#i like it better anyhow...oops

[juice-enjoyer]

watch what you say, say what you are

i've been in love with apparitions of death

my mind has left

and my life is only threads

[givemaycoffee]

Happy Holidays!

Designs based on these art pieces:

Felix | Sylvain | Zagreus (and sword) | Melinoë

[todayisafridaynight]

your wrist was hurting sorry man I know how drawing and presumably college work does that get well soon ❤️‍🩹

LMAO NAW ITS FINE for one thing my hurt wrist is my non-writing/drawing hand so i can still draw/write/use utensils, drawing's just a lot slower without my hotkeys so i figure this is a sign i should take a proper break and rest up. plus i hurt my wrist rollerskating so dont worry i didnt sprain anything from drawing too much

[doubleedgemode]

@followers/whoever reads this: Please feel free to metaphorically wallop me if I say an absurd badly-reasoned take about the series, and also correct me. Thank you

[any59]

Most of the time when I think about how I’m a menace, I think about how y’all should be grateful that Hannah took me off the streets and out of the market so y’all don’t have to deal with my bullshit nearly as much.

I am now learning that while I am no longer a menace to the dating pool, I am still a menace and sometimes it’s to them. Oops.

[dvrcos]

Andrew Minyard mic’d up if aftg took place today and the Foxes did social media promo

Andrew absolutely refuses to be mic’d up for a long time

When he finally agrees to do it it’s during a game against the Jackals

Everyone is sure it’ll be a bust and they won’t get much of Andrew actually talking

But to everyone’s surprise, Andrew turns his inner monologue outwards and doesn’t shut up

He commentates the game from his perspective

‘And there’s the son of Exy Kevin Day running the ball up- and oh yeah no he’s down for the count’ *huffs a laugh through his nose*

‘The other fuckers have the ball now, if my brother dearest let’s them get it to my goal I’ll kill him’

And when the opposing teams striker trips Aaron up and gets past to Andrews goal he shuts them out of course

‘He’s dead. Find a new backliner coach’

When he gets bored of the game and the backliners are keeping the ball away from his goal he starts to sing

He does a full rendition of “Life is a Highway” because Neil and him watched Cars on the bus ride to the game

And he gets into it

He makes the guitar noises with his mouth and everything

He even sings it in the best low, country voice he can do

He interrupts himself in the middle of the song suddenly, feeling the need to give his full synopsis and review of Cars

‘If I was the stupid fucking car and I fell out of my sentient truck/trailers ass I would keep driving in the same fucking direction. Simple’

‘Josten would do the same thing as Lightning McQueen. He would fuck up an entire town, he’s already done it once actually, when he came here.’

‘Stupid junkie, I hate him’ he adds but there’s a fondness in his voice

‘How do the cars reproduce? Are there humans in this universe that build cars and then make them sentient? Do the cars bang?’

Halfway through his rant one of the strikers gets past Matt and Aaron and he doesn’t even stop talking when he smacks the ball halfway across the court

When the other teams strikers start breaking through the backliners more frequently Andrew doesn’t even seem to care

He just swats every attempted goal away, squawking a quite ‘mine’ like the seagulls from Finding Nemo after hitting each one

Mine *smacks* mine *swats* mine *swish*

He keeps his goal almost completely shut down the entire game, spare a few times when the other team can get the ball past him because he’s not paying attention

‘I wonder what coach is buying us for dinner after this. I hope it's good since we’re’ *his goal lights up red* ‘Oops, anyhow it better be good, I’m working my ass off out here,’

‘What if we all started moving in slow motion. Josten and Day would look stupid running up the court like that,’ *a ball flies past his helmet* ‘If we were in slowmo I would’ve stopped that’

He plays the entire game (Renee's out with an injury) and he shuffles through doing all this the entire game

He sings verses of whatever song pops into his head

He reviews the movies he’s watched recently

He commentates the game in his dry manner, listing off every stat he knows about the other team and then explains why they still suck

He makes fun of his Foxes and the other team

He talks about his random hypotheticals

All while keeping the goal almost perfectly defended against the other teams strikers

When the game ends and the Foxes are loaded back up on the bus they listen back to the recording of Andrews mic

And they’re shocked that he doesn’t stop talking once the entire game

They listen to his entire recording on the ride back to campus

All of the Foxes are laughing the entire time

Even Neil is smiling (even though he’s used to this version of Andrew that is weird and likes to ramble)

When they post his mic’d up highlights to their social media it goes viral

It’s their most viewed and liked mic’d up video

Their fans are begging for more of Andrew mic’d up but he refuses to do it again

He got the enjoyment out of doing it once and doesn’t feel a need to do it again

The foxes do start to pay a little more attention to what Andrew’s saying while in goal (and all the time)

Aaron Mic’d up

[bambisspeckles]

A Cigarette, A Guiding Light, My Guardian Angel

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

*pics for aesthetic purposes only!

CW: simon is kinda gross (its my fav simon im sorry), depictions of a mildly unhealthy relationship but everyones happy, reader is going through it, simon also has his own issues but nothing is specifically mentioned, very light religious themes (literally one paragraph), simon is also a little mean but like teasing mean, mild editing, lmk if i missed anything!!

WC: 3.6k (oops!)

Summary: Simon finds a stray, only it's not an animal: It's you.

─── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ──────

It's winter again.

The cold, biting air nips at your skin as you wander the streets streets of Manchester, your mind in a constant daze. You've been wandering for awhile now, traveling on trains, staying in hostels, shelters, and sketchy hotels, with no place to call home, the one you once had a place you vowed never to return to. It's scary, lonely, the world feels so big when you wander with only the clothes on your back and a few things to your name.

You get desperate, especially during times like this. It's so cold out and your winter coat is wearing, seams splitting apart, and new holes appearing on the fabric everyday. You've tried shelters but most are full, not that you'd be able to afford to stay long anyhow, and hostels in Manchester cost too much per night. You're exhausted, your feet blistering, and your shitty winter boots are rubbing against the back of your ankle. You feel much like the sky above, dark, gray, cloudy.

Sometimes you consider knocking on peoples doors, begging for shelter and a hot meal but the fantasy ends as quickly as it begins, there's no point in begging for something people won't give you. You don't entirely blame these hypothetical strangers though, the world is crazy and hard, most of them are probably barely holding on themselves, how could you expect them to take care of you, even if only for a night. Not to mention it's dangerous for them, what if you're crazy? You're not but they don't know that. You don't know if they're crazy either.

That might be a chance you're willing to take though.

The sun is beginning to set and the air is growing frostier by the minute, you know shops will close soon so you'll only be able to camp out in them for so long. You wonder if it's even worth it, going into a nice warm cafe only to be kicked to the bitter cold is almost worst than just staying it, the warm and cozy atmosphere taunting you with what you can't have. It's cruel, begging on the street, the looks of pity from strangers, it all feels like one humiliation game, like god is taking pleasure in watching you lie down like a kicked dog.

Some nights you beg him to take you out, others you beg him to provide you hope, a guiding light, a guardian angel, anything that might give you hope to keep trudging on. It is said in times of struggle people either turn to god, or walk away from him.

You think you're somewhere in between.

Something snaps you out of your thoughts, a shadowy figure walking down a dark alleyway you were passing by. You know better than to follow monsters into the dark, and maybe if you were still the girl you once knew, you'd shrug it off and continue down the sidewalk, just like anyone else would. Only you're not like anyone else now. You're detached from society, the dirt on the bottom of people's shoes, you're not even sure you're seen as human anymore.

You can call but no one will answer.

It's normal for your, how have people put it? Your kind, to reside in alleyways, dark hallways the rest of the world wouldn't dare to touch. It's where the dirty go, the sick go, the broken go. You think you fit that bill well now, and since you do, you ignore the way your gut screams at you to turn around, and run back to the light. You've learned there is no hope in the light, so perhaps you'll find it in the dark. You walk further into the alley, the darkness making it feel like a never-ending tunnel. Everything you expect to be there is there, used needles and empty bottles, bodies slumped over, you're not quite sure if they're dead or alive.

Dirty. Broken. Sick.

Everything is there, everything except what you're looking for. You not even sure what it is, all you know is that you haven't found it yet. Perhaps it's not a thing you're looking for, maybe it's a person. Darkness envelopes you like a cold, uncomforting blanket, it feels like tendrils of murkiness are wrapping around your body, pulling you further into your own misery. You're not really sure how long you walked, it was likely only a few minutes but with the state of your mind it felt like hours. You can tell you've finally reached the end when you can squint and see a brick wall in front of you.

God, what did you expect. It was a whole load of nothing, of course it was. The cold was probably getting to you and you can't imagine you're in the best mental state at the moment, of course you're not! You just walked down a dark alleyway, I mean no one willingly does that unless they're mentally unwell and-

"You shouldn' follow strange men into dark alleyways girl." A deep, gravelly voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You take a quick moment to collect yourself, your voice practically a squeak as you talk.

"W- what makes you think I was following you." The man laughs at that and you finally turn to look in his direction, the orange glow of a cigarette butt guiding your gaze towards him.

'Wha' else would you be following? Or are you tryin' to tell me you walked down an alleyway jus' cause." There's a cocky, almost teasing lilt in his voice. It makes you scowl, not that he can see.

"I don't know why I came down here." You reply honestly and there's a helplessness that unwillingly seeps through your voice. You're afraid it reveals too much.

You hear the man huff at your words before he speaks again.

"Go home. S' not safe for such a little' bird like you to be out here all alone." You faintly feel the thick smoke from his cigarette as he blows out, tendrils of ash caressing your skin

"I don't have one, not anymore." You're not sure why you tell him this. He doesn't care, he can't save you.

Perhaps, foolishly, you hope he will.

"Bit dramatic are you?" The man takes another drag of his cigarette and you huff at is words.

"I'm not being dramatic, it's true. I don't have a home, I thought it'd be obvious with my unsightly appearance." He chuckles at that.

"Can't see you well in the dark… Perhaps we should step into the light, hm?" You hear the man shift in place for a moment, the sound of ruffling clothes filling your ears.

"There's not much to see in the light either." There's a beat of silence before the man speaks once more, his shadowy figure leaning closer to you.

"Come home with me bird." It's more of a demand than a question.

"I'm not some whore for hire." The bite in your voice causes him to grunt rather harshly, flecks of orange ember falling onto your skin.

"M' not tryin' to fuck you. Said' you got no where to go, m' offerin' you a place to stay. Take it or leave it bird." He blows out one final puff of smoke before the orange glow of the cigarette butt slowly dissipates into the night, the odd comfort of the dull light dissipating with it.

You clench your jaw for a moment, the sound of your grinding teeth filling the tense silence. Perhaps if you were still the person of your past, you'd say no, but if you were the person of your past you wouldn't be here at all. You're no longer integrated into society, no longer part of a community, you have nothing and no one yet the world keeps spinning, how foolish you were to think you mattered at all. Who are you to think you're above anyone else? Everyone just wants the same as you, a warm bed and a hot meal.

There are many paths to the same place after all.

With a long, breathy sigh, you nod into the darkness and though you doubt the man can see it, he somehow knows you've said yes.

"Smart thing you are." He coos at you so softly and it makes your stomach twist, though the underlying purr of his words makes your heart thrum just a bit.

Not that you'd say that out loud. \ You don't feel very smart at the moment, but who knows, maybe the monster in the dark can offer you more than an angel in the light.

─── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ──────

Simon knows better than to pick up strays, especially one as clueless as her, they're more trouble than it's worth; Dirty, sick, broken. He already has to continuously pick up the pieces of his past, millions of little shards that he has to take the time to glue back together, over and over again, he doesn't want to do that for anything else. He's always been firm in it too. Johnny constantly pokes fun at him, telling him his heart is colder than he originally thought, that perhaps he'd find a bit of joy in a disheveled little thing.

Johnny probably meant a cat though.

Instead, Simon's got himself his very own bird. He had no intention of caging you, truly he didn't, he was content to send you on your way, send you out of his life. But when the moonlight hit your features just right, a vulnerable glow in your eye visible, and the helplessness in your voice seeped out, he couldn't help himself. Simon never acts based off his wants, off his selfishness, but perhaps just once, he could have a pet of his own.

So that's what he does. He takes you, and you don't put up much of a fight. Willingly following him out of the dark alley and back into society, bright street lights causing him to squint his eyes. He asks your name and you tell him so sweetly. You're scared and unsure, he wants to tell you not to worry, that he's a bad man but he'd never hurt a helpless thing like you. Eyes all wide and glassy, furrowed brows, and pouty lips. He wonders how such a soft bird like you ended up shunned from the world. You don't look like a junkie, and you told him yourself your no whore for hire, when he looks at you all he sees is a helpless kitten, separated from all her purebred friends, and tossed outside for tomcats like him.

You fidget anxiously when he ushers you towards his car, his calloused hand moving onto your lower back to guide you softly, causing you to stiffen up for a moment. He chuckles meanly at that. Your fretting continues in the car and Simon's not sure what more he can do to calm you down, after all, he's never dealt with a stray before.

He resolves to leave you be, eventually you'll realize that his home is yours, that you're safe now, that he'll take care of you. You'll let yourself be pampered by him and he'll have a trophy to show off to the world, a pretty little thing perched on his arm like a good little bird.

Simon doesn't like strays, but he sure does like you.

─── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ──────

The man tells you his name his Simon and he doesn't tell you much more, you don't bother asking anything else, maybe you should. He takes you to his home, it's empty and lifeless, you think it speaks on the kind of man he is, you're not sure if it should scare you. You linger in the entryway unsure of what to do, it feels strange to be in a home, strange in a way you never thought it could. You feel out of place, uncomfortable, there's something inside you screaming, telling you to run away. Unfortunately, you don't want to play the cards you've been dealt and now you're forced to draw. Perhaps it's a mistake, if it is you're not sure you care.

"You jus' goin' to stand there bird?" Simon's voice startles you, pulling you out of your dazed state.

"Sorry…" You're quiet, a bit shy even, and you're not sure how to feel about the smirk that grows on Simon's face at your discomfort.

"Nothin' to apologize for," He says gruffly. "Come inside." So you do. Shuffling your feet against the wooden floorboards as you make your way over to him.

He guides you into the kitchen, a rough hand on your lower back as he silently urges you to take a sit in a small dining chair. You don't move for a moment so he drags the chair out for you, it's wooden legs screeching against the floor. He stares at you as you settle and you can't quite tell what he's looking for. You're in such a vulnerable state, emotionally rubbed raw, and physically you're sure you're much weaker than before. It's scary, and with his gaze your palms begin to sweat.

You wonder if this is what being prey feels like? Bottom of the food chain; the weakest link.

Simon feels much like a predator, stalking you, watching you. At any moment he could decide to rip you open, take whatever he wants from you, leaving your carcass behind as evidence of what he's done. He watches you for a few moments longer before his gravely voice breaks through the stillness.

"You must be hungry bird, why don' we get you somethin' to eat?" You nod at him timidly and he grunts back before turning around to rummage in his fridge.

"Don' have much to eat right now…" His voice trails off for a moment before it picks up again. "Can order take out, unless you're starvin' right this second." You shake your head at him, a pathetic 'no' escaping your lips. He tilts his head a bit and you realize 'no' may have been to vauge.

"I can wait." Your voice suddenly finds you again but it's still nothing more than a whisper.

He hums at you before picking up his phone and dialing a number. He places an order of what sounds like Chinese food and then hangs up the phone, the clacking of the screen against the tiled countertops causing you to cringe a bit.

"S' the only place open this late," He explains suddenly. "Would've asked you wha' you want but nothin' else is open." You shrug your shoulders and he chuckles at you.

"Timid thing you are, you know that bird?" You don't respond but he doesn't expect you to. Instead, he opens the fridge again, pulling out a half empty of beer before turning on his heels and walking over to his couch.

You watch as he sinks down into the cushions, the fabric stained and worn down, sipping on his beer while watching whatever happened to be on TV. You stay sat in his dining chair, eyes trained on his hulking figure sat on the couch, your body fidgeting in the uncomfortable piece of furniture. You want to speak but the words feel heavy on your tongue, to be honest you're not even sure what you'd say.

"You think loud." His gruff voice cuts through your dazed state and you jump in your seat.

"Sorry…" It's all you can think to say, you're not even sure what you're sorry for. You think maybe you're sorry for letting someone see you like this, weak and pathetic, sorry for letting him see you so timid and scared, not because you feel pity for him.

But because you pity yourself.

"Come on," He pats the small space next to him on the couch. "Doubt' you've had any good entertainment for a while… I know I haven't." The way he speaks sends a shive down your spine, the look in his eye nothing short of predatory. That's when it really clicks in your head that this man, Simon, isn't a good man. He didn't take you in because kindness blooms from his heart, he took you in because you're his prey, his pet.

You stare at him for a moment before shuffling over to the couch and plopping down into the stiff cushions. He makes a pleased sound at your obedience and it both fills you with butterflies and maggots, you feel disgusted at yourself for enjoying the scrap of praise he provides. You barely even know this man but every instinct in you is telling you to please him, to let him do what he wants to you, and in turn you get taken care of.

Or maybe, you'll only ensnare yourself more.

─── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ──────

Simon isn't sure how he's meant to take care of a stray like you. You're skittish, you jump at his voice and tense at his touch, it makes him grind his teeth together, struggling to resist the urge to sink his teeth into your soft skin until you submit. He doesn't want to scare, for once in his life he wants something soft to call his own, but the first step to caging a bird and clipping it's wings is getting it to trust you and he's truly lost on how to do that.

Logically, he know it will take time, but this is one of the rare moments he's not sure he has the strength in him to be patient. He knows he has to be, you're scared and playing the game of survival, pushing you too fast will only frighten you but it's hard for him to stray from his ways. Seldom can you teach an old dog new tricks.

Perhaps he needs help, someone who knows what scared little strays need to feel loved and safe. Simon has already bought you food, he really thought a clueless kitten like you would be cuddled up to him by now. He understands though, and one day you will too. He decides to ask Johnny, something he'd normally avoid doing but he's got a knack for taming strays.

Afterall he tamed Simon.

Once you've been bathed and fed he sent you off to sleep, ushering you into his tiny bedroom, gray bedsheets still tucked under the mattress. He thought it was cute that you felt guilty for taking the bed, and he had to assure you many times that it was alright and he'd be fine, though your pouty lip was quite the (unintentional) invitation to share the bed. When he was sure you were tucked in for the night he slipped out onto his balcony to call Johnny.

"Johnny." Simon could hear his own voice crackle through Johnny's side of the line.

"Lt! Callin me so late at night aye? M' I your booty call sir?" He could hear Soap chuckle on the other end of the line and he let out an exasperated sigh at that.

"Need your help Johnny." He can hear the Scotsman shift around a bit and he stifles a snort at the image of Johnny sitting up right in his chair over this.

"Aye, of course Ghost." Simon huffs out through his nose, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

"How d'ya take care of a stray?"

─── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ──────

Things have gotten better with Simon. He's still grumpy and stoic, and truthfully he treats you more like a pet than a person, but (not so) secretly you think you like it. At first you were worried he'd take advantage of your vulnerability but he never really did, you always did what he said and that kept Simon satisfied. On the rare occasion you messed something up or didn't do what he asked of you, he make a point not to yell at you, instead he'd squeeze you tight and lowly tell you to 'quit your cryin'.'

You would both make a point to ignore the shivers it sent down your spine.

Perhaps your unorthodox relationship with Simon wasn't the healthiest, you were entirely dependent on him and you both liked it that way. Simon made sure you knew you had freedom, he gave you many opportunities to take advantage of it but you never did and you think that was his plan all along. You were already broken, all he had to do was build you back up, shape you exactly the way he wanted, and then you'd never run.

Not that you think you'd want to either way.

He wasn't mean, or cruel, just a bit twisted and lonely. He never hurt you, or treated you unfairly, you were his bird, and he made sure you knew that.

As the months transpired you find that you've grown grossly infatuated with him. He took you in, nursed you back to health, gave you all the attention and love that you needed to blossom and now you're completely his. Simon had his issues, you had yours, but somehow they mesh together in a way that creates a peace rather than chaos. It was a mundane, domestic life that both of you were content with.

Perhaps if you were still the old you, you'd hate him more than anything, but you now understand broken people more intimately than anyone would ever want to, and somehow it's been the greatest gift life has handed to you. When Simon holds you close, squeezes you tight, and tells you how much you're his, you find it hard to do anything besides melt into him, to feel anything besides adoration.

You were two broken people that somehow made a whole, and you were lucky you did. It could've been so much worse, things could have been so much harder, but he saved you, and though he'd never say it out loud, you saved him too.

─── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ──────

AHHH! I'm so freaking sorry for my absence, 12th grade is the year of dealing with many things so I've been super busy with it all! I wrote bits and pieces of this during my free time so it might not be entirely cohesive but I pray its good enough! Love and miss you all dearly <3 take care of yourself MWAH!!

as always likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

[wasjustred]

Winter Weather Warning - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: A blizzard comes barreling through the area and you find yourself stranded———in Larissa’s quarters.

Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x femprof!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, smut – fingering and cunnilingus (reader receiving); Larissa gets an orgasm

Word Count: ~6.3k (oops)

Author’s Note: Whaaat? A fic? From me? Finally?? I hope this was worth the wait! Thanks to all you lovely folk who’ve been so patient with me; there’s been a lot going on in my life so I’m very appreciative of you all. Feedback, as always, is welcome and encouraged! ♡ ﹠. a special thank you to my beta readers @sapphicsbeloved and @zephyr-is-tired ——— sending you many kisses and finger waggles for your help! 😙🥰 ╱ AO3

You try not to begrudge the snow for falling when and where it will. It’s pretty, you have to admit: soft, and flurried, sweeping over the stone grounds of Nevermore without prejudice. You peer out from your window and watch scattered groups of students chase after each other gleefully, faces turned up toward the sky like small purple sunflowers in their school uniforms, arms outstretched and reaching. The low angle of the sun against the trees suggests dusk will fall soon, just enough light still to cast long, excitable shadows across the ground.

A smile prods at your lips as you turn away from the window and further into your classroom with the intention of setting up for your last class of the day. You’d originally planned to guide them through a review period for an exam next week, but with the state of the sky and the weekend finally here, you decide a film might instead be just what everyone needs; you can afford to push the exam back another day, and really, they’ll be gunning for extra time where they can get it anyway. You know your students well enough.

When the kids begin filing in, you delegate tasks without explanation, the room abuzz as you instruct one student to close the blinds and a few others to adjust the desks just so. You catch a glimpse of the world down below before the windows cover up: Steady flurries still, but nothing that worries you. The kids’ thrill at spending the period in relaxation when you reveal your plan to them is enough to distract from any further thoughts on the weather, anyhow.

The hour passes swiftly as you sit in the back grading papers, every so often glancing up to take stock of the room. Everyone files out just as fast at the sound of the bell and calls out wishes for a good weekend while you’re left to rearrange the room back into its original state. You take care of the desks first, pack your own items up, decide to leave the windows for Monday since it’s dark out by now, no longer any ribbons of light sneaking through the cracks where the blinds don’t quite meet glass. A nice bottle of wine, a fire, maybe a few candles and a good book… the night is promising, and you run through a mental checklist of how many comfort items and practices you can employ as you wander down to the front entrance, bundled up tightly in your coat to brave the cold.

But when you reach the landing of the long staircase, the sight that greets you is not promising in the slightest: the outer floodlights cast a muted glow over what had been a harmless shower of snow, now furious gusts of heavy flakes collecting faster than your brain can entertain. There has to be at least a couple inches out there already, and the realization that you’ll have to navigate through the winding, hilly roads of Vermont in the middle of this elicits a groan. The treeline is hardly visible amidst the dark and the snow, and the roads are likely no better off: the town tends to skirt right around Nevermore when salting the streets. This drive’ll be a perilous one at best.

“Absolutely not.” The sound of Larissa’s disapproval startles you into a sharp and over-dramatic gasp, every muscle of yours tensing at once when her voice comes from just behind you. 

“Jesus, you scared me! ‘Absolutely not’ what?” You turn to her with features marred by confusion - once the surprise has melted away - and tilt your head up, taking a small step back to balance yourself when you realize how close she is. She looms over you in a way only she can: regal and overwhelming–––yet cordial all the same, offset by the soft floralness of her perfume. The fact that she’d reached you there without a sound would likely be unsettling if it were anyone else. With her it’s just… attractive, the slyness of it all. The mischievous grin she bares in response to how you jump doesn’t help.

“There is absolutely no chance I’m letting you drive in that.” This elicits an incredulous scoff as you peer up at her, arms lifting at your sides like a pair of very exasperated, very amused wings.

“Letting me? What am I supposed to do? Break my back sleeping on the floor of the library? No thanks.”

“Don’t be silly,” Larissa tsks, pressing her lips together in an all too familiar demonstration of thought. She’s quick with her next words, though, and something tells you there wasn’t much thought to be given at all. “You’ll stay with me.”

The firmness with which she says this, the matter-of-fact tone that has always so easily slid off her tongue, leaves no room for discussion. You gape at her but Larissa’s already swiveling on her heel and walking in the direction of her office as though it’s been decided once and for all, no questions asked. She throws a crooked finger over her shoulder and gestures for you to follow, the sound of her heels now echoing through the mostly-empty halls.

You wonder, frivolously, how in the hell you didn’t hear her the first time around.

You rush after her with quick steps in an effort to keep up; Larissa’s long, unhesitating strides carry her farther and faster than you can move without some effort. The view of her backside, however, is not one that merits complaint. You follow the curve of it up until you come upon a landing you’re not familiar with, nearly knocking into Larissa when she halts abruptly and turns towards you for the first time since this little journey began. She looks almost unsure of herself now, eyes flitting about rather than meeting yours. It’s one thing, you know, to flirt in passing; to brush arms when you’re both chaperoning students in Jericho; to trade amused, knowing glances across faculty meetings. But it’s another to invite you into her sanctuary, a decisive and loaded crossing of one of the last lines between the two of you.

“If you’d prefer, I believe there’s an empty dorm room I can have made up for you. It’d be no problem.” She finally looks down at you long enough for you to read what’s going on behind that mask of hers, typically pristine and perhaps a touch righteous: she’s trying to give you an out, trying to relinquish control for a second before she commandeers your night, and she’s worried she’s already gone too far by bringing you up here in the first place.

But you’re not going to say no to a night at Larissa’s side, especially when the potential for a warm fire and a glass of wine or two is so high.

Especially when it’s her asking.

“No, it’s alright. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“Not at all,” she’s quick to blurt out, shaking her head. “I simply wanted to make sure you knew you had the option, that’s all.”

With that, Larissa turns again and begins the ascent to what you assume is her hall–––until you’ve reached another landing with only one door, and she pushes it open to reveal an entire apartment all her own. It’s very her, this place: Warm, shining, elegant. The living room is awash with low, simmering lights, furnished with a mix of dark leather and velour, a towering bookcase taking up the whole of one of the far walls with an accompanying reading nook. She walks you further into the threshold and eases the door closed behind you, hovering silently as you take the space in. There are a few framed art pieces that you promise yourself you’ll review more thoroughly later on, scattered vases of flowers and various, high-hanging mirrors.

What truly draws your attention, however, are the photos strategically lining the walls, clearly taken at various points in Larissa’s life: A small platinum-blonde girl carefully posed before a Christmas tree with two very proper looking hounds on either side of her, all very regal and staged except for the wide, nose-crinkling grin on the girl’s face; a beach trip with the same girl, slightly older now, arm thrown over her face as she squints against the sun and into the camera - and a pair of kids that look to be around her age chase each other in the background; teenage Larissa suited up and on horseback, smiling proudly as a judge strings a blue ribbon around the horse’s halter; graduation photos from Nevermore; a trip to the Scottish Highlands, it looks like, a twenty-something Larissa soaked to the bone but grinning out at the miles and miles of luscious greens like she couldn’t be bothered less by the weather. It’s the most you’ve ever seen of her.

Eventually Larissa brushes behind you, laying a hand at your waist in passing as she toes off her heels and begins the process of lighting the fireplace.

Her touch leaves an emphatic tingle in its wake.

“I didn’t think my wall was that particularly exciting,” she muses, glancing over her shoulder at you. You duck your head and turn from the wall, following her lead as you slip out of your shoes and place them next to her own.

“I always like to see what people were like before I knew them. It’s intimate.” Larissa’s gaze softens almost imperceptibly before she returns her attention to the fire, adjusting the logs one last time and replacing the latch on the brass screen.

“What do they tell you, those pictures?” She wipes her hands and comes to rest against the edge of a couch, gazing at you as you shift on your feet and consider her question. Her eyes remain soft, but there’s something else lurking there behind the blue now: Curiosity? Interest? Desire, even? You can’t read it for sure, so you clear your throat and move back to the photographs on her wall, crossing your arms over yourself.

“Well, .. this one,” you start, gesturing towards the Christmas tree, “screams rich.” Larissa snorts loudly and tilts her head in a way that says you’re not wrong. “Probably an only child - at least at the time, otherwise there’d be other kids with you.” Her smile gives nothing away this time, but you charge ahead, brushing your fingers against the frame that holds the beach between its borders.

“This isn’t an American beach, that much I know.” You choose not to elaborate, allowing your ‘Americanness’ to speak for itself. “But I can’t tell if you grew up going there or if it was a special vacation, maybe visiting family… ?” you trail off as your gaze drifts over to her questioningly. She just shrugs, and you click your teeth in mock disapproval before moving on.

“You look happy here,” you observe, allowing your hand to drift over the photo of Larissa in her English riding gear. “Unforced. You enjoyed competing, maybe preferred your horse to people.” This one might be an unfair deduction, supplemented by your understanding of how cruel kids can be–––especially to an outcast, especially to a 6’3” girl.

“The Duke,” Larissa pitches in, pushing up off the couch’s back to join just behind your shoulder, gazing over at the photo in question. “My mother hated the name, but I insisted. He was a gift for my fifteenth birthday,” she reminisces, breath coursing over the tip of your ear. You peer up at her as she smiles, something sad and regretful there before she sucks in a deep breath and points out a new photo to you, more recent by the looks of it: Larissa stands with a large group of students in their Nevermore uniforms, mid-laugh as one of the kids waves his hands wildly and another has their mouth agape in what looks to be protest. Her eyes are crinkled - genuine - and one of her hands seems to be in the process of making its way up to cover her mouth, the other mindlessly resting at her midsection. You know that laugh. It’s her most uninhibited, her most authentic, which only comes out when she’s caught completely off-guard. Your favorite, if you’re honest.

“My first class of students as principal of Nevermore,” Larissa offers, scrunching her nose happily at the memory.

“What’d he say? That student?” You’re part genuine curiosity and part selfishness: eager to know what made her laugh like that, and how you can take hold of that kid’s humor and use it for yourself, elicit a look like that, a laugh like that, which so rarely comes about during school hours.

“I wish I could remember,” she murmurs, taking one last look before clasping her hands together and shocking you out of the reverie. “But nevermind all that. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

You nod sheepishly, nearly apologetic knowing she likely hasn’t and is looking to be a good hostess. But she merely nods, looking relieved: “Oh good, I can’t be bothered to cook tonight,” Larissa admits, a teasing grin stretching from ear to ear. 

“Let me show you where everything is, then.” She guides you down the hall and nudges one of the doors open, gesturing with an open palm. “Here’s the bathroom. Extra amenities are in the second drawer there, towels in the closet.” The suite is nicer than any bathroom you’ve ever had, really the stuff of luxury hotels: white marble floors, a deep soaking tub, gold knobs and handles on almost every appliance. You’ve no choice but to forcefully shoo away the startling, indecent imaginings that break through your reserves of Larissa sinking deep into the lush bubbles of the tub, skin glistening, chest bare––––

“Heated floors, too. I never go cold in the winters.” Ever humble, Larissa pulls at your shoulder gently and switches the light off, directing you to another door just diagonal of the bathroom. When she swings the door open, you’re embarrassingly aware of the way your jaw drops.

“Bedroom’s this way,” she says, stepping into the space. It’s gorgeous, swooping drapes of dark ruby and gold, satin bedding that pools over the mattress and onto the floor, puddles of fabric against a thick persian rug. There’s another fireplace opposite the bed, an area farther off with another scaling bookcase and two large, well-worn armchairs, a small number of intricately designed table and floor lamps, a matching vanity and armoire, the former of which is careful, lived-in chaos with its scattered tubes of lipstick and skin care tinctures.

It’s Larissa.

“Wow,” you breathe, meeting her amused gaze. “You never mentioned you live like this. I would’ve taken you up on a sleepover much sooner if I’d known.” Larissa flushes and coughs out a coy laugh, smoothing a hand over her hair as she looks out across the room.

“Yes, well. You’re here now.” She reaches out and lifts your handbag from you, pulling at your coat lapel next to signal you should take it off. Once you do, Larissa hangs it along one of the walls and places your bag on her vanity. Busy work. “I have clothes you can borrow of course, though they may be a bit big. I’ll set them out, although,” she pauses, glancing at her bedside clock, “it’s early still… Up for a movie? Glass of wine?”

You’re almost - almost - embarrassed by the unrestrained nodding of your head, but hell, it’s been a long week, and relaxing with a bottle of wine sounds like the perfect reward for making it through without breaking down [in front of your students]. The fact that it’s Larissa’s personal wine, in her personal quarters, in her personal hands does nothing to lessen the appeal.

The question of where Larissa will sleep, if showing you the bedroom was her way of offering it to you, hangs in your head, but you decide the answer can wait until the time for sleep comes around. By no means are you going to allow Larissa to banish herself to the couch in her own home. You’d sooner take the floor–––even if you’d jokingly complained about that very same concept earlier in the hour.

“Do you have a preferred genre?” She asks as you both return to the living room, you perching on the sofa as she disappears into what you assume is the kitchen to fetch the wine. It’s not normally a loaded question, nor one worth considering too deeply, but you realize you have an opportunity here… and if Larissa’s occasional blushes, her soft gaze, mean what you hope they do, perhaps there’s a strategy to be employed. You shift further into the cushions, absentmindedly running a hand over your clavicle in thought.

“Don’t laugh… but I’m a sucker for romance when the weather’s like this,” you call out. Larissa peeks her head out from around the corner, brows furrowed in funny disbelief.

“Really?”

“Wha–– why is that so hard to believe?!”

“It’s not, I just.. wasn’t expecting it, I suppose. You seem more of the action or thriller type.” She shrugs and disappears again without further explanation, leaving you to half-pout half-ponder at her words. Before you can make an argument in your defense, however, she’s returning with two full glasses, bottle tucked under her arm, and dimming the lights, a practiced look of concentration slanted across her features as she makes her way over to the couch and lowers one of the glasses into your waiting hand. The red sloshes up just near the edge when Larissa hands it off, and you half-jokingly prod at her as your brows shoot up in amusement.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Principal Weems?” She tuts with faux indignation, but the growing flush of her cheeks betrays her.

“I wouldn’t dare.” She settles next to you - still a respectable distance for colleagues, but closer than mere acquaintances - and places the uncorked bottle on the table ahead of you, grinning.

“Romance it is, but I pick.” You ‘d be surprised by her demand if you didn’t know Larissa’s need to be in control at all times. In fact, if anything surprises you, it’s her calmness in the face of this turbulent weather–––perhaps the most uncontrollable variable there is. Even the most headstrong people can be manipulated, but not the sky.

The film she chooses isn’t one you’ve seen before, which excites you, and you both sink into the couch with a comfortable silence. You share little notes back and forth on the revolving plots and chuckle at the occasional joke, however cliché, as the movie rolls, finding an easy rhythm you’ve never before been able to appreciate amidst the chaos of classes and faculty meetings. 

It’s about an hour in, having finished your first glass and poured another for yourself and Larissa, that you make the mistake of peering over at her from the corner of your eye. A particularly sappy scene is playing out before you. The TV’s light flickers softly against her face, which is content and dare you say tender as the two protagonists share a moment together. The stumble before the fall. Her forehead creases and you have the sudden urge to kiss the lines away, warmed by the wine and her beauty.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispers hoarsely, though her eyes never leave the screen. 

Your heart jolts when she catches you out, running hot with guilt. Your legs shift beneath you as you move to scoot a few inches away - to give her space from your leering gaze - but you freeze when you feel her hand on your knee, holding you in place. You watch her for any sign that’ll tell you what’s going through her head but she doesn’t budge further, only loosening her hold on you a fraction when you relax against the cushions again. Your heart is beating hard at the door of your ribs as you tilt your head back towards the movie, far too distracted to actually process anything that’s happening. The air is so thick now your lungs can hardly keep up; it’s a dizzying thing, electric, and your thoughts jumble haphazardly as you wonder whether or not Larissa’s feeling it, too.

You risk a peek at her again–––but Larissa is already looking at you. 

Her chest is heaving, albeit subtly, and her eyes are dark. A steep wave of arousal pulses through you when her tongue slips out along her upper lip, her gaze flicking down to your mouth and back up again: a question. The second you nod her mouth is on yours, both of you sighing into the touch. You cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer still as your other hand fists around the fabric of her dress. An insistent tug at your waist brings one of your legs between her own, hips rolling against each other as she gropes at you mindlessly, squeezing the thigh slotted over her heat.

“Is this okay?” she asks breathlessly, dragging your bottom lip between her teeth before she pulls away to look at you. Her cheeks are flushed a heavy pink and her lipstick is smudged. You giggle at the realization that there must be bright crimson streaks along your chin and lips.

“Yes,” you assure her between steadying pants, stroking a hand from her shoulder to her wrist and entwining your fingers, giving them a gentle pinch. “You alright?”

A smile briefly turns her lips, soft and loose. “Very much so.”

The next few moments are sweeter, slower as you take your time savoring her taste, tracing the swell of her lips, the delicate scar at the top there, following the line of her jaw up into her hair with your fingertips. She presses into you as gentle as ever, drawing shivers up to the surface of your skin as her hand snakes up the length of your spine. Barely there still is the sound of the fire lingering in its box and the distinct roar of wintry gusts at the window, mere suggestions at the back of your brain. The wine’s been long forgotten on the table.

You shudder when Larissa’s fingers tease at the lower hem of your blouse and brush against a bare sliver of skin, resting there before you arch into her and take hold of her wrist, guiding her hand higher. Her lips quirk to one side at your earnestness, especially as she reaches the clasp of your bra. She hesitates again, more teasing than searching, and slides her tongue into your willing mouth, exhaling sharply when you meet her move for move. Nimble fingers unclasp the bra without issue before they drift around to your front, putting distance between your bodies as Larissa palms your breasts, takes a nipple between her fingertips and pulls and twists with wicked dexterity.

A whimper escapes you when she sinks her teeth into your lip for a second time, much harsher this go around before she suddenly parts from you and begins pressing open-mouth kisses along your jaw and down your neck, nipping and soothing in time with the hapless rocking of your hips. She adjusts to unbutton your top, never once pausing in her assault on your neck as she does so.

“Wait,” you pant out suddenly, and all at once her body leaves you, drawing back to give you space. The look on Larissa’s face is a concerned one, but gentle still, and you know she’ll follow where you need. It’s everything you can do not to keep her waiting in exchange for the chance to look at her, swollen lips and mussed hair, dress askew. 

She’s never been more beautiful to you. 

“Take me to bed.”

Her concern is washed away and replaced with relief - and then more prominent, want.

Larissa rises up from the couch and reaches a hand out to you, catching you off-guard when instead of walking you to the bedroom once you stand, she bends at the knee and scoops you up, your legs coming to wrap around her waist as you laugh in surprise.

“Who am I to say no,” she teases, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips before making the careful trek over to the bedroom.

The question of where she’ll sleep is hardly that anymore. 

You’re both already naked and rocking against each other beneath her blankets when the power goes out. Neither of you truly take notice until the temperature in the room’s significantly plummeted.

“Oh–––one moment, darling.” You push yourself up on your elbows and whine as Larissa slips out of bed, hissing against the cold. Goosebumps raise along her skin, the peaks of her nipples hardening further as she rushes to kneel before the fireplace, sparking a flame in record time. Her skin nearly glows in the moonlight that trickles in from the windows, reflective amidst the snow. She looks like a ghost before you - ethereal, hauntingly so - and you tilt your head, gaze tracking from the deep slope of her calves to the fine curve of her ass, the faint divots of her spine, the wisps of hair that have come loose from their hold and fallen to her shoulders.

“You’re staring,” Larissa chides as she slides back under the covers, shivering.

“I’m admiring,” you correct lamely, a pitiful pout coming to rest upon your lips as you open your arms and draw her closer to warm her now-frigid skin. She hums as if to say ‘yeah, okay,’ burrows into you and drapes an arm across your middle as she pushes her leg between yours. Your hips instinctively buck when her thigh slides against the wetness of your cunt, and you’re both abruptly reminded of what had you so distracted in the first place.

Larissa tentatively nods towards you again and runs the tip of her tongue along your pulse point, your hips beginning to rock together once more, panting heavily and in unison while the storm surges on outside, unabated. The heat pooling in your stomach is in stark contrast to the drifting chill in the room, rearing a confused, overwhelming sensation of hot-cold along your skin. Larissa’s breath, warm on your neck, only further urges the feeling along until you feel as though you might snap if she doesn’t take you fully.

“Please,” you whimper, dragging your nails up over her back with little reserve. Larissa nips at your chin and yanks your leg further across her, taut against your clit.

“Please what?” Her voice is raked over with a carnal desire the likes of which you’ve never seen on her before, deep and airy. It only serves to pull the coil tighter. Your breath hitches as she pushes herself up on her hands and knees, hovering over you now, and she leans down, down until her face is level with yours, an intense wave of adoration flooding through you as she caresses one of your cheeks. She whispers, “I want you to beg, sweetheart,” and it’s all over, never a chance, the air all but torn from you, slick heat gone straight to your cunt.

Beg for her. Beg for Her. No matter how many times the thought bounces around within that empty little head of yours, you’re frozen in place both by lust and surprise. You’ve had your share of fun, of course, but the type that usually involves you calling the shots, taking charge. You thought you liked it that way.

You might’ve been wrong.

You’re only finally jostled from your thoughts when Larissa pulls back and draws a brow up at your silence. A shadow of concern passes over her face but you’re quick to pull her back in, nodding.

“Please fuck me,” you all but whisper, desperate to be filled, to be warmed, to be taken care of while the elements ravage the earth beyond these four walls. Larissa grins smugly at your feebleness, pressing her full weight upon you before she winds a hand down between your bodies, cupping your slickness in her palm. You’re dripping all over yourself, you know: a cool, nearly chafing wetness coating the inside of your thighs, so easily spread when Larissa dips her fingers in between your folds. She sinks a single digit into you just halfway, draws it out, sinks in again and curls it against that soft spot, yes, right there––

She easily adds another and hums at the way your body translates its own neediness, busying her mouth with the soft line of your jaw.

“You feel so good..” she murmurs as her fingers bury themselves into you knuckle-deep, so long and soft and better than you’d ever imagined (and you’d certainly spent time imagining it). Her hips press into yours from above, throwing weight behind her hand as she rolls against you, a slow and steady fucking that excites the fire already roaring within you. You gaze up at her in awe as her eyelids flutter in time with the movement of her hips, realizing she’s found just the right friction against the back of her own hand that each time she thrusts into you, a firm, rippling pressure rubs up against her own clit.

Your hands search frantically now until they’re planted at the slope of Larissa’s waist and you watch, carefully, as you pull her harder into each drive of her hips, rejoicing when she gasps and shudders into the pattern, breaking it for a fraction of a second before driving into you with a far greater desperation.

“Oohf, yes, th-that’s it, darling,” she pants out before capturing your lips in a sloppy, bruising kiss. Suddenly your own orgasm is incidental as you revel in the picture of her coming undone above you, chest flushed, cheeks pink, her hair falling further from its updo as she works her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Look at me, I want to see you,” you clamor with a novel burst of confidence, hands drifting up from her waist to cup her face in your palms. You want to look her in the eye when she cums. You want the memory of her sounds, her face, so deeply imbedded in your mind that it’ll keep you warm when you’ve returned to your own quarters. You want, you want, you want, and she whimpers - a heavenly sound - and obliges, gaze unfocused for a moment before she looks down at you, tongue darting out as she attempts to maintain some degree of focus.

“Right there, right there.. I can feel how close you are,” you huffily encourage, shifting so that both of your legs wrap tight around her and wrench her deeper, harder into you, smiling when her breath hitches at the change of pace and pressure against her sex. You watch her closely, in awe: Larissa’s brows are furrowed, her mouth fallen open and the pink of her tongue closely matched to that of her cheeks, the slight swell of her tits lurching which each thrust. The knowledge that each plunge into your cunt brings her closer is surreal––that she’s so obviously getting off on fucking you, that the frantic snap of her hips is building both of you up, simultaneously.

Her hips begin to stutter into you, airy whimpers falling from her as she teeters on the edge, fingers curling haphazardly in an attempt to continue fucking you through the oncoming rush of her orgasm. The mattress rocks and dips momentarily as Larissa gasps, sharp, and suddenly bows over you with the force of her climax, breath hot on your neck, forehead pressed into your temple, chest heaving against yours as she mindlessly ruts. Her fingers remain buried in your heat, pulsing slowly in time with her come-down. 

Larissa’s body shudders as you run your palm over her in light, gentle sweeps, one hand carefully traveling to cup the back of her neck.

“You’re alright.. I know.. ‘s good, hm?” You feel a weak nod at your side, Larissa eventually stilling atop you. The pad of her thumb draws slow, lazy circles around your clit as her breathing slows, nosing the crook between your shoulder and neck. 

“Christ,” she mumbles against your skin, and you chuckle as her lips draw a line from your ear to your chin.

“Yeah?” She hums and - slowly, determined - begins to wriggle down your body until her face is level with your cunt, glancing up at you with a blissed-out smirk before she presses an open-mouthed kiss to your slickness. The wet warmth of her tongue slides easily against you, dipping between your folds, lapping up the puddle that’s collected at your center, working in tandem with the pressure of her thumb at your clit, a feeling dumbly akin to religious devotion: a reverent prayer at your sex, holy flames licking up the walls of her bedroom, the weighted creases of her sheets stretched where she kneels before you.

A strong gust of wind wracks the shutters of her windows. They bang haphazardly against the glass, knocking in time with the surges of the storm.

Your fingers clench around the bed covers as Larissa rolls over your entrance once more, teasing, then pushing into your dripping hole with an embarrassing ease. She fucks you slow and as deep as she’s able, fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips. Not even the devil themself could stop you from rolling your pussy against her face in search of some greater friction, whining as the sounds of her tongue wading through your arousal mixes with the crackling of the fireplace, the moan of the storm outside.

“Ohfuckyes,” you pant as your legs spread further on their own accord, knees drawing up to alter the angle at which your pleasure floods through you. She moves with delicious ability, and you watch the stark blondeness of her hair bob with every fervent lap of her tongue, overwhelmed with the sudden realness of the moment: Larissa’s scent on the pillows, her lipstick smudged across your lips, her sweat on your skin. Her thumb abandons your clit, and a desperate cry waits at the threshold of your mouth until her finger is replaced with the pointed flicking of her tongue, quick and full and firm against you. The coil pulls tight within your core.

She murmurs something brusque but you’re too consumed with the sensation of her fingertips at your inner thigh to process, but she repeats herself as you release a heavy sigh, her fingers sinking deep into your cunt.

“That’s a good girl..." Your back arches at the same time Larissa takes your clit into her mouth, sucking and slurping as if to drink from that little bundle of nerves drawn straight to your core, as if to quench an otherworldly thirst. She pulls your orgasm from you quick and unforgivingly, never stumbling in her ministrations when your thighs begin to close in around her, or when your hands wind into her hair and pull, hard. She continues to devour you as if she doesn’t notice the snapping of that coil, the sounds that melt into the satiny sheets of her bed as you cry out for her–––the curling into yourself as your clit throbs towards unbearable tenderness.

“Fff––please, please, I’m––” Sapphire eyes bore into yours as her lips stretch into a devious smile, slowly but surely unlatching. A mercy, if you’ve ever seen one. You tremble in relief.

“You can’t take it?” she coos, superficial concern floating by your quivering sex. You don’t know whether to pull her closer or push her away when Larissa glances down towards your soaking cunt again––––

but the choice is made for you when she draws herself up and grabs hold of your chin, pushing her tongue into the waiting cavern of your mouth. The sure expanse of her thigh slides between your legs as she does so, eliciting a startled twitch as she brushes against your clit. She swallows your gasp.

“So sweet.” Larissa nips at your chin, presses her thigh against you more firmly and rubs her thumb back and forth along your cheek. Your hips buck of their own volition, acting solely on the most primal of instincts despite the sensitive twinge between your legs. There’s only Larissa’s softness, her warmth, her gentle affection circling your head, coloring the air around you. The world’s ending outside and it’s just her.

“Please kiss me,” you whisper, suddenly overcome with the need to absorb her, to touch her anywhere and everywhere all at once as if you could meld together somehow amidst the tousled satin.

She stills, hovering over you with a smile so soft you’re almost certain this has all been a very long, very desperate webbing of dreams until she obliges, brushing her lips against yours with the utmost of care.

“Are you alright?” Her voice is hushed, eyes searching.

“Better than alright,” you assure her, brushing a stray hair from in front of her face. “Kind of just wanted to be close to you…” You shrug sheepishly and turn your attention to the far wall, suddenly very interested in the twisting shadows of trees cast against the space there. The abrupt rush of vulnerability reddens your cheeks, lips pursing as the regret at such an intimate admission prickles up with equal swiftness. It’s quickly brushed away, however, when Larissa clicks her tongue and tilts your face towards her with a palm against your cheek, brow arched amusedly.

“Then be close,” she says, pressing a small kiss to the tip of your nose before she pulls you flush against her and buries her face into your neck. The fire’s dwindling, informed by the dying light of the room, the falling temperature beyond the bed, but neither of you notice as you wrap yourselves up in the arms of the other, tending to a warmth all your own.

[salty-an-disco]

(Explore) “What's your name?”

The princess pulls back, looking a bit confused by the question. Then, she squints lightly.

“Why do you need to know?”

Voice of the Hero: Geez, we just asked for her name. No need to go to the defensive.

…

…

…

Voice of the Hero: Uhm. Aren’t you going to keep describing?

There’s not much to describe, the princess is simply looking at you expectantly. Aren’t you going to say something to her?

…

…

…

…

Hm. Weird. This is usually the part where you’re given the option to say something else– unless… you don’t want to leave this branch of conversation yet?

Voice of the Hero: ……I guess we can keep asking about her name?

“C’mon, I just asked your name! That’s a pretty standard conversation topic, right?”

Voice of the Hero: Oh. It worked!

Huh. Fascinating… a bit bothersome that you can also just interject in the middle of the narration like this, but fascinating nonetheless.

“Well, this isn’t really a standard conversation location, is it?”

Voice of the Hero: OK, she’s got a point there. I guess I also wouldn’t want to just sit around and make small talk while trapped in a basement.

You could tell her your name first. That way, you can build rapport and make her comfortable enough to share her own name. Building rapport and showing your non-threatening nature is a great way to thread a social interaction.

Voice of the Hero: That’s… not a bad idea, actually. Tell our name first, then she might feel better about sharing hers!

…

…

…

…

…

Voice of the Hero: Do we…… know our name?

If you’re asking me, the new guy who knows nothing about you except for what’s in this script, then I’m going to go on a wild limb and say you very probably don’t.

Voice of the Hero: But– We have to have a name, right? Everyone has a name!

It is a very useful tool for communication and categorizing civilizations have been using for ages, yes.

Voice of the Hero: So, what does that mean? We hit our head on the way here or something?

Well–

“…are you… OK?”

Look, names aren’t always necessary. Sometimes, just your role in the narrative is enough. Take me, for instance, I don’t need any other moniker but my role as ✨The Narrator✨.

“…can you even listen? Is this name thing really that important to you?”

Voice of the Hero: I guess… though not having an actual name to be called by is so weird.

I can start calling you Stanley, if it makes you feel better.

Voice of the Hero: It makes me feel worse, actually.

“OK, fine! I don’t know my name!”

The princess snaps, forcing your attention out of your own head and back to her.

Voice of the Hero: Oh. Oops. My bad.

She looks worked up; her face set in a glare, though there’s some nervousness to how her eyes flick about your face.

…

Voice of the Hero: We… could tell her we also don’t remember our name?

“If it makes you feel better, I also don’t remember my name.”

The Princess’ features soften. Her posture relaxs as she regards you once again.

“Huh. I wonder what that means.”

Voice of the Hero: Me too. Seems too coincidental that we both wouldn't know our names.

Feels like we’re more like her than anything else. Makes the whole ‘we have to slay her’ business all the more weird, doesn’t it?”

This conversation has been really nice and all, but I must urge you to progress now to progress from this branch. Or else how can the story continue?

Voice of the Hero: Right… Sorry again for losing track of things.

Yes, quite unprofessional of you.

Voice of the Hero: OK, no need to be so condescending.

Not without meaning though, seems like you forged something of a connection with the princess. Wonder how that’ll affect the story……

But anyhow, we dawdled for long enough, it’s nigh time for you to progress the story.

Voice of the Hero: Agreed. I think the princess waited long enough. Time to make your choice.

[your-unfriendlyghost]

Hiiii i just saw your Outsiders/Christine art and HOLY SHIT. When i say my jaw was on the floor it was on the floor. I’m a huge Stephen King fan (I’ve only read his books bc to me his books are good enough. I’m not a huge horror movie watcher girlie but i can do thriller/horror books. I have like 8 of his books, including Christine, on my bookshelf) and once again: HOLY SHIT. I can lowkey see the Outsiders trio as the Christine trio. Now whenever i go to reread the book, i can’t view it the same anymore haha. Another Outsiders/Stepehen King art idea for Halloween: 11/22/63. It’s one of my absolute favorite Stephen King novels. And if you haven’t read it, highly recommend it. It’s so intense and entertaining and i do get lost in that book. Anyways, HOLY SHIT. But i was also wondering if you have any tips for beginner digital artists? Like on layers, line art especially, shading etc.? I really want to get into more digital art but my tradional sketches lowkey look better than my digital ones haha. Whenever i see your stevepop or Outsiders art it just gives me a boost of inspiration. And i love them your honor.

Woah, thanks!! I’ll have to check it out- so far I’ve only read Christine and The Body (because my dad’s obsessed w/ Stand By Me), but I really dug both so I’m looking forward to it!

And as for digital art tips, I guess I’d say to keep things loose! I like to use a modified version of the Shale Brush on procreate for my sketches and lineart because it resembles a pencil, and the rough messiness makes it a whole lot easier for me to just relax and draw the way I do on paper. I don’t shy away from messiness especially in digital art- it makes things flow better in a medium that can get really stiff sometimes.

I like to do my sketches in bright colors, and I tend to assign every subject a certain color so I can tell them apart easily (idk how helpful it is, but it works for me!) Then I lower the opacity and draw on a layer on top like this:

Then I turn off the sketch layer and either fill everything in with base colors, or color it in grayscale w/ this Copic marker brush and varying levels of opacity for my comics.

As for shading, I do a combination of cell shading and painterly shading (picture for the uninitiated lol). Both have their merits, and shadows in real life usually include a bit of both.

For more simple stuff, I take a shade of either purple or sometimes magenta and cell shade everything with this pencil brush on a multiply layer, usually set to 30-ish% opacity depending on the drawing. Then I’ll blend it out a bit to soften some edges, which is what makes it look painterly. Also if you don’t know, “clipping mask” layers are really helpful for shading! You just put the shading layer over the colors and it stops you from going outside of the colors, it can be super helpful. This method is the one I usually use, and the one I’ve been using since I first started about five years ago now.

For the Christine poster specifically though I mostly just kept everything to one layer and color dropped from the reference, altering the colors as I saw fit- and just sort of guessed for Evie because she’s way tanner than Leigh and needed her own colors. The only times I used different layers were for each individual character so that they didn’t mess each other up, and also for the sketches, which I put on top of the colors but lightened the opacity on. Idk that I’d recommend this for a beginner tho, it’s taken me years to get comfortable working like this!

Sketch is set to a multiply layer here too. You can’t see it super well here tbh, because of how dark everything is, but oh well. Here’s a study I did last year with the same method tho! (Also she’s got some similarities to Evie huh?? I guess I have a type lol oops)

Anyhow, that’s probably enough for now lol- but lmk if there’s anything else you wanna know! And obviously this is just how I do things, there’s no hard and fast rules for any of this- I’m making it up as I go along, and you should too!!

[gcantread]

July 2024 reads

[loved liked ok nope dnf bookclub*]

^borrowing this format from @ofliterarynature—hope that's ok!

The Blue Castle • The Metamorphosis • A Reaper at the Gates • And Then There Were None • I'm Afraid You've Got Dragons • To Be Taught, If Fortunate • The Mysterious Affair at Styles • Till We Have Faces • This Ravenous Fate • Here Lies a Vengeful Bitch • Dragonhaven • [title withheld; SMP] • The Name of the Wind • Better Left Buried • The Body in the Library • Rose Daughter

My biggest reading month so far in terms of quantity, though only third-biggest in terms of "pages" (which I think is a bad metric anyhow—you can typeset them so differently! I wish every book told me its word count.) I read a lot of books in order to see if they're worth reading in @bellasbookclub for the 2024-2025 season, plus I was doing the BBC summer reading challenge! I also devoured my way through several ARCs coming out in August.

The Blue Castle ★★★★★ - I reread this once or twice per year at this point. This time around I read it to @flowerslut and we had a blast! Still the ultimate comfort read.

The Metamorphosis ★★★☆☆ - Also with Shannon (we listened to the audiobook on the way to and from San Diego!) Figured it was high time I actually read this if I was gonna go around calling things "kafkaesque." Somehow exactly what I expected.

And Then There Were None ★★★★☆ - Pre-screened for book club! So I don't wanna say too much other than "I liked it."

I'm Afraid You've Got Dragons ★★★☆☆ - Disappointing. Plot was a bit all over the place and it was difficult to sympathize with the main characters. A shame, because I like the premise!

To Be Taught, If Fortunate ★★★★☆ - Read for the BBC 2024 Summer Reading Challenge. Fun and reflective! This was my first time reading Becky Chambers, and I liked the writing style and themes.

The Mysterious Affair at Styles ★★★1/2☆ - Another book club pre-screen. A solid mystery.

Till We Have Faces ★★★★☆ - Yet another book club pre-screen. My best friend's favorite book and now I can totally see why.

This Ravenous Fate ★★★☆☆ - An ARC I got signed by the author after seeing her speak on a panel about YA and romance. Unfortunately a huge letdown, possibly because I had such high hopes for the premise of "queer Black 1920s vampire x human." Alas, it had some cool vampire lore but was overall a convoluted mess and not nearly 1920s-enough!

Here Lies a Vengeful Bitch ★★★★☆ - Another ARC I got from the same event and liked much better. Cool Jennifer's Body-esque premise, snappy voice, and a fun protagonist in the murdered and vengeful Annie. Perfect Halloween vibes!

Dragonhaven ★★★★☆ - Also pre-screened for book club so I shouldn't talk too much about it but I can't help myself (@ book club LOOK AWAY) I wasn't expecting much from this book because I've heard Robin McKinley fans voice their disappointment in it, but it turns out I'm the exact niche target audience for this. National Park politics and conservation science struggles and zookeeping?? I'm seated. I can see why others didn't like the pacing, but I was nodding along like "Yes, the difficulty of procuring grad students to come study dragons, of course. Do go on"

[title withheld; SMP] - I didn't realize this was an SMP book until I was halfway through it. Oops. A shame they still don't have their act together, because I'd love to talk about this one.

The Name of the Wind ★★★★★ - A title I've heard raved about a million times by a zillion people, so naturally I picked it as one of my BBC 2024 summer reading challenge books to see if it lived up to the hype. IMO it does! Fun, poetic writing style, cool framing device, and interesting worldbuilding and magic system. Curious to read the sequel.

Better Left Buried ★★★☆☆ - Another ARC. Cute queer YA murder mystery that I honestly don't have much to say about other than "it was cute."

The Body in the Library ★★★1/2☆ - And another book club pre-screen book. My first Miss Marple! Mostly elevated by having an interesting ending twist and class themes.

Rose Daughter ★★★☆☆ - And to no one's surprise, my final book of the month was also pre-screening for Bella's Book Club. Very pretty writing and it was fun to read while wearing a bit of rose oil (smell-o-vision!) but I didn't loooove the pacing and overall prefer Robin McKinley's other Beauty and the Beast retelling, Beauty.

DNF

A Reaper at the Gates (50%) - I sprinted through book 1 and walked sedately through book 2 of the Ember in the Ashes series, but this one (book 3) was taking me forever to read (and is almost 700 pages), and I was impatient to move on and read other stuff. Reaper at the Gates was decently interesting and I still care about the characters, but the timing just wasn't right. Will probably pick this series back up later.

July superlatives

[xiakeponz]

more SOKP lawyer au (fic started by @renewedmotionforjudgment ehehe) soc med shenanigans ft. pyq and lv xian starting shit

(very general translation bc i thought of these in chinese first clown emoji) Lv Xian: dug out an old photo, old schoolmates all here, creds to me the photographer :' ) Yan Lin: Woah almost forgot Zhang Zhe was there that day, that almost never happens. SZY: this is so old. the first time i realised, so xie wei can smile in photos hahaha Lv Xian: @ Yan Lin yeah somebody flipped the vinegar vat that day lmao did you forget. even though he is smiling : ) zz: @ Lv Xian stop talking about this, you're going to give people the wrong idea. Fang Yin: you guys knew each other all the way back then? jeez. Xie Wei: Do you think I can't see the comments section? Lv Xian: @ xie wei so you're not denying it? Lv Xian: @ zz you are xie wei's true homie, never one to choose dates before mates unlike somebody Ning Er: do you all not have better things to do

context is also that Xie Wei and Jiang Xuening have like a bazillion years of denial about what is happening especially JXN and You Fangyin has a vested interest in this bc she started a betting pool about when jxn and xw would get their shit together (only bc she thinks they will and she isn't blind anyhow) and lv xian has bought into this pool lmao $

bonus:

also just to add it all in one post the other one is here, context and tl below with og post here (more soc med stuff IG style):

@renewedmotionforjudgment and i thought it would be funny for xw to bite and respond to jxn's obvious thirst traps but he would never do it directly through his own socials yk I'll add a rough TL below bc i originally thought of the thing in chinese lmao oops. Yanlin: broski finally comes to the gym, why tho i wonder

comments section: Lv Xian: the gym?? looks like he's about to clock in to work at the club, he's the all business no play kind- Yan Lin: jk bro I am sorry SZY: how hard are you guys trying to make sure Ningning sees this? It's not like she blocked him. Lv Xian: @ SZY sometimes you just do not need to spell things out that clearly :' )

[ahedderick]

Tick

@aijatar regarding your question on tick-borne illness, I decided to make a separate post to answer.

This image is from the CDC info page on tickborne illness, and shows 8 different types. It's a bad graphic in my opinion, because it looks quite muddled; looks better if you zoom way in, though. Oops, no! If you zoom in far enough to see individual counties, the map turns black and the colored dots are tiny and almost impossible to see. Well, crap.

I don't have the spoons to type out (and spell-check) all 8 diseases, but you can check the CDC site for more info. My son had Babesia/Babesiosis (both spelling seem to exist in medical documents?). Babesia is similar to malaria, and characterized by lengthy fevers (over ten days, sometimes) that come and go in cycles. Son would spend two weeks absolutely knocked out from fever and fatigue, appear to get better, then rinse and repeat. Despite the fact that this is a crystal clear sign of malaria (in the tropics) and babesia ( in the eastern USA), it took us three years to get a diagnosis. And believe me, we were trying. He spent two more years on powerful antibiotics and anti-malaria meds (it's so similar to malaria that it responds to the same drugs). This was ages 13 - 18, and pretty much dominated his life for that time.

Honestly, I think permanent damage was done to his immune system and - just overall? He has never had as much energy as he should, for a well-nourished young adult. He gets sick from colds/flu really easily, and takes longer to get better. If we had only had competent medical help when I was telling his local Dr about the VERY CHARACTERISTIC AND NOTABLE pattern of fevers that act exactly like malaria.

Anyhow. This info is us-centric, but it behooves any of us who spend time outdoors to learn about the different illnesses, because you really can't count on getting a Dr's help unless you are informed enough to hand-feed them the info AND request tickborne-illness specialists if you suspect a problem. Yes, I am permanently salty about it. God bless the specialist we eventually found; she was great. NONE of the thousands of dollars of tests and treatment he needed were covered by our insurance.

[todayisafridaynight]

RIGHT YEAH I was also thinking about the scenario of Jo accompanying Masato in relation to this, in the vein of… that'd solidify that the whole lie was always about His Family and not The Family right… because what can Jo even DO for the family while he's away? He's more than a glorified accountant.

Though thinking about it, he probably wouldn't have been away too long, at least compared to a prison sentence for murder. Because Masato only faked his death in 2004 (at the very latest, I guess; it's when the news went public) and Bleach Japan was founded "almost 20 years" prior to 2019, at which point Aoki and Ogasawara had already graduated and returned to Japan.

That and Aoki wasn't in a wheelchair anymore when he met Ogasawara at Harvard, so perhaps Jo would only really /need/ to stay for the procedure and Aoki's physical therapy and all, though of course I can see him staying longer. Still, not too long, all things considered.

So this scenario's kind of the worst of both worlds, because perhaps those first couple of years it's Arakawa's own stubbornness, and then the rest of his family has to go away anyway. And he's so sure in that time what he needs is to be with his family again and he'll at least feel less alone, miss Ichi less.

But then Masato's Aoki now and only really staying in touch to use him and the Arakawa Family's resources for his own gain, and Jo--as you perfectly put it--doesn't know how to emotionally take care of him. So things he should be ecstatic about--seeing his son walk on his own two legs for the first time and having his right hand man back in action--end up bittersweet at best. Aiiieeeeee……

OH YEAH SHINJI I half-remembered there was a visit in 1 but not who actually went to visit Kiryu sorry for doing you like that my boy </3 still counts as part of a pattern to me though… subordinate visiting his aniki…

SPEAKING OF KIRYU. Yeah. Typical Kiryu L. Kazuma Kiryu you have blood on your hands and NOT in the funney Reddit meme way… ABSOLUTELY DERANGED to blame Ichi for anything in the ending whatsoever though like WHAT. He got him immediate medical attention and WE AS THE AUDIENCE don't even have time to react, let alone anyone living the fucking moment good god my blood pressure is spiking

ALSO THE JO POST… YEAH… yeah yeah yeah that's the shit I'm talking about… and like. This is where localization frustrates me so Bear With My Complaints a moment but his very last line is mistranslated in both versions, the sub in terms of what he was actually saying and the dub in terms of giving him this bitchy, flippant tone that doesn't convey his intent. So I'll cut them down the middle and say it's "[The] legit [way]? The word has never crossed my mind, not once."

There's just something to it as a clear thesis for his whole life and his eventual fate. Like of course Adachi means in terms of going through the proper legal processes, but words like proper, legit, decent, these also have clear connotations of adequacy. So for him to literally say NOTHING he's done has been adequate in his eyes perfectly illustrates what you were saying. Like he's always taken it as a matter of fact that nothing he could do would be enough, like that's a truth woven into his existence so tightly he never even thought about it. And now there really is nothing he can do.

i have my own theoretical timeline on masato's stay in america, but even with what we have there's a lot of variables involved with for exactly when certain events happened

under the assumption masato was to enroll at harvard in the fall of 2001 (assuming he was somehow able to be approved for a lung transplant as soon as that year), then jo would- at max- might only have to be abroad for (assuming they leave in january) nine months (to account for the time it took for masato to get approved for surgery and then the surgery itself plus the potential 3-6 month recovery period afterwards)

alternatively, if masato had to wait a year- two max if we're being optimistic so he could graduate on time under an accelerated 2-year academic schedule to get surgery- then jo, similarly, would have to be abroad for a similar amount of time.

the time gone doesn't matter too much i guess: arakawa will still be left alone for a long time, and that really couldnt have been easy either way. the time his family's gone only makes their comeback all the more bittersweet, as you put it (´▽｀;;)

OH BUT YEAH NO THE Y7 BIT THAT SHIT PISSED ME OFF SO MUCH WHEN I READ IT like mates were trying to be smart about it like 'wow ichi way to go showing how much you love aoki and how you'd do anything for him 🙄' like God Forbid a human character acts human and imperfect what the fuck you want him to do he aint got no goddamn spidey sense how the shit was he supposed to know (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)(;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)(;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)

but yeah.. speaking of Doing The Right Thing jo's never ending feelings of inadequacy are my favorite </3 cause its like.. it's a reason why i love jo so much if i can be weird to say: what he did wasnt something that you can confidently forgive or try to say 'he's done the most to rectify this' or anything like that because putting a baby in a coin locker's like.. a lot of steps are involved to do that.. not really a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing that would have grounds to forgive yourself for.. so the fact jo knows this and just has that intense guilt- it's my bread and butter to say the least 😔

[tim-shepard]

“I sleep with a gun under my pillow… just so you know.” and “I can not go in there! I will have a heart attack, die, and it will be your fucking fault.” with dally please

hihi anonny, tysm for the request

word count: 856

summary: Johnny finds Dallas for comfort after a fight at home. mostly jus fluff

a/n: you didn’t name a ship so i defaulted to jally oops

Johnny strolled slowly down the dimly lit street, in no real rush to head anywhere really. He knew it wasn’t too smart to be out alone at this hour, but considering the scene he had just left at home, he felt dealing with getting jumped was just as good, if not a better way to spend his Friday night. 

He kept his eyes focused straight in front of him, shoulders back, switchblade in his hand within his pocket, the way Dally taught him after he got jumped the first time. “You’ll look tougher. And at the first sign of danger, you defend yourself anyway, anyhow, ‘kay Johnnycakes?”, Dallas’ words repeated in his mind.

The thought of Dallas Winston made him stop walking for a moment. Dally. He quickly looked around to get a sense of where he was, and recognized the part of town instantly. He took a breath, and then another, before turning left, heading straight towards’ Buck Merril’s place, Dally’s frequent place of choice to spend his evenings.

Johnny knocked on the door, swallowing hard, as though his anxieties were trying to escape out his mouth. He loosened his grip off his switch and took a deep breath. The place didn’t seem deserted, but it didn’t seem to be one of the rowdier nights either, so Johnny was hoping Dally wasn’t too far gone yet.

  “Can I help you?” Buck said, his voice filled with annoyance.

“H-hey Buck…” His voice quivered as he spoke. He closed his eyes and quickly took another breath before opening them again. “Hey man. Dally here?”

Buck had never really appreciated when Dallas’ younger buddies showed up, but Johnny guessed he either could sense his urgency or just plain out felt sorry for him.

“Yeah,” Buck grumbled, motioning up the stairs, “in his room.”

“Thanks.” he mumbled. Johnny stepped past Buck and quickly made his way up the stairs.

“Dally! Dallas, It’s me, Johnny,” he knocked thrice on the door before trying the knob. Locked. He knocked twice more. “Dallas!”

It was quiet for a moment, and then Johnny heard the shuffling of feet across Buck’s old, squeaky floor, and he let out a sigh of relief.

Dallas opened the door, his eyes half open, wearing a white sleeveless t-shirt and thin black-and-blue plaid boxers. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “‘Ey Johnny, you okay?”

Johnny didn’t answer right away, he just walked past Dallas, sat down on his bed, continuing to fight back the tears that had been trying to reveal just how scared he was. He put his head in his hands, and stared down at the floor as he spoke. 

“My pops… h-he came home drunk again. Went all berserk and threatening on me. Dally-” he paused and looked up at Dallas. At this point Dally’s face had fallen like it did all the other times Johnny relayed stories from home to him, the pure helplessness he felt while listening to Johnny displayed over every inch of his face. “Dally… I can’t go back there.”

Dallas scratched at the back of his neck, letting out a deep sigh. “Kid… I mean, sure you cans. Hell, don’t you think me and my pops ever-”

“Dally!” Johnny cried out. Dallas paused, shocked at just how hard this fight was hitting him. “Dallas, you don’t understand. I can not go in there! I will have a heart attack, die, and it will be your fucking fault.” Johnny sobbed between words, every tear that had been waiting to come out came out in droves. He slowly rocked back and forth on the bed in an attempt to self-soothe, his head once again buried deep in his hands.

Dallas took a seat next to Johnny at the foot of the bed, his hand instinctively running up and down Johnny’s back. Dallas had never been too good at comfort, and he never knew why Johnny seemed to always pick him to find solace in, but he always knew when he was needed and when he was not. 

And right now, Johnny needed him.

After a few quiet moments of Dally’s rubbing Johnny’s back while he rocked, Johnny slowly started to calm down and regain some composure. He knew he was safe with Dallas. He knew he could trust Dallas.

“Hey, Johnny, why don’t you… why don’t you stay here. For the night. With me.” Dallas said, finally breaking the silence. “We don’t gotta sleep if you don’t wanna, can stay up all night havin’ a sleepover like you and Pony do.” He added.

Johnny moved his hands from his face, a small smile forcing its way onto his face as he locked eyes with Dallas. As if on cue, he yawned, and leaned slightly more into Dallas’ touch.

  “I’d like that very much,” he yawned again, and plopped over onto his side, laying near the edge of the bed. Dallas smiled, and laid next to Johnny, throwing his arm over his waist.

“Hey, Johnny?”

“Yeah Dal?”

“I-I… I sleep with a gun under my pillow… just so you know.” Dallas grabbed Johnny’s hand, squeezing it. “You’re safe, here, with me.”

[laurenkmyers]

Hey, hi! How're you doing??

First off, I gotta say you're my favourite Love Sea blog right now; I absolutely adore you. Secondly, because I have no one else to talk to, I was wondering if you noticed too how similarly abrupt the ep 8 NC cutoff was to the LITA PrapaiSky bathroom scene before the birthday disaster? Both moments are very charged, albeit in different ways. The PrapaiSky moment had such a tender scene cutoff that only made the subsequent break-up so much more painful. And MutRak's scene was just as charged, if not so much more, and it seemed like it was obviously leading to something and then it just? Flashed to the next scene??? Not to mention, there seems to be a solid emotional beat missing between that NC cutoff and the sweet kiss Mut and Rak share after Mut comes home. It almost feels like during the bedroom scene, Mut might have confronted Rak a bit further about the sudden distance he was putting between them again. It makes sense if during the high of sex, Rak ended up confessing that he likes Mut too. Especially if Mut openly expressed how angry/hurt he was. It would explain Rak's affection, tenderness, and not to mention, shyness during the kiss scene later.

I wouldn't be surprised if this scene has an extended cut in the boxset. There might not be, but I feel like it will. Either way, someone needs to write fanfiction for that scene.

Anyhow, thank you for listening! Love you, bye!

HELLO!!! HI! ARGH 🙈 THANK YOU. This is insanely sweet. I'm good thank you, darl- how are you???

I WHOLEHEARTEDLY AGREE WITH ALL OF THIS. EVERY SINGLE WORD. You're spot on. And I've also said similar things to a few others, but never quite this coherently.

It felt....unfinished, for lack of a better word. There did feel like a weird disconnect, which was EXACTLY the same feeling as the LITA scene.

Mame, for all her faults, usually has a really good grasp on her nc scenes and utilising them for actual narrative purposes and not just gratuitously, because they're mostly character driven purposes. This one felt like it needed more because you have Rak, who we've already established is a brat who likes to be in control, trying to take back the control he feels is slipping by avoiding the inevitable (that being his ever growing feelings for Mut) and he's doing so by blatantly goading Mut into action.

Now Mut is very good at understanding that Rak needs his space, and he's not one to overstep when it matters, but the man may be the greenest flag of all time, but he's also still human. And hearing the man you're quite possibly already head over heels in love with, threaten to 'eat' some faceless man when you're standing right there? Anyone would snap. What Mut is also very good at, is taming brats. Oops, sorry Rak. Your carefully curated need for control isn't always healthy, and you need someone to get you out of your head and into bed to loosen you up.

The tension in that scene was spectacular. It highlighted so beautifully Rak's willingness to actually submit, as he lets Mut not only physically hold him down with a half heart struggle, but to use words to let Rak know that if he allows it, Mut will give him exactly what he needs, but only if he wants it. Because Mut's 'What's it gonna be? Without your permission, I can't go ahead with it.' gives Rak a sliver of control back, letting that ball bounce back into his court. So to then have Rak chose Mut and then cut that pivotal moment short, the beautiful build up we'd been given tipped us over the edge but cruelly snatched us away mid-fall and we never got to hit that landing. It's sad really. Because the nc scene would have would have made perfect narrative sense.

And I also wouldn't be shocked or surprised if there was an extended cut in the boxset either. Let's hope there is. I need to see it.

Thanks for the wonderful message, love you too nonnie!!! Please come again! I love talking about this shit!