and honestly never really knew much about it at all. i just knew that they were funny colors and had funny abilities. the concept of grappling in games is SUPER fun to me so i think i would've loved saint back then too, though.

rivulet's campaign is definitely VERY strong in all aspects, yes! rivulet was my third slugcat to get to because i played them all in unlock order (torturing myself with artificer on the way, but whatever, lol) and man i was EXCITED. i really wanted to play saint, but i just had to get their naturally... i felt like i wouldn't do them justice otherwise!

rivulet's movement is very fun. i personally prefer saint's but it's very hard NOT to love the intense speed and jumping power of rivulet - pretty much any predators become trivial, but it's necessary in a world like rivulet's. i'm glad rivulet helped you with that hesitation to approach!

i love looks to the moon too and also find myself often thinking about their story - even more so now with the extra depth added by context with spearmaster and extra events added with rivulet. we always saw a lot of moon's side, but pebbles not so much, and i'm really glad the DLC gave more in that aspect and we could really understand his situation.

at that point i had seen people tell me the order and i knew rivulet was in the far future, so i was very excited to see the way the world had decayed at this point, especially considering the past two slugcats were earlier in the timeline than survivor. so i had no hesitation to go straight to memory crypts no matter how many times i might die. and oh man it was a GREAT experience. even though i died a ton of times in underhang, but i would never trade it for going up the wall. i've also seen a lot of people that went up the wall, too... i suppose this is the universe giving back after i accidentally went up the wall on my first playthrough...

as someone very invested in sci-fi horror i found a morbid fascination and deep sadness with the Rot. seeing a different perspective in pebbles was both extremely interesting, but also very worrying. it was like seeing someone's exposed vitals - if you see it, it's probably not going to be working for very long. i understand that feeling of feeling like your arteries are clogged when you look at it. it's like your body's trying to empathize with this decaying body. the combination of buzzing and sputtering machinery and organic, pulsing masses of organic matter unknown to anyone was both beautiful and horrible. when i reached the soul of the superstructure, green flashes crackling around me, i couldn't help but feel like i reached the eye of the storm. and it really was - i felt so calm in the center of his chamber, and i like to think he feels the same, even when faced with his own doom, listening to that same song. i recognized halcyon memories immediately from the mod config menu, but i'll be honest i just thought it was ambience... i was so focused on pebbles i didn't even realize he was playing a music pearl. i only realized after i finished the campaign and started talking to people about it.

i will never forget visiting her memory conflux and hearing that song. such a well lit, life-filled room as compared to the dark, grimy, flooded interior, i had never felt as connected to the world as i did then. it felt like i was right there, experiencing and living alongside the creatures and life blooming in her collapsed being.

i really couldn't have said it better myself with helping moon and pebbles. this is really all that can be done for them - it was an eventuality for pebbles, so he did what he could for his sister in the end. speaking of sister... oh my god. the entire ending sequence i was absolutely distraught. seeing how broken they both were felt so saddening but so fulfilling at the same time as she found similarities between their situations. but i wasn't crying until she said the line about being protective of him because she's his big sister. it's just... it's so, so much. it shows just how much love she has for him, and how her care for him never deteriorated over the cycles. i very, very rarely cry from video games - this is like the second time ever. my first time was with OFF's ending. rain world is really important to me, and this ending just means so much in terms of everything.

i didn't recognize a whole lot of the community members as i was never really involved until recently... but it really is amazing to see how many dedicated fans came forward to help work on this. i'm so happy to see just the sheer amount of amazing content everyone made for this dlc. it's beautiful.

thanks for sharing your thoughts :-) i like talking to people about what makes this game awesome

not that anon but who's your favorite sluggy

so i never played the original MSC, but originally my favorite was the saint. i loved the idea of being able to just Leave situations and have a grappling tongue at all times as a newbie. i really struggled with platforming and survival back then, so i really liked them. fuck losing all karma upon dying, i could just Leave!

out of the vanilla scugs, monk was also my favorite back then. i REALLY hated the lore removal, but my gaming skills were already just Piss Poor in general so rain world was almost nigh impossible at first. also i liked being friends with lizards and scavs and i couldnt bring myself to attack scavs back then.

so, between then and now, my favorites have changed. between the MSC slugcats...

this is one of those few times i can answer from Every Possible Aspect of the candidate, like gameplay, campaign plot, etc. Which is really cool! when MSC dropped, Riv was the one  I played first using the "unlock all campaigns" cheat. I REALLY wanted to play saint first, but knowing from the start that the slugcats were ranked by difficulty and saint was locked behind 2 slugcats as opposed to 1, I curbed that urge and went for Riv since they were my second favorite.

now, their super exaggerated movement was hard to get a handle on, i will admit- but i hadn't played this game in a long time so i was just rusty on top of that. but i can confidently say im used to them! i love using their abilities to see just what i can do. there was a time i was playing with a randomizer and it was really fun having to adapt to each new situation like an opportunist. i wish i recorded it! but riv really helped me get over my hesitance when i was faced with predators, which was a bad habit I'd had for a long time.

campaign gameplay tested my lay of the land as well; especially by starting out in drainage system. i practically never set foot in drainage system back in the day, so i didnt know where in the world to head. I luckily detected the garbage wastes gate like, right away. trying to navigate the parts of the game more beaten off the main path of vanilla was difficult but fun! having only so much time to get from place to place was a fun challenge. then, after getting the rarefraction cell, trying to see how far i could go in 1 cycle was even greater.

now the plot is really where riv got me for sure.

looks to the moon has been a favorite character of mine for years. i never really stopped thinking about what happened between her and pebbles; every few months or so i would think about it. just how... hopeless things were for moon. It really made me sad. i think i speak for a lot of people when i say i wished that i could help her in some way. but the only thing i could do is bring her neurons, really. i never really made sense of pebbles side of the deal, like i knew what was going on with him and i felt bad, but it never really hit me how horrible things were for him. it all just felt so... tragic, yknow? that things ended up the way they did for the two of them.

exploring their superstructures was an experience. i originally planned to go to pebbles through shaded citadel after visiting moon on my first playthrough, but plans changed when i considered dealing with memory crypts, and the leg, AND underhang with my cycle limit (i had already sort of guessed that riv was after monks point in the timeline, but i didn't know that those areas got worse for riv so i was just thinking in terms of vanilla) so i went through the wall.

I kinda wish I saw at least memory crypts, but thats ok because the low gravity in the normally zero-gravity access shaft, plus the proto dll at the end, told me everything I needed to know before facing Pebbles chamber. Floating through his decayed structures... it hurt. I remember my first encounter with him in vanilla felt just a word away from being downright incomprehensible. he really came off as some god I couldn't percieve. but now, seeing the walls corroded by nothing but Rot, only small parts I actually recognized just barely peeking out amongst the decay, I just couldn't look. I felt like... like my arteries were clogged just by seeing his condition. Hearing him listen to Halcyon Memories, a favorite (previously) unused track of mine created a special kind of somber that I will Never re-experience.

Then, Moon's structure. This one is special. I got suuuper lost in here, but im glad I did. Up until a certain point, I had been taking the scenery in with a kind of reverence you would have while walking around a graveyard. I wandered for a few cycles, and at some point, Random Fate started playing. I didn't recognize the bass line yet, but when I had stumbled into what I immediately recognized as Moon's Memory Conflux, the Sundown melody kicked in.

Recognizing both things at once, I got all... like, choked up. Like... I'm finally helping Moon!  But... what about Pebbles? Why can't I help him? ...And like, I knew why; he brought this fate upon them both. But that didn't make it hurt any less. He asked me to do the only thing he wanted: to give all he had to redeem what he did. So in the end, this was all I could do to help him; in the same way that this was all Pebbles could do to make up for what he did to Moon.

Don't get me started on the ending. Seeing Moon restored to even a fraction of what once was had me so happy! It was exhilarating to say the least. But I was tearing up on the edge of my seat when she reached out to Pebbles. Watching the messages roll in slowly, seeing what she had to say, all the while praying that Pebbles could hear her.

Seeing Moon call herself Pebbles big sister is what broke the dam. From what I saw back in the day, people usually skirted that title of hers when it came to Pebbles, or never really acknowledged it. Even I did, for some time. But it never made sense to do that! Moon and Pebbles would never feel such anger, betrayal, or regret over everything that had happened if they weren't very close. I found it very important that that's who Moon was to him. Not just a great friend, but a big sister. I'm so glad the MSCteam felt that was important as well.

Speaking of which, seeing the names of community members and fans that I recognized in the credits got me sobbing again when I thought I was done. This expansion was a loveletter to the game from the fans, brought in officially by the actual developers. The Rivulet campaign especially enforced that feeling of love for the game- by having compassion for the tragedy two iterators and finally helping them reconcile.

I finally felt satisfied, not only because I was able to help Moon- but because I had also realized the tragic life that Pebbles had led. Those two things had never really left my mind.

anyways WOOOOO that was a lot of rambling. hope you enjoyed......

[lovelybarnes]

stood up- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, anderson x reader (?) warnings: angst, getting stood up, language, unrequited feelings about: prompts (DA29) “i got stood up.” + (DF30) “i think you’re my soulmate.” +(DF41) “are you going to cry? please don’t cry. a/n: i love to hurt but dw it’s a happy ending, i actually like this fjsk, a the time i finished this, i just posted another imagine, so i can’t wait for you guys to read this one in a couple days

every passing second makes you hyperaware of all the sympathetic stares that are currently directed at you. the feeling of pity is enveloping you whole, wrapping you in a thin layer of shame that you think must be related to the careful makeup you caked on your face for this date. your recently manicured nails scratch at the tablecloth, trying to avoid your new expensive dress, deep midnight color clinging to your nervous self. teeth stress your dark wine bottom lip, anxious eyes darting across the restaurant.

with each face that enters the place, none of them being his, the presumption that he isn’t coming solidifies. with it, comes the embarrassment. you can feel the warnings of tears, already threatening to ruin the mascara you had applied so carefully, not bothering to choose the waterproof one because why would you be crying on your date?

you suppose it’s your own fault- how dare you attempt to get over bucky? how dare you trust the words of a shield agent? you pick at your nails, gathering up the courage to stand up and leave. your waitress, however, beats you to it, a faux apologetic look on her face. “oh, so you’ve been here for, like, half an hour and it seems no one is coming, and we kind of need the table, so…”

you hold back an uncomfortable cringe, nodding stiffly as you stand. “right. i’m sorry. i don’t need to… pay for the water, right?” you ask dumbly, ducking your head when she shakes her head condescendingly.

pushing the door open, you step into the brisk air of the night, clouded over with an uneasy disappointment that you’re sure is because of you. you stand for a second to look at the stars, realizing how pretty of a night this would be if you weren’t so damn frustrated. the upset hasn’t passed yet, although the beginnings of anger are peeking up in your stomach.

while you stare up at the moon, the universe decides your getting stood up wasn’t enough, choosing to gift you with cold droplets of water that make your mascara run. it’s unbelievable, you nearly scoff tearily.

you walk to your car then, the moonlight that should have been romantic when you walked out of the restaurant now only making you feel lonely. you don’t let the tears come yet, having enough pride to not let the smitten couples appreciating the romance of the rain see you cry, deciding to put that off until you’re in the quietness of your room.

you drive in the sound of the pattering rain, concentrated on keeping your breathing even so as to push back the tears, not wanting to have an accident on the way back home because your vision was clouded over with sadness.

-

the relief you feel when you arrive at the compound is immeasurable; the knowledge that all you have to do is walk quietly to your room, and you can release the pent up emotions that eat you whole is unbelievably satisfying. the horrible itching feeling that comes with the tears arrives again when you notice your reflection in the impressively clean windows of the stark compound. through the stains of your ruined makeup, you can see the remnants of how dolled up you were, how much time was spent with the intricate details that made you smile when you looked at yourself in the mirror.

you swallow back the painful lump in your throat, opening the doors and sniffling at the dimly-lit room. your heels click tiredly on the floor, precious bracelet lightly jangling when you move. you can’t find it in yourself to care when you realize you’re dragging water inside, resigning to letting stark lecture you in the morning.

as you stand in the elevator, waiting for it to reach your floor, the emotions you’ve pushed so far down decide to spring back up in the form of an overwhelming dejected exhaustion that makes you physically slump. you lean against the cool of the metal railing, shutting your eyes hard to avoid looking at yourself. you only pry your eyes open when you hear the soft ding of the elevator, surprised and once again embarrassed to see bucky standing between the open doors.

“y/n?” he asks quietly. his demeanor immediately changes when he takes you in, body softer in the way it always is when you’re with him. his reaction makes you fall deeper, which reminds you exactly why you were going on your failed date. you straighten, clearing your throat, “um- i have to get to my room.”

your voice is thin, heightening his worries and stopping you with a gentle hand to your arm before you step off the elevator, “what’s wrong? what happened? are you okay?” he asks, and you nod blindly at all of his questions, realizing that the longer you stay with him- with his warm hand that you can’t help but lean into pressed against your cold arm- the more you really want to cry and scream because it’s not fair that he’s been given to you, yet you can’t have him, even if he has you.

“i’m fine,” you lie obviously, forcing your eyes again from his. “y/n, what happened? you’re clearly not fine,” bucky pushes, the hand on your arm beginning to rub stressed circles into your skin. you give up then, looking back at him. “i got stood up,” you say finally, words cracked. you shake your head, “and i just spent so much time on everything and-”

“that’s stupid. who would stand you up?” bucky interrupts, eyes genuinely confused while you scoff. “apparently anderson from security,” you respond bitterly, looking away. “he’s stupid, y/n. he has to be to not go to a date with you.”

you exhale frustratedly, “maybe not. maybe there’s something wrong with me and i’m the stupid one for even thinking someone would want to go out with me,” you countered. “hey, no, you are- you are amazing, y/n. amazing and stunning and intelligent and he missed his chance to be the luckiest guy in the world,” he insisted, gently pulling your attention back to him with a gentle hand on your cheek. you give him a watery laugh through the loud, unfair questions in your head: why don’t you love me like i love you, then?

you don’t realize the tears that run down the streaks of already ruined mascara until bucky points them out, wiping them away with his fingers, “no, no, don’t cry, please don’t cry,” he begs. you can’t help it, though, biting your lip to hold back your unrequited confessions of love.

“nobody wants me. i don’t even think i want me anymore,” you weep, oblivious to the breaking of bucky’s heart when he hears your words, pulling you flush against his chest. “don’t say that, doll. that’s not true-”

“it is. what other reasons can you think of that explain why i’m the only one that’s shown up to the rare dates i’ve been on? why have i had to go on those stupid dates just to forget how pathetic i am that i can’t get over you?”

you’re too deep in the ocean of your thoughts to realize what you’ve said, too little light available in the dark to let you realize the hints you have and will undoubtedly let out if you continue blubbering into bucky’s shoulder like the mess you are. your feelings are scattered, words so disorganized that any way you piece them together will be a mistake. “why else does the one person who i actually want to love me back not want me?”

bucky can make sense of the words you’re saying, the heavy weight they carry when he realizes exactly what they mean, and what you imply. he’s frozen, heart simultaneously fluttering at the mere thought of his feelings being returned and breaking at the cries you’re letting out because of him.

he’s refused to ever be the source of your pain, restricting his own poems of confessions because he didn’t want to hurt you, never wanting to be the reason you cried. he supposes now it was the wrong choice, one he needs to fix.

the bead of insecurity buried stubbornly in his mind shrieks, however, because he’s as clueless as you are and can’t possibly imagine someone like you- so kind and pure and good- loving him back. so he needs to make sure, needs to hear you say it in your voice.

“what?” you let out a watery scoff, full of embarrassment rather than annoyance at him, “don’t make me say it, bucky, please-”

“please say it- i- i need you to say it.”

a beat of silence passes before you sniffle, pulling away from the man you’ve called your best friend and wanted nothing but to be able to call him more. “i love you, bucky. in a way that makes me pretty sure you’re my soulmate because i don’t even believe in that but you make me feel like i should.”

bucky’s storm clouds lighten, doubts dissolving when he listens to what you said, tasting your words and examining each one just to remember it. he pulls your lips to his when they’ve barely processed. “you should,” he says when he pulls away for a second, only to make you lose your breath again when he aches for you immediately, kissing you again, “believe in soulmates.”

“why is that?” you ask breathlessly, letting him pull you back in because you both have been waiting- dreaming about this for so damn long, and he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to keep away from you now that he has you. he presses a sloppy kiss to your lips, so perfectly imperfect when your teeth clash and you both laugh gently, noses nudging each other when he leans his forehead on yours, “because we’re meant to be, y/n. in that way that soulmates are.”

[shigarakis-cumdump]

Search History Pt. 2

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shigarakiscumdump/works

(If you like what you read, consider supporting me on Ao3!)

Summary: How long has Shigaraki kept you in this musty room? You miss his face, too. He might be your kidnapper, sure, but he's all you have to talk to, if he'd give you attention..

A/N: Read part 1 here!

Cw: slight toture, stalking/ kidnapping, noncon/dubcon, somno

Word Count: 1.1k 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*..✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*..✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*..✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

It’s been 2 weeks and Shigaraki still hasn’t let you out of the musty room he put you in. The few times he’s visited you, other than giving you food or water, you try bargaining with him.

“Shigaraki, I’ve missed you so much!! When can I come out of this room? I want to spend more time with you!” you say cheerfully, but you can’t fool him.

“Nice try, sweetheart~ I know the second I let you out of here, you’ll run off to those little heroes and turn me in.” he replies. You’d swear that wasn’t the truth (not anymore, at least) but no matter how you worded it, he wasn’t letting you out until he trusted you. Were these his true colors? All you wanted was some human contact, or even just conversation, if we’re dealing with someone like Shigaraki. You think you developed Stockholm syndrome, but you weren’t sure (although if you question having it, you more than likely do). Every time he came down to see you, your face lit up like a child during Christmas. It would bring him joy, sure, but Shigaraki has horrible trust issues. Who could blame him? It seemed too good to be true that the hero he kidnapped actually likes him. He started to believe his bad thoughts which led to more overthinking, and overall, an angry Shigaraki.

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

“Shigaraki! How was your day? Did you go on any missions?” you beam.

“Don’t sweet talk me, slut. I don’t remember giving you permission.” he states coldly.  Your brows furrow and you say, “I’m sorry.. We’ve talked before, I didn’t realize-”

“I said shut up!” he screams, “Every time you open that goddamn mouth of yours, you always talk about getting out. Why can't you see that I’m doing this for you. ALL OF THIS!”

“What? Keeping me chained up in this room?! You never come down to see me. If you loved me so much like you always boast about, you sure don’t fucking act like it.” you say, quickly realizing the words that came from your mouth. His crimson eyes lock onto yours as he steps closer to you.

“If you won’t shut up,” he says, unbuckling his pants, “I’ll make you.” Shigaraki forcefully grabs your head and pinches your mouth open. Before his cock is even in your mouth, tears are already streaming down your face. You try saying sorry, but it’s cut short by him hitting the top of your mouth with his cock. His head goes back, a low groan leaving him. “Now you’re being useful! This is when I love you the most- when you’re an obedient little slut.” he explains, forcing the rest of himself down your throat, feeling it tighten around him. Your hands were still chained, but the thought of trying to say no to him was terrifying. You gagged on his dick, turning Shigaraki on even more. He has a devilish smirk on his face, using his free hand to wipe the tears rolling down your cheek. “We’ll have plenty of time to train this throat of yours, too. I know you’ll be such a good hero slut for me, won’t you?” he says with a chuckle. You whine, wanting to protest. Shigaraki only slams into your face harder, your nose hitting his navel before his cum shoots down the back of your throat. Once he pulls out, he sits down beside you. “I love you so much, Y/N, I really do.. You just need to see it from my eyes.. I saved you from that horrible world so you could be safe and loved by me. You don’t need anyone else; I promise to make you love me just as much as I love you.” Make you? He was sounding even more delusional from the 1st time he rambled about this. The added bit of force did scare you, though. He may say that he loves you, but he was so unpredictable it’s like you were walking on eggshells.

“I’ll try and do better for you, Shigaraki..” you mumble, hoping at least that will make him happy. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you in. You freeze up at first, but his warmth quickly melted you until you were putty in his arms.

“Good. One day, you and I will live upstairs together, and we can laugh at all the heroes who die because of me.” he says happily, like it was a normal conversation. That thought made you shake a little. You didn’t want to die here, but as long as you obeyed him, he had only love in his eyes. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

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

As the days pass, Shigaraki brainwashes and manipulates you more and more, until he knows you won’t leave him; until you can’t leave him.

“Shigaraki!! Did you get hurt from work?!” you say worriedly, pulling him in for a hug. I saw it on the news! I don’t know what I would do without you, please don’t die on me!” you say, sobbing.

“I made it home didn’t I, kitten? I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon, don’t worry..” he reassures you, planting a kiss on your forehead. You sigh in relief.

“I’ll go make you some tea,” you offer, heading to the kitchen. His hand stops you and pulls you back to him.

“All I want right now is you, my love.” he says, kissing you. His hands are stationed at your hips, making you sit on his lap. You can feel him getting hard under you from just kissing. Cute . You try to innocently grind on him, but Shigaraki has picked up on those things by now. “Wanna help me with that?” he asks. You nod eagerly as you unbuckle his belt. His dick springs out from his boxers and your hand gets to work. Shigaraki’s hand is around your throat slowly cutting off circulation. “Make me cum before you pass out and maybe I won’t use you like a ragdoll,” he says with a grin. Your eyes widen and you smile back at him. Things like this turn you on more than ever now. You spit on your hand and jerk him off, watching his face contort into boatloads of pleasure. He bucks his hips up, wanting more friction. You speed up your hand and he tightens his grip. Your vision starts to go blurry, but you really want to make him feel good. Shigaraki suddenly puts all 5 fingers on your skirt and panties, leaving you bare. “Sit up.” he commands. You do so and he lines his cock up with your wet cunt. He pushes you down on it and guides you to go at just the right speed. “Fuck, suck a good slut for me, my perfect girl..” he moans, bucking up into you. Your whines fill the room when he hits your sweet spot, and it makes Shigaraki lose his mind. He stills your hips, filling your hole up with his cum.

“Did you just..”

“Gotta be extra sure my darling won’t leave me, don’t I?”

Notes:

[crescentblossom66]

Music is for Birds!

Bow Kid and Hat Kid covered their ears and cringed visibly at the horrible performance of the penguin who tried desperately to play the harmonica he had been given correctly. The DJ pinched his beak with his flipper and sighed.

“Maybe I should just scrap that little solo entirely, I know you've been trying really hard, darling, and I appreciate your efforts, but...” The penguin lowered the instrument and almost dropped it to the ground. Bow Kid and Hat Kid felt bad for the poor moon penguin, who had tried so hard to learn to play it for the whole month. Bow Kid's eyes lit up with an idea and in the blink of an eye she was gone, leaving the DJ and Hat Kid rather perplexed.

“Do you know where she went, darling? I need you to for a scene later.” The blue-eyed child just shrugged.

“She probably went back to the ship, maybe she forgot something. I'm sure she'll be back in a bit.” In the meantime, she decided to look at the array of instruments the penguins played. She recognized the guitar and the violins, and the drums, her friends even played some of these. Whenever he was in the mood and felt like no one was anywhere near him, Snatcher would play the violin, he was pretty good at it, too. She enjoyed listening to it, well out of the sight of the specter, he would probably stop playing if he knew that she had listened to him play.

One of the owls from the band that practiced in her spaceship, played the drums and another played the bass, that one of the penguins present also played. Maybe Bow Kid had gone back to ask the band for help, but Hat Kid had never heard them play a harmonica before.

“What's that curved thing there?” Hat Kid asked the DJ, who gave a signal to the penguin to play a little tune, Hat Kid beamed and clapped once he finished. “That thing has a weird shape, but it sounds very nice!”

“It's a saxophone, darling. I think one of the owls that played at the parade had one.” He was right. She recalled seeing one of these before...come to think of it she could have sworn she heard the sound the saxophone made in one of the Conductor's movies.

“Conductor uses these a lot, right?” The tall penguin nodded, and went over to the piano.

“Yes, always the same instruments, darling. There are so many, yet it's mostly the saxophone, a country guitar and a banjo. Sometimes I wonder how he wins with those.” He noticed that Hat Kid was deeply in thought before she, too, ran off.

“Where are you going, Hattie?!” She only gave him a thumbs up and continued to run back toward the lobby.

She had heard something else in a lot of his movies, the same small instrument they had trouble with, the harmonica! And she also remember who played said harmonica on the small balcony of the caboose of the Owl Express. She only heard it once, when almost no one was in the train and the sun had started to set and colored the desert a lovely orange.

She found the Conductor quite easily, strangely enough he wasn't yelling for once, he was sitting on his chair with a coffee, flipping through what appeared to be a script. Asking him to come along and help would result in him refusing anyway, so she simply took him with the chair, while he flailed around and cursed at her, which she just ignored.

“Let me down right now, lass! I got a movie to record, I don't have time fer yer peckin' antics!”

“I need your help though, you're the only one that I know that can.” The owl wondered why she needed him specifically, which caused him to calm down somewhat which the girl appreciated.

DJ Grooves and the moon penguins looked rather surprised. They had to force themselves not to laugh at the sight of the girl effortlessly carrying the chair with yellow owl in it, who was oddly silent and had apparently not realized there he was yet, which changed once he spotted his rival.

“Why did ye bring me here, lass?! As much as I'd love ta, I donae have the time ta bicker with DJ peck neck.” The girl let him down rather forcefully and he fell out of the chair and stumbled. He just about prevented himself from falling and dusted off his suit and straightened out his cap, before he turned back to Hat Kid, who pointed at the penguin with the harmonica.

“He needs your help. The moon penguin doesn't know how to play the harmonica, but I know that you do.” She looked at him with those sad puppy eyes...he hated that expression so pecking much. How was he going to say 'no' now?

“You know how to play the harmonica, darling?” The DJ asked the yellow bird who only scoffed.

“Aye, I do. Who do ye think plays it in me Westerns?”

“Could you show him how to play his solo part? I'm sure you could teach him.” He would have loved nothing more than to know just how the girl knew that he could play the little instrument, and why he just had to teach this smelly penguin how to play it, but he decided that he'd rather get it over with.

“Fine.-” The owl turned his head toward his rival. “-ye owe me big time, peck neck!”

[littlemissnoname13]

Wisps of Smoke (Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader) - Part one

Summary: Draco and y/n find themselves drawn to an abandoned classroom every single night.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin! reader (implied pure blood for the storyline to work)

Warnings: Excessive smoking, mature language, mature themes, no full fledged smut till now. Also please remember that the characters have all been aged up in all of my stories.

18+ Content

A/n: A pack of cigarettes on my desk seduced me into writing this one (smoking is injurious to health)

Word count: 3000

Monday

To say that Draco Malfoy was your friend was a bit of an exaggeration.

The two of you tolerated each other at most.

Having grown up in the same friend circle that consisted of Theo, Blaise, Pansy, you’d both learned how to remain perfectly civil.

Of course, it wasn’t always that easy.Sometimes the blonde git got on your last nerve.

Just last week, Theo had to pull him back by his robe and Pansy had to clutch tightly onto your arm because you and Draco were this close to hexing each other’s faces off.

And today Blaise looked anything but pleased about his choice of seat at your Potions class. The boy who donned a calm, cool and collected—almost condescending expression on most days leaned against the table in a bracing position while you and Draco yelled at each other from his left and right.

“You have to stir it twice. Clockwise.” Draco scoffed rolling his eyes as he watched you stir your Draught of Living Death potion.

“Clockwise y/n—No! no! No— y/n you are doing it all wrong. That’s anti-clockwise! Can you get any more stupid?! Merlin!”

“Why don’t you do it yourself instead of sitting over there, crossing your fucking arms and barking out instructions.” You shot back getting angrier by the minute.

“You should be glad I’m here to give you instructions. If it were up to you, the whole classroom would be up in flames by now.” He said icily, picking up a Sopophorous bean and observing it.

“In case you haven’t noticed already, I never asked for your help Malfoy!”

“And I did not ask to work with you and Zabini on this stupid potion y/l/n.”

“And I most certainly did not ask to be put in between two bickering children but here I am. Life isn’t fair now is it?!” Blaise snapped causing you both to retreat back into your seats.

That’s how your days usually went by.

And your nights...well your nights weren’t particularly any better. In fact, it was always the same old routine.

You stared up at the ceiling and focused on the creaking sound your bed made while your long time boyfriend Adrian Pucey chased his release on top of you.

He was always a blubbering, sweaty mess and you lightly stroked his hair and closed your eyes wondering why you felt nothing at all.

You were devoid of all emotion and pleasure—wondering if you were broken.

There was no pleasure and no pain.

And after Adrian’s quick departure, your room reeked of sex and sweat and your pillow would sometimes be wet with tears.

Sex with Adrian felt like nothing at all even though you loved him.

Adrian was gentle, almost too gentle and you had come to a conclusion that orgasms and passionate sex that left you wanting for more was nothing but a myth.

You channeled all the energy you had left into slipping your clothes back on. You lethargically wiped at your mascara stained cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater before slamming your door shut behind you.

Discreetly, you exited the dungeons and let your feet guide you all the way towards an empty and abandoned classroom with a huge window and a windowsill wide enough for sitting.

Nobody really paid much attention to the classroom and going there felt like hiding in plain sight. Going there in the middle of the night had somewhat become a night time ritual for you.

You quickly got comfortable on the moonlit windowsill and took deep calming breaths—filling your lungs up with the air around you.

The air had a stench of nicotine these past few weeks and It hurt your head at first. But now, you’d learned to ignore it.

Everything felt silent and tranquil for a brief moment until you started to hear moans and groans coming from the other side of the classroom door.

The sounds made your blood freeze and you closed your eyes, mumbling an inaudible prayer to the universe. The last thing you needed was an awkward encounter with the people making out on the other side of the door.

It didn’t take very long before the door started to creak and shake violently.

The creaking only got louder and louder. As did the moaning and groaning and cursing.

Soon, the shaking of the door came to an abrupt halt followed by a shrill post-coital giggle.

You closed your eyes and finally heaved a huge sigh of relief when you heard the pitter patter footsteps walking away from the room.

“What the fuck are you doing here y/l/n?” A familiar voice startled you and you held your breath hoping it wasn’t who you thought it was.

You opened only one eye and looked at the door that had been flung open.

Draco Malfoy stood on the other side of the now open door with the buckle of his belt still undone, his shirt all disheveled and his silver hair in a state of disarray from being yanked on.

“I would ask you the same question but it’s best if you don’t tell me.” You gagged.

The corners of his lips twisted into a typical Malfoy-esque smirk as he used his thumb to wipe his bottom lip.

“Well, would you like me to show you instead?”

“Smooth.” You muttered, letting out a sarcastic chuckle at his words while he sat down next to you on the windowsill.

Malfoy was the last person you wanted to see that night. Especially after Potions class.

Even though you were looking out the window, you felt his eyes linger on you through your peripheral vision. He was drenched in the moonlight seeping in through the large window giving his place skin a pearlescent glow.

Although Malfoy had maintained an unreadable expression on his face, his prying eyes gave everything away.

“Pucey?” He finally said.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been crying haven’t you?” He asked, lifting your chin up with his index finger and observing the redness around your nose and the puffiness around your eyes.

“Since when do you care?” You jeered, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I don’t.” He shrugged abruptly pulling his hand back—letting your face fall.

He turned towards the window, put a cigarette between his lips and lit it up. After taking a long drag, he tilted his head around to look at you again. “I just don’t think Pucey is worth crying over. If you’re crying over hi—”

“Merlin’s beard Malfoy! It’s you. You’ve been smoking your stupid cigarettes here haven’t you?” You cut him off with your eyes widening in realisation.

“I have.”

“And all this time I thought I was hallucinating the smell of smoke.”

“Sorry to break it to you y/l/n but I’ve been coming here since the fourth year.”

Wisps of smoke came out of his mouth and drifted all the way to the tip of your nose when he exhaled.

“I come here all the time.” He continued. “Sometimes alone and sometimes—”

“You bring a poor naive girl here for a quickie.” you finished his sentence coughing and swatting the air around you. “Who were you shagging outside anyway?” You asked, arching your eyebrows.

“Since when do you care?” He retorted.

“Touché.”

~~~~~~~~

Tuesday

“That poor girl you were with last night sounded like she was in pain.” You commented the next night dangling your legs outside the window as Draco stood next you, smoking.

“I am assuming Pucey is horrible in bed then.” He snickered making your cheeks heat up.

“He isn’t horrible.” You protested as he inspected the slightest amount of dust gathered in the corner of the windowsill paying little to no attention to you.

“He’s just…” you trailed off in your pathetic attempt to justify Adrian’s subpar bedroom skills.

“Go on love.” He mocked, lighting up another cigarette and extending his hand to offer you one. "Tell me."

"You are the last person I wanna discuss my sex life with.” You snapped pushing his hand along with the pack of cigarettes away from you.

~~~~~~~~

Wednesday

You gathered your hair up and threw on a silk robe over your slip dress and walked towards your usual spot in the abandoned classroom.

You found yourself subconsciously waiting for Draco to show up as you leaned against the glass window.

After a few minutes, he was quietly standing next to you staring outside the window that overlooked the school courtyard.

He placed a cigarette between his lips and turned to look at you. “You want one?”

You shook your head as you watched him light the one between his lips up—observing the way he inhaled and the way wisps of smoke came out of his mouth.

The wisps drifted your way and you didn’t even bother to fan it away.

Instead you took a sharp breath.

It felt like your brain was slowly associating the scent of smoke with him.

“Didn’t find anybody to shag tonight?” You asked in a feeble attempt to break the silence.

This made him turn his head to look at you—the true blue specks in his otherwise grey eyes glistened in cool tones and you felt a strange ache inside of you.

“Nope. Not anyone that I’d like to shag anyway.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“I won’t be surprised if I find you loitering around the Ravenclaw tower in a few nights—considering you have been with every other Slytherin girl I know.”

He shot you a bone chilling glare before flashing a devious looking grin.

“You’re in Slytherin.” Draco drawled, taking a step towards you.

“Your point?” You looked at him quizzically, taking a step back but Draco took a step towards you for every step you took away from him until you felt the coolness of the wall behind your back.

His palms rested on the wall on either side of your face as he stared down at you with his glacial eyes— the mere intensity of his gaze made you want to look away.

It was just too much.

The way his shirt was unbuttoned at the top and the way platinum colored strands of hair fell onto his face helped you understand why girls pined over him. You tried so very hard to hold your breath but failed in miserable fashion has his face inched closer and closer to you.

He let his slender fingertips trail on your waves before tucking the stray bits behind your ears.

“I hardly think I’ll find myself at the Ravenclaw tower anytime soon.” He raspily whispered into your ears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thursday

He was in a rather foul mood that night.

Quidditch practice in the rain had gone on for a bit too long and to top it all off, his father had paid him a visit right after.

“Is everything alright Draco?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest and turning to face the exhausted looking boy standing next to you, with his hair still damp from his shower.

“Just perfect.”

“Doesn’t look like it.” You commented running your eyes up and down his frame, earning a disdainful scoff from him. “Anyway, how was quidditch practice? Adrian was telling me it got quite intense today.”

“Well well, looks like someone is feeling rather chatty tonight.”

“Okay, nevermind the quidditch talk. How’s Narscissa? My mum owled me about the upcoming New year's ball at your Manor—something about an announcement.” You scratched your head trying to remember what the letter said as you looked at him again. The bare minimum light cast soft, fuzzy looking shadows on his angular features.

“You aren’t usually this annoying. Is there any way you will stop with your ramblings!?” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration before fumbling with his pocket to pull out another cigarette.

You quickly stood from the windowsill and reached for a very distraught looking Draco’s hand.

“We don't have to talk if you don’t want to, Draco.” You said quietly as you looked up at him.

“Then what do you suggest we do hm, y/n?” He asked more or less rhetorically as he pulled you towards him.

You thought you’d forgotten how to breathe by the way he said your name. You weren’t particularly fond of your name but the way he said it made you want to thank your parents for picking out your name—the same name he said so smoothly and easily, with tension and emphasis on all the right places.

“I—I was thinking we could just quietly sit out here—maybe open up the window and breathe in some fresh air. It's rather pleasant for a rainy night don't you think?” You babbled.

At your mention of a pleasant night, he turned away from you to face the window, occasionally surveying the half smoked cigarette between his fingers as you opened the window.

“We could do that actually.” Draco finally said in a calm voice, taking a prolonged drag from his cigarette from the corner of his mouth and tossing it carelessly to the ground before stomping on it. “Or—”

“Or?”

“Or....” He said with his silver eyes muddled and darkened into an opaque grey. “We could just do this.”

You couldn't even begin to comprehend why or even how, but his nicotine infused lips softly came crashing down onto yours making your heart pound loudly against your ribcage. The way he pressed his lips to yours—the connection made you lightheaded.

What was even more surprising was the fact that you kissed him back even harder.

Compiling to all of his requests.

When he nipped your bottom lip, you parted your mouth.

When his tongue met yours, you moaned softly into this mouth.

When he cupped your face to draw you in closer as his tongue seduced, tantalized, licked, and sucked, you surrendered.

The sweetness of your lips only made him want you more as he wondered how he had gone so long without his lips pressed up against yours, his thumb gently yet possessively caressing your cheek.

And now that he’d gotten a taste, he wasn't sure he could make do without it.

He wanted this.

He needed this.

There was something so sublime, so achingly beautiful about kissing your lips that a million different thoughts encircled his mind.

Why did it suddenly feel like his thirst was gradually being quelled by the way your mouth, your breathing, your pulse melded into his?

Your fingertips intertwining with the hair on the nape of his neck pacified him.

This was unfamiliar territory.

You were both treading uncharted waters and yet, there was something soothing and familiar about the way he ran his hands up and down your sides, feeling and remembering your curves.

“That ought to keep you quiet y/n.” He whispered, his voice hoarse and saturated with yearning as he pulled away.

The rain outside had transformed into a tempestuous storm and the wind brought in splatters of rain drops inside the classroom window colliding against both of your skin and clothes.

You turned your head to look outside. “Looks like the weather is no longer pleasant.”

His eyes mirrored the flash of lighting that lit up the night sky in shades of lilac, yellow and violet back at you as the sky roared.

“But I kinda like the storm you kno—” Your attempt to finish your sentence was futile.

Lightning struck again but this time in the depths of your heart as his cold, damp, rain-soaked lips brushed against yours in an urgent fashion. The way he aggressively moved his lips made you see more colours than just lilac, yellow and violet.

Magnificent shades of cerulean, emerald, crimson, and burgundy. You could see them all.

"I have pictured kissing you a thousand times over in my mind." he murmured into the kiss while the hand he had placed on your waist trailed down to your hips.

“Draco.” You mewled as your hands found their way to the back of his shirt, gripping onto the fabric tightly for support while you let his ravenous mouth place kisses along your jaw and clavicles.

"You drive me...mmmm... fucking insane y/n. You make me.. mmm..so fucking furious" He whispered between kisses with his fingertips digging into your skin hidden under layers of fabric.

"As do you. I know..hmmmm..the difference...fuck...between clockwise and...mmhh..Anticlockwise." You said breathlessly pulling him flush against you.

Draco backed you further into the wall and his fingertips lingered on the string of your silk robe and you guided his hands through the knots and tangles of the string and let the robe fall onto the floor.

He found his way underneath your slip dress and let his hands roam around your bare flesh turning you into a whimpering mess.

Your own hands trailed to the buttons of his shirt as the aching need to feel his bare skin grew.

And when his shirt did hit the ground, you greedily ran your hands all over his firm chest and toned abdomen— your mouth watering while the flimsy fabric of your panties turned damp.

When he felt you palm the tent forming in his trousers, he smirked and the kiss came to an abrupt stop and his eyes fluttered open.

He pressed his forehead against yours—shoulders rising and falling from his heavy breathing.

"Not yet. " He murmured with his breathing still laboured.

"Draco—"

He shut you up with another kiss before backing away and walking towards the door.

"Good night y/n." He smirked, fixing his clothes as he stood near the door.

“Uh, good night?!” You mumbled, dumfounded.

"y/n?”

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” He mumbled, shaking his head as he closed the door behind him.

To be continued.....

~~~~~~

Part 2 teaser:

"Took you long enough." Draco breathed,holding you tightly against him as he desperately ran his hands along your sides feeling the fabric of your silky nightdress.

"I was going to stay away. I tried so fucking hard." You whispered, and he instantly placed his lips onto yours furrowing his brows as you fiercely kissed him back.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @maybesandohnos ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~

Message me if you want to be on my tag list.

[cordria]

Twin Cores - DP

Saw this headcanon on Tumblr… awhile ago? It stuck with me, and I ended up writing this, and now I can’t find it to give the person proper credit. Lemme know if anyone recognizes this idea and knows who came up with it. (heart) 

Was gonna do this idea for the Big Bang thing, but I forgot all about signing up. ;) Wonders. So I’ll just post it and come up with new ideas.

~2,700 words. 

--

Danny floated high above the clouds, up where the air was thin and cold and the stars sparkled brightly overhead. It was terribly late, and Danny knew he’d be paying for this at school tomorrow, but this was always the best part of his week. He couldn’t come up here all the time, but when he cound, he always found himself relaxing. Hands behind his head, he floated on his back, studying the stars.

He let out a breath through his lips and brought a hand forwards to massage his chest, closing his eyes. Yesterday had not been good day. An accident with some of his parents’ technology had completely ruined his day. For reasons Danny didn’t understand, his chest had felt overly full since. Almost like he needed to cough up something - which couldn’t be, because his ghost form didn’t have any real lungs to cough with. 

With a groan, Danny stretched and rolled his body through a bunch of sharp loop-the-loops and twists, hoping maybe he could work out the kink. Nothing. Hopefully it wouldn’t prevent him from getting a good night’s rest. He was exhausted.

He floated for a few minutes longer, watching the sky and hoping for a meteor or two, slowly turning the overfull feeling over in his mind. He pushed and prodded at the odd sensation, trying to come up with what in the world it could be. 

It had to relate to his parents’ invention. Unfortunately, the day was a fuzzy blur in Danny’s memory and if something in particular had happened to him, he wouldn’t be able to remember it on his own. All he could do on his own was a vague understanding of what had happened.

Getting zapped with one of the newer devices yesterday had resulted in Danny getting split - again. His ghost half had fallen captive to the hero-like obsession of his core, and had gone on a hero-spree. A memory of rescuing a cat from a tree in a very overblown, comic-like way surfaced and Danny buried his face in his hands, embarrassed for himself. “Ugh, I hope nobody videoed that. Or anything else,” he muttered.

His human half had wandered aimlessly through the day, not knowing what to do with no driving force behind everything he did. Vague memories of eating pizza and not noticing the ghost haunting the place next door until Sam pointed it out filtered through the shadows. 

From what he remembered, it hadn’t been a horrible sort of day for either half of him. His ghost half had been allowed to play with his obsession all day and his human half had gotten to just be… human. But he’d been split for much longer than ever before; Tucker and Sam were unable to work through how the strange invention worked. 

Danny didn’t remember being much help with the endeavour. In fact, he sort of remembered his human half stealing the device, passing it to his ghost half, and the thing getting placed on top of the school for the afternoon. Jazz finally got it using some of the newer modifications to the Fenton’s vehicle that allowed it to fly. 

By the time the three of them figured out how to reverse the effects, it was late in the evening on the second day - more than 36 hours since being split. Phantom had started to turn more and more ghost, losing more of his humanity each hour, delving deeper and deeper into this hero obsession. His eyes had turned more ghostly, teeth sharpening, fingers turning into claws. Even a cape had started to mist into view.

Danny slowly ran his tongue over his teeth - they were still a bit too sharp - and pulled his hands far enough away from his face to glance at his fingers. They weren’t claws, not like many ghosts had, but… his fingers no longer really looked human. The changes that had happened to his ghost form the last two days appeared to be permanent, even now that they were rejoined back together.

Danny… didn’t want to think about that. Not yet.

And his human half had started to go through changes as well. Danny vaguely remembered - towards the end of the escapade, when he’d convinced himself that he didn’t want to be rejoined with Phantom - trying to avoid everyone and ending up in a tree, floating in a very inhuman way. His totally human form regaining some of its ghost powers.

Danny mentally poked at the odd, full sensation in his chest again. Perhaps it was that his ghost powers had grown while he was separated. Phantom hadn’t been exactly a half-a-ghost when they’d been slammed back together. And Danny had been just a bit of ghost too. Perhaps now he was somehow 60% ghost and 50% human… and his body was trying to adjust to being too much ghost. 

His mind poked at the sensation in his chest just a bit too hard. Danny slammed his eyes shut tight as he felt the sensation of transformation travel through him - lightning sharp and aching into his phantom bones. Panic set in a second later. He couldn’t transform up here - there wasn’t enough oxygen for his human form to breathe. He’d pass out and fall to his death. 

He gasped and threw his arms out, instinctively trying to grab something even though he was on the edge of the atmosphere, as the transformation arced through his arms and legs. He kept his eyes closed as he fumbled for his ghost side. He needed to transform back fast. His human side would already be aching to breathe, desperate for oxygen after the last hour of being in ghost form.

But his ghost side… was… 

Danny opened his eyes as he realized he wasn’t falling. As he realized his ghost form wasn’t something to grab for, because he was still a ghost.

“But…” he whispered, startled and confused. He’d felt himself transform. There was no mistaking the sensation that had swept through him. He looked around, almost as if the answer would be written in the air next to him.

Then the stars caught his gaze. He froze, mouth falling open, as he stared up at the sky. There were more stars than before, the whole sky alight with points of light. And he knew them - with each star he focused his eyes on, he knew what that star was. How far away it was, what it’s name was, what kind of star it was… 

Delight sparkled inside him as he let his gaze drift across the heavens. Stars he didn’t even know existed seemed to soak into his skin, whispering all their secrets in his ears. “How…?” he breathed, twisting around and around and looking everywhere he could. “Why?”

His gaze snagged on the moon, crescent-shaped and gleaming. He almost felt like he was drowning in it’s glow, feeling everything about it. The ice hiding in its craters. The human-built machinery peppering its surface. The soft warmth still coiling in its dying core. He could just… go there. He could be there in about three seconds. He could just…

He threw up a hand, blocking the moon’s glow, blinking hard and pushing the thoughts out of his mind. “Holy shit,” he whispered, breathing hard, focusing on Earth, on human thoughts, on normalcy. “What is this?”

Then he saw his hand, thin fingers topped with sharp claws, glove missing. His forehead furrowed as he realized both his gloves were gone, as was the logo on his chest, and the white belt around his waist. A black shirt and black pants. His boots looked like his normal shoes, just moon-lit white. Actually, minus the claws and some color changes, he looked… like he had yesterday. “Uh… What is going on with me?” 

He could feel the pull of the stars overhead. He knew he could just lean back, put his arms behind his head, and float there, watching the sky forever. Just revel in space for all time. Instead, he kept his gaze down towards the tops of the clouds. 

At least the first step of what he should do now was clear. Whenever he was dealing with anything out of the ordinary, Sam and Tucker knew what to say. They’d help. He’d go home, grab his phone, and call them. 

Danny flew towards Amity Park-

-and suddenly drew to a stop. He twisted around, eyes wide, realizing that he’d somehow overshot his home by a dozen miles or more. “What the fuck?” he said. He’d only been flying for a moment - how was he all the way over here? “I…”

He licked his lips and tried again. He set his gaze on Amity Park and flew-

-right past Amity Park again. It was an eyeblink of time between one side of the city and the other. Danny hung in the air, confused and slightly annoyed. “What is going on?” he said. A new power, obviously - but one that had unfortunate timing. His fingers curled, the claws digging uncomfortably into his palms. “This is what I get for leaving my phone behind,” he groused. The phone wouldn’t have done well in the thin, cold atmosphere. Even if he’d have brought it with, there was no guarantee it would have still been working. 

“Are all my powers wonky?” Danny asked, raising his hand and pushing energy into his hand. Instead of a steady, gas-like glow, the energy sparkled and hissed, like he was holding onto an exploding firework. “Odd.”

His powers were working differently, so it was time to try using them differently. Time to change tactics. Instead of focusing on a direction, Danny focused his mind on a destination. He closed his eyes, picturing where exactly he wanted to end up. Opening his eyes and taking a deep breath, he tried to fly as slowly as possible.

The world seemed to blur and twist, glowing uncomfortably bright for the fraction of a second Danny allowed himself to be in motion. When the world settled back into place, Danny found himself hovering about ten feet off the ground, within the city of Amiry Park, only about a half-mile from his house. “That worked a lot better,” he said, rather pleased with himself.

Instead of chancing another attempt at flying, Danny figured he’d turn himself human. A ten foot drop wouldn’t be too bad, and he could walk home. It would be the least-tricky way to get home. He took a moment to worry that this new power would prevent him from turning human as easily as normal, but then slammed that idea shut and closed his eyes. 

Danny pushed his ghost form away, pulling at that warm and heavy feeling in his mind. There was a sparkling sensation in his mind, then the sharp pain that came with turning himself human again. He dropped, landing lightly on his toes, breathing a heavy sigh of relief that at least this was still normal. He bounced a few times, testing out a few basic powers - invisibility seemed to work like normal, as did phasing through things. He didn’t try floating, for fear of accidentally ending up two towns over and two hundred feet above the ground in human form.

He walked home, rubbing his chest at that strange, too-full sensation, and snuck in the back door. Despite the fact that all the lights were out, he kept himself invisible to avoid his parents. It was so far past curfew that Danny didn’t even want to think about the trouble he’d be in if they realized he was still out. 

His bedroom door was still locked. Danny phased through it, flipped on the lights, and dumped himself into his bed. “Ugh,” he groaned, feeling the drain of the last two days on his body. He glanced over at the clock. Just before two in the morning. Part of him wanted to just curl up in his bed and fall asleep, try to get a few hours of sleep before tackling school tomorrow. But too much of him had a tight ball of anxious curiosity.

He groaned as he rolled out of bed and stepped in front of his mirror. He looked awful. Dark rings under his eyes and a horrible, pale tone to his skin. He looked half dead. “On the positive side, nobody will question it if I want to stay home sick tomorrow,” he muttered. He shuddered and shifted his weight, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then triggered the transformation.

His ghost form spread like lightning across his skin, slammed through his head, and settled into his chest like a cold ball of fire. He squeaked one eye open just a touch, not sure of what he was going to see. 

Phantom was peering back at him. Danny relaxed, letting his eyes open, and studied himself. From more than a few feet away, he looked absolutely normal. But up close, there were minor changes from the last few days. Teeth that were too pointy. Fingers that were a little more claw-like than normal. Hair that was more… smokey. Just a little. His mouth twisted, unsure of how he felt about the changes. “At least there’s no cape,” he murmured. “I’d look too much like Vlad with a cape.”

He squared his shoulders, set his teeth, and tried flying. He floated up and moved around his bedroom like normal. “So normal.” He caught sight of his claws and shivered. “Mostly.”

“Now…” He took a deep breath and jabbed hard at the over-full feeling in his chest. He was half-hoping nothing would happen. But light sparkled along his body, that tingling almost-painful sensation changing him in very subtle ways. His clothes changed from a jumpsuit to shirt and pants, his shoes looked like they would squeak on the floor as he walked. He was still glowing and transparent. “I’m… a different ghost?” He spread out his arms, feet firmly on the floor afraid to hover. “And I have like… superspeed.”

He took a very careful step forwards, peering closely at himself in the mirror. His eyes looked the same, with the normal green glow. His teeth were sharper, canines almost like little fangs. And… he leaned in, studying his freckles. They glowed, star-like, forming constellations across his skin. 

His mind veered off tangent, remembering the stars overhead, the glittering facts that swirled through his mind, the odd bubbling joy that came with even thinking about space. The freckles on his cheeks rearranged themselves into the constellation Draco, and sparks and speckles swirled into life across his clothes. A supernova that resolved itself into the stars overhead. Danny could trace the stars in his clothes, knew everything about each star. He was caught by the strongest urge to fly there. To zip through space to Alrakis, a binary star system eighty-eight light years away. It would only take him 221 years, 5 months, and 3 days…

Danny jerked himself out of his thoughts. He couldn’t fly for over two hundred years. He shuddered and blinked, settling back on his heels. The glowing freckles on his face settled down, his clothes faded back to black. The familiar sort of pitch-black of space. The sort of black Danny imagined the universe looked like before stars existed. “I have space powers now,” Danny realized, his voice slow and excited. “I have space powers! I’m a space ghost!”

Curious, Danny poked at that over-full feeling in his chest again. The world tingled and flashed, and he was back to his old self. Phantom, with the logo and the better posture and the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. “I’m two ghosts, somehow? Two ghosts… and a human...” Danny stared at himself in the mirror. “Or...” he rested his hand on his chest, feeling that strange overly-full feeling. “Or something…?”

Danny shook his head, not sure where to even begin processing that one. Then he turned himself human again, watching the world get dark as the ghost energy faded away. He scratched at his scalp, trundled over to his bed, and dropped into its softness. 

There wasn’t much he knew right then. The first was that space powers were the coolest power he could have gotten. And the second was that all this would be easier to process after a few hours of sleep and a large cup of caffeine. 

[spencersscout]

Candlelit

WORDCOUNT: 2k

WARNINGS: smut, fluff, angst if you squint really hard, pwp, soft dom!reader/sub!spencer, takes place w season 4 spencer, nervousness, references to past sexual conduct, my immortal style outfit descriptions?, some boobie sucking, riding, unprotected sex, creampie, implied fem reader but gendered pronouns aren’t used

 “Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.” - William Shakespeare, Hamlet

***

    February is not, by far, Spencer’s favorite month of the year. It always dredges up horrible memories, ones of looking into Tobias Hankel’s glassy cornflower blue eyes and choking on his own foamy saliva. It’s only been two years since he went into that field, all alone, abandoning protocol and all common sense. It’s only been two years, but even if he doesn’t love February, he does love you. 

It’s your first valentine’s day together and Spencer is determined to make it incredible for you. He cannot afford to fall short, he must sweep you off of your feet and hopefully into his bed. He knows deep down that all he’d have to do is ask but he wants to do this romance thing properly and excite you in a way you probably haven’t been in their relationship. If you’re bothered by his inexperience, you haven’t said so and in fact, you’ve shown him over and over again that you adore teaching him how to cuddle, how to kiss, and how to make love.

You are operating under the assumption that your date is going to be low key. It will be, he knows that sparkling, dazzling restaurants with meals you can’t pronounce or pay for isn’t exactly your style. So Spencer is cooking. And it is a disaster.

Murphy’s Law states that everything that can go wrong will most definitely go wrong. So far, it has. Spencer has charred the alfredo sauce, boiled the water over onto the stove, dropped half of the pasta directly into the sink in an attempt to drain it and lightly burned his wrist for good measure. He chalks it up to his nerves. Spencer isn’t a great chef by any means, but he’s never done this badly before. Not even when you were coming over. But now it’s getting to be too late to fix it and you’re going to be here any minute and he doesn’t have any food to offer you. 

As if on cue, there’s a soft knock at his front door. He stumbles through the kitchen and flings the door open, startling you where you stand on the other side. You look incredibly gorgeous, with a silky red dress draped across your figure, really emphasizing his favorite parts of you and dipping low in the front, exposing your sternum. He takes your hand and kisses the back of it gently, as if this will make up for his shortcomings on today of all days. You smile so big that your eyes crinkle and throw your arms around his neck. He brushes his nose into your shoulder, taking a deep inhale as he takes you into his arms. Your perfume smells like his favorite candle, a mixture of pomegranate and coconut. You break away  from the embrace just enough to squish his cheeks gently between your palms. 

“Hi, handsome,” you mumble, not looking him in the eyes but at his lips and he is happy to oblige you. Kissing you feels like the first time every single time. It makes his heart stammer in his chest and his stomach do backflips and his hands get way sweatier than they should. You press your teeth gently onto his lower lip to indicate that he should open and then you swipe your tongue along the delicate skin. 

You break away and Spencer tries to follow you with his mouth, eyes still closed. He only stops when he hears you laugh, like tinkling bells, sparkling and high and pretty. You rub your thumb across his bottom lip and in response, Spencer melts into a puddle of genius goo in his doorway. 

“You gonna invite me in, Doc?”

“Oh, right, sorry,” he says, without moving an inch. 

Your left eyebrow quirks up and your right one furrows down. “You do realize that you will have to move so I can come in, yes?” 

Spencer swallows thickly and side steps so you can brush past him in a flurry of red silk, dark eyelashes and soft perfume. You slide your cardigan-is that his?-down off of your shoulders, revealing the soft skin of your back and shoulders to him. He knows there’s nothing so intimate about skin, but something about the slightly uneven bow you’ve tied to hold the dress up and the memories he has of looking at and touching you is a little much for him. 

You turn your head and catch his eye. He sees something devilish, glinting and dancing, just out of reach, and before he can say anything at all, you’re tugging on his tie and dragging him closer to you. He chose his nicest one for the occasion, burgundy, over a crisp, dark brown shirt and a cream colored vest. Penelope had helped him pick the combination out and he’s feeling a little nervous about it now, especially because it’s paired with his just-a-little-too-big khakis. He’s taller than you, even with your heels, so his neck is bent at a slightly awkward angle but he doesn’t really mind at all because your lips are brushing past his and your index finger is hooked firmly into his belt loop. 

“What do you say we skip dinner for now?” You purr, almost touching the corner of his mouth with yours. He gives an emphatic nod yes and you run your thumb over his belly before tugging by the belt loop to get him impossibly closer before running your other hand down his chest. With the tightness in his slacks increasing steadily, he latches his hands onto your waist and he kisses you again, this time even more feverishly than before. 

You gasp against his mouth as he digs his fingertips into the soft flesh of your hips, and he relishes in the sound. It’s his favorite one, soft and breathy and unmistakable and this time it’s Spencer who’s running his tongue along your lips to ask you to open without using his words. You do and he momentarily loses track of your hands until he finds them again, loosening his tie around his neck. You break away then, just to pant, “As gorgeous as you look right now, this has to come off.” 

The heat in Spencer’s belly climbs up to his chest and he knows he’s flushed pink all over from the compliment. It still leaves him entirely shell-shocked to hear that you find him just as attractive as he finds you, so his brain completely pauses every time. He starts back up when you start back to his bedroom, intertwining your fingers with his to guide him with you. 

“Wait, wait, just wait out here for just a second,” he says, as he starts to speed walk backwards. You look just a bit confused but you do as he tells you, probably more out of curiosity than anything else. Usually you’re so completely in charge of your jello-kneed boyfriend that he doesn’t even have the brain left to formulate an order. 

He only leaves you in the dark for a moment before he pokes his head out of the bedroom and beckons you in. Inside, he’s lit as many candles as he was comfortable with (four) and scattered rose petals across the floor. He gave you flowers earlier today already but there’s another bouquet on his bedside table. You jut out your lower lip just a little and give him those puppy eyes just before you all but tackle him to the bed. His back thumps against his bed just hard enough to wind him a little and your mouth is on his before he can catch his breath again. 

He lets out a whine that is higher pitched than he’d care to admit as your core grinds against the crotch of his pants. Your dress has ridden up your thighs and he can see just a peek of your panties, lacy and white and sheer and he’s trying to reach up to untie the dress so he can fully see but you pin his hands down. 

“You first, Doc.” He’s fumbling to undo his buttons-why are there so many buttons?- and somehow even though you’re both tugging at his clothes, they aren’t coming off nearly fast enough. And you’re getting a little impatient so you reach up to untie the back of your own dress and tug the front down to expose your breasts. He abandons his own clothing, vest off, shirt half unbuttoned and pants halfway down in favor of taking one of your breasts into his mouth and sucking at your nipple just to hear the sounds you make. He takes the other one in his palm to knead at the soft skin and rests his other hand on the small of your back to pull you as close as physically possible. 

You pull away just enough to tug your dress the rest of the way off and he whimpers at the sight of you, naked except for panties clearly damp with arousal, your nipples flushed. You rest your palm on his exposed chest, digging your nails into his skin just hard enough to sting but not hard enough to hurt. 

“I-I, I need you. Now. Please?” Spencer breathes and even though he normally would take his time warming you up, getting you stretched, he knows he can’t handle it right now. It’s too good and it’ll be over before you get to the main event. You tug your panties to one side and tug his waistband down to allow his cock, aching and drooling, to peek out. It hits his stomach with a light thwick but he doesn’t even have time to acknowledge it before you’re sinking down on him, hissing at the stretch.

Spencer pulls you in for another kiss, this one sloppy and breathy as you both gasp against each other’s mouths. You roll your hips and he hangs onto you for dear life, groaning so loudly that he feels sorry for his neighbors. It won’t be long. He’s close. 

“I’m close, please-” Spencer chokes out. 

“I am too, baby, it’s okay, come on,” you groan as you steady yourself even more firmly against his chest. The sounds your bodies are making together are obscene, skin slapping and sliding together. 

“I don’t, I’m gonna, we didn’t-” Spencer is trying to tell you that it’s now and he can’t stop it from happening but he’s not wearing a condom but the words keep getting lost from him, his voice thick and heavy. 

“It’s okay, I’m on the pill just,” you grab his hand, guiding him to your panties. He knows what you want, so he pulls them even farther, probably stretching them so bad you won’t be able to wear them again, and clumsily thumbs at your clit in that not quite circular motion you like. He feels your orgasm first, pulsing and fluttering around him but then he can’t pay attention to you anymore because he’s spilling over inside of you and stopping you from moving so he can hold you as tightly as he possibly can. He lets his head fall back with his eyes closed for just a moment and you take the opportunity to slide off of his now spent cock and curl into his side, placing a gentle hand on his cheek and stroking it with your thumb. 

“I love you,” he mumbles, eyes still closed.

“I love you too.”

“I burned dinner.”

“I know. Do you wanna call in some pizza while I pee?”

“Yeah, sure.” He opens his eyes to look at you, pupils blown, mouth swollen and makeup smeared, and he never ever wants to let you go. You seem to see it in his face, so you kiss his knuckles and say, “I’ll be right back. Then I’m all yours.” 

***

“We loved with a love that was more than love.” - Edgar Allen Poe, Annabel Lee

[italianwithanattitude]

Jet Black Hair (K.B.)

Kaz Brekker x FEM!reader

A/N: this is my first time writing on tumblr so please let me know what I do and don’t do! Anyways, enjoy loves.

Summary: Kaz starts to panic and Y/N try’s to help him the best she can.

Warnings: touch aversion, panic attack, mention of anxiety attacks, mention of desire, idk if I missed anything so let me know.

Word count: 1921

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Thief. Criminal. Gang Leader. The Bastard of the Barrel. Dirtyhands. These were all names to describe the one and only, Kaz Brekker. But the people giving Kaz these names obviously didn’t know him, at least not like Y/N did.

Y/N and Kaz had been in a relationship for at least for a year and a half now. Y/N was in love with him since the first time she saw him, his jet black hair, the small limp that made him who he is, and those eyes. Those god damn unsettlingly deep, brown eyes. Y/N wanted to melt every time they exchanged a glance. Kaz’s gaze would soften the minute he laid eyes on his girl.

But with love came other emotions. Kaz still struggled greatly with his PTSD and touch aversion caused by it. It always made him sad or angry to see Y/N touching Jespers arm, or sharing a long hug with Nina. God it angered Kaz that he couldn’t do anything about it. He saw you cast longingful glances at couples at the club that were making out or holding hands, and it pained him, reminding himself that he wasn’t good enough for you. But that wasn’t true at all, you love him, and wouldn’t trade him for anything.

“Kaz wants to see you.” Inej said, popping her head around the door frame of your quarters. You were just finishing the second book in the selection series when she arrived. A smile lit up your face but when Inej didn’t return the smile you knew something was wrong. Before Inej could say another word you were off your cot and sprinting up the flights of stairs to Kaz. You probably looked like an idiot sprinting through the club with PJ pants and Kaz’s black button up on. Without knocking, which you would always knock, you burst in the door. You stood their for a moment in shock, Kaz Brekker was crying. You waisted no more time and ran over next to him, stopping before you touched.

“Kaz?” Y/N whispered. Kaz’s face was buried deep in his hands, his body jumping up and down. No response. “Kaz?” You whispered again. No response. You tried one more time “Kaz.” You whispered placing a hand on his shoulder blade, and you instantly realized that was the worst thing you could do. His body jumped his eyes shooting to yours, red and puffy. You quickly retracted your hand, realizing the horrible mistake you made. Kaz was panicking, he wasn’t crying. You suddenly saw his chest rising and falling at a crazy rapid pace. He was going to pass out if he kept like this. “Kaz look at me,” you said fiercely.

Kaz lifted his eyes to meet Y/N’s. His skin was covered in goosebumps from her touch. He felt waves of nausea pass over him. He couldn’t breathe he was sucking in air but it wasn’t coming. “I-” Kaz tried to choke out but being cut off by another wave of nausea. Kaz dropped his gloved hands onto his desk, staring at the piles of plans and papers, but instead only seeing blurs of white and other colors. “Kaz, speak to me.” Y/N begged, but your voice was distant and he couldn’t focus on what Y/N was saying. The air wasn’t coming fast enough and Kaz started to see black dots crowding his vision.

“Kaz say something please!” You pleaded but he didn’t answer he was still hyperventilating, his eyes fixed on something that wasn’t even there. You had never seen Kaz like this. He looked pale, sickly, like he had seen a ghost. You wanted to reach out and hug him, pull him back to earth, but she couldn’t. Y/N felt hot tears starting to stream down her face. She can’t see him like this. The love of her life sitting right their, having a panic attack and you couldn’t do anything. “I-” Kaz’s voice cut through your thoughts. “Kaz” you gasped. “I- I’m going to faint.” He gasped through heaved of air. Y/N went still, eyes widening in panic. “Kaz, Kaz, Kaz. No no no. Stay with me. Stay Kaz.” Y/N pleaded the fiery tears flowing freely now. “NINA!” You screamed hoping someone heard. You heard a clamber of footsteps up the steps, you looked over. It was Jesper, stunned looking at the scene in front of him. “Get Nina you cried.” And Jesper ran. Returning minutes later with Wylan, Inej, Matthias, and Nina. Kaz looked up for a short moment though he probably only saw blurbs of color. “Everyone out except Nina!” You commanded, nobody should ever have seen Kaz like that except you. Jesper, Wylan, Matthias, and Inej filed out, as Nina rushed over to your side. “What’s wrong?” Nina quizzed rubbing circles on your back to calm you. “He’s having a panic attack and said he was going to faint. I don’t know, I thought you could slow his heart or something.” Y/N gasped between tears. Nina gave a sharp nod as she though of the best way to approach the situation. You looked back at Kaz. He shakily turned to look at you. His usual deep brown eyes, clouded and shallow. “Kaz, breathe.” Y/N pleaded, as Nina began to work. She began to slow his heart rate and control his breathing. Kaz began to slow his hyperventilating and his grip loosened on his desk.

His vision began to clear and he could make out the blurry figure of Nina, her hand was pressed to his chest and when his body came back from numbness he felt it and jumped. Nina removed her hand and nodded to Y/N before waking out, but stopped in the door frame. “You’re welcome Kaz.” Nina sighed before clicking away. “Darling?” Kaz heard Y/N whisper, his vision clear enough to see his beautiful Y/H/C haired queen kneeling beside him. He tried to force the corners of his mouth up to smile at her, but he couldn’t, he was too out of it. “Hi.” Y/N said, a big smile gracing her face. “Hi.” Kaz croaked, his voice full of cracks and gravel. Y/N reached to tuck a piece of Kaz’s hair that fell out of place and was sticking to his sweat sheened forehead. Though this time he didn’t flinch or push her away, he just shivered lightly. “Do you wanna talk about?” Y/N said as softly as possible. It took Kaz a minute to muster up the courage but then said it. “I’m not good for you Y/N. I see how you touch others and stare at the couples that are making out. I see how you sigh when you see couples holding hands. I can’t do that for you. I can’t Y/N.” There was a long pause. “I love you.” Y/N said. She had never said it to him before. ‘I love you’ rang through Kaz’s head. No, she can’t love me, he thought. She can’t because I’m not good for her, she craves touch that I can’t give her. But I do love her, the last person I loved left, and I had thought I would never love again, then you came into my life and I fell, I fell so fucking hard for you. I just can’t say it. What if I loose her too. Kaz thought to himself. Eventually he spoke. “I lo-” he cut himself off. “I- I can’t say it.” He stumbled over his words. Y/N nodded solemnly a sad smile on her face. She began to stand up and walk away, but Kaz darted his hand out and grabbed her wrist. He starred up at her still in his desk chair. “but I mean it.” He said yanking her down so their lips met. The kiss lasted barely a second but felt like years to Kaz. His girls flesh was alive, warm, hot, electrifying. Her touch set him on fire, as much as his body begged for more his brain and nausea told him no. Y/N looked shocked and red. A blush had spread over her cheeks and nose. She had her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, and when he saw that she was wearing his shirt he wanted to groan out loud at how it looked on her. “I- Kaz, I didn’t do that to push you-” Y/N spoke her mouth agape about what to say. “I don’t want you to regret it.” She frowned. Kaz felt sadness rush over him, she thought he didn’t want to do that?! “I will never regret that Y/N. Hell I actually didn’t even mind the feeling of your lips against mine.” He chuckled. “So Mr. Brekker does have a soft side.” Y/N teased. “Fuck off.” Kaz grumbled, but couldn’t hide the smirk that crossed his face. After a moment of silence and eye contact Kaz spoke.

“I want to try.” Y/N’s eyes shot wide. “For a baby?!! Kaz we’re both 17 and you just kissed me for the first time- I don’t think I’m ready to-” Kaz started laughing out loud. Y/N stopped rambling. “Are you laughing at me?!?! You were the one who-” Kaz cut her off. “I didn’t mean for a baby Y/N, Saints!” Kaz laughed at your scared expression turning to a confused one. “I want to try to get over my condition.” Kaz felt embarrassed talking about his PTSD and looked down at his lap. “Hey.” You said sweetly and quietly. He looked up to meet your eyes. “Let’s try-” “FOR A BABY Y/N OH MY ARE YOU CRAZY?!??” Kaz mocked. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. After a moment Kaz said “I would like that.” With a smile as he looked at you. “Where do we start?” He said, embarrassed once more. “I have an idea.” You smiled. You went and sat on your knees on Kaz’s extremely large bed, patting the section of bed in front of you for him to sit. Kaz grabbed his cane and limped over to you shakily. You smiled as he sat down with his back to you. “If you want me to stop say something or tap my leg.” You said as you brought your hands up to his gelled back hair. You slowly slid your fingers into his jet black locks and began playing with them. Breaking apart the strands that were gelled together, careful not to hurt Kaz. “My mom would do this to calm me down. I have never told you this but when I was younger I used to have anxiety attacks, so she would do this and I calmed down instantly.” You said, slowly brushing through his silky strands. He had thicker hair that was extremely soft. “This feels good.” Kaz mumbled slowly leaning back so his back was against your chest. You smiled, seeing that his usual scowl and frown were replaced by pure bliss and relaxation. You continued to play with your boyfriends hair and massage his scalp, getting him used to you touching him. After 10 minutes he started to shift uncomfortably and you whispered to him “it’s me Kaz, I’m right here.” Then continued to mumble sweet nothings until you noticed his breathing had evened and he was asleep. You smiled down at your handsome boyfriend. You didn’t bother to get up but just sat their, letting him lay on you in comfortable bliss.

“I love you”